Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2)

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  She couldn’t help but moan as he slid out of her.

  “I like that sound,” he said. “I have a hankering to hear a lot more of it.”

  He headed for the bathroom, and Donna stayed where she was. There was no energy to move. He chuckled at the sight of her when he came back into the room.

  “My wee Angel is spent.” He climbed onto the bed, tugging her to his side before pulling the duvet up over them. “Time for a nap before round two.” He gave her a cocky smile. “Or in your case, is it round four hundred?”

  She managed to find the energy to poke him in the ribs. “You’re just jealous because you’re a ‘once and done’ man.”

  “I’m too old and tired to take issue with that right now, but after a rest, I’ll show you who’s once and done.”

  Donna smiled and then pressed a kiss to his chest. She loved seeing him like this: funny, self-effacing, and sexy as hell. He’d come a long way from the man she’d rescued from the driveway.

  But, he still wasn’t hers.

  When she looked up at him, he’d closed his eyes. A little voice in her head told her not to do what she planned, to let sleeping dogs lie and enjoy the present, the future would bring enough trouble when it came. But she couldn’t do it. She had to ask the question that had been eating her up.

  “Duncan, can you answer my question now?”

  “Mmm,” he said sleepily, “it had better not be how long a thirty-eight-year-old man takes to recover for round two.”

  “No.” She propped herself up on her elbow to look at him, memorising every line on his face and the strong cut of his jaw. Her stomach lurched as she opened her mouth to speak. “What I want to know is, do you think you could ever love someone other than Fiona?”

  He went taut beneath her touch and his eyes flew open. “Why would you ask me something like that? Ask me another question—one I can answer.”

  Donna forced a smile as a dull ache spread like a fungus through her body, contaminating everything it touched. “You’re right. That was a dumb question.” And he’d already given her his answer in telling her to pick another. “I’m too tired to think of another one right now. Can I have a rain check on my side of the deal?”

  “Aye.” He sank back into the bed, wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her into his side. “Let’s get some sleep. You’ve knackered me out.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as she pressed her cheek to his chest. “I’m exhausted too, sleep sounds good.”

  “No’ for too long, mind. I have plans for you.”

  She tried to keep her voice light as her throat tightened around her words. “I thought you were leaving early for Glasgow. You need to be rested for the drive.”

  “I’m heading out late morning, so we’ve plenty of time left for round two. Now go to sleep.”

  His thumb stroked her side until he fell asleep. Donna lay there, listening to his steady breathing and feeling the beat of his heart under her cheek. She felt as though her own heart had been weighed down with standing stones. The dull, low throb of agony made her feel like she could sink through the floor and into the very earth beneath her, where it would press in on her until she lost the ability to breathe. The relentless pressure against her heart and soul crushing her into dust.

  With his refusal to answer her question, Duncan had confirmed that there was no space in his heart for anyone but his wife. All he would ever be able to offer her was affection, and a touch to ease the lonely nights. She suspected it might have been enough for her—if she hadn’t already fallen in love with him. Now, it felt like exactly what it was: Fiona’s leftovers.

  As she stared out at the night sky, she realised that her fate was sealed. Agnes was right, there was no way she could stay at the mansion, pining after a man who was constrained in what he was able to give her. A relationship with Duncan, of any kind, would always be unequal. She would always want more, and he would always be unable to give it to her.

  It would be agony.

  She had to leave and find another job. And it was clear she couldn’t stay to work out her notice. As soon as the ball was over, she’d pack up and move in with Agnes. It would be best for both her and Duncan. Then, maybe, he could find another woman that would sleep with him and enjoy his friendship, without ever wanting his heart. She knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t that woman.

  She angled her head to look up at him. Even in sleep, he was formidable. So beautiful, and yet so broken. She could only imagine the agony of having your soulmate and then losing them, leaving you ripped in two and forever yearning.

  Tomorrow, he would leave for Glasgow, and he wouldn’t come back until after the ball. By then, she’d be gone. It didn’t matter whether she spent the rest of the night touching him or not, either way, it would tear her apart to leave.

  But she would take the few hours she had left with him. Because, even though she knew it was the foolish thing to do, she wanted to sleep in the arms of the man she loved. Before she left him forever.

  Chapter 24

  “Has he gone then?” Grace asked Donna as she came into the kitchen for lunch the following day.

  “He just left, and he won’t be back until late on Saturday. He’s having dinner with the dean tomorrow night, after he teaches.” Which was good, because as he sat down to eat in Glasgow, his house in Kintyre would be full of strangers.

  She slipped into the booth and looked out the window to the immaculate estate grounds. There was no doubt she’d miss the place, but her sisters were right, she hadn’t stayed in the job because she loved the mansion, she’d stayed because she loved Duncan.

  Holding two mugs of tea, Grace slipped into the seat facing her. “Food will be ready in five minutes. We’ve got time for a cuppa.”

  Donna accepted the drink gratefully. “We might as well enjoy the peace while we can. The institute women will be here after lunch to set up.”

  “It’s not the set-up I’m worried about. It’s the clean-up afterwards.”

