“Do I have any choice?” she asked. “You’ve practically ensured I can’t leave without losing my job.”
He actually looked surprised. “Of course you have a choice. We’re going to hire your firm regardless. That was never in question.”
“Then why do you want me to stay?”
He leaned close again. “Because I want you to fall in love.”
“Excuse me?” she squeaked.
He straightened, holding the stack of plates he’d been reaching for behind her. “With Scotland. You’re halfway there already; you just need a little push. Could you take the wine glasses to the table?”
Andrea gathered the glasses silently and carried them to the dining room, her jaw clenched. He was toying with her. The larger part of her—the part that had clawed her way to this position through hard work and without relying on her feminine wiles—resented it to the bone.
It was the part of her that didn’t, the part that thrilled to the promise in his voice, that worried her.
Chapter Fourteen
James smiled to himself as he began plating their supper. First a drizzle of his balsamic reduction, followed by a mound of wild rice, then an artful swirl of pork medallions beneath the cherry sauce. Andrea bustled around the kitchen, trying to be casual, but he could feel both nervousness and resentment boil off her like steam from a kettle. She might pretend he had forced her into staying, but she had agreed to it of her own free will. Or at least she hadn’t refused.
If he were to be honest, his own pulse wasn’t feeling entirely steady at the moment, though he didn’t know if it was his fear she would say no or the almost irresistible desire to kiss her every time she was within arm’s reach. He might have intended to lure her out from behind her stolid professionalism, but standing that close had sent his imagination into overdrive. She was not the only one ensnared by the force of attraction between them.
For the first time since he conceived the idea this afternoon, he wondered if he was making a mistake.
He finished plating the meal, including a smaller portion for Emmy, with his mind only half on his work. So she had agreed, more or less. Now he just had to make sure she didn’t regret her decision.
He went to lift the plates and remembered the apron. He snatched it off and tossed it on the countertop, stifling a groan. Had he actually just tried to play seductive while wearing pink ruffles? He was lucky she hadn’t laughed him out of the room.
Andrea barely looked up when he set the plate in front of her, though she murmured polite thanks. When they were all seated, Muriel bowed her head and thanked the Lord for the food, the gathering, and their guest.
“It’s a shame you’re leaving tomorrow,” Muriel said. “You’ve scarcely gotten the chance to see Skye.”
“Actually, James has convinced me I’d be remiss in my research if I didn’t stay a little longer.” Andrea’s eyes met his, the challenge in them clear.
“Did he now?” Muriel said calmly. “Well, you couldn’t ask for a better guide. He’s jogged or hiked almost every inch of Skye at some point or another. But you won’t go far in your fancy clothes.”
“I thought we might go to Fort William tomorrow,” James said to Andrea. “Buy you some suitable things.”
“Can I go?” Emmy asked. She looked confused at the laughter that rang out around the table in reply.
“I think they want to do grown-up stuff,” Serena said in a stage whisper.
James smiled as two spots of pink rose to Andrea’s cheeks. “You’ll like Fort William,” he said. “If we’re lucky, we might see some porpoise in the loch.”
“Really?” Andrea said. “I’ve never seen a porpoise before.”
“Even in Tahiti?”
“This would have been my first time,” she admitted. “The closest I usually get to water is the Hudson River. I thought I should expand my horizons a bit.”
“I feel even worse, now, that we ruined your trip,” James said. “We’ll have to make this week special.”
Her eyebrows lifted, and she studied him like she didn’t quite believe he was serious. Then she smiled—a true smile, not the polished, rehearsed one. It knocked the breath from him.
“Did you decide what we’re going to play?” Emmy asked suddenly.
Bless her for her timing. Everyone’s attention turned back to the little girl, giving James a moment to compose his thoughts and force air back into his lungs.
“I think we should keep our song a secret, don’t you?” Andrea said to Emmy. “So everyone will be surprised?”
“Good idea.” Emmy nodded seriously.
Serena and Muriel volunteered to clear the table at the end of the meal, and Andrea followed Emmy to the piano. James leaned on the door frame and watched them perch on the bench, side by side.
“I’m going to teach you the melody, okay?” Andrea demonstrated a simple tune and then watched as Emmy played it several times. “Good. Now I’ll bring in the harmony. We’ll practice a little so we can show off when they all come back.”
By the time Serena and Muriel returned from the kitchen, they had worked out the details enough to make a respectable duet. James led them in a loud round of applause, and Emmy grinned broadly as she bounced up off the bench.
“You’re a natural,” Andrea said. “Keep with it. You’ll be playing the Royal Albert Hall before you know it.”
“Thanks, Andrea,” Emmy said and threw her arms around her neck.
Expressions shifted over Andrea’s face—surprise, dismay, that fleeting pain he’d already noticed—before she could manage to return the embrace. “You’re welcome. Keep practicing, all right?”
“Will you play something for us?” James asked.
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“Oh, please do!” Serena exclaimed. “It’s been ages since anyone but Auntie has played.”
