Lachlan rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. The other one reached out and traced its way down her forehead and nose, pausing at her top lip. Mhari's unruly mind jumped up and down, a wee cheerleader waving pom-poms. "Dream come true! The man's touchin' ye! Yes, yes, yes!"

Or aye, aye, aye to give it the proper Scottish feel.

"Girlfriends are... no' a good idea for me," he said, pricking the bubble of joy. His fingers, though, moved to her throat. Hovered at her collar bone.

"Ye'll get no' argument from me." Wouldn't either. Big head. Did he think she was lying there, desperate for him tae jump on top of her? (Secret answer—yes.) Or worse, did Lachlan the love god hint they do it here, on the beach, bright sunny day, but howling wind, nonetheless. The 'I'm no' the boyfriend type' line sounded like a get out of jail clause, so that he could later say, "I warned you what I was like!"

Tsk. She pictured the scene, a month from now. Her leaving the pub or the general store and bumping into Lachlan, the two of them flushing bright red, mumbling hellos and goodbyes before darting off, one to the right, the other to the left.

Besides, total honesty here—a leg and bikini wax were long overdue. The thought of Lachlan running his hands up and down hairy legs and an overgrown bush acted like contraception but better. "Mhari!" her flatmate Katya pointed out all the time. "Modern women do not give a shit about how hairy they are!" Fine for her to say. Hypocritical too, seeing as she'd slid up to Mhari only a few months ago when she had an assignment lined up with her then boyfriend and said, "Can you recommend a good beautician?" Code: a woman skilled in waxing.

Lachlan talked once more. A man determined to list his minus points. I'm a terrible time keeper. I don't enjoy going out for food. My memory is shit. I will never remember your birthday, our anniversary, or Valentine's Day.

His fingers continued their magical thing, the tips of them dancing on her collar bone. Almost enough to make her flinch, those teeny-tiny electrical jolts that sparked up a reaction that made her forget the cold.

"Nae need," she said. "I'll tell ye the day before—an alert so ye mind in time to buy me a card and present. 'Course, I've nae decided if ye're any use to me."

Lachlan grinned at her; the man who thought he had no competition. Mhari could have telt him—Ah, ye think other men are what ye need to worry aboot. Think again, pal.

No, what Lachlan needed to consider was Netflix's latest offerings. Far and away the most tempting way to spend an evening. Or then there was Candy Crush and Mhari's top dog status as it's best player in Scotland. She'd worked hard to achieve it.

And what about her orderly life? Mhari worked at the pharmacy—a post that didn't challenge her at all—her mum and dad provided clean clothes and hot food, she kept tags on everyone in the village and explored the world beyond via screens, the TV, laptop and mobile phone variety. Nothing those screens displayed convinced her to change anything.

What if Lachlan hated Game of Thrones or worse, was a late adopter so she'd no' be able to jump on Series 8 when it came out because spoilers were the 21st century ultimate faux pas? Or his criminal enterprises might tempt him out of Lochalshie to the metropolises. Inverness. Aberdeen... even Glasgow, a city Mhari had visited twice, neither occasion endearing her to the place. Wouldn't live there even if people paid her in gold.

A shout behind them startled her—Jack, owner of the stolen, then retrieved minibus. He jogged down the path towards them, Lachlan returning his wave.

"Hey, I saw the Land Rover and wanted to check if everything was okay...?"

Touching, Mhari thought, her old friend checking up on her like that.

"I'm fine," she said, at the same time as Lachlan announced his intention to drop by the garage, and did Mhari mind coming with him...?

Jack's eyebrows shot up.

The garage... oh, the garage. Mhari made the connection. Where would you run your criminal activities if you lived in the Highlands? Not in the house you lived at, for sure, but possibly a small mechanics shop tucked away far from the main roads and any residential houses. Rumours abounded about the place, though few people knew if it a) existed for real and b) where it was.

Jack's reaction suggested he was aware of both.

Mhari pretended to consider the offer. "Aye, alright then." Inside, the excitement bubbled up further. This had to be a test—Lachlan wishing to know how far he could trust her. They followed Jack back over the dunes to the Land Rover, the minibus parked at the other side of the road, its occupants all pressed against the windows staring at them.

"Nosey gits," Mhari muttered, making Jack and Lachlan snigger. Aye, well. Hypocritical, mebbe.

Lachlan let his smelly dog into the back of the vehicle and turned to Mhari. "Want to give them something to gawk at?"

Yes, oh yes, oh yes...

He grabbed her, bending her backwards over the bonnet of the Land Rover, its metal ice-cold against her torso, held her there for a few seconds, his breath tickly against her ear, before straightening up and bowing towards the minibus. Everyone watched them, open-mouthed.

Jack shook his head and walked back towards the bus.

"What?" Lachlan asked, as Mhari dusted down her coat and glared at him. "We're no; a couple yet. I don't kiss just anyone."

Why did she get the feeling she was being played? Nevertheless, she got into the car beside him. If nothing else, at least she'd finally be in that small clique of people who knew the location where Lachlan masterminded his criminal enterprises.