Guthrie’s brothers grinned broadly at him. “Not another sword fight, eh, Brother?” Cearnach asked, sounding like he was dying to know what had happened this time.

Guthrie shook his head, then followed Calla out the door. When he closed the door behind them, she said, “You know they’ll learn about it shortly. They’re probably already calling Ethan or Oran to discover what exactly did happen.”

Guthrie looked down at Calla’s impish expression as he walked her down the path to the outdoor garden room. She was enjoying this a little too much.

When he looked down at the toga caressing her ankles, he realized he should have asked if she wanted to change into something more comfortable first, or at least something he wouldn’t be staring at so hard once she removed her coat. He had to admit she looked damned hot as a Grecian woman.

He opened the door to the garden room, glad to see it was deserted. He turned on the light, then closed the door after them. After taking her coat and wool scarf and hanging them on the coatrack, he started a fire in the fire pit to warm the place.

“I need to speak with you about Baird,” Guthrie said.

“Why do you want to talk about him again?” she asked, suddenly sounding wary.

“I saw Baird in his wolf coat watching the cottage tonight while you were inside orchestrating the toga party.”

Calla’s eyes widened a bit. Then she shook her head and walked over to a rack of wine and motioned to the bottles. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure. Anything that you would like is fine with me.”

She handed him a bottle of merlot.

He removed the cork and poured each of them a glass.

“Aye, so I wondered again if there is some other reason why he keeps stalking you.”

“I…I don’t know. Was anyone else with him?”

“Nay. His pack may be disillusioned with him over chasing after you and not resolving the issue. If you have any other notions why he won’t leave you alone, let us know.”

“I will.” Calla took a seat on one of the soft moss-colored sofas that wound around the fire pit.

The Celtic gold embroidered pillows had been replaced with Christmas ones—the Santas on them wearing the blue and green kilt of the MacNeill clan. The scent of Christmas spice filled the air, making Guthrie think the ladies had been there earlier, burning their cinnamon-scented candles. He was trying to figure out whether to sit closer to Calla and be able to better breathe in her sweet scent, which would be a mistake, or to sit farther away and have a better view of her toga, which could be just as much of a mistake.

He sighed and took a seat across from her. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

She took another sip of her wine and set her glass down on the coffee table. “I’m going with Julia, Heather, and a few other ladies to pick up Christmas gifts.”

She slipped off one sandal and then the other. He glanced at her toga, thinking about her removing it next, although he shouldn’t have allowed his thoughts to stray in that direction. She pulled her bare feet up on the couch and tucked them beneath her. Then she lifted the plaid throw over her lap. He wished he was curled up beside her.

“Who’s watching over you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Ian always sets the guard schedule.”

Guthrie hadn’t heard anything about it so he assumed Ian had assigned someone else to watch them. Still, if Guthrie had the free time… “When are you going?”

She hesitated to say, as if weighing the reasons he’d ask.

“I have to teach the older kids math in the morning,” he said, hinting that he’d go with her if the time was right.

She smiled a little. “If you want to come with us, we’ll go after you’re done.”

Guthrie warmed at that, but the warm feeling he got from her reminded him of something. He backed off. He had to give her time to get over Baird. No more doomed-from-the-start rebounds for him. He and Calla really had to just…be friends for now. He had to try harder to remember that when he was around her.

“Like you said, it’s up to Ian,” Guthrie said. Even if Ian had selected another team to watch over her, Guthrie could go, just as extra muscle. Looking comfortable now, she lifted her glass and took another swallow of wine. She sighed deeply. “I’m really tired and I guess it’s about time to call it a night.”

Guthrie wanted to kiss her. After the night he’d had with Rosalind’s unwanted display of bearing her breasts and Calla’s own amusement because of it, plus the wine, the fire, and the way Calla looked so damned appealing in that slinky toga, he wanted to kiss her.

They both finished their wine, then she rose to her feet and he stood. The kiss they had shared when they were pinned under the tree…that was different. They’d had an audience of girls. Though he hadn’t expected that. Most likely some of the adults had also seen something of what was going on. That kiss had been impulsive, when he never was that way, ever. But there he’d been, lying on top of her, unable to move off her, breathing in her sweet scent, feeling her soft curves, becoming aroused, and well, it just…happened.

Here, they were alone. The reason for wanting this kiss was something entirely different.

He was used to analyzing the pros and cons of a financial situation, deliberating any alternative courses of action. This had nothing to do with money, but still he found himself evaluating the situation like he would in considering an investment. Because in a way, kissing her again indicated that he wanted to invest more in the relationship.