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He could not, under any circumstances, fall in love with her. He could enjoy her company, her conversation, steal a few kisses, take whatever she was willing to give and no more. But whatever happened, he could not give her his heart.

It sounded good in theory. He wondered if it would work.

He finished his last scone, rubbing a bit of errant jelly from his plate. “You know, there’s a great deal to see in Scotland. Have you given any thought as to where you’d like to be going while you’re here?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. What would you recommend?”

“Just in the immediate area there’s Loch Lomond—” He grinned as she began to hum the song. “Yes, that Loch Lomond. Inveraray’s nice. There’s a castle there, and of course there are other castles scattered here and there over the landscape. You havenae seen much of Glasgow. And there’s always Edinburgh and Loch Ness, and—”

Chloe lifted her hands in surrender. “All right, I get it. There’s no way I’m going to see everything in a month.”

“Ye couldnae be seeing it all in a lifetime.” He knew what he was saying when he said it, but somehow it came out wrong, full of intense emotion and a burr darker than he normally produced. With all those layers forced upon them, the words sounded like a marriage proposal.

Maybe she hadn’t noticed. But she tilted an eyebrow at him. “I have a month,” she said.

Malcolm cleared his throat. “Then I’d suggest perhaps two or three of the closer stops, perhaps a long weekend in Edinburgh to see some of the major sights there.” Now he sounded like a travel agent. He just couldn’t get it right.

“Maybe you could jot down some suggestions and I could make up an itinerary from that? I’m sure there are tourist buses or whatever so I don’t have to impose on you.”

He wanted to tell her it would be no imposition at all, but, with the luck he was having, it would come out sounding like he was asking her to bed. “I’ll do that, then.”

“Thank you.”

She got up and walked into the kitchen and he heard her set her plate in the sink. He took the moment to breathe, deeply and firmly, to see if he could clear some of the stupidity out of himself. The atmosphere in the room had gone distinctly uncomfortable over the last few seconds.

Or maybe that was his imagination, for when she came back from the kitchen she was smiling again.

“It’s still raining,” she said, “but not nearly as hard. Should we go check on the ghosts, or give it a miss for the night?”

He looked at the clock. “Let’s wait a bit longer and see what the weather does. We have some time.”

“Then maybe we could start on that itinerary.”

The discomfort must have been due to Malcolm’s own self-chastisement rather than any real friction between them, because when they started chatting about the various sights to be seen in the immediate area, the congenial atmosphere he’d gotten used to returned. She wrote down each destination as he described it, and he watched as she paused from time to time to pore over the list, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips as she marked out some of the options and prioritized others with small numbers in the margins.

Don’t fall in love with her, he told himself again, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was listening.

The rain had lessened to mist by dusk. After some discussion, they decided to go ahead and go up the hill.

“They may no’ show tonight,” said Malcolm as they settled into a hiding place. This one was less precarious than the last had been—Chloe had checked to be sure no sudden drop offs lurked behind her in the dark. They spread a waterproof blanket on the ground and stretched out on it, wrapped up in macs in case the rain got harder again.

“We’ll give it an hour, then head back.” She laughed a little. “I’m sure your Aunt Agnes thinks we’re insane.”

“She doesnae mind. As long as you’re quiet going home, and don’t wake her.”

She looked at him in the near dark and suddenly wondered what he would say if she suggested she didn’t have to go back to Agnes’ tonight. She could stay at his place. But she couldn’t get the words out. Besides, it would be a rash thing to do, here where it seemed everyone knew her business even before she did.

But it didn’t stop her from leaning over and kissing him. And it didn’t stop him from suddenly pushing her back into the ground, kissing her harder than he ever had before.

Surprised, she set her hands against his chest to push him away, then reconsidered as his lips pressed her mouth open, his tongue touching hers. Instead she answered the passion with her own, tasting, caressing. Her hands slid inside his raincoat, finding the heat of his body. He shifted, his arms going around her, half lifting her from the ground as he crushed her against him. With one arm holding her hard against his body, he pushed her raincoat out of the way with the other hand, sliding his hand up her back, then forward, until he cupped her breast.

Something told her to pull away, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to. She didn’t care that this was moving way too fast. Didn’t care she’d just met this man a few days ago. Didn’t care that, regardless of what happened here, she would have to leave him. All she cared about was the heat rising between them, the way his mouth felt, and the sudden path her hand had decided to take down his body, heading for the waistband of his jeans—

And the cold rain running down the back of her neck. Malcolm, too, seemed to have noticed it, as he suddenly drew back, laughing sheepishly.

“I’m sorry.” He slid his hand off her breast. She wanted to grab it and put it back, but just then the rain returned with a vengeance and she was left with no choice but to wrap up in the raincoat, laughing, as Malcolm scrambled to his feet, lifting the wool blanket over their heads to form a makeshift umbrella. The wool did a surprisingly good job of deflecting the falling water.

“Scotland’s a very romantic country,” said Chloe.

They started back down the hill, moving as quickly as possible while sharing the burden of the “umbrella”.

“Nay, ’tis a Calvinist country, where the weather itself punishes you for doing things ye shouldnae.” His tone was wry, not quite bitter, but she couldn’t see his face well enough to read his expression.

“It’s okay, Malcolm,” she said, wondering if he could hear her over the rain. “In fact, it’s okay with me if we go back to your place and finish what we started.”

His eyes flashed at her. “Nay. I’ll no’ do that to ye.”

“Do what?” She stopped, not caring anymore about the rain. “You won’t make love to me?”

He looked at her, his expression wavering between regret, guilt, and outright humor. “Not tonight. Not here. Unless you’re wanting to head to the shop tomorrow and have Priscilla ask you about it. She’ll want details, as well.”

Oh, right. She’d forgotten about that part. Malcolm’s remarkably clever mouth had driven it right out of her head.

“I see your point.” She started walking again. The rain was coming down hard, but the wool blanket sufficed to keep them both relatively dry. “How the hell do you have an affair in this town?”

This time he stopped, and this time his expression was deadly serious. “You’ll be thinking on it long and hard, and if you decide that’s what you want, I’ll show you. But don’t be forgetting you’re back to America in four weeks.”

He started walking again. Sober, Chloe followed him.

He had a point. But she really wished he hadn’t used the phrase, “long and hard”.