4
“Tavish Uilleam MacCraig.” His warm hand enveloped hers and stayed there a second more than necessary. “I represent The Blue Dot Gallery in London, and I’m interested in seeing your paintings. I’m sorry to appear without previous notice, but I’d like to talk to you about them.”
She didn’t stop to analyze why she missed its warmth when their handshake broke, or why, for once, a man’s touch didn’t feel wrong.
How did he get my address? “Ah…” Laetitia glanced up, trying to judge him better. She could not be called short at five feet five, but Tavish was extraordinarily tall with his six-foot-seven broad frame. “There is a gallery in Leam, which already—”
“Ms. Galen.” Perturbed by his emotions, he didn’t let her finish. “I’m sure you’ll be interested in hearing what I have to say. Are yo