“There’s always been music in the house,” James finished for her. “Our father taught pipes and fiddle. Unfortunately, none of us inherited his talent.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Andrea said. “Anyone can play, given enough practice.”
“Then you’ll play for us?” James said. “Trust me, if you miss a note or two, we won’t know the difference.”
Andrea looked reluctant, but he could feel the draw the piano had for her. “I suppose. I’ll play something you all might know.”
Andrea took a deep breath and laid her hands lightly on the keys. James nodded silently when he recognized the piece from the first notes, Debussy’s “Claire de Lune.” It was a long step from his usual rock or jazz, but this was one of the few classical pieces he knew and loved. He had always thought it a simple piece, but as Andrea moved from the quiet chords of the initial measures into rolling, sweeping arpeggios, he realized how wrong he’d been, just as he realized how far short she’d sold her ability.
The delicacy of her playing was like nothing he’d ever heard, turning even the slightly tinny sound of the old piano into something ethereal and beautiful. He caught his sister’s gaze across the room and saw his surprise echoed in her face. This was not the playing of a casual musician, but a gifted, deeply dedicated pianist. A slight smile came to Andrea’s lips and her eyes closed halfway, an expression of peace and wholeness he had seen once before as she looked out onto the waters of Skye. It looked as though she interpreted every note with her body, her hands gliding gracefully over the keys. He’d never noticed how much the music felt like the ebb and flow of the tide, the notes floating and rolling like waves, until he saw her sway with the rhythm of the melody.
Her playing spoke louder than anything she could have said. This meant something to her, and she had chosen to share it with them.
The last notes faded into silence, and his family remained quiet, as reluctant as he to fracture the spell. Muriel broke it first, wiping dampness from her ey
es with the back of her hand. “That was beautiful, my dear. You are one talented young lady.”
Andrea opened her eyes in shock, and the peaceful expression faded into dismay, as if she had forgotten their presence. She rose from the bench abruptly. Her voice trembled when she whispered, “I need a glass of water. Will you excuse me?”
James exchanged a confused glance with his family as she strode unsteadily from the room. He followed her into the kitchen, where she was filling a glass from the tap. She lifted it to her lips with a shaking hand.
“Are you all right?” James asked quietly, stopping a safe distance away.
She looked up, startled again by his presence, and forced a smile. “Of course.”
“This wasn’t just something you picked up, was it?”
A smile flickered over her face. “Not quite.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No, not really.” She took a long drink of her water and set the glass down on the countertop with a click. “I’m tired. Do you think we could go back now?”
The tremor in her voice told him she was barely holding onto her composure. He should just retrieve her coat and escort her out, let her deal with whatever memories lay connected with her astounding talent. He was never one to do the smart thing though.
Instead, he closed the space and turned her to face him. She jerked in surprise at his touch, but she didn’t try to pull away as his fingers smoothed her collarbones, and then brushed soothingly down her shoulders. Her eyes drifted closed as his fingers gently kneaded the knots in her shoulders, and she let out a long sigh.
“Better?”
“Better,” she whispered, swaying toward him. It would be so easy to close the gap between them, take her fully in his arms, see where things went from there. Before he could turn the thought into action, her eyes snapped open, and she stiffened beneath his hands.
James stepped back. “Do you still want to go?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I’ll get your coat.” James left her in the kitchen and ducked back into the living room, where Serena and Muriel waited with Emmy, their expressions concerned.
He shook his head at their unspoken question. He didn’t understand what was behind her reaction any better than they did. “I’m going to take her back down to the cottages. There’s a bowl of fruit in the refrigerator for dessert.”
“Thanks, Jamie,” Serena said.
James kissed his sister and Emmy, but when he came to Muriel, his aunt gripped the back of his neck hard and whispered in his ear, “She’s fragile, that one. Handle her with care, Jamie.”
He wanted to say he wasn’t handling her in any fashion, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice the flippant words. He just nodded, retrieved Andrea’s coat from where it was draped over the arm of the sofa, and returned to the kitchen to help her put it on.
On the way out, Andrea smiled brightly and thanked Muriel for her hospitality, but for once, James could see cracks in her hard, polished shell. They crunched back to the Subaru in silence, enveloped by the misty night air. Once they were safely ensconced in the car and headed back down the drive, she said in a small voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would affect me that way.”
“You’re entitled to have feelings,” he said, though it really wasn’t what he wanted to say. How did such a talented pianist find herself working as a hospitality consultant? How did a woman who obviously felt things deeply manage to live such a staid, ordinary life? He sensed she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, address the questions, so he changed the subject instead. “I thought we could leave for Fort William right after breakfast tomorrow. Make a day of it. There’s plenty to see.”
“That sounds great. What time should I be ready to go up to the house?”
“Seven, if that suits?”
“Seven is fine.”
