Against Her Rules (2 page)

  T
he
light on the GPS indicated he had arrived at his destination. But Campbell
Scott found himself perched near the edge of a cliff with nothing around him
but short, stumpy trees that looked like they’d battled to the death with the
wind and were just refusing to die gracefully. This was not the best start to
his week. He’d spent the better part of two hours flying above St. John’s while
the pilot waited for the all-clear to land in the thickest fog Cam had ever
seen. It made the fog of London seem like a fine mist.

  He’d
programmed the location of the bed and breakfast into his GPS and set off, only
to find himself lost in a series of small communities that began with the word
Heart. Heart’s Delight. Heart’s Content. Heart’s Desire. But where was Heart’s
Ease? And where was the damned bed and breakfast? This was the fifth time he’d
programmed in the location, and the fifth desolate location the unit had
directed him to.

  He’d
tried calling the place to find out where in the hell it was but he had yet to
find any decent cell service. He picked up his iPhone and was shocked to see
one weak bar on display. It was worth a try.

  The
ring crackled, like he was dialing 1982, but at least it was ringing.

  “Hello?”

  The
voice on the other end was older than he expected. “Hello. Is this the Heart’s
Ease Inn?”

  “Oh
my. Are you Scottish?” the voice trilled.

  “Aye.
Have I rung the inn?”

  “I’m
planning a trip to Scotland. Where abouts are you from?”

  “Glasgow.
Excuse me but...”

  “Oh,
a Glaswegian, are you? I was hoping for Edinburgh. I don’t have any plans to go
to Glasgow myself. Heard it’s a bit of a rough spot.”

  Sweet
lord. Even in this godforsaken small corner of the globe people had impressions
of Glasgow. “Pardon me, madam, but I’m looking for the Heart’s Ease Inn.”

  “Oh
yes. This is it. Looking to book a room are you? It’s pretty pricy, you know.”

  “I
have a room booked. I just can’t seem to find the place.” He was also beginning
to wonder if he wanted to if he was going to have to deal with this woman for
the duration.

  “You
didn’t go to Little Heart’s Ease, did you? That’s on the other side of the bay,
my son, and you’ll have a good couple of hours drive to get here if that’s the
case.”

  The
woman at the car rental kiosk had warned him of that; at least he knew he
wasn’t that far off the mark.

  “No,
I’m pretty sure I’m nearby. I just can’t find the bloody place.”

  “Watch
your language, boy. Now where are you then?”

  It
was just his luck to get a schoolmarm on the line.

  “I
have no idea. I’m in a field.”

  “What
field?”

  “I
don’t know. It’s green. There’s grass and trees.”

  “Now
don’t go gettin’ snippy. Of course there’s grass and trees. Now, what else?”

  Campbell
looked around. “I can see water, and...oh, it’s just a field. No fence. No
building. No cows. Sheep. Nothing. Just a great big grassy area with some
gnarled trees.”

  “Oh,
that could be a couple of spots. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He could swear
she was cackling with glee. “Now, what’s the last sign you saw?”

  That
Campbell could answer, because he still couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d even
taken a picture and texted it to his sister with a terse, “Where the hell have
you sent me?”

  “It
said Worms. Ice. Cold Beer,” Cam told the woman.

  “Excellent.
We’re getting somewhere now,” the woman intoned. “Was it one of them neon
magnetic signs, or was it more homemade?”

  “It
was attached to a derelict gas station. And it was written on cardboard.”

  “Oh,
sure you’ve gone too far.” The woman proceeded to give him what turned out to
be surprisingly good directions, and in under fifteen minutes he was driving
along a narrow, pothole ridden road that wound itself around a steep cliff
face. At the end of the road, past the closed fish plant, and a long yellow
wharf with several small fishing boats tied up to it, loomed a hill with a
sprawling yellow Victorian-style mansion with red trim atop it.

  It
was a three-storey building, except for the centre, which could have housed
another few rooms. If this were his house, it’s where he would build his
studio. It really was spectacular, even in the cold drizzle. He marveled over
how the clapboard could keep such a rich colour. The salt in the air should
have dulled it, yet it looked as if it were freshly painted. Several large, red
burning bushes dotted the front grounds.

