‘A week?’ cried Zoe. ‘Does the main road often get blocked?’
‘Not often and usually not for long, but I want you to be prepared.’
‘There’s so much to do.’
‘Yes. Why couldn’t you have come here in the spring? Why choose November?’
‘The rental period was coming up on my flat and I couldn’t bear the thought of another six months when I knew this was here. It’s easier to ignore the potential difficulties when you’re fantasising about it while sitting in a hot bubble bath with candles and a glass of Prosecco.’
As Rory’s mind slipped into the bath with her, the back boiler fell out of his grasp, landing on his foot with an almighty crash and a blinding flash of pain. ‘Fuck!’
Zoe dashed over, dragging the boiler away and guiding him to sit down. ‘Oh my god, that must have hurt. Are you okay?’
Rory closed his eyes tightly, holding his foot and using the agony to detract from her hands fluttering over him. If he had been wearing his boots then the metal would have bounced off the steel toe caps. Stockinged feet were no match however against fifty kilos of boiler, and this hurt like a bastard. Zoe knelt on the floor beside him. ‘Can I take a look at it?’
Rory released his foot and felt her carefully take off his sock. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she shuffled closer. He opened his eyes to see her sitting on the floor between his legs, inspecting his swelling foot and chewing her bottom lip. She looked up and opened her mouth as if to speak. He stared at the full, lush softness of her lips.
She darted her tongue out, moistening them, then swallowed. ‘Do you want some ice for the swelling?’
Jesus Christ, she would be the death of him. He needed ice all right, just not for his foot.
‘Do you have any?’ His voice was low and husky. She shook her head. Silence crackled between them. ‘Can you go to the truck and get the first aid kit out the back?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
Zoe nodded, leapt up and ran out of the cabin. Rory hung his head, holding his breath, willing his erection to subside. He couldn’t be around her. He was turning into an animal. Despite being seated, he had loomed over her, power and desire radiating out of him. He knew in terms of size alone he was a man and a half, and right now he had the libido of twenty. He needed to get away from her, and fast. By the time she got back, he had already hobbled to the door and pulled on his boots. Confusion and worry