To Scotland With Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

him—and Duncan, and Mattie, and Gandiegow. Damn her.
    Granted, staying with Deydie wouldn’t be ideal, but she was family. Family came above all else. Any fool knew that. He passed by the bar and then took the steps two at a time up to Caitie’s room, determined to get some answers.
    Under any other circumstance, Graham believed inthe right to privacy. Especially since he’d spent a good portion of his life dodging the paparazzi. But Caitie had a sharpness about her that screamed Associated Press. And he had to find out the truth.
    He reached the top landing. Maybe for a change, he’d do the rifling instead of the one being rifled through.
    When he placed his hand on the doorknob, though, he couldn’t turn it. Privacy was sacred, and the guilt for the crime he was about to commit felt palpable, scorched his conscience, slowed his hand, made him grimace and sweat.
    But Caitie was a liar through and through. “
I’m a quilter,
” he mimicked. Like that explained everything.
    He knew from his own late mother and the other village quilters that few could make a real living on quilting alone. Caitie had fed him a line of bullshit. He paid her back by turning the doorknob.
    He stood there shocked. The room looked like Mother Teresa had stayed there. No clothes strewn about. No messy bed. Just a rose-lidded vase sitting on the nightstand and her suitcases lined up in the corner. His new tenant was a neat freak, and somehow this made finding the truth even harder. He didn’t know where to start. As he took a step toward her luggage, the front door downstairs opened.
    â€œGraham, are you here?” Caitie called.
    Shite
. He quietly stepped from the room and pulled the door closed, knowing she could hear his every creak.
    He walked down the stairs, getting into character. If he couldn’t pull off nonchalance, no one could. He was a bloody actor, after all. He visualized a Hitchcock scene and put himself in it. He’d disarm her by giving her an explanation before she demanded one.
    Casually, he laid a hand on the bar. “I was just checking that window in your room. The seal is about shot.”
    She eyed him doubtfully, which he thought rivaled the pot calling the kettle black.
    â€œI see,” was the only thing she said.
    Her eyes looked a little red around the rims. Had she been crying?
Bluidy reporters don’t cry. You have to have a heart to do that.
He chose to ignore her damned sad eyes.
    â€œAre you hungry?” Another misdirect on his part. “Would you like some tea or hot cocoa?”
    She cocked her head to the side. “Why do you look so strange?”
    He sauntered over and poured water into the coffeemaker. “I was only working on the window. I’d hate for you to get cold again tonight.” He gave her his best mesmerizing smile. It usually worked like a charm, but not on Caitie.
    She lifted her eyebrow as if to say his smile couldn’t win over a horny nymph. “I don’t want anything to eat or drink. I’m going up to lie down.”
    When she passed by him, he couldn’t help himself. He inhaled. She smelled of the outdoors. Of Deydie’s stew on the hearth. And of
woman
. God, he was in trouble. It took everything in him not to follow her up the steps to breathe her in deeper.
    She turned around, and he was afraid she knew what he’d been thinking. “I’ll only rest for a while. Then I want to pick your brain.”
    He knew it. She was here to get the story on him. He’d been right from the beginning.
    But his victory was short-lived.
    â€œI need the name of a good contractor, so I can get started on my house.” She went up the steps. He stared after her, not knowing what to think now. Except he’d have to find another way to get the truth out of Caitie Macleod.
    * * *
    As the door closed behind Cait, she leaned against it. She could barely breathe from the polar-opposite emotions bombarding