by Ella Hayes
There was something irresistible about her turn of phrase and he found himself laughing. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s probably the Northern Lights starting—the Aurora Borealis—you should stay out here. You wouldn’t want to miss it.’
The breeze lifted slightly and he noticed her pulling her cardigan tighter.
‘There’d be nothing disappointing about seeing the Northern Lights. I’ve never seen them before...’
He wished he could stop noticing that little quirk of her mouth, the milky hollow at the base of her throat.
‘But it would be nice to have company. Will you stay for a little while?’
She held him in her gaze and he felt his shoulders stiffen with momentary indecision. He knew he should go, but that awkwardness between them had gone, so perhaps there’d be no harm in staying to watch the lights with her, since it was her first time.
He licked his lips. ‘Sure. Why not.’
She brightened. ‘Would you like a drink? I’ve got whiskey—it’s Irish, of course, but I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Irish sounds perfect to me.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me where it is and I’ll get it.’
* * *
‘Sláinte!’
She grinned. ‘Sláinte chugat!’
He swallowed a mouthful from his glass, felt the heat of it in his throat. He dropped down onto the deck, leaned against the plate-glass window and looked up, searching the sky as he weighed up safe topics of conversation.
‘So, where’s home?’
She was sitting on the hammock, wrapped in the blanket he’d brought out for her.
‘Galway. My family’s still there, but I’ve been in London for quite a while. What about you? Where are you based?’
He cursed silently. He didn’t want to talk about the army, but it was too late now. He rolled the tumbler between his hands. ‘Chatham. It’s HQ for the Royal Engineers.’
‘Do you like it there?’
He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. ‘Not really.’
‘So why—?’
She was unstoppable. ‘I thought you wanted to watch the lights...’
‘I can watch the lights and talk at the same time—it’s called multi-tasking. Besides, you’re the one who started the conversation.’
He sighed. ‘I’m at Chatham because my tour came to an end.’
‘Your tour?’
Was she being disingenuous? He glanced at her face; she looked innocent enough. ‘Tour of duty. We get posted overseas for a period, and then we come back to base.’
‘And you prefer being away?’
He pictured his desk at HQ, heaped with paper. ‘Of course. That’s where we do the real work. It’s where we can make a difference.’
‘So, where have you been on tour?’
A knot tightened in his stomach. He needed to distract her. ‘You make me sound like a rock star.’
She sipped her whiskey and coughed it down, laughing. ‘Well, it could happen. James Blunt was a soldier and now he is a rock star, so there’s hope for you if you want a change of career. Obviously you’d have to be able to sing—’
He turned to look at her. ‘You literally can’t turn it off, can you? Words tumble out of your mouth and—’
‘And what?’
‘I don’t know... You’re funny.’
‘In a good way, I hope?’
‘Mostly good...’ He felt a slow smile tugging at his lips, wondering what she’d make of that.
‘Mostly?’ She shrugged. ‘Well, even professional comedians aren’t funny all the time... Anyway, you were about to tell me about where you’ve been on your tours of duty...’
He gritted his teeth—she wasn’t going to be distracted after all. ‘The Balkans, Iraq... Afghanistan.’
‘And where are you going next?’
A cold fist closed around his heart. He watched the lights shimmering in the sky above. Next. There was no next for him—not until he’d been reassessed.
He struggled to make his voice sound casual as he rose to his feet. ‘I haven’t been assigned yet. I’m going to get a glass of water. Do you want one?’
In the kitchen he filled two glasses from the tap. Maybe the alcohol was fuelling her open curiosity, but he couldn’t talk about Afghanistan, or his desk job, or about his future. He knew he ought to go. She kept asking him questions he didn’t want to answer, and when she wasn’t doing that she was just being herself. Her beautiful, bewitching self.
Back outside, he handed her a glass of water and watched the lights pulsing across the sky. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him and he wondered what was going through her mind, what she was seeing. He had a sudden curiosity about the kind of man she would be attracted to.
‘Was your fiancé an artist too?’
She looked momentarily stunned, then she rallied. ‘Yes, he was, but you know I don’t want to talk about Daniel.’
‘I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me—’
She tugged at the blanket. ‘You don’t have to be sorry. I’m over him—I just need a sticking plaster for my wounded pride.’
‘That sounds like bravado to me.’
She laughed. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’
Her words sounded hollow to him, but he smiled anyway.
She swung off the hammock and limped to his side. ‘You know, you’re different from how you were when we first met.’
‘Different?’
‘Not so standoffish.’
‘Standoffish?’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Well, maybe it’s because you’ve stopped being so spikey.’
It was her turn to look surprised. ‘Spikey? Is that what you thought of me?’
He felt a smile creasing his cheeks. ‘You came out with all guns blazing—I was only trying to help you change your wheel.’
He heard the laughter in her voice. ‘Well, you didn’t even introduce yourself. You were so aloof...you provoked me.’