  “I’ve hired a cleaning crew,” Donna said. “They’ll be here first thing Saturday morning.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s paying? I know the money can’t come out of the mansion accounts, or Duncan will notice. You’d better be charging the Women’s Institute to clean up their mess.”

  Donna felt her cheeks heat as she sipped her tea. “I can’t, Grace, then it would come out of the amount raised for the cancer charity.”

  “So you’re paying for it yourself.” She let out a sigh. “You need a keeper, lassie.”

  The timer went off on the oven, and Grace went over to dish up their food. She returned with two steaming bowls of cock-a-leekie soup and a freshly baked loaf of walnut bread.

  “Perfect.” Donna’s mouth watered.

  “You need to get your strength up for dealing with Flora, Joyce and Ann.”

  “No kidding.” The soup was delicious, with leeks that melted on her tongue and chicken that was tender and tasty.

  “I saw you saying goodbye to Duncan,” Grace said as she buttered her bread.

  Donna focused on her soup, aware that she must have witnessed the kiss they’d shared when Duncan had backed her up against his car. Her body was still vibrating from it. She felt a hand curl around hers and looked up to find Grace’s understanding smile.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  “Yeah.” She had no choice but to be otherwise. She reached for the bread, as an excuse to retreat, and cleared her throat. “I’m leaving the mansion after the ball. I’ll be staying with Agnes while I look for a new job.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Donna nodded and focused on her soup. It was hard to look Grace in the eye when all she saw was sympathy there. “He doesn’t need me anymore. He’s a changed man—he’s smiling and laughing and working again. I don’t think he’ll ever be the man he was before he lost his wife, but he’s ready to get on with his life.”

  “But not with you?”

  “No.” Sh
e looked back out of the window. “His love for Fiona is too big to allow room for someone else.”

  “That’s not how love works, my darling. Love is never-ending. The bigger it is, the more it can encompass. And if you have learned to love well, and deeply, as Duncan has, then there will always be the space and resources to love more.”

  Her words were like needles jabbing her skin. “I asked him, Grace. He said there wouldn’t be another.”

  She let out a sigh. “What did I tell you about listening to men? No good ever comes of it. You have to pay attention to his actions, and that boy loves you.”

  Donna shook her head. Grace was wrong. Duncan felt affection for her, and he liked her, but there was nothing more. Fiona had taken it all when she’d left.

  “Will you stay and look after him once I’m gone? For a wee while, anyway?”

  “You mean until he fires me?” Grace smiled ruefully. “Aye, I’ll stay, but I think you should too.”

  “I can’t, Grace. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

  “You numpty.” Grace stood and came round the table to enfold Donna in a hug. “Don’t you know by now that there’s nothing you could do that would ever disappoint me?” She straightened and wiped her eyes. “Now, it just so happens that I made cake for pudding.”

  With that, she turned and strode towards the pantry, leaving Donna to finish her food in silence.

  ***

  “Are you sure about this?” Mairi asked as they loaded the last of Donna’s boxes into the back of a van Keir had borrowed to help her move.

  She’d spent the afternoon and early evening dealing with the many people there to set up for the ball and then packing up her things in the housekeeper’s apartment.

  “It’s the right thing to do.”

  She watched as Agnes shut the doors to the van, with most of her belongings inside. All that was left were the clothes and toiletries to get her through the next two days and a few things she had to pick up from around the house—like her copy of The Hobbit from Duncan’s office, and the painting he’d given her, which hung facing her desk. Once these things were gone, there would be nothing left of her in the mansion.

  “I think you’re making a sensible decision,” Agnes said as she came to stand beside them.

  “Of course you do.” Mairi frowned. “Your heart is a block of ice.”

  “Thank you,” Agnes said with pride. “Do you want to come back to the apartment and stay there tonight?” she asked Donna.

  “No, I need to be here early tomorrow to make sure the caterers can get in.” Although, the thought of sleeping in her empty flat, and empty bed, made her ache.

  “Okay, if you change your mind, just drive on over and let yourself in.”

  “I will.” She gave her sisters a hug and watched as they climbed into the van beside Keir. Sean and his friends, who’d turned up to help carry boxes, honked the horn of their car as they followed.

  She watched them head down the drive until they were out of sight before turning back to the building that had been her home these past two years. The sun was setting over Kintyre, and the warm glow made the grey stone seem almost welcoming. There was no denying that it was a lovely building, if a little on the sterile side. Still, she’d cared for it, and its owner, with everything she had to give. But neither the house nor the man had ever truly belonged to her.

  “Watch over him,” she whispered. Unsure if she was talking to the house or the spectre of Fiona’s memory that clung to it.

  She lifted the small bag she’d brought downstairs with the last load and walked around the building, following the path to the carriage house. Cook had already stocked the fridge for her, and she’d left the lamps on so that she wouldn’t walk into a dark house.

  Donna had decided to spend her last nights, not in the mansion, but in the one place she felt belonged to her and Duncan—if only a little. She placed her bag on the table, smiling at the covered chocolate cake that sat there with a note stuck to the top: Don’t eat it all in one go, or you’ll be sick.

