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“Can you put this up there for me?” She indicates the top shelf. “It’s winter clothing.”

On the face of it, it’s an innocent enough request, so I do as she asks. But then—because of course there’s a “but then”—she shifts slightly as I stretch upwards, and her breast grazes against me.

Oh, for crying out loud. There’s no way that wasn’t on purpose. Right, that’s it.

My hand finds her hip—not gentle, not rough, just . . . firm. I step into her space like the air between us belongs to me now, close enough to her that she has to tilt her head back to keep looking at me. Then, because I don’t stop walking, she retreats, backing away until there’s nothing but solid wall behind her and me in front of her.

I slam my hand flat against the plaster above her head, hard enough to make her flinch. Her eyes go wide as saucers, and for once—for once—she’s quiet. I lean in close, so close I can feel the heat rolling off her skin.

“Catriona,” I growl, my voice low with warning.

She’s breathing fast now, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

Damn it. Don’t look at her tits, Robbie. Focus!

“You think this is a game?” The words are rough-edged, practically a snarl. “Because if it is, I’m not playing. You hired me to do a job, and that’s what I’m here to do. So whatever you think you’re doing, it needs to stop.”

She lifts her chin a wee bit higher. “I thought you’d be up for some fun.” She says it steadily enough, but a faint quiver slips through. She’s not as sure of herself as she’s pretending. “I mean, you’re Robbie MacDonald. Bannock’s bad boy. Why are you being so . . . boring?”

I let out a slow breath, then I breathe in again and her scent wraps around me—coconut shampoo mixed with something floral, like she’s just stepped out of a summer garden. Almost instinctively my hand tightens on her hip. She’s warm. So warm.

“Boring?” I manage.

She holds my gaze defiantly, the tilt of her head exposing the delicate line of her throat. “Yes! Boring!” She jabs at my chest with her finger. “It’s because of my brothers. Right? God, is your reputation a lie? Is there even an adventurous bone in your body?”

Bloody hell, she is incorrigible. But maybe there’s something to what she’s saying. Maybe I should just give in, fuck her, and be done with it. Maybe then I could get on with my work in peace, and God knows I could use the release after the week I’ve had.

My gaze drops to her lips, pink and slightly parted, like she’s daring me to take what she keeps offering. I can’t remember the last time I was this close to a woman and didn’t take her to bed.

But no, I can’t—and yet she’s not listening to me! So maybe I need to teach her a lesson. The thought slips in uninvited, a mental image of me yanking down her tight work trousers, laying her facedown over my lap, and skelping her arse until she finally gets the message. My dick twitches at the thought. I’d like to do that. A lot. She’d fucking deserve it too.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a photo on Cat’s bedside table. A family photo, showing her with her brothers and parents.

Shit. Her parents.

An altogether different image crashes into my head, a memory of a stormy winter night seven years ago. I was on my motorcycle, and the rain was lashing down hard. It was fucking miserable. But then my headlights caught something off the side of the road. A car, smashed into a tree, steam rising from its crumpled bonnet. I pulled up and killed the engine. Got off my bike. Approached the wreck, and⁠—

Abruptly I push away from the wall, putting distance between me and Cat. “I fucking told you that nothing is going to happen between us.”

She blinks, startled—but only for a moment. Then she harrumphs and folds her arms across her chest. “Well, if you really aren’t up for a bit of fun—if you’re really going to be so boring—we’ll have to talk about something else. Like . . . why you left your job at the resort.”

At this, I turn away from her and walk out of the bedroom. “No,” I call over my shoulder. “We’re not going to talk about that. I’m off—I’ll be back tomorrow. And from now on, I’ll only be working when you’re not in the flat.”

“Oh, come on!” She follows me. “Whatever happened, I bet there are things you need to get off your chest. You need to talk to someone, and who’s it going to be? There’s your da and Johnny, but they both work at the resort, so maybe it’s not so easy to talk to them about what happened.”

I grab my phone from the living room, deciding my tools can stay where they are until tomorrow. I just want to get out of here. But when I make for the front door, Cat blocks my exit.

“Who else have you got? Because, let’s be honest, you’re a bit of a lone wolf, Robbie. Who else around Bannock are you going to open up to, if not me?”

“Opening up isn’t really my style.” I drum my fingers against my thigh and eye her with impatience. “Besides, I’m fully aware this is just another ploy to get close to me. Now, could you move out of my way?”

She does, holding up both hands and taking an exaggerated sidestep. “Fine! But not everything I do has an agenda, you know. Maybe I just think you could do with having someone in your corner. But whatever. Keep bottling it all up if that’s working for you.”

The annoying thing is, it hasn’t been working. There really hasn’t been anyone I can vent to, other than the punchbag in my garage. And no matter how hard I go to town on that thing, I don’t feel any better.

Still, I make for the door.

“You don’t have to be some stereotypical man who refuses to open up,” Cat insists. “What pressing plans do you have for this evening? Can you really not spare ten minutes for a drink and a chat?”