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Jesus, she can go fast on that thing. My pulse quickens as I watch her urge the horse faster still, her body moving in perfect rhythm with the animal.

She pulls ahead of me and throws a challenging look over her shoulder. I could easily overtake her—my bike is capable of much more than this leisurely pace—but I’m enjoying the view too much to rush.

Cat crouches forwards, her arse slightly raised off the saddle, those jodhpurs hiding absolutely nothing. Every curve, every line of her body is on display. She glances back at me again, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Damn, maybe she’s not quite as sweet as I thought.

From this angle, I can see the way her thighs grip the saddle, the subtle flex of her calves with every stride, and that tantalising gap between her body and the leather that sends my thoughts spiralling into dangerous territory. She leans even further forwards, urging the horse faster, and the shift in position offers an even better view—a glimpse of pure temptation that makes my breath catch.

For a moment I’m entranced. So entranced I nearly veer off the side of the road and have to jerk the handlebars to right myself.

Fucking hell, MacDonald. Eyes on where you’re going.

I shoot Cat one final glance then turn off the single-track road and onto the main road, acutely aware that my jeans are feeling suspiciously snug in certain areas. When I get home, I definitely need to have a go at my punchbag. Now, as well as being falsely accused of theft, there’s something else I need to work off.

CHAPTER NINE

CAT

“And at the end of that round, the Bannock Brainiacs are still in the lead, now with twenty-four points!” Jamie announces into the mic, his voice carrying across the packed pub. “As for the rest of you, remember, it’s not about the winning or the losing, it’s about . . . oh, who am I kidding? It’s totally about the winning. Step up your game!”

I roll my eyes and take another sip of my wine. My brother will always find ways to stir the pot.

From a corner of the room, Scott—who used to teach me maths at Bannock High but as of today is now a colleague of mine—calls out, “We all know you’ll do anything to win, Jamie, but some of us have a wee thing called dignity!”

Laughter fills the Pheasant.

“You don’t have to tell us its name, Scott, or that it’s wee—just keep it in your trousers, please!” Jamie fires back, not missing a beat.

The pub erupts, and even I can’t help but laugh. As irritating as Jamie can be, I have to admit he’s handling this quiz night like he was born for it.

“I’ve missed this,” I say, turning to Iona, who’s perched on the barstool beside mine. “Just us girls, hanging out.”

“Me too,” Iona agrees. She’s wearing one of her signature animal-print blouses, this one covered in tiny owls with spectacles. “Sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

“It’s fine.” I wave it off. “I get it. You’ve got Lewis, and Maisie’s got Jamie. I’m just glad we’re getting some girl time tonight.”

It’s strange, seeing my two best friends coupled up with my brothers. For a few years, Iona and I shared a tiny flat down in Glasgow, where we’d spend hours dissecting our dates and hook-ups over cheap wine and takeaway. Back then, Iona was always searching for “the one”, poring over romance novels and sighing dramatically about finding her own hero. Meanwhile, I wasn’t looking for the one but rather the fun—the flirting, the banter, the tumble between the sheets.

Funny how she ended up finding her perfect match in Lewis, who was right under her nose all along. I mean, Iona literally grew up in the building opposite me and my brothers.

“Check out the way she’s looking at him.” Iona nods at Maisie, who’s behind the bar and gazing at Jamie with undisguised adoration.

“Aye, she’s absolutely smitten.”

Apparently overhearing us, Maisie turns to me and plants both hands flat on the counter. “If you had a man who can go three rounds in one night and still have the energy to make you breakfast in the morning, you’d be smitten too.”

I’ve just taken a sip of wine, and I choke on it. “Jesus Christ, Maisie! That’s my brother!”

“What? Making breakfast is a very attractive quality.”

“That wasn’t the bit I objected to, and you know it.”

Before Maisie can torment me with further details of my brother’s bedroom prowess—details I absolutely do not need to know—Jamie speaks into the microphone again.

“Before the next round, I have a few important announcements. If I could have everyone’s attention, please.”

The pub hushes, and all eyes turn to Jamie.