Andrea smoothed her hair back fitfully. “He’s … I don’t know …”
“Gorgeous?” Becky suggested. “Talented? Charming? Gorgeous?”
“You said gorgeous twice.”
“Well, it bears repeating, considering who we’re talking about.”
“You’re finding this way too amusing.”
Becky laughed. “Of course I am. I never thought there would be a guy who could get under your skin. Really. It’s been a long time coming.”
“He’s not under my skin. It’s just …”
“Yeah, that was convincing. Did he kiss you?”
Andrea threw herself back against the pillows. “No! Of course not … Not yet.” She had to pry the last part out.
“Well, get on with it, then. You’ve only got three full days left. I wouldn’t waste them if I were you. Call me when you get around to it. I want details. I bet he’s a fantastic kisser.”
“You’re hopeless.” Andrea pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Thanks for being absolutely no help.”
Becky paused for another long moment. “Andy, I know you’ve spent the last eight years pushing everyone away. But not every man is like Logan. What’s the worst that could happen if you let someone in just a little bit?”
“You know what could happen,” Andrea said darkly. “You were there. Besides, a man who lives three thousand miles away on a different continent is hardly relationship material.”
“You never know what God has in mind for your life. Maybe there was a reason you got sent to Scotland at the last minute.”
“I gave up on the ‘God’s plan’ thing years ago, Becks. If there was a purpose in that whole sordid mess with Logan, I can’t imagine what it might be.”
“It made you who you are today. A successful, focused, talented woman with a lot to offer. I wish you would remember there’s more to you than your career.”
Unexpectedly, tears pricked Andrea’s eyes. She wiped them away before they could take up permanent residence and swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I love you, Becks.”
“I love you, too. Just try, sweetie. If you think he’s trustworthy, let him in a little. If it makes you feel better, it’s only three days. It’s like … relationship training wheels. If everything goes south, you’ve got a plane ticket home on Saturday.”
“You’re completely right, of course.” Andrea sighed. “Thanks.”
“Any time. Now go have some fun.”
Andrea hung up the phone. Her sister was right. It was silly to get all worked up over this. After all, James had done nothing but flirt and promise her a better time than she’d have back in her office in New York. That couldn’t be too difficult, could it? She was in a beautiful place with a handsome man who cooked spectacular meals. If she couldn’t see that as a dream vacation, she possessed very little imagination.
Unfortunately, she had no shortage of that trait tonight. When she finally settled into bed and closed her eyes, all she could think about was his fingers on her cheek and what might have happened had he not, at the last minute, turned away.
Andrea awoke the next morning with a flutter in her stomach. For a moment, she lay ensconced in the fluffy duvet, trying to place the feeling.
Anticipation.
How long had it been since she had awakened feeling anything other than dread about the day before her? It had been years, maybe decades, since she hadn’t had to struggle against the heavy weight of anxiety just to get out of bed.
She dressed in the most casual outfit she could assemble from her business wardrobe, though the lipstick-red Jimmy Choos had to make a comeback. She used a light hand on the makeup and let her hair dry into natural waves in the absence of a hair dryer.
James knocked promptly at seven. She opened the door, and her heart tripped. In jeans, a fitted black turtleneck, and a black leather jacket, he epitomized the words effortlessly handsome. Okay, maybe not effortless. The cut of the jacket definitely suggested a certain London designer’s spring line. She had to admit, the man knew how to dress.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing down at himself. “Did I get toothpaste on myself or something?”
“No,” she said slowly. “I was just thinking how nice you look.”
He actually looked embarrassed by the compliment. “So do you. Except those shoes aren’t made for walking.”
“I know, but all my trousers are hemmed for heels. I could hardly wear running shoes. Besides, how can I turn down the justification to shop?”
“Women.” He threw the word back with a twinkle in his eye as they walked toward the car.
“Oh, don’t think I don’t recognize that designer jacket you’re wearing. You don’t know the meaning of the words off the rack.”
James laughed and held the door open as she climbed into the car. “I don’t suppose the fact the designer’s a friend of mine makes it any better?”
“No, actually, that’s even worse.”
“Just don’t tell my family then. I’d never live it down.”
Their arrival at Muriel’s house was a repeat of the day before. Emmy claimed Andrea immediately, this time to mold play dough, while Serena gulped down an enormous mug of coffee and fed Max cereal at the low table. James immediately disappeared into the kitchen.
When Andrea didn’t smell bacon, she assumed she would be saved from another massive breakfast. That notion fled when he called them to the table to a platter of eggs Benedict, complete with the richest, creamiest sauce she’d ever tasted.
“Sinful,” Andrea said. “The road to hell is definitely paved with hollandaise.”
Serena laughed. “Now you see the real reason we visit Skye. It’s good I don’t live here, though. I’d weigh twenty stone by Christmas.”
After breakfast, Andrea attempted to clear the plates, but Serena waved her off. “No, you two get going. It’s almost two hours to Fort William.”
