Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Crunch and Protein

"We'll start by finding your clothes," Tina squeaked and rushed out of the kitchen.

She might be wrong but she thought she heard a chuckle behind her. Prick.

She did a quick run through her tiny cottage, and the picture of last night's proceedings became quite clear: he had been stripping as he'd been coming in. Also, she clearly hadn't locked her door last night. Again. Thick, thick Tina. She found a stripy colourful scarf - like a venomous snake! - coiled by the door and a navy blue peacoat crumpled on the floor. Leading to the bedroom, she found a trail consisting of a cardigan, a thin cashmere jumper - did the bloke know there were other colours than Oxford Blue? - and one sock, dark blue, of course, with one cheery yellow stripe. No shirt.

Tina edged into her bedroom, which suddenly felt absurdly intrusive, and peeked under the bed. The second sock was there - but still no shirt. He needed to put on his shirt! His bare chest was... bothering her!

She grabbed the corner of her duvet and jerked it aside in search of his illusive clobber. A wave of the spicy smell of his cologne hit her nose, and Tina threw the duvet aside and as much as jumped away from the bed.

"Did I evict you last night?"

His voice behind her made her twirl on one spot. Why is he always leaning onto door frames, looking like a Pinterest picture with a hashtag 'alphamalemorningroutine'?!

"I didn't stay in my bed with a stranger, if that's what you're asking!" she hissed.

"No?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow - again! - and taking a sip from her mug designated for hot cocoa.

"I found some of your clothes in the hall," she said. "And your shirt is probably somewhere here." She vaguely gestured around the room. "Feel free to find it and put it on." Please, and thank you.

Tina would like to flee back to the kitchen, but he was in her way, and she awkwardly shifted her weight between her feet.

"I'd like to take a shower," he said pensively. Oh god. "Could I borrow a towel, please?" Oh. My. God.

"I'll– I'll find you one," she muttered and started edging towards the door. "Do you mind?" She waved her hand side to side.

He followed her hand with his eyes - what's unclear in this gesture?! - took another sip of his coffee, without moving out of her way, and looked her over.

"Are you sure you are the Clementine I met at that book signing? It was Jack Richards' latest novel, I think. About his paraplegic detective."

"I doubt there are that many Clementines Popplewell," she grumbled.

The cocoa mug froze a couple of inches away from his mouth.

"Your name is Clementine Popplewell?" His lips twitched in amusement.

Ugh, so annoying!

"My full name is Clementine Augusta Bernadette Gwendolyn Popplewell," she said and jerked her chin up.

His eyebrows jumped up. "And do your friends call you Clementine Augusta Bernadette Gwendolyn?"

"My friends call me Tina, so you can call me Ms. Popplewell," she quipped, pushed by him - oh no, her shoulder has come in contact with him! His skin's so hot! - and ran in search of a towel.

***

She was balancing on the chair she had to drag to her linen closet to reach a tall shelf when he once again spoke behind her. Was the man a six foot four, fifteen stone ninja?!