He remembered the scene at the roadside—the wheel brace lying next to the punctured tyre, the jack close by. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I was too busy trying not to step on your evidently capable toes.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll admit I’m not much good at small talk, but I listen, and I notice things.’
‘Such as?’
‘The Aurora. You really should look up.’
The lights were in full spate now—glowing curtains of emerald-green, pulsing and shimmering. Time stretched and for a moment it felt to Cormac as if they were the only two people on earth.
When she finally spoke, he heard a catch in her voice.
‘It’s beautiful, Cor, don’t you think?’
She kept calling him ‘Cor’, and it sounded sweet from her mouth. He looked at her face, at the tiny lines wrinkling her forehead as she gazed at the sky, the smile playing on her lips. She was luminous, and the urge to touch her was overwhelming.
His voice emerged as a whisper. ‘Amazing.’
She seemed to sense that he wasn’t looking at the sky and turned to meet his gaze. ‘You were talking about the lights, right...?’
He watched the reflections dancing in her eyes and hesitated. ‘I was talking about the view.’ He didn’t know why he’d laid himself bare like that, but he saw an answering glimmer in her eyes that felt like an invitation.
Slowly, he lifted a hand to her cheek, traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, and then, as another flash lit the sky over their heads, he stepped closer. He couldn’t stop himself now. With infinite slowness he tilted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, and as their lips touched he felt her soften and rise to meet him. She wanted him too, and the relief of it filled him with joy. Gently, he pulled her closer, felt her body warm against his, her lips opening as he deepened his kiss.
He hadn’t meant for it to happen
, but now she was in his arms and everything was spinning out of control. He’d never kissed a more beautiful mouth, touched a milkier skin. He pulled the clip from her hair and tangled his hands in the endless beautiful softness of it.
How could he resist the pressure of her fingers at his neck, drawing him closer, the sensation of her body yielding to his? He’d let her in, allowed himself a taste of what that invisible, immutable force had been driving him towards for days, and he knew that he could lose himself at any moment.
He pulled away breathlessly. He could walk away now and there’d be no harm done, but her eyes held his and they were hazy with desire. Suddenly he was lifting her into his arms, carrying her to the hammock, laying her down.
She gasped softly against his neck as he hitched her leg up and drew her body firmly against him. And then his mouth was on hers again and it felt to Cormac that they might have fused into a single entity, driven by physical yearning and some other inexpressible emotion. Desperate to touch her, he pulled the cardigan away from her shoulders—then froze.
What was he doing? He had no right to be happy—he didn’t deserve this beautiful girl.
‘What’s wrong?’ Her voice was breathless, husky with desire.
He twisted away, then levered himself off the hammock with a strangled sigh. ‘I can’t do this.’
She struggled up and looked at him in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’
He shook his head and stepped back. ‘It’s a mistake. I shouldn’t have stayed.’
She scrambled off the hammock and took a cautious step towards him. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
He waltzed backwards, riding the wave of pain coursing through him. ‘No, you didn’t; it’s not you, Milla—it’s me. I’m not in a good place.’
He turned to walk away and felt her hand on his arm.
‘If you’re not in a good place, then go somewhere better. You don’t have to live under that cloud.’
Her words jumbled chaotically in his head. He couldn’t cope with words right now. Gently, he lifted her hand from his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
He turned and strode quickly towards the car.
‘A kiss like that could never be a mistake, Cormac!’
Her words rang out behind him and momentarily stopped him in his tracks, then he wrenched open the door, started the engine and accelerated up the rise before he could change his mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MILLA SLID DOWN onto the decking with her mug in her hands. She’d hit another wall with her work and this time it was Cormac’s fault. How could she concentrate on anything after last night? How she’d craved the solitude of the bothy, but there was no peace here now. Only confusion and pain.
Why had she even asked him to stay and watch the lights with her? She had no answer, except that she’d enjoyed his company in the restaurant and then he’d become withdrawn. She’d seen that familiar pain in his eyes and she’d wanted to know more about him.
But she hadn’t intended to unravel him like a spool of thread.
When his eyes locked on hers it made her head spin. She’d wondered sometimes if he was drawn to her in some way too, but he’d taken her by surprise with his kiss, then surprised her again by backing off.
She sipped her coffee without tasting it. The way his mouth had felt on hers...the way he’d buried his hands in her hair... She could still feel the deep warmth of him, but she was a fool.
It’s not you. It’s me.
It was the oldest line in the book. He’d kissed her, then decided he didn’t want her. She put down her coffee. Another rejection... Perhaps she really was unlovable. And yet the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d pulled her against him... She’d thought she’d felt something real.
She wished she could talk to her mother. Colleen had understood people so well, seen things in them that Milla hadn’t. She wondered what her mother would advise her to do—and then she remembered how Colleen had said that you could only ever follow the road you were on in the best way you could.
It was how she’d accepted her illness, why she’d worn her bright scarves and carried on doing the things she loved until she hadn’t been able to do them any more.