James detached his car keys from his key ring and set them on the sideboard. “I’m going to leave the keys to the Subaru in case you need it. Don’t hold dinner for us.”
Andrea frowned at James as he led her out the front door and around to the garage. The door rolled up to reveal a silver Audi sports sedan. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked pointedly between James and the sleek luxury car.
He shrugged. “I never said I only owned one car. I promise you, it’s much more comfortable than the Subaru.”
Andrea let herself smile as she slid into the front passenger seat, where she was immediately enveloped by the masculine scent of leather and his cologne. When James climbed in beside her, she said, “All this big talk, and yet you consciously try not to impress a woman.”
“Maybe I don’t want a woman who needs to be impressed by an expensive car.”
“So the Green Monster is a test?”
“I like that. The Green Monster.” James backed out of the garage and turned the car down the pitted drive. “It’s not a test, though you would have passed. You don’t seem hung up on material things, despite the absurdly expensive shoes.”
“Like I told you before, I’m just a small-town girl at heart, regardless of my shoe collection.”
“Andrea, my dear, you aren’t just anything.”
For once, he wasn’t teasing. He actually sounded reproachful. She shook off a flutter of nervousness and quickly changed the subject. “Was moving to London a huge shock after growing up on Skye?”
“I’d gone to school in Edinburgh, and we visited our mother in London every summer. But, yes it was still a shock.”
“Why did you stay so long there?”
“Time passes and you barely notice. Before I knew it, it had been ten years. Opening the restaurants in Scotland was almost an excuse to come back home.”
“Nice that you have that luxury,” Andrea said wryly. “Most people
can’t just decide to expand their business because they’re homesick.”
“My success is a blessing. It was unexpected. I suppose my kind of cooking connected with the things people loved: traditions, home, family. I still get letters telling me my recipes remind me of their grandmothers’ cooking. Only better, of course.”
“As long as you’re humble about it.”
He laughed. “I do my best.”
Andrea had met all sorts of men in her business travels. Some truly were humble, appreciative of their success. Most thought wealth and status gave them the right to do whatever they wanted. She’d had to extricate herself from the grasp of entitled, inebriated clients more than once, walking the tightrope between keeping a professional distance and maintaining their good graces.
It was exactly what she had been doing in London with James.
But he didn’t deserve the comparison. Those men wouldn’t bring her to a family dinner or give her an escape when she had a panic attack. They wouldn’t offer to take her sightseeing and shopping without expectations in return.
At least, she didn’t think he had those expectations. If he did, he wouldn’t have held back from kissing her even though he’d clearly wanted to. He might have a reputation as a ladies’ man, but he had done nothing but flirt. So far.
Raindrops spattered down on the windshield, and James squinted at the sky. “I may not have picked the best day for high street shopping. Of course, we like to say in Scotland: ‘If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.’”
“So I’ve noticed. I don’t mind a little rain, though.”
“Is that so? What happened to Scotland being wet and miserable?”
“I said cold, not wet. And maybe it’s not quite so miserable.”
James slanted her an amused expression. “We’ll hope it passes quickly then. I don’t want you to miss the chance to see the loch and the views of Ben Nevis. If it were later in the year, there would be some incredible hikes we could take.”
“So you really are an outdoorsman,” she said. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”
“No more than you.”
He was referring to her playing the night before, but he was sticking to his word that he would let her tell him when she was ready. She chewed her lip, wondering how much she could safely reveal without treading on subjects she didn’t share with anyone.
“I double-majored in architecture and music at NYU.” She waited for the inevitable barrage of questions, her stomach tight.
“That explains it. Doesn’t NYU have one of the best music schools in the country?”
She relaxed at his delicate treatment of the topic. “Yes, it’s known for music performance.”
“It’s a shame you don’t play more. I can’t even whistle in tune, but I grew up with a musician in the house. I recognize talent when I see it, and there’s no doubt you’re something special.”
Heat rushed to her face, and she willed it away in embarrassment. What was it about this man that kept her constantly off guard? She had blushed more in his presence these past days than she had in the last ten years.
“Thank you,” she managed finally.
“You’re welcome. Now you might as well get to it.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve got a captive audience for at least another hour. You know you’re going to feel guilty all day if you don’t get some work done. So go ahead. Give me your pitch.” He was smiling, but he didn’t seem to be joking.
“All right. You sure?”
“Of course. Convince me I’d be crazy to pass up this opportunity.” He shot her that wicked grin again.
It came almost as a relief. This James was far easier to handle than the sensitive one who treaded lightly around topics she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss. She launched into an overview of the proposal she had emailed the night before, pausing only to answer James’s occasional questions.
“You’ve been paying attention.”
“I know it’s hard to believe I can be serious, but I do mean to make this hotel a success. It’s been closed for over a year, and the longer we wait, the harder it will be to retain our regular guests. We’ve had families book their holidays here every summer for years. Once they find another spot, they may not come back.”
