Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Jet lag kicked my butt and I was up at four in the morning, wide-awake. The first thoughts that flowed through my mind were of what had happened the day before.

Damn the man.

I couldn’t get him out of my head. And at four in the morning, I really, really wanted too.

Right now, all I should be doing was sleeping, yet there I was, staring at the white ceiling of my hotel room, reliving the kiss, and wondering if there was any chance he was as affected by me as I was by him.

Basically, I was being a girl.

And as much as I liked being a girl, I didn’t appreciate that my girlishness focused on Kirby.

Giving up on falling back asleep, I remembered that my hotel room boasted a rain shower.

I had always wanted one.

After getting up and padding to the bath, I blinked and squinted at my reflection. Dark circles accented my fair skin tone and my auburn hair looked like I had stuck my finger in a light socket.

Multiple times.

Hopefully that rain shower had some pressure. I was going to need it.

After several minutes of dousing myself, shampooing and then pouring on the conditioner and washing away all the last thoughts of sleep, I left the bathroom in search of my makeup bag. As I passed through the room I noticed the teapot and one missing mug.

This was insane. I had gone over a decade without really even thinking of Kirby. And suddenly he was everywhere.

Everywhere!

Grumbling, I filled the teapot with water and turned it on. As it brewed I got dressed and started my makeup. The millionaire bachelor date wasn’t until that night, so I had the whole day to explore.

As soon as I was ready, I steeped some tea in the hot water and sat down with the mug at the desk. Pulling out my laptop, I shot off a few e-mails. As my stomach rumbled I scavenged the little fridge for any remaining snacks.

I ate a mini chocolate bar and drank a pint sized plastic bottle of milk, hoping that would fill me up further, and called it good.

Not exactly healthy, but any day that started with chocolate was a good day in my book.

By six a.m., I was restless. After collecting my purse, I took the elevator to the lobby and almost burst into song when I smelled bacon.

God bless bacon.

And sausage.

All breakfast meat.

I followed my nose to the bar then noticed a double door that opened into a smaller room. When I pushed it open, the sight of pastries lining one wall brought a tear to my eye. The mouth-watering scent of bacon was strong and overpowered the slight scent of maple syrup. Yogurt, oatmeal, all sorts of wonderful things surrounded me. I was in breakfast heaven.

Have I mentioned that I love food?

I love food.

“Can I help you, Miss?” An older gentleman bowed slightly, offering me a warm smile.

“Yes. I’m a guest here at Hotel Indigo.”

“Of course, are you here for your morning meal?”

“Yes.” I nodded eagerly.

“Please, won’t you follow me?” He gestured to a table and even pulled out a chair for me. “I’ll be right back. You’re American, are you not? Would your preference run toward coffee or tea?” he asked, his tone noticeably English, not Scottish as I had expected.

“Can I have… both?” I asked, not caring if I sounded greedy.

“Of course.” With a nod he left.

Breakfast left me breathless because I ate an unholy amount of sausage; two different kinds; one spicy and one regular. They offered me these potato pancakes that were a heavenly version of the hash browns from the McDonald’s drive-thru, then add eggs, ham, yogurt, and oatmeal… the only thing that threw me off were the baked beans.

Apparently it was a custom in the UK.

No, thanks.

Aside from the beans, I was in breakfast Nirvana and had to waddle my way to the front desk. I determined where to exchange my money, and decided that after the copious amount of calories I had ingested, I needed to walk.

The walk to an RBS bank took me past an old Catholic cathedral. The stones were worn in the center, as if hundreds of years’ worth of people had worn them smooth. Oddly, the old building didn’t look out of place; rather, it blended in because everywhere I looked, each building was old. Even the remodels were of old houses, old shops, and everything was stone. No wood or even cement. As I passed the Balmoral Hotel, I watched in fascination as men in full Scottish regalia opened doors for the guests, and farther down the street there was another man in a kilt playing Amazing Grace on bagpipes.

I could die happy.

I quickly found the bank, exchanged my dollars for pounds and hopped aboard a tour bus. Even with my attention focused on the piped-in tour information, everything went by in a blur. And as the afternoon waned, I decided that I probably should at least attempt to look nice for Mr. Millionaire Bachelor.

Translation; I might wear heels, but I wasn’t shaving my legs.

Back in my room, sifting through my luggage, I pulled out some navy leggings and a cream-colored sweater. The humidity had not been kind to my hair, and after trying to comb through, I gave up and put it in a messy bun.

All the while, I reminded myself that this was probably going to be all a waste. Sliding on my heels, I started the walk to the pub; thankful it was only about a block away from the hotel.

With the track record of the other bachelors, I started to speculate just what could go wrong with this date.

Maybe he was a con artist, making millions by scamming people.

Or what if he was super cheap, and totally pinched every penny.

What if he was fat, bald, and over fifty?

Yeah… that last one sounded about right.

So when I walked in to the pub, I started to scan the room for bald heads.

If you don’t expect much, you can’t be disappointed, or surprised.

