Love Potions by Michelle M. Pillow

onto his property the night before and had taken some of it back to her house. Since he’d bought the land, it was possible she’d have to buy her entire stock back from him now that he knew it was there. Or, maybe even have to pay to rent the small garden spot.
    It was a sweet gesture, and Lydia could tell he was making an effort to be nice. She tried to smile, but it was hard with all the emotions rushing inside her. His expression seemed so open and kind, and also knee-weakeningly sexy. It was that last part that trapped her voice in her throat.
    When she didn’t take the flowers, Erik hooked the bouquet into the handle of the screen door.
    Charlotte made a louder noise and motioned at the door.
    “Ah, thanks,” Lydia said. “That’s very kind of you.”
    “There’s nothing kind about it,” he answered. “I’m lonely and it’s a bribe to get ya to go out with me tonight.”
    Lydia’s face colored. So what? He doesn’t bother trying to talk to her for four days after what happened and now suddenly he wants a date? Sure, she knew what he wanted from her. He didn’t want a date. He wanted them to finish what they’d started.
    Could she really blame him for thinking she was a slut?
    Could he really blame her for how pissed his assumption was making her?
    “What I mean is, I’m new in town,” he amended a little inelegantly.
    Was he nervous? Maybe he wasn’t just looking for a good time, but an honest date. Still, how could a man that looked like he did be nervous asking a woman out—especially a woman doused in lotion and not looking her exact best?
    “Say you’ll go out with me,” he insisted. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Please?”
    “No, thank you, Mr. MacGregor. I don’t date.” Lydia felt like a fool. It was hard to look dignified when lotion stuck her shirt to her chest and plastered her hair to the side of her face. Thankfully, she wore a bra this time. That was something at least. Glancing down, she saw it didn’t matter. Her shirt and bra were thin and she swore she saw the darker outlines of her nipples through the lotion-soaked material. She made a move to pull some towels from a drawer, dismissing him.
    “She’s free at eight,” Charlotte said loudly.
    “Great, I’ll pick ya up at eight,” Erik announced. “And we’ll not call it a date.”
    Lydia gasped, spinning on her heels to face him. He was gone.
    “So, nothing happened the other day, eh?” Charlotte chuckled.
    “There’s your warning from Gramma,” Lydia said. “She’s telling me to stay away.”
    “Annabelle would never tell you to stay away from a sexy piece of manmeat. She probably wanted to give you that wet T-shirt look before he got here.” Charlotte laughed harder as Lydia pressed a towel to her chest. “So want to tell me the truth this time about what happened between you two on the garden walk? Or do I need to run after Mr. MacGregor and hear it from him?”
    “No,” Lydia grumbled, throwing a towel at her friend’s head. She experienced a moment of satisfaction as it hit Charlotte’s face. “I’ll tell you, but I don’t want to. I only come out looking bad.”
    …
    “Mm, didn’t go so well, eh?”
    Erik glared at Euann, but his brother merely smirked. Women seemed to think Euann looked like a thirty year old Latin movie star. Erik didn’t see it. For one thing, he was a Scotsman—though how Euann could call himself part of the MacGregor clan and hate golf was beyond all of them. For another, he was just Euann—the pesky second oldest son of Angus and Margareta MacGregor and a pain in his older brother’s ass.
    “Ya do not have to look so smug,” Erik grumbled. “I’m picking her up at eight.”
    Euann stretched on the dusty chair they’d uncovered in the downstairs library, his grin widening. Erik wondered why Euann hadn’t started cleaning yet. “Would that be at sword point, brother? She didn’t sound too willing to me.”
    “Ya were listening?” Erik growled.