Free Scot of My Dreams by Janice Maynard Page B

you isn’t interested in romance.”
    “I should go now,” I said. “It’s late.” Ironically, this was the same bus stop where I had begun my trip to the hostel. I knew I could stay here, and sooner or later a bus would come by. It was hard to make an indignant exit, though, when Bryce was standing in front of me and wouldn’t leave.
    He signed audibly. “Let’s try an experiment,” he said quietly.
    Without any more warning than that, he slid his hands on either side of my face and tilted my head. His lips found mine. Everything around me melted away. No Inverness. No bus stop. Only the frantic pounding of my heart.
    He kissed me without apology and without hesitation. No fumbling, no awkwardness. We might have been doing this forever, so easily did we slip into the posture of lovers.
    I leaned into him, even as he gathered me closer. “God, Willow,” he groaned.
    Though I didn’t know exactly what he meant, I had an inkling. If he was even half as dazed and incredulous as I was, we were both in trouble. I had my arms around his neck so tightly, it was a wonder I didn’t choke him.
    Through layers of clothing, his and mine, I could feel his thundering heartbeat. I was tall, but he was taller. The sensation of being folded against a big, strong male made me weak.
    That was enough of a red flag to smack some sense into me. I stumbled backward and sat down hard on the bench. My hands were shaking, so I clenched them together in my lap.
    Bryce didn’t move except to rake his fingers through his hair. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing. He must have been waiting for me to speak. Either that, or our crazed kiss had fried his thought processes.
    I cleared my throat. “That wasn’t romance,” I said.
    “No?”
    Even now, I detected amusement in his voice.
    “Nothing but pheromones,” I said breathlessly. “Chemistry. Not reality.”
    “Chemistry’s real,” he said. “I scored top honors in it. But I don’t remember anything in the textbooks like this.”
    Down the street, I saw the 107 bus appear, heading in our direction. Disappointment flooded my stomach. I knew it was a sign, a nod to sanity. I stood, prepared to make a quick departure.
    Bryce growled. At least in hindsight, that’s what it sounded like. Men didn’t actually sound like dangerous animals. Even so, the hair on my arms stood up.
    He stared me down. “You are not getting on that bus. We’re not done here.”
    I couldn’t let myself be stupid. I wasn’t my mother; I didn’t need a man to lean on. “I really should,” I whispered.
    “Please, Willow. Please don’t go.”
    It was the gentle honesty that did me in. He sounded at least as bewildered as I felt. The bus pulled up alongside us. The door opened. I’d been in Scotland less than a week, and already I’d had my fantasy encounter with a handsome Scotsman. A lovely evening of make-believe. Plenty to report to Hayley and McKenzie at the end of the month.
    But to stay would mean it was real.
    Three seconds passed. Then four. “Okay,” I said. I waved off the bus driver, and he pulled away. “Now what?” I asked.
    Bryce held out his hand. “Now I ask you my question.”
    * * *
    He made me wait, quite a long time actually. As we strolled along the dimly lit streets back the way we had come, we passed small groups of people heading home for the evening. Bryce had his arm around my waist. To the casual observer, we must have looked like a loving couple on our way to a night of wonderful sex and a sleepy Saturday-morning lie-in the next day.
    I had never really been part of a couple, so the comparison made me antsy. “Start talking, Bryce. What is this mysterious question you have for me?”
    We reached his car, and he opened the door for me with care. “We’ll drive,” he said. After he slid behind the wheel, he started the engine and opened the moonroof. Clouds had rolled in, but the rain hadn’t started yet.
    I leaned back in my seat and half-closed my