Page 23 of Scotch on the Rocks

That smirk I detested played on his lips again. The one he reserved solely for me. With everyone else, he was playful but endlessly polite.Community Ken. Kind Ken. Can’t do enough for you Ken.

His blue eyes lit, as warm and untrustworthy as a Scottish summer day. “I don’t think we’ll ever have enough, harpy. But I heard on the grapevine you need my help.”

“You heard wrong.”

He tsked. “I don’t think so. My source is very reliable.”

Bloody Heather.She’d called around this afternoon and stated multiple times that she was firmly aboard the “ask Callum to fix it” train. “The only thing this village is missing is a bloody phone tree,” I muttered.

“We already have one.” He stalked closer, until his thighs were flush with the desk. “I wonder why no one invited you to join?”

I willed myself not to react to what was so obviously an attempt to get a rise from me, turning back to the computer and wiggling the mouse inanely. “Heather has it wrong. I’ve got it covered.”

“Really? By whom?”

I clicked, opening a random file and pretending to read. I hated the way he towered over me in this position but there was no way I could stand without admitting that his proximity affected me. “It’s not been decided, but I have some promising candidates.”

“Not one that can get it done before your mum returns, I bet.” He folded his arms, still sprinkled with summer freckles, across the desk. The same way Mr Lewis had. We were finally eye to eye, and it was somehow worse. Ignoring the jump of my pulse, I shoved his arms back over the other side. That smirk only grew.

“I’m not hiring some cowboy that renos as a hobby.”

“Cowboy?” I swear I witnessed the joke take form in his eyes. “As I recall, you were the one ready to do the riding.”

Arsehole.

Too attractive, conceitedarsehole.

I launched to my feet, hands slamming on the desk. “Get. Out.”

Of course he didn’t budge. “I’ll even do it for free.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m a nice guy.” He said it like a fact.Sky is blue, grass is green, oh, and didn’t you hear? Callum Macabe is a swell guy.

“Ah, the self-proclaimednice guy.”

His heavy brows drew in. “I don’t know what that means.”

“They never do.” Anger leached into my tone, giving me away. I was seething, arms folded across my chest to stop me from wringing his neck. If it wasn’t for the desk separating us, I’d already be on him.

He must not have sensed the danger because he bent closer, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Full disclosure, it turns me on when we fight.”

My stomach whooshed. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yes. Just like that.” His eyes closed and he let out a low, ridiculously sensual moan. “Pretend I’m your husband and you’re pissed because I didn’t pick up my dirty socks.No wait– I didn’t load the dishwasher correctly.”

“You’re a grown man, pick up your own damn socks!” Why was I feeding this ridiculous scenario? He was trying to throw me off kilter and I’d walked straight into the trap. “Is that your dream relationship, Macabe? No wonder you’re single and nearly forty.” Cruelty coated the words like syrup.

“It’s a hypothetical, harpy. I can look after myself and the woman in my bed. I happen toenjoycaretaking.” He let the image those words conjured marinade in my mind. “And I’m single because that’s the way I like it.” Oh, I bet he did. I bet the women he spoke of enjoyed it too.

“I think it’s time to go.”

He assessed me, but then nodded. “Think about my offer.”

“Why? What do you get out of this?”

He shrugged. “I can’t be neighbourly?”

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