  After taking a can of Irn-Bru out of the fridge and her book out of her bag, she curled into the corner of the sofa, facing the windows that looked out at the trees between the carriage house and the mansion. The builders had suggested chopping down the trees so that the guests had a view of the house, but she hadn’t agreed with them. Somehow the wooded area made the retreat seem more secluded. Now, she was grateful for her decision because she didn’t want to look at the building that had taken over her life these past two years. The one that owned the man she loved, just as much as the memory of his dead wife did.

  ***

  Duncan had declined an invitation to meet up with the art college faculty when he arrived in Glasgow. He wanted to wander the city on his own, and he had a visit he needed to make.

  As he walked up to the cemetery on the hill overlooking Glasgow’s city centre, he remembered the last time he’d taken this route—the day he’d laid Fiona to rest. He hadn’t been back since because that had felt too much like admitting she was gone forever.

  The day they buried his wife, the sun had been shining, and the breeze had been brisk. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the funeral, or if he’d said anything when he was there. Nor could he remember who else had attended, or even who took the service. But he did recall the way the sun filtered through the leaves to form patterns that danced on Fiona’s grave. And he remembered the birds singing in the trees, the smell of the flowers all around her grave, and the colour of the sky.

  Most of all, he remembered wishing he had been in the hole alongside his wife.

  The sun was setting as he wended his way along the paths between the graves. He watched as the markers became less ornate and more modern. There was something comforting about the moss-covered headstones that were worn with time. As though the earth was welcoming the person resting there back inside of it.

  Fiona had picked out her own headstone. The same way she’d planned her funeral before she’d left him. All Duncan had done was stand guard over her wishes and make sure they were carried out to the letter.

  He spotted the stone as he rounded the corner into a small clearing beside some trees. It was a block of soft pink marble that was rough and unpolished at the bottom but smooth and perfect at the top. She’d told him it symbolised the things she’d left unfinished. The inscription was simple: her name and the dates of her short life, with the words Well Loved beneath them. She’d joked that the words could be taken several ways, one of them being that he’d taken excellent care of her in bed.

  Duncan stopped beside the stone and rested his hand on top, feeling the smooth marble under his touch. There were fresh flowers on her grave: pink roses like the ones she’d loved. He knew they were from her parents, two more people he’d cut from his life when he’d lost her.

  He sank to the grass beside the stone and, bringing his knees up to rest his arms, he looked out over Glasgow. Dusk brought a flicker of lights, springing up throughout the city, as the place finally came to life.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, or even what went through his mind while he did. But it was time spent remembering, instead of wishing for something different. He wasn’t a man for flowery words—Fiona used to say that he saved that sentiment for his art, and she always knew how he felt by looking at his paintings. He smiled at the memory but didn’t say a word. Some might find comfort in talking to the graves of their loved ones, but Duncan knew she wasn’t really there. Her soul had gone home, and her body had returned to the earth. All that remained was a pink stone and the memory of something that had been beyond description in its perfection.

  As the sky turned black over the city, he got to his feet and wiped off his jeans. He wouldn’t be back, visiting graves wasn’t something he did, not with his parents and not with his wife. There were other ways to pay respect to the dead, and Duncan preferred to do it through his art. Fiona would live on in every painting he made. His love for her would sne
ak into the work through the colours and the brushstrokes. He wouldn’t be able to keep it out, because Duncan painted everything he loved.

  This visit had been a chance to lay to rest the vows he’d made. It was time to move on with his life—without Fiona. Slowly, he tugged off the ring that sat on his wedding finger and looked at the weathered gold. There was no inscription inside—there hadn’t seemed any need when they could look into each other’s eyes and say what they felt.

  He crouched down and dug a small hole at the foot of the pink stone, placing the ring inside and covering it over before patting the dirt down firm. It belonged with Fiona. He’d taken the ring from her as a symbol of the promises he’d made to her, and now, those were fulfilled. He’d loved her until she died, and then beyond. He’d loved her in sickness and in health. In wealth and poverty. He’d loved her with all of him and cherished everything she’d had to give.

  Until death they did part.

  He stood and headed back down the path to the city, never once looking back.

  Chapter 25

  “I say we play rock, paper, scissors to see who’s going to kill those three old bats,” Agnes said as she stalked into the mansion’s kitchen.

  “Nobody’s killing anyone,” Grace said from where she was talking to the caterer, as waitstaff scurried around them.

  “Can we at least add Metamucil to their food?” Mairi asked as she followed Agnes into the room.

  “That, I’ll think about,” Grace conceded.

  “What have they done now?” Donna was going over her list of things that still needed to be done before the ball started in ten hours.

  Agnes put her hands on her hips. “I caught them trying to pick the lock on Duncan’s studio door.”

  That was it. Donna was on her feet. “No need to play games for the privilege, I’m going to wring their necks.” She stormed towards the door.

  “Stop her,” cook shouted, but her sisters were smart enough to step out of her way. “Did you hear me?” Grace snapped, and two huge waiters stepped in front of the door to block her exit.