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Attraction

M akenna kept telling herself it was foolish but she nevertheless tiptoed into the hall where the King brothers, Halstead and four lads were turning the malting barley for the second day. The warmer weather had obliged them to strip off their shirts after only an hour.

Tavish and Payton were handsome male specimens, broad in the shoulders and chest, narrow in the hips. She fully understood why their wives loved them, but wasn't attracted to them that way. The lads were pimple-faced local boys, sons of long-time employees. She'd known them since they were bairns and wasn't remotely interested in them. On the other hand, when she studied Ash Halstead, her nipples tingled and a peculiar ache blossomed in an unmentionable place. She'd been wrong to think he wasn't strong. He didn't have bulging muscles like the King brothers, but there was power in his lean, wiry torso.

Only his back was visible from her vantage point behind a pillar. She was seized by an insane urge to trace a finger up his spine then lick the sweat from her finger. She'd wager he'd taste salty.

If he took off his trousers, she was certain she'd see muscles in the thighs that protested the confinement of cloth every time he bent to pick up another shovelful of barley. As for his very attractive arse and what else might lurk beneath the folds of his trousers…

" Jings ," she murmured as heat flooded her body. "What's wrong wi' me?"

To her consternation, the outburst drew the men's attention.

"Somethin' ye need, lass?" Tavish asked.

Caught off guard and feeling a tad dizzy, she tried frantically to organize her thoughts. "Nay. Just wonderin' if ye're ready for victuals."

Payton frowned. "Surely 'tisna midday yet?"

"Er…nay…sorry," she stammered as she fled back to her sanctuary.

Ash was certain Makenna Guthrie didn't normally sneak into the malting hall to surreptitiously watch Tavish and Payton. She wasn't the type to lust after married men, nor would the youths be of interest to her. It followed then that she'd wanted to observe him.

In his experience, there was only one reason women watched half-naked men. Makenna wanted him. At least, she wanted to see his body again.

Perhaps she wasn't the chaste female he'd thought, though the possibility didn't sit well. Tavish was protective of her and men didn't protect women of loose morals.

She was probably afraid. No doubt his reputation had preceded him. Perhaps if she got to know the real Ash who wasn't a philandering drunkard, she might at least see him as a friend.

He resumed his shoveling hoping the labor would drive the reality from his mind and thence from his cock. He wanted more than friendship from Makenna so it would be unwise to pursue her.

But he couldn't help himself. "Do you think Miss Guthrie would object if I took a look at the ledgers?" he asked Tavish when they sat down to eat the midday meal.

Tavish narrowed his eyes. "She willna appreciate it."

"Well, it's just to get a feel for how the business works. Income, expenses and so on. After all, I am an investor."

While that wasn't strictly true, Tavish couldn't know Ash hadn't personally invested even a penny in the Kingdom Distillery.

"Ye'll hafta ask her," Payton said. "But I doot she'll agree."

When Ash saw the French cavalry charging toward him at Waterloo, his gut turned over. That same sense of impending doom suddenly tied his innards in knots. The great philanderer was afraid Makenna Guthrie might deny him a chance to spend time with her.

"Peruse the books?" Makenna exclaimed. "For what purpose?"

She seethed inwardly. Who did this upstart Englishman think he was? "Tavish never questions my work."

"I'm not insinuating there might be anything amiss with your work," Halstead replied. "I merely want to familiarize myself with the workings of the business. Sources of income, expenses, and so on. I am an investor, after all."

"According to the ledgers, 'twas yer father who invested the capital."

She'd wager he hadn't counted on her being familiar with the distillery's history.

"You're right, but my father has passed on and, in any case, it was family money and I am part of the Halstead family."

She regretted mentioning his late father, but derived some satisfaction from his growing irritation. "Condolences," she replied. "I can summarize the income and expenses for ye. 'Twould be easier than plowing through the ledgers."

"Why do I get the feeling you're reluctant to let me see your work?"

"Fine," she retorted, blood boiling as she opened the lid of her desk, retrieved the current year's ledger and journal and thrust them into his arms. "I'll need them back by the morning. Here are the records for last year while ye're at it."

"Look, Makenna, my intention wasn't to rile you," he said, peering over the pile of weighty tomes in his arms. " I could care less about the books. I simply wanted a chance to talk to you. Can we not be friends?"

There was sincerity in those pleading blue eyes, but could she trust him or was he leading her on? "I didna give ye leave to use my given name, but I can explain the entries in the ledgers, if ye wish," she replied, hoping she'd made it clear they were on a professional footing and that she wasn't letting herself in for a heap of trouble.

"I'd appreciate that," he said.

She relieved him of the books, placed the current account books on the sloping lid of her desk and opened them. "There's only the one chair," she explained.

"You sit," he replied. "I'll look over your shoulder."

Makenna's chair was tall enough that Ash could look over her shoulder without stooping. As soon as he caught a whiff of her lavender perfume, he knew he was in trouble. The subtle aroma wasn't overpowering like that of scents worn by most of the women he knew but only added to her allure. He gripped the back of her chair wondering what was it about this Scot that had his balls in an uproar.

"As ye might surmise," she began, tucking a loose strand of the red glory behind her ear. "Income is generated from sales of Uachdaran , as I've shown here in the journal entry."

Compared to his own scrawl, her handwriting was impressive, the figures neatly aligned in what he could only assume were the right columns, but he wanted to ask her if he could play with the loose ends of her hair. Noblewomen of his acquaintance never had a hair out of place. Makenna had bound her burnished tresses into an informal updo with wayward tendrils caressing her nape. It was enough to drive a man mad.

"Then, as ye see, those figures are transferred to the page in the ledger designated for income."

Intoxicated by the perfume, the sultry voice, the rise and fall of her breasts, the slender fingers pointing to the entries, Ash's male brain wasn't capable of formulating a sensible reply. "Mmm, I see," was all he could manage, certain she'd slap him if he licked her neck then moved on to nibble her earlobe. It might be worth it, although she'd no doubt mistake his motive.

Without warning, she turned her head and looked into his eyes. Their faces were mere inches apart. The pressure at his groin intensified. Her eyes were the color of violets! She opened her mouth slightly and licked her lips. His heart raced. Should he kiss her, or was she about to kiss him?

"Ye havena heard a word I've said," she exclaimed, shattering his hopes.

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