Andrea murmured her agreement. “You’ve got matters well in hand. If your contractor is good, you should be booking for Christmas.”
“I think so too. Fancy a Christmas in Scotland? Skye is lovely under snow.”
“Becky would kill me. It’s the only time I’m ever guaranteed to see her and the kids. That’s assuming I don’t get called out of town at the last minute.”
“Don’t tell me you’d actually let them send you on a business trip on Christmas.”
“If it’s a big enough deal, I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
Andrea turned her head so he couldn’t see her face. Maybe she did have a choice, but it had become increasingly difficult to spend time with her sister’s happy family. They loved her, of course, welcomed her, but she didn’t belong there. Small-town girl or not, she didn’t fit into Becky’s cozy life any better than she melded with the domestic scene at the house in Isleornsay.
“So what about marketing?” James asked.
Andrea turned back toward him and abandoned her melancholy thoughts, grateful for the change of subject. If only he didn’t read her so easily. She quickly outlined her thoughts on marketing for the hotel, which she would convey to the London team once she had a signed contract in hand.
Armed only with the knowledge that Fort William was the Highlands’ biggest town, Andrea was unprepared for the charming village that spread from the edge of Loch Linnhe. A jumble of buildings lined the street, some which looked like they dated back to the eighteenth century fortress, while others were built in Tudor or Georgian styles. Ahead on the motorway, a brown welcome sign proclaimed in Gaelic, Fàilte do’n Ghearasdan, with its English translation—“Welcome to Fort William”—below it. James slowed as they entered the town, then turned onto a small intersecting street where he found a parking spot along the curb.
The morning’s weather had transitioned from threatening to just plain dreary, and a damp wind blew off the loch, throwing Andrea’s hair into her eyes as she stepped onto the street. She buttoned up her wool coat and thrust her hands into her pockets to keep them warm.
“The coldest winter I’ve ever spent was a summer in Scotland,” she muttered.
“I always thought it was San Francisco.”
“Mark Twain must never have come to the Highlands.”
James laughed. “Come, clever girl. And mind your step in those shoes.”
Fort William’s High Street was narrow and bordered by slender, crowded buildings on either side, following the original layout of the road from the town’s days as a military installation. Stone pavers lined the sidewalks, and cobblestones set in a fan pattern undulated down the center of the street. She wobbled precariously on the uneven surface until James guided her to the sidewalk with his hand on the small of her back. She peered into store windows with interest as they passed: one sold woolen goods of all types, from tartan blankets to brightly woven kilts; another a vast assortment of Highland whiskeys.
“I’d be more than happy to stay here while you shop,” James said.
“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this, clotheshorse.” She grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him away from the window. “You know what you’re planning for the week. You need to help me.”
He moved away from the display with pretend reluctance, but as she went to release his arm, he put his hand over hers and squeezed it to his body. After a moment of hesitation, she left it there. It had been ages since she’d walked arm-in-arm with a man. It felt nice.
No, it felt more than nice. The
warmth seeping from his body through his coat made her stomach flutter with a delicious nervousness she hadn’t felt in years.
James paused before the door of a small boutique with an attractively dressed window. “This might suit, don’t you think?”
Grateful for the escape from her thoughts, she let go of his arm and ducked into the store. It sported displays of simple, outdoorsy clothing, and she soon had her arms heaped with garments on the way to the changing room. A few quick changes to assure her of her size, and she was back at the counter paying for three pairs of jeans, several simply cut blouses, a quilted gray coat, and a pair of sporty leather shoes that would suit walking or hiking. She retreated to the dressing room to change into several pieces of her new wardrobe.
When she emerged again, James smiled warmly. “Perfect.”
He took one of the paper shopping bags from her hand and held the boutique’s door open for her. Once they stepped back onto the sidewalk, Andrea realized how tall he actually was. In the heels, she had almost been able to look him in the eye, but now she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The feeling of vulnerability took her off guard.
James kept up a constant stream of talk, pointing out landmarks and drawing her attention to shop displays or restaurants he frequented. He could be a comfortable companion when he turned off his ego long enough to be serious.
But that wasn’t quite right either. He was comfortable with his fame and his money, but if Muriel was to be believed, the teasing, playful nature seemed to have grown out of his childhood love of pranks. Maybe Andrea really had done him a disservice with her snap judgment. He would probably act much the same if he were living paycheck to paycheck, working as a short-order cook.
“I’m getting hungry,” she said suddenly. “How is that even possible after your breakfast?”
“Fresh air and exercise. I know just the place. Let’s cross.”
His choice for lunch was a wood-clad pub, wedged between a brick Georgian and a building with a pseudo-Tudor facade. Gold letters on the bright red sign above the window proclaimed The Blooming Fuchsia.
Five Days in Skye: A Novel Page 12