  As
he pulled up the gravel driveway he began to see why the publishers had decided
to send him here. If there was any place to get inspired, this was it.

  At
first glance you’d think this was a desolate place. Its isolation and the
sparse landscape made you think of loneliness. But then subtle things stood
out. The blue jays fighting over seeds in a feeder shaped like the sun. Crisp
white sheets flapping in the air, despite the mist, the clothesline dancing in
the wind. Even the way all the tips of the small juniper trees pointed in the
same direction. Looking toward the water, the view was breathtaking. White caps
formed on the waves, and still he could see gulls riding them out with ease, as
if this was their own personal surfer's nirvana.

  Shutting
off the engine, he stepped out and took a deep breath. The wet, cool air filled
his lungs. He smiled. This might be a good project after all.

  Cam
slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. It opened
before he put his hand to the knob and he was greeted by a short, white haired
woman who looked to be nothing but tanned, wrinkled skin and bones.

  “Scotsman?”
she asked, a smile of pure joy on her face. She wasn’t a crone at all. More
like a lovable grandmother.

  “Ah,
you’re my saviour then,” he said. “Thank you for the directions.” He bowed.

  “Now,
you’re a fine-looking young man. Are ye married?”

  “Excuse
me?” He chuckled.

  “Big,
tall, handsome feller like yourself. You must have a wife.”

  Was
this methuselan woman hitting on him?

  “Aunt
Ida,” a chiding voice called. “If you’re going to work here you need to
remember the first rule: no grilling the guests.”

  A
small, well-manicured hand pulled the door wider, revealing an elegant arm,
attached to the most beautiful creature Cam had ever seen—and he’d seen plenty
of delicious women in his day.

   Long,
wavy brown hair created a mahogany frame for deep green eyes and plump,
tempting red lips. She was almost as short as the old woman, with curves in all
the right places. Those curves were carefully covered in a tight ivory wool
sweater and jeans. The only hint of imperfection was a small streak of dirt
down one full, lush breast. It looked like potting soil, and he was tempted to
brush it away, if for no other reason than to say he’d had the chance to touch
such perfection.

  “Good
afternoon,” she said, extending her hand. It disappeared in his. Never before
had he noticed how massive and inelegant his own hands were. “I’m Elsie Walsh.
Please forgive my Aunt’s rudeness. She’s in training.” She shot a glare at the
older woman. “Auntie, can you make sure there’s fresh coffee brewed. One sugar,
and a drop of Laphroaig.”

  How
did she know that was how he liked his coffee? As if reading his mind, she gave
a playful smile that sent bolts of lightning down his spine. And elsewhere.

  “It’s
my job to ensure you feel at home here. You’d be surprised what I’ve learned
about you in preparation for your arrival. Whoever booked your stay knows a
fair bit about you.”

  “My
sister,” he said quickly. It seemed important that she know that no random
woman knew his special preferences. The ones outside the bedroom, at least.

  She
simply smiled. A marvelous, beautiful, sensuous smile. “Welcome to Heart’s Ease
Inn, Mr. Scott.” And she laughed. “I’m sorry. It just hit me. You’re Scottish.”

  What
was it about these people and his nationality? “Yes, I see the humour,” he said,
not getting the joke at all.

  She
laughed harder. “You’re Scottish and your last name is Scott.”

  The
woman was beautiful. And a little deranged. Just how he liked them.

––––––––

 
W
hat
am I doing?!
Elsie thought, clasping a hand over her mouth.
Shut up now
and stop acting like such a moron.
This was the first time since she’d been
in university that she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
That time she had been a complete idiot in front of her Irish history prof. He
was so cute that she just couldn’t speak right. Then she’d been nineteen. There
was an excuse. There was no excuse for a thirty-one-year-old woman. Even if she
was staring at the hottest piece of man she’d ever seen in her life. And that
was saying something, given her guest log.

  “I’m
sorry,” she said, trying to pull herself together.
Please stop looking at
me!
He was staring at her like she was a foreign species, trying to figure
out if she was plain crazy or dangerously insane. “That’s not funny at all. I
must be going loopy in the fog.”