Milla swiped at her cheeks with her hands and got to her feet. She would push through somehow. Prioritise work and forget everything else. Her ankle was improving—she was barely limping today. Perhaps she’d take her sketchbook and go out. Losing herself in the landscape would heal her spirit.
She was on her way inside when she heard the rumble of an engine. With a thumping heart she watched as a familiar vehicle appeared over the rise and descended towards the bothy. As it drew nearer she squinted at the windscreen, feeling both relief and disappointment when she saw Sam at the wheel.
He parked, jumped from the cab and hurried towards her. ‘Hi, Milla. How’s your foot?’
Sam was so easy to be around. She smiled. ‘Much better, thanks. I’m hardly limping today.’
‘That’s good.’ A sudden seriousness broke in his features. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve had a phone call at the house. Someone called Daniel Calder-Jones wants to speak to you—he says it’s urgent.’
She felt the colour draining from her face. ‘Daniel?’
Sam nodded. ‘Yes. I told him I’d come and fetch you. He wants you to call him straight back.’
She didn’t want to speak to Dan—urgent or not—but then she felt her heart stall. Had something happened at home? She dismissed the thought instantly. Her father would have called, or one of her brothers—they had the number for Calcarron House after all. No, Dan was calling about something else.
She felt a prickle of irritation. He’d probably lost the password for his online banking—in Dan’s world that would qualify as an emergency. But, whatever it was, if she went with Sam at least she’d be able to retrieve her own vehicle, which was still at the house. She only hoped she wouldn’t bump into Cormac.
She looked at Sam and frowned. ‘Okay...well, I suppose I’d better come with you.’
* * *
Cormac crouched down to check the connecting lugs on the last length of aluminium edging, then rose to his feet. The marquee company had done a good job, but his army training compelled him to check everything. He surveyed the gleaming parquet, scanning the surface for any gaps that might catch an unsuspecting stiletto heel, but it was perfect. Now he could move on to the exterior lighting. He needed to focus on his tasks and keep his thoughts tightly leashed. It was the only way he would get through the day.
Last night he’d lain awake for hours, then slept fitfully, his desert nightmares spiked with emerald skies and the taste of whiskey in her mouth. He should never have kissed her; he should never have allowed himself even to think of caring for her, but the worst of it was that she’d wanted him too.
He’d suddenly realised that he couldn’t let that happen—couldn’t let her develop feelings for him. He had nothing to give—and besides, he had every intention of going on tour again, and if was killed, like Duncan, then she’d be left alone, like Emma. He couldn’t do that to her. She’d already been through enough with Daniel.
The electrician was making his way across the lawn with a toolbox and nodded affably in Cormac’s direction as he passed. ‘We’ve got a nice dry day. If it holds, we’ll be rigged by late afternoon.’
Cormac nodded. ‘Great! I’m going to check the generator...’
His words trailed away at the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle and he watched as the Jeep barrelled into view and screeched to a halt at the main door. He was about to shout a reprimand when he realised that Sam was hurrying to the passenger side to open the door for someone, and when Milla eased herself down from the cab his heart stood still.
As if she could sense him she looked up, held his gaze, then turned away and followed Sam into the house.
Cormac’s he
art was racing. What was she doing here? And why had she disappeared into the house in such a hurry?
As she’d gazed at him across the lawn he’d noticed the shadows under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. All his fault. He’d hurt her, and he couldn’t stand it.
He ran his hands through his hair and turned away from the house. He thought he’d patched up his armour and hardened his heart, but seeing her like this had thrown him into turmoil.
He closed his eyes, forced his breathing into a slower rhythm and started towards the generator shed. Then he stopped, turned, and strode back towards the house.
* * *
Milla stared at the number scrawled on the notepad. Whatever was going on, Dan was evidently still in Berlin. She glanced at the door. Sam had reassured her that she wouldn’t be disturbed, but she felt skittish. Seeing Cormac like that...and now calling Dan, not knowing what she was going to hear...
She took a deep breath and tapped out the number.
When he answered, his voice was low and smoky. ‘Milla, baby—why on earth have you buried yourself in the back of beyond? It’s taken me ages to track you down.’
He sounded all right—not injured or impaired. ‘What’s so urgent, Dan?’
‘Straight to the point, as always.’
She imagined him raking long fingers through his hair.
‘The truth is... I’ve been thinking things over and I realise I miss you. I miss you a lot.’
She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. ‘You miss me?’
‘I’m all over the place, Mills, and I can’t stop thinking about your beautiful face, the way you anchor me. My little rock...remember?’
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘What I remember is you throwing your “little rock” into the lake and letting it sink.’
‘I understand that you’re angry, but I’ll make it up to you.’
It was hard to keep her tone level. ‘What happened to Maria?’
There was a long silence. ‘She left.’
‘Ah! I suppose that happened when you told her how much you were missing me...?’