The romance that was my life.

“Can I help you?” A woman in her fifties asked me as I approached the hostess desk.

“Yes, I’m here to meet someone.” And suddenly I realized I had no idea what his name was. “Uh…” My face heated.

How had I forgotten to ask?

Ugh! I was so distracted by Kirby my brain had shut off.

“Who, lass?” The lady asked, her tone kind but her expression that reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher speaking with a slow child.

“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s a guy and—”

“Ah! Blind date?”

“Yes!” That would work.

“I think I ken who you are meetin’ then.” She nodded, her eyes taking on a merry kind of twinkle.

Yeah, if she only knew.

“Follow me.” She started toward the corner of the restaurant, and I scanned the tables for one with a man by himself.

Sure enough, there was a fifty to sixty-year-old man, balding, sipping what was probably whisky and reading the newspaper.

Hello millionaire bachelor.

“Right here, lass.” The hostess pulled my attention to my opposite side and I turned, blinking.

Twinkling green eyes met mine, and a man stood up, pulled out my chair, and indicated I should sit. All the while, I had to remind myself not to drop my jaw on the floor.

He was beautiful.

There was no other way to describe him.

Auburn hair was shaved close on the sides and long on top, totally reminding me of Tom Brady, but his eyes were an emerald green that was almost shocking.

Were they real?

“Are you Meredith?” He asked in a crisp British tone.

“Y-yes,” I stammered, then cleared my throat, trying to collect myself. “How are you?”

“Lovely, especially now that I have such a beautiful dining partner. I’m Rowland Bryne.” He scooted my chair in as I sat.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I must say…” He took the seat across from me and pulled out his napkin, placing it on his lap.

Gotta love a man with manners.

He continued, “I wasn’t expecting someone as beautiful as you. Going with you for a week will scarcely be enough.” He winked and took a sip of wine.

Was it hot in here? When he trained that gaze on me, I felt the need to fan myself.

I settled for a drink of ice water.

“Thank you. I’m pleasantly surprised as well.”

He handed me a menu. “Do you know pub food?”

“A bit.” All I knew was that I didn’t want haggis.

“You’ll need to try the haggis.”

Of course. The iconic Scottish dish, haggis — also known as sheep’s bladder stuffed with barley, chopped kidney — amongst other things — and steamed till the bladder expands — lovely — and served.

“I think I’ll stick with…” I scanned my menu quickly. “Fish and chips.”

“Ah, you can’t beat that here. Excellent choice.”

“Fantastic.”

“So tell me about yourself, Meredith,” he prompted, his tone smooth like hot chocolate.

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m the CPA and partner of Rox.com, the blog. My best friend and I, along with our support staff, run the largest beauty, gossip, and trend-setting blog in the US.”

“That’s brilliant. So you’re a CPA?” He raised an eyebrow. “Quite impressive.”

“Thanks, it can be tedious, but I happen to like numbers.”

“You know what they say, numbers don’t lie.” He raised his glass.

“No, no they do not.”

A server came, asking for our orders. Before I could open my mouth, Rowland smoothly ordered for us both.

Part of me felt like I should be offended, yet the way he did it seemed as a respectful courtesy, similar to the way a man opens the door for a woman.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He glanced toward me then paused. “I hope I didn’t offend you. It’s simply polite that the gentleman orders for the lady.” He watched me as if trying to deduce whether I was upset.

“A man with manners… I like it.” I smiled, hoping I looked flirtatious not creepy.

“Manners make the man.”

The rest of dinner went so smoothly I was disappointed when it came to an end.

When the bill arrived, he swiped it from the waitress before it hit the table.

“It’s the only honorable thing to do, when dining with a lady.” He nodded once and withdrew his wallet, inserted a card and held up the leather holder.

“Thank you, but my company—”

“Thank you will be enough… for now.” His gaze darted lower then darted up to meet mine, a smoky look in his eyes.

“Thank you.” I met his gaze and felt a blush heat my cheeks. Even after staring at him for about two hours, I couldn’t get over those green smoldering emeralds.

The waiter returned with the credit card. Rowland stood and walked around the table, holding my chair for me as I glided backward and stood.

“Thank you,” I murmured as he took my hand and led us to the exit.

“It was my delight. And may I look forward to another date?” He asked, lifting my hand and kissing it.

Seriously, I didn’t know men did that anymore!

Points for Rowland. He was going to get an amazing write-up on the blog.

“Of course. I’m yours for a week.” Did I actually just say that?

“And that is only a reminder that a week will not be long enough.” Perfect white teeth showed briefly as he flashed a beguiling smile. “You were truly a brilliant dinner partner, and I hope that you’ll be inclined to join me at The Balmoral Hotel on Wednesday? Will that be acceptable?”

“Of course,” I answered, totally not caring if I looked way too eager.

“Perfect. Until Wednesday, Meredith.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, totally sweet yet the masculine scent from his cologne made me dizzy.

Wow.

“Until Wednesday.”

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.