Their headlights splashed against the whitewashed stone of the hotel as he pulled into the lot. He parked and killed the engine and lights, plunging them into darkness. He opened her door wordlessly and escorted her to the cottage where he hesitated. He could see the emotions tumbling around behind her eyes when she turned to face him, but he couldn’t pinpoint whether the source was panic or something else.
“I know you want to ask,” she said.
He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. The frigid strands released the subtle scent of her perfume into the air, drawing him closer. He trailed his fingers down the side of her face and felt her sudden sharp intake of breath. When his eyes drifted to her lips, parted in surprise, all he wanted to do was find out if they were as soft as they looked, if she tasted as sweet as she always smelled.
He couldn’t do it. She was vulnerable tonight, and he wouldn’t take advantage of that. If she kissed him, it should be because she wanted to, not because she didn’t have the presence of mind to refuse.
He dropped his hand. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Good night, Andrea.”
“Good night.” She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. The deadbolt slid home on the other side with a heavy clunk.
He stared at the bright red door for the space of a heartbeat and headed for his own cottage before he could change his mind.
She wasn’t what he needed right now. Cassandra had been that dangerous combination of fragility and strength as well. She’d taught him that heartache came in the form of beautiful women whose vulnerability roused his protective instincts.
But the comparison was hardly fair to Andrea. Cassandra had fooled him into believing her innocence and openness were real, when it turned out to be a role she played when it suited her. Their engagement had been a boost to her career: a publicity ploy, a diversion while she secretly carried on with her then-married costar.
Andrea, on the other hand, asked for no help. Wanted no help. She hid her thoughts deep and masked her vulnerability well. She’d made her opinion of his reputation clear, and yet tonight she’d actually shown him a measure of trust.
He couldn’t break that trust. The last thing he wanted to do was turn what was supposed to be a relaxing week into an experience she’d regret. How in the world did he manage to get himself into these situations? He’d meant to have a little innocent fun, but he hadn’t counted on a concert pianist who almost fell apart when she performed.
He toed off his shoes and sank into the chair in front of the television, flicking it on with the remote. He reached for the weathered, leather-bound Bible on the table beside him and set it in his lap, but he didn’t open it. He knew the inside well, its pages worn, dog-eared, and marked by a kaleidoscope of colored Biro pens. Duncan MacDonald may never have set foot inside a church other than the day he married James’s mother, but he lived by the words in this book. Just holding it brought back an ache two years had done nothing to abate.
His dad should be here right now. He would know what to do. If James had taken his father’s last advice, he might have avoided the whole mess with Cassandra in the first place.
The elder MacDonald would have liked Andrea, though. Her musical talent alone would have endeared her to the man who’d taught cèilidh pipe and fiddle to children on the island for almost thirty years. Besides, his father had as much of a weakness for beautiful women as James did.
“I wish you were here,” he said aloud, smoothing the cover of the Bible. “You’d know exactly how I should proceed.”
But he already knew what to do. His father’s answer had usually been one of two things: “Wait on the Lord,” or “Treat others as you wish to be treated.”
James wasn’t all that skilled at waiting, but he did know how Andrea wanted to be treated. She was in desperate need of rest, but not solitude. Something in her craved a connection or she wouldn’t have submitted to his touch so easily. She’d allowed him a brief glimpse at the wounds behind her capable exterior, and the las
t thing he wanted to do was give her a reason to retreat behind the shell.
Chapter Fifteen
Andrea stepped out of her shoes and tossed her coat onto the nearest chair, thoroughly unsettled. It had been a night of terrible decisions. First, she had agreed to stay in Skye with James for the rest of the week, for no other reason than he had asked her to. Then she’d played the piano for him and his family, even though she’d known the feelings it would stir up. She certainly hadn’t rebuffed his touch like she should have. Either time. As it was, the memory of his hands on her shoulders—first comforting, then unsettling—sent a current of electricity straight down her spine. Had she given him the slightest indication she would have welcomed it, he would have kissed her good night.
She was fairly certain she wouldn’t have resisted.
“You’re losing it, Andrea,” she murmured. She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, trading the businesslike wool for the comforting flannel of her pajamas. What was she thinking? She was fine on her own. She didn’t need a man. Didn’t want a man. Especially not one who moved through the female population like a tornado, leaving devastation in his wake.
Andrea sighed and reached for her cell phone before she remembered there was no signal at the hotel. She picked up the room phone and dialed her sister’s number. She didn’t wait for Becky to talk after she picked up.
“How much of an idiot am I really?”
“Uh, hello to you too, Andy. What did I miss?”
“I’m changing my return flight to Saturday.”
Silence stretched for several seconds. When Becky spoke, Andrea could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s interesting.”
“It’s stupid is what it is. I can’t afford to spend the week sightseeing in Scotland when I should be home working.” Andrea dropped onto the bed and drew her legs up beneath her.
“You already planned to go to Tahiti. I don’t see the problem. Unless of course the scenery you’re staying for isn’t of the landscape variety.”
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