Portia’s castle needed defending. There was some invisible pull between people, woo-woo as it seemed, and years of nightlife adventures had honed her ability to find that connection and see where it led—specifically, whether it was to a bedroom. Or a couch. Or kitchen table. It was a skill that had been invaluable in the late-night campaigns waged in bars across New York City, as she pillaged her way through the singles scene.

Tav had been gruff, combative even, when they’d spoken in his office, but she’d felt the pull so hard that it’d nearly jerked her up onto his desk. This was a game of tug-of-war that she wouldn’t lose, though. She couldn’t. She was in Scotland to learn and grow, to see who she really was, not to fall back into the same patterns she was trying to break.

“What do you get out of these encounters, Portia?”

Portia wheezed and jabbed as she jogged in place. She had no regrets about her sex life; some hookups had been pleasurable, some had been boring, but none of them had amounted to much in the grand scheme of things. She’d drank her fears away, and fucked them away, but the thing about distractions was they didn’t make the real issues go away. It took work to do that, and not the kind of work she wanted to put in with Tavish McKenzie.

She jabbed with her left hand and then her right, her body finding the rhythm even though she’d thought she was ready to drop a minute before.

This was about more than whether or not to give in to fleeting pleasure. It was about proving that she didn’t need a drink, didn’t need a hookup—that she could be good enough without any of the “oh honey, no” accessories of her past. She was fine, or on her way to fine, and she didn’t need any damned sexy-annoying Scotsmen getting in the way of that.

“Protect your castle at all costs,” Jamie shouted encouragingly. “Don’t give up! You can do it!”

“This is my castle!” Portia shouted as she stabbed out with her imaginary dagger. “The drawbridge is up and you can’t come in!”

“That’s it, Portia! Now you’ve got it!” Jamie called out with a bright smile, then lifted a hand up to his brow as if shading his eyes while searching the horizon. “Look! The invaders are running off, the mangy cowards! We’ve won!”

A cheer rang out from the group, and Portia joined them. A sense of victory fueled by endorphins was a powerful feeling, even if the invaders weren’t real. She felt like maybe she could conquer anything, even her own hopeless tangle of flaws. A sudden, embarrassing wash of tears warmed her eyes.

She blinked hard.

“Okay, let’s wind it down now.” Jamie dropped down into a stretch and the students followed suit.

After the class had ended, the students grabbed their bags and began to mill around Jamie. A shock of bright pink hair that Portia recognized as Cheryl barreled through the crowd toward him, standing on her tiptoes and pulling him down into a kiss when she finally reached him. Portia could see both of their smiles and wondered at that. Being so happy to see each other that even the serious mouthwork they were putting on display couldn’t stop them from grinning like fools.

She looked away, pulling out her phone and snapping a sweaty selfie.

First evening of internship! Just finished defending my castle with @JamieMac007 at a @BodotriaArmory boot camp. So much fun! #DefendingYourCastle

She uploaded it to the various social media feeds that catalogued her daily activities. She was planning on asking Jamie to let her take over Bodotria’s social media accounts, which hadn’t been updated for months. The pic would be something she could share later to start beefing up their internet presence.

“You’re the apprentice, then? The American?” The woman who had been working out beside her was now dabbing her face with a towel and looking at Portia appraisingly.

“I am. My name is Portia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand, her finishing school lessons kicking in.

“I’m Mary,” the woman said. “I run the bookshop down the street, Bodotria Books. Not a very imaginative name, I know.”

Portia shrugged lightly. “Hey, it serves its purpose. I know where to go if I need books in Bodotria.”

Mary responded with a friendly smile. “Right. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you since Tavish always has book orders coming in.”

“Really?” Portia asked, and then realized that was rude, and also that she already had her answer. His office had been jammed with books, though she’d been too concerned with losing her apprenticeship and having to return home with yet another failure stamped on her forehead to pay much attention. That and his eyes, hazel green and arresting, bracketed by crow’s feet. His mouth wasn’t half bad either—wide, just this side of plump. And his hands . . .

What the hell?

Portia cut off her fantasy rundown of Tav’s attributes. He wasn’t a newly acquired statue at a museum that had to be measured and catalogued. He was her boss. He was a jerk. He was off-limits. Fin.

“Oh yes, that boy has always been mad for books, the older the better. I just tracked down a quite rare one he’s been searching for, Techniques of the Consummate Swordsman.” Mary looked proud, as if she’d found a Rembrandt work on the back of a poster-board. “Dates from the mid seventeenth century. Just waiting for it to come in now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased,” Portia said politely, although she doubted much pleased Tavish besides glaring at people while brandishing a sharp object.