Read Online Off Kilter by Donna Kauffman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Donna Kauffman
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side of the road where his bike still lay, the motor spinning.
“No, please,” she said flatly, “I can climb back up on my own.” She hopped the gully again, and found a rocky section that made climbing back to the roadside a bit easier.
He wasn’t paying any attention to her, but was crouching over his motorbike, which was now silent.
“Will it run?” she asked, walking toward him, despite the urge to simply turn around and keep on walking toward her original destination.
“Run, yes. Roll, I’m no’ so certain.”
She skimmed her gaze over the frame, and noted that one of the wheels did look a bit … warped. “That’s not so good.”
“No, it’s not. And I have an appointment at”—he glanced at his watch from habit, no doubt, only to swear under his breathagain as his shirt cuff slid back to reveal the timepiece was covered in thick gunk, with a few choice pieces of gully debris sticking to it as well—“doesnae matter much now, anyway.” He straightened and moved the bike so it was well off the road.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, though she wasn’t certain why she was still engaging him in any form of conversation. He was clearly unhurt, and just as clearly not remotely caring whether she stayed or left. It was just … she didn’t feel right walking away from the scene of an accident. Especially one she was at least partly responsible for.
“Walk into town. Borrow Graham’s truck, pick up my bike, take it to Magnus’s shop.” He finally glanced at her. “What on earth were you about, wandering out here in the wee hours of dawn? The sun’s no’ even fully up yet.”
“Heading to the shore,” she answered, not that it was any business of his. But he didn’t look so smug with his ridiculously perfect dimple filled with gully mud. And that made him slightly less annoying to her. “I’d give you a lift, but as you can see”— she gestured to her feet—“I’m sorry though, for making you crash. I didn’t see the headlight until it was too late.”
There was a beat, then he said, “Not to worry. Worse things could have resulted.” He scraped the mud from his face and combed his gunked-up hair back from his face.
It was all kinds of wrong that looking like something from the La Brea Tar Pits made him seem much more rugged. She could imagine how smug he must have been when he realized she’d chosen him, and only him, as their best chance at getting into the Highlander calendar. It probably annoyed the hell out of the village charmer to look anything other than his GQ best.
“You might want to consider a shower first, before borrowing a truck,” she said. “Just a thought.”
He glanced down at himself, then surprised her with a smile and a short laugh. “I’d like to think Graham is a good enough friend no’ to mind a bit of mud.” He plucked a twig and a clump of muck from the pocket of his khakis. “But perhaps ye have a point.”
She refused to become one of the charmed. It would be a lot easier if he’d stop smiling. A gunk-filled dimple only diluted his charm so much.
He turned and looked back up the track from the direction he’d come, then the other way, which led into the village proper.
She had no idea where he lived, but she assumed they were closer to town than to his home. She couldn’t have said what prodded her to offer an alternative. Surely it was her guilty conscience talking. “Kira’s place is probably closest,” she said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you cleaned up there. She’ll be up and in her studio by now.”
To her further surprise, she could have sworn he blanched. Just a little. Right before all the good humor left his face. “Uh, thanks. But, ah, no. I’m—I’ll be fine. Good.”
She folded her arms. “Really.” He was stuttering—which made the otherwise cocksure man she’d had the displeasure of being saddled with earlier in the week seem almost … endearing.
“Yes,” he said, gathering
“No, please,” she said flatly, “I can climb back up on my own.” She hopped the gully again, and found a rocky section that made climbing back to the roadside a bit easier.
He wasn’t paying any attention to her, but was crouching over his motorbike, which was now silent.
“Will it run?” she asked, walking toward him, despite the urge to simply turn around and keep on walking toward her original destination.
“Run, yes. Roll, I’m no’ so certain.”
She skimmed her gaze over the frame, and noted that one of the wheels did look a bit … warped. “That’s not so good.”
“No, it’s not. And I have an appointment at”—he glanced at his watch from habit, no doubt, only to swear under his breathagain as his shirt cuff slid back to reveal the timepiece was covered in thick gunk, with a few choice pieces of gully debris sticking to it as well—“doesnae matter much now, anyway.” He straightened and moved the bike so it was well off the road.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, though she wasn’t certain why she was still engaging him in any form of conversation. He was clearly unhurt, and just as clearly not remotely caring whether she stayed or left. It was just … she didn’t feel right walking away from the scene of an accident. Especially one she was at least partly responsible for.
“Walk into town. Borrow Graham’s truck, pick up my bike, take it to Magnus’s shop.” He finally glanced at her. “What on earth were you about, wandering out here in the wee hours of dawn? The sun’s no’ even fully up yet.”
“Heading to the shore,” she answered, not that it was any business of his. But he didn’t look so smug with his ridiculously perfect dimple filled with gully mud. And that made him slightly less annoying to her. “I’d give you a lift, but as you can see”— she gestured to her feet—“I’m sorry though, for making you crash. I didn’t see the headlight until it was too late.”
There was a beat, then he said, “Not to worry. Worse things could have resulted.” He scraped the mud from his face and combed his gunked-up hair back from his face.
It was all kinds of wrong that looking like something from the La Brea Tar Pits made him seem much more rugged. She could imagine how smug he must have been when he realized she’d chosen him, and only him, as their best chance at getting into the Highlander calendar. It probably annoyed the hell out of the village charmer to look anything other than his GQ best.
“You might want to consider a shower first, before borrowing a truck,” she said. “Just a thought.”
He glanced down at himself, then surprised her with a smile and a short laugh. “I’d like to think Graham is a good enough friend no’ to mind a bit of mud.” He plucked a twig and a clump of muck from the pocket of his khakis. “But perhaps ye have a point.”
She refused to become one of the charmed. It would be a lot easier if he’d stop smiling. A gunk-filled dimple only diluted his charm so much.
He turned and looked back up the track from the direction he’d come, then the other way, which led into the village proper.
She had no idea where he lived, but she assumed they were closer to town than to his home. She couldn’t have said what prodded her to offer an alternative. Surely it was her guilty conscience talking. “Kira’s place is probably closest,” she said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you cleaned up there. She’ll be up and in her studio by now.”
To her further surprise, she could have sworn he blanched. Just a little. Right before all the good humor left his face. “Uh, thanks. But, ah, no. I’m—I’ll be fine. Good.”
She folded her arms. “Really.” He was stuttering—which made the otherwise cocksure man she’d had the displeasure of being saddled with earlier in the week seem almost … endearing.
“Yes,” he said, gathering
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