  “No,
that’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said, his thick
Scottish burr rich and deep.

  The
hairs on her arms rose in response.

  “Let
me show you to your room.” Elsie turned away so that she wouldn’t have to keep
seeing the incredulous look on his face. Clearly he thought she was a nitwit.

  As
she led him up the stairs and down the wide hallway, she felt herself grow warm
at the thought of him walking behind her. Was he thinking she was a loon, or
was he enjoying the view? She was confident enough to know she had a decent
bod; still, she imagined for someone like him, only a tall, lanky blonde could turn
his head. He had to be at least six feet tall, with coal black hair that was
just the right length. Not cut close but not sloppy either. If someone took a
dash of Gerard Butler, added in a sprinkle of Daniel Craig, and then spiced it
up with a little bit of Colin Farrell, then she figured this would be the end
result.

  She
had no idea what colour his eyes were but they were dark, like pools of ink. He
had just a slight bit of stubble on his face, enough to make him appear a
little wild, and a strong face that clearly had seen a fair bit of sun. Add all
that to a body that just oozed strength, and you had the total package. An
honest-to-God, perfect specimen of masculinity.

  This
was not good. Not good at all. Lusting after a guest was a definite no-no. And
she was seriously lusting after this man. She had to keep far, far away from
him. In a split second she decided that there was no way he was staying in this
wing of the house. It was too close to her own suite of rooms. In fact, he couldn’t
stay in the house at all.

  She
turned suddenly. “Mr. Scott, you’re an artist, are you not?”

  “I
am, yes.”

  Oh
God. Don’t smile at me like that. Stop it. Stop smiling now!

  “And
you’re going to be studying our sea birds?”

  “Aye.
For a book I’m working on.”

  The
man was a grinning idiot. A beautiful, temperature rising, heart palpitating
idiot.

  “Well,
I had an idea just now, and it might be of interest to you.” She opened the
door to the nearest room and walked to the large window.

  “Do
you see that little blue cottage over there? I sometimes rent it out to writers
and other people who come here to do some quiet work. It has a fantastic view
of the cliffs where the birds nest. Might you be interested in staying there?”
Oh
no. What if he thinks he’s not welcome here!
“I mean, it’s just an idea. I
can show you your room here and you can decide, if you like. I was just
thinking...”

  “That’s
a wonderful idea,” he said. “If it’s no trouble. I’m sure the view is
spectacular, since the one from here is pretty magnificent itself.” It was then
that she noticed he was staring at her, and not out the window.

  “Oh,
it’s no trouble at all.” She hoped. In fact, she had no idea how much trouble
it would be. The last time the cottage had been used was three years ago. Her
brother, Will, had stayed there when he was working on a novel he never
finished. In fact, the cottage was his. She’d never rented it out. But there
was one thing she knew for certain and that was that it was dangerous to spend
too much time around Campbell Scott.

  “How
about you stay here tonight and I’ll get it all freshened up for you and you
should be good to switch tomorrow.”

  Elsie
had to get out of the room. There was something about the way he was looking at
her that made her doubt her initial thoughts that he considered her an idiot.
Truth be told, he was looking at her in a way that made her feel rather warm in
all the right places. She left him standing in the room with a promise to get
him straightened away and hurried down the stairs. What did it matter if she’d
left him in the wrong room? She’d just switch it over in the book downstairs.
And then she’d go get that cottage aired out.

  There
were instincts that a woman knew to trust, and this one told her that it was
for her own mental well-being that she get him installed in that cottage
without delay.

––––––––

  C
am
found it rather entertaining watching the parade of people marching back and
forth from the cottage where he was to spend the next few weeks. He had no real
idea why the beautiful Ms. Walsh had decided she wanted to expel him from the
inn, but he did take some measure of delight in thinking that perhaps she was
as attracted to him as he was to her. And perhaps a secluded cottage might be
more appropriate for any intimate meetings. Because he’d decided there was more
on the agenda for this trip than just sketching some kittiwakes and turrs.