Against Her Rules Read Free

it were freshly painted. Several large, red
burning bushes dotted the front grounds.
      As
he pulled up the gravel driveway he began to see why the publishers had decided
to send him here. If there was any place to get inspired, this was it.
      At
first glance you’d think this was a desolate place. Its isolation and the
sparse landscape made you think of loneliness. But then subtle things stood
out. The blue jays fighting over seeds in a feeder shaped like the sun. Crisp
white sheets flapping in the air, despite the mist, the clothesline dancing in
the wind. Even the way all the tips of the small juniper trees pointed in the
same direction. Looking toward the water, the view was breathtaking. White caps
formed on the waves, and still he could see gulls riding them out with ease, as
if this was their own personal surfer's nirvana.
      Shutting
off the engine, he stepped out and took a deep breath. The wet, cool air filled
his lungs. He smiled. This might be a good project after all.
      Cam
slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. It opened
before he put his hand to the knob and he was greeted by a short, white haired
woman who looked to be nothing but tanned, wrinkled skin and bones.
      “Scotsman?”
she asked, a smile of pure joy on her face. She wasn’t a crone at all. More
like a lovable grandmother.
      “Ah,
you’re my saviour then,” he said. “Thank you for the directions.” He bowed.
      “Now,
you’re a fine-looking young man. Are ye married?”
      “Excuse
me?” He chuckled.
      “Big,
tall, handsome feller like yourself. You must have a wife.”
      Was
this methuselan woman hitting on him?
      “Aunt
Ida,” a chiding voice called. “If you’re going to work here you need to
remember the first rule: no grilling the guests.”
      A
small, well-manicured hand pulled the door wider, revealing an elegant arm,
attached to the most beautiful creature Cam had ever seen—and he’d seen plenty
of delicious women in his day.
       Long,
wavy brown hair created a mahogany frame for deep green eyes and plump,
tempting red lips. She was almost as short as the old woman, with curves in all
the right places. Those curves were carefully covered in a tight ivory wool
sweater and jeans. The only hint of imperfection was a small streak of dirt
down one full, lush breast. It looked like potting soil, and he was tempted to
brush it away, if for no other reason than to say he’d had the chance to touch
such perfection.
      “Good
afternoon,” she said, extending her hand. It disappeared in his. Never before
had he noticed how massive and inelegant his own hands were. “I’m Elsie Walsh.
Please forgive my Aunt’s rudeness. She’s in training.” She shot a glare at the
older woman. “Auntie, can you make sure there’s fresh coffee brewed. One sugar,
and a drop of Laphroaig.”
      How
did she know that was how he liked his coffee? As if reading his mind, she gave
a playful smile that sent bolts of lightning down his spine. And elsewhere.
      “It’s
my job to ensure you feel at home here. You’d be surprised what I’ve learned
about you in preparation for your arrival. Whoever booked your stay knows a
fair bit about you.”
      “My
sister,” he said quickly. It seemed important that she know that no random
woman knew his special preferences. The ones outside the bedroom, at least.
      She
simply smiled. A marvelous, beautiful, sensuous smile. “Welcome to Heart’s Ease
Inn, Mr. Scott.” And she laughed. “I’m sorry. It just hit me. You’re Scottish.”
      What
was it about these people and his nationality? “Yes, I see the humour,” he said,
not getting the joke at all.
      She
laughed harder. “You’re Scottish and your last name is Scott.”
      The
woman was beautiful. And a little deranged. Just how he liked them.
    ––––––––
      W hat
am I doing?! Elsie thought, clasping a hand over her mouth. Shut up now
and stop acting like such a moron. This