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Johnny overheard something earlier, and it’s not good news. The police are nearly done with their investigation, and they still think it was you. If you’ve got a trick up your sleeve to clear your name, now is the time to play it!

“We need to do something,” I say, still perched on Robbie’s thighs, though the mood has shifted in a flash from intimate to mission-planning mode. “We need to sort this.”

“Aye, but how?”

I think for a moment. “Earlier, when we were painting, I asked you who you thought Samantha is sleeping with, and you said you had an idea. Who do you suspect?”

“I was thinking it might be Drew Miller. Do you know him?”

“Hmm . . . I know the name.”

“He stays a wee way outside Bannock, but he works at the resort. You’ve probably seen him around town before.”

Robbie takes a few minutes to fill me in on why he suspects Drew, and afterwards, we agree Robbie should go straight to Drew’s place and speak to him. If Drew is sleeping with Samantha, he might know something about the thefts. He might even have been involved in them, though Robbie hopes not. He claims Drew’s “one of the good guys”.

I offer to go with Robbie, but Robbie reckons Drew will be more likely to talk if it’s just him.

“All right, well . . .” I give his nipple ring a cheeky tap. “You’d best put your top back on before you go. And come back here afterwards, please. I want to know how things go. Also, I know you’re so much older than me, but if you’ve got the stamina for it, we could always go another round.”

In one swift motion—far too practised, if you ask me—he flips me over so I’m sprawled across his lap, like some saucy damsel on the cover of a historical romance novel. My leggings and knickers are tugged down before I can even pretend to protest.

He delivers a sharp (but not too sharp) skelp to my bare arse. I yelp—more surprised than pained—but laughter is already threatening to burst out of me.

“I’ve warned you several times to watch that mouth of yours, McIntyre.” He slaps my arse again, this time a wee bit harder.

“Ooft!” I wiggle on his lap, trying—and failing—to sound affronted as warmth spreads, well . . . everywhere. He spanks me once more, the sting blooming across my skin. I bite down on a giggle, loving the way every nerve ending fires at his touch. God, who knew this would be such a turn-on? And if this is my punishment for winding him up, I might just have to misbehave more often.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for days.” His voice is rough with desire. “Still think I’m past it?” He gives one cheek a possessive squeeze.

“Prove you’re not later,” I challenge.

“Oh, I will.”

His fingers sneak between my legs, and I moan.

“I’ll be back soon, and I expect you to be wet and ready for me. Understood?”

I nod, biting my lip because words have deserted me.

He withdraws his fingers, cracks off another spank, and I damn near purr.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ROBBIE

The countryside blurs past as my motorcycle thunders down the narrow road, each bend bringing me closer to answers, or so I hope. I push thoughts of Cat—her laugh, her touch, her taste—to the back of my mind. I need a clear head for this.

Drew lives in a small hamlet about fifteen minutes outside Bannock, just a handful of stone cottages clustered around a crossroads, with sheep dotting the surrounding hills. The sun hangs low in the sky as I approach, casting long shadows across the landscape.

His car sits in the small gravel drive, confirming he’s home. I come to a stop and cut the engine, swing my leg over, remove my helmet, and take a moment to gather my thoughts. This conversation could go several ways, and I need to play it right.

Three sharp knocks on his door. Footsteps approach from inside, then the door swings open.

“Robbie?” Drew’s eyebrows shoot up. “What brings you out here?” He’s in jeans and a faded T-shirt, his hair a little unruly.

“Just thought I’d check in,” I say with a casual shrug. “Been a while.”

“Aye . . . of course.” Drew hesitates just long enough to make me wonder if he’d rather I weren’t here. “Come in, mate.”