Free Heart Melter by Sophia Knightly Page A

high-backed chair. "Natasha?" he said, seating her cordially.
    Natasha glanced at him just as his gaze slid down her spine. The delectable curve of her heart-shaped bottom taunted him as she leaned forward to sit down.
    "Thanks," she murmured with a smile.
    "You're welcome," he said, rounding the corner of the table to sit across from her.
    Dugie carried in a tray of poached salmon steaks topped with béarnaise sauce and capers, accompanied by tiny red potatoes and garden peas. Her daughter, Emma, helped Dugie serve the meal, while Gerald, Dugie’s husband, poured a small amount of wine for Ian. He stood by while Ian swirled the wine before tasting it. At his nod of approval, Gerald poured wine for everyone. 
    Natasha lifted the Baccarat goblet in a toast. “May the roof above never fall in; may we below never fall out,” she said in a saucy Scottish accent, eliciting chuckles from Maggie and Ranald.
    “Hear, hear.” Ranald lifted his glass and clinked it with Natasha’s.
    “Where did you learn that? From one of your plays?” Ian asked, spearing a potato.
    “Maybe,” Natasha said lightly. 
    “How did your trip to London go?” Maggie asked Ian.
    “Not very well. I had to cut it short before I murdered someone,” Ian said.
    Maggie’s eyes popped open. “Murder! Such tough talk.” She patted his hand. “Have some wine, luv, and forget about it for now.”
    “I’ll probably have to return to London next week.” He tasted the salmon. “Ahh, there’s nothing like our Scottish salmon. Dugie outdid herself tonight.”
    “Indeed,” Maggie said, glowing.
    “I thought you were going back to New York,” Natasha said.
    “Not yet,” Ian replied cryptically. His plans had changed, but he saw no need to explain. He only wanted to enjoy Dugie’s excellent meal and not think about the witch in London standing in the way of his plans.
    Maggie kept the conversation light, while Ranald talked about their upcoming trip to Ayr Racecourse in November.
    When they finished eating, Maggie told Dugie, "Ranald and I will take our dessert in the library.” 
    Dugie nodded and left the room.
    “I’d rather eat it here,” Ranald said.
    Maggie squinted at Ranald and gave him a meaningful look. “Ian and Natasha have much to discuss. And so do we,” she said, taking his elbow when he stood.
    Ranald threw his hands in the air and left with a hangdog expression.
    Dugie returned and served a golden apple tart and cinnamon ice cream. "Will you be taking whiskey with your coffee, sir?"
    "No, thanks. I'll have some in my room later."
    Dugie nodded and glanced at Natasha. "Would you like one of my special toddies, lass?"
    “I’d love one of your special toddies,” Natasha said with an eager smile. “Thank you.”
    “No whiskey,” Ian said firmly. 
    “Yes, whiskey,” Natasha countered, bristling.
    Dugie cleared her throat. “Shall I bring out the boxing gloves, then?” she said, glancing from Natasha to Ian with a raised brow.
    “That’ll be all, Dugie,” Ian said.
    Natasha frowned at him. "Why can’t I have whiskey?” she asked when Dugie was out of earshot.
    “I’m looking out for you. Liquor and antibiotics don’t mix well,” Ian said, noting her disgruntled look. “You’ll survive.”
    Natasha patted her lips with her napkin and set it down on the table. "I think I’ll join Maggie and Ranald in the library," she said, rising from the table.
    Ian’s hand closed over her wrist, noting how delicate it felt in his grip. "Don’t go.”
    She stood before him with her hand on her hip and her head tilted to the side. “Why should I stay? I don’t want to argue. Your mood hasn’t exactly been light this evening.”
    "I want you to stay, Tasha," he said inflexibly.
    His iPhone buzzed with a text message and he released his grip on her. He read the text and seethed at what he read. “What the fuck,” he said, staring at the phone before he shoved it in his pocket.
    “What’s wrong?” Natasha asked,