Five Days in Skye: A Novel

by Laureano, Carla

  He opened her door and took her hand to help her out. “Go take a hot bath and change into some dry clothes. Then we’ll go up to the house, and I’ll make you the best cup of chocolate you’ve ever had.”

  “Up to the house?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrows. “What’s wrong, James? Don’t trust yourself alone with me?”

  “Not remotely.” He tugged her closer for another kiss, lingering long enough to weaken her knees and convince her of the wisdom of his decision.

  “I see your point.” She dragged herself away from him and dug for her keys in her purse. “I won’t be too long.”

  “Take your time.”

  Andrea let herself into her cottage after two tries with the lock and shut the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it for support, cooling her cheeks with her chilled hands. If she could form a coherent thought, she would list all the reasons why this had been a terrible idea. Instead, a stupid smile spread across her lips. She might be out of practice with this sort of thing, but as kisses went, those belonged in the record books. She just wished they hadn’t been over so quickly.

  She dropped her purse on the bed and headed straight to the bathroom where she filled the tub for the second time that day. She hung her wet jacket and scarf on the hooks behind the door and perched on the edge of the tub to remove her shoes.

  Did she dare believe she was more than just a temporary distraction to him? She believed him when he said his reputation was no longer deserved, and his actions today told her he was keeping a firm hold on his self-control. Which was good, considering her own felt awfully shaky.

  That didn’t bother her half as much as the realization that what she felt now went far beyond the physical.

  She buried her face in her hands. How could she have let this happen? The issue of work concerns aside, they lived thousands of miles away from one another. His life was here in Britain, hers in America. A long-distance relationship could never work, even considering she flew to or through London every month.

  Not that he had said anything about a relationship at all.

  “Stop it.” Her voice echoed in the tiled room. She had two choices: end this right now, or enjoy the last bit of time they had together, regardless of the consequences to her heart. The smarter option was obvious. It just didn’t have a chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  James fumbled with his keys and let himself into his cottage, pulling off his damp jacket as he entered. First order of business was a hot bath to stave off the chill. Then again, given what had just happened, he might be better off with a cold shower.

  He let his breath out in one long, shaky exhalation. Just recalling Andrea’s response to his kiss sent his pulse rate through the roof again. He’d suspected a passionate nature lay behind her cool, controlled exterior, but he’d really had no idea what he was asking.

  This woman was going to make the next few days sheer torture.

  “It’s your punishment for being an idiot,” he said aloud. “You deserve it.”

  Somehow, though, as tempting as those few short minutes in the car had been, they didn’t shock him half as much as her willingness to relax with him, hold his hand, stand close to him. That sort of intimacy seemed to come far less easily than the sparks that flew when they kissed.

  He crossed to the bathroom, littering wet shoes behind him as he went, his unresponsive fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. The last time he had let a woman get under his skin, he had devoted himself to her and received only a tabloid-documented humiliation in return. He had been so blindly in love with Cassandra, he couldn’t see her wholesome image was just a construct, and he was merely means to an end. Two years later, he only now felt neutral enough to say her name aloud.

  Why on earth would he want to put himself through that again?

  And what made him think Andrea was interested in more than just a casual friendship? It wasn’t as if they had planned or even wanted the chemistry between them. She’d been very clear about her goals in Scotland, and a relationship was not one of them.

  No, Andrea might have let her guard down enough to share a few moments of closeness, but she was far from ready for true intimacy. His attempt at the fairy tower to get her to open up had rebounded on him. She’d struck out as if threatened, throwing his own conflict with Ian back at him. That wasn’t the sign of someone ready to leave her hurts behind and take a chance on love.

  Besides, why should he even want to show her not all men were like Logan? That she could overcome the hurts of her past? How could a mere four days with this woman erase all the lessons he thought he’d learned and make him want to dive back into the madness that broke his heart?

  “Because you’re not thinking rationally. Now that you’ve kissed her, you want more.”

  If only it were that simple.

  James was ready to go long before Andrea, dressed in dry jeans and a woolen pullover, a muffler wound around his throat against the early evening cold. He dragged on his leather jacket and wandered onto the deck behind his cottage to wait.

  The rain had passed, but low clouds still tangled the peaks of the mountains on the mainland and wreathed the top of the Ornsay lighthouse. Now that the wind had died down to a soft breeze, only isolated patches of ripples disturbed the glass-like surface of the sound. He breathed deeply in the stillness and willed away the twist in his chest at the thought of Friday’s fast approach.

  Andrea would be on her way back to New York on Saturday, and he’d spend the weekend in Skye with his family before flying to Glasgow as planned. He loved Isleornsay. So why did the prospect of Andrea’s departure dim his enjoyment of it? Why did he feel so little pleasure in the idea of attending to the business he’d so painstakingly built over the last decade?

  Lord, why am I suddenly questioning my life?

  The involuntary prayer felt foreign in his mind. How long had it been since he’d prayed? Not the brief words of blessing before a meal or a word of thanks for a good outcome, but a real prayer? Opening his heart in stillness and listening to whatever God wanted to speak to him?

  Long enough that he couldn’t remember when.

  James sank onto the deck chair, awash in shame. He could admit he’d never been particularly religious. Like his father, he’d rejected the liturgical church traditions. But he’d been raised to pray and read the Bible. Even when he’d not been living a Christian life, it was always somewhere in the back of his mind.

  No. He remembered when he’d prayed last. When Cassandra had returned his engagement ring. The breakup of his relationship following so closely on the heels of Duncan MacDonald’s passing had jarred everything he thought he knew about his life. When he hadn’t received a satisfactory answer to his questions, he’d stopped asking.

  James shoved his cold hands into his coat pockets. He’d told himself he’d healed from that heartbreak, but he’d really just become calloused. Here he thought he had the answers for Andrea, and he was just as lost in his own mess as she was.

  I’m sorry, Lord. I’m an idiot. I thought I’d done so well on my own, but I forgot to ask what You want for me.

  He pressed his clasped hands to his mouth. It felt presumptuous to ask what he wanted to ask. As long as he’d been busy and happy, he could do without God. Now that he was conflicted over his life, he was going to come crawling back?

  “Did I take too long?”

  James jerked his head up at Andrea’s voice and stood quickly. She’d changed into dry clothes and donned her wool coat, but her hair was still damp. “No, I just got here.” He held out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, she came to him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against him as he’d done on the fairy tower.

  Please. He didn’t even know what he was asking, but he loosed the prayer all the same. He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in her scent and enjoying how well she f
it against him.

  “If you can’t find me tomorrow, I’m probably hiding out somewhere so I don’t have to leave,” she murmured.

  “You won’t hear any complaints from me.” He rubbed her arms briskly. “It’s cold, and I promised you something to warm you up.”

  “Is that so?” She turned to face him and raised her eyebrows.

  “Chocolate, you vixen.”

  “Somehow, I’m disappointed.”

  “Can’t have that, can we?” He pulled her closer and proceeded to kiss her until the cold was the last thing on either of their minds.

  A few hours with the family might be a very good thing. Now that James knew Andrea wouldn’t object, he constantly wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless. Any more time alone with her would only serve to complicate matters.

  He almost groaned when he saw his brother’s car.

  Andrea gave him a quizzical look, reminding him she knew nothing about their conversation or Ian’s assertion that Andrea was too good for him. Bad enough that James wondered if it were true. She didn’t need to know they were under scrutiny from his brother and business partner as well.

  Still, his stomach churned with nervousness at what Ian might say when he saw the two of them together. Not just in one another’s presence, but together. His brother was always a gentleman, and they had managed civility that morning, but he’d been rather vocal about James’s pursuit of Andrea. James made a point of taking her hand on the walk up to the front door.

  They entered to a flurry of coats, rain boots, and diaper bags in the living room. The activity ceased when they walked in, all eyes going to their clasped hands.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, forcing himself to sound casual. Ian’s gaze landed heavily on him, but James didn’t look in his brother’s direction.

  Serena tied Emmy’s shoes with practiced hands, despite the little girl’s squirming on the sofa. “Ian’s taking us to dinner. Auntie’s been telling us about this place in Dunvegan for ages, and we figured you already had plans. I hope you don’t mind.”

  James had to wonder about the timing. Was this Muriel and Serena’s attempt to give them some privacy, or were they trying to avoid a confrontation between him and Ian? He wouldn’t put either scenario past them. Serena struggled to get Max’s chubby arms into a coat and then heaved him onto her hip.

  “Did you get the change of clothes, dear?” Muriel asked.

  Serena stopped in mid-bustle. “Blast. Andrea, can you hold him for a minute?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she thrust the baby into Andrea’s arms and rushed off back down the hall.

  Andrea’s startled expression melted into one of dismay.

  “Here,” James said, extending his arms. “I’ll take him.”

  “No, I’m okay.” She shifted Max over to her other hip as the baby grabbed a handful of her hair.

  “No, no,” she said gently, disentangling herself from the baby’s grip. “Don’t pull.”

  She pretended to munch Max’s hands, and the baby squealed with laughter. A smile crept onto James’s face.

  “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Serena appeared beside him and nudged him with her elbow.

  “Oh, shut it.”

  She just laughed and gave him a devious grin. “Have a nice evening. Just not too nice. We’ll be back soon.”

  James shook his head while Serena recovered Max from Andrea’s arms. Ian’s gaze bored holes into him. After a few false starts involving Emmy’s missing bunny and a forgotten trainer cup, the five of them finally made it out the door. Ian nodded politely to Andrea as he passed, but he didn’t give James a second look.

  James let out a sigh of relief. Thank God Ian’s manners won out over his desire to dress him down.

  They stood in the silence left by the family’s abrupt departure. So much for the safety of a crowded house.

  Andrea broke first. “That was subtle.”

  “Not their strong suit, but they mean well. Shall we get the chocolate started?”

  She followed him into the kitchen and slid onto the stool at the island while he collected the ingredients for their treat. When he pulled out a large bar of chocolate, her eyes widened. “When you say chocolate, you mean chocolate!”

  James chuckled and retrieved a quart of milk from the refrigerator. “This is not exactly low calorie. But it is absolutely worth it.”

  She leaned forward to watch as he chopped the candy bar with a heavy-bladed knife. “I hope you don’t have anything extravagant planned for supper.”

  “I thought maybe you’d like to learn how to cook something.”

  “I’m a New Yorker. I use my oven for storage.”

  He gaped at her. “Surely you’re joking.”

  “Nope. Right now, I have winter sweaters in it.” She cast him a mischievous look. “That’s why God invented chefs. So Manhattanites wouldn’t starve.”

  “Oh, is that so?” He poured the milk into a small saucepan and set it on the stove to heat. “Observe well, Ms. Sullivan. Besides heating the milk gently, the real secret to this recipe is good quality chocolate.”

  “You know, one of these days, I’ll have to actually watch your show. You’re pretty good at this cooking thing.”

  James turned around and shot her an amused look. “Ms. Sullivan, are you flirting with me?”

  She shrugged, but the look she gave him was positively sultry, enough to make his mouth go dry. He took a step toward her, but she shook her head and pointed toward the stove. “Watch your milk, Jamie. Don’t want to get overheated.”

  He grinned. She was a firecracker, no doubt, high heels or not. Then he realized she’d called him by his nickname for the first time. It left a strangely warm glow in his chest. “Jamie, huh? Does that mean I get to pick a nickname for you?”

  “Well, my sister calls me Andy.”

  “Hmm, Andy doesn’t suit you. Maybe I’ll call you Legs.” He shot her a wicked glance. “After all, that’s what I noticed first about you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “In that case, do I get to call you Ego?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Andy it is, then. Now stop distracting me. You still haven’t told me what you want to make for dinner.”

  “Omelets.”

  “You have my extensive culinary knowledge at your disposal and you pick omelets?”

  “I like them,” she said defensively. “And I might actually have a hope of making a decent one. We both know I’m never making coq au vin.”

  “Omelets it is. But first, we drink chocolate.” He added a few small pieces of the chocolate and whisked the now-steaming milk until the chocolate melted into a dark pool. Once all the chocolate was melted, he added a splash of vanilla and a pinch of cinnamon, then poured the rich drink into two large mugs.

  “Your chocolate awaits, my lady.” He set the cup in front of her and watched as she took her first sip.

  Her eyes widened. “This is sinful. You’re right. We say hot chocolate in America, but it’s really just cocoa. It’s not the same thing at all.”

  James slid onto the stool next to her. “Haven’t I earned some sort of appreciation for my culinary prowess?”

  She sipped from her mug, repressing her smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “No. Just completely infatuated.” He took the cup from her hand, set it on the counter, and kissed her lightly, tasting the chocolate on her lips. “On second thought, let’s order takeaway so we have more time to do this.”

  She laughed and pulled away from him. “No way. You promised me omelets. Besides, what happened to self-control and all that?”

  “Overrated.” He moved in for another kiss, but she slipped off the stool and out of his reach.

  “Come on. Dinner first. There will be plenty time for the rest later.”

  “Do you pr
omise?”

  She gave him a mysterious look over her shoulder and his last defense against her crumbled.

  He was in such trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In James’s presence, Andrea felt like a fifteen-year-old girl with her first crush, giddy with anticipation. She might be setting herself up for a fall, but it was hard to care, especially after the look he had given her a minute ago.

  She rummaged in the cabinet for a mixing bowl while James brought out not only eggs, but half the garden: tomatoes, onions, garlic, asparagus, and mushrooms. He dove back into the refrigerator for a block of Irish cheddar wrapped in wax paper.

  “Okay, first lesson. Cracking the eggs.” James took one out of the carton with a flourish, rapped it sharply on the edge of the bowl, and deposited the egg into it with a swift one-handed movement. “Your turn.”

  Andrea looked at him doubtfully, but she cracked her egg and dumped it into the bowl—along with half of the mangled shell.

  “Maybe I should do the cracking.”

  She shot him a mock-scowl. “Are you saying I can’t even crack an egg?”

  “Well, the evidence doesn’t lie.”

  “It’s an egg.”

  He peered into the bowl. “Andrea, omelets are not supposed to be crunchy.”

  She laughed and gave him a bump with her hip. “Fine. You do the eggs. I’ll wash my hands.” She moved to the sink and scrubbed the raw white from her hands. Eyes narrowing, she thought better of the towel and flicked water across the kitchen. Droplets spattered James’s face and shirt. She laughed.

  “Very mature, Ms. Sullivan.” He wiped his face with his forearm and pretended to frown at her. “Get over here, or you’ll be relegated to eating carryout for the rest of your life.”