"Zero." She smiles. "Might as well eat the food I made for you, since you can't get rid of me."
"Fine. I surrender." I spread my hands to indicate the desktop. "Leave the food here, and I'll eat it while I work."
She shakes her head. "No, mo luaidh, we'll have breakfast together. Here or wherever you like, but together."
Ah, she's bringing out the big guns—the Gaelic phrases. Mo luaidh, which she used to call me ages ago, means my darling or my dear or something like that. Does she think she can charm me with her Scots nonsense? To the point I'll spill all my secrets to her?
Dimples form at the corners of her smile, and her eyes seem to sparkle more in the sunshine coming through the windows. "Are ye regretting tricking me into staying in your house? Too late to change your mind."
"No, it's not. I could evict you if I wanted." I stand up and move closer, because my body seems to have a large magnet inside it that draws me toward her. Bending down, I bring our faces to within centimeters of each other. "Didn't I tell you to go home?"
"I don't want to."
Gazing into her blue eyes, I lose track of what I'd meant to say to her. Catriona's irises are as pale as pools of glacial meltwater, their color shimmering like ripples on a pond. I could drown in those eyes and never want to escape.
But I will not tell her that.
I lean in to whisper in her ear, lowering my voice to a husky murmur. "If you stay, I can't promise not to corrupt you."
"Go on, then, do it. I dare you."
Christ, I want to do that. Corrupting her sounds like the start of a fantastic night we could spend in my bed, but in reality, it would mean something much different. I've been corrupted for a long, long time, and I can't undo the consequences of the things I've done. It's nothing I want Cat to experience. She's lovely and sweet and kind, all the good things good people should be. Blackening her soul to match mine… I won't do it.
Which is why she needs to leave.
I straighten and step back. "You can have your breakfast in one of those chairs"—I point to them, then to the window seat—"or on the bench there. Your choice. There won't be any conversation, so if that's what you're hoping for, I suggest you ring one of your sisters or cousins."
"Maybe I'll ring Rory. He'd love to hear what you just suggested doing to me."
Feigning complete disinterest, I settle onto my chair again. "Corrupting you isn't worth my time. You're much too…upstanding. It wouldn't be any fun."
She makes a noise that sounds like "hmf," then sets a plate and a glass of milk on my desk.
"Milk?" I say. "Am I a child?"
"It's good for you, Alex, but I gave you tea too." She takes her tray to the window seat and sits down with her legs stretched out across the bench. "Besides, milk goes with what I made you for breakfast."
At least I have tea, so I don't feel like a child, with her as my governess.
But I do like the idea of Cat playing that role the next time I seduce her.
I lift the lid off my plate. It contains waffles. Three of them. Stacked in the center of the plate with a huge mound of melting butter on top and syrup filling the holes in the topmost waffle and dribbling down the sides to pool on the plate.
"You're wanting me to die of a heart attack, then?" I say, glancing sideways at her. "This is enough butter to serve all your brothers, their wives, and their children."
Cat slides a forkful of waffle into her mouth, smiling while she chews and swallows it. "You need to lighten up, mo luaidh. Indulge yourself once in a while."
"I made you an omelet yesterday. It overflowed with cheese."
She shakes her head, as if she's sad for me and my lack of indulgence. "That's not decadent enough to count."
"Decadence is my middle name, love."
Catriona laughs. "You're so sweet when you're trying to convince yourself of what a bastard you are. You're not, so it never works. Does it?"
I glare at my stack of waffles, hack off a triple-decker forkful, and shove it into my mouth. At least chewing gives me an excuse to not speak to or look at her. When did Cat become a firebrand? She never used to question me about anything, and she certainly never talked back to me or made fun of me.
Do I have a caber up my arse these days? If so, I must've contracted the disease from Logan or Rory. If I can figure out what Cat is trying to accomplish, I can devise a plan to thwart her. But she keeps surprising me. The cheerily sarcastic woman lounging on my window seat can't be the same girl who adored me in another lifetime.
That's my mistake. I've been treating her like she is the same girl. The Catriona of today is a mature woman.
And she must be trying to torture me. Somehow. With waffles.
We finish our meal in silence, but I find myself glancing at her often—too often. As the sun rises higher and higher in the sky, it paints her skin with shades of gold and rose, and the colors make her eyes seem brighter, her skin smoother, her smile more angelic. I can't stop looking at her, even while I stuff food into my mouth. She's beautiful and unattainable.
I had her yesterday, but sex isn't the same as…whatever it is she thinks she wants with me.
Once we're done eating, Catriona collects our plates and cups and sets them on the tray. She comes around behind my desk.
"What now?" I ask.
She rotates my chair toward her, then sits on my lap. "You've got a storm cloud inside you, but when the fearthainn ends, the world will be solasta again. Saorsa will be yours, Alex, if you accept it."
"If I knew what on earth you're talking about, I might have a response to that." Her warm bottom on my lap is making me uneasy even while I enjoy the sensation, and her words are the single most beautiful thing I've ever heard. But I have no idea what she said. "Speak English, please."
She leans in, her hair brushing my cheek and her breaths whispering over my lips. "When the rain ends, the world will be shining again, and freedom can be yours."
"Afraid you're wasting your time, Catnip. I'm a lost cause."
"No, you're not." She touches her lips to mine. "I'm going to work on my lesson plans for next week, so I can make a good first impression. We can talk more later."
She hops off my lap and walks out the door.
My phone rings. I answer with the usual greeting.
"You sound off, mate. Having a bad time with your woman?"
The sound of that Australian accent makes me jerk upright in my chair, gripping the phone tighter. "Reginald Hewitt, how did you get my phone number?"
Since I'd changed the number after my last encounter with him, I want to know how he got the new one. Only a handful of people have it, including Logan and Serena. I haven't even given the number to Catriona.
"I called you on my mobile phone," Reginald says, his voice even more gravelly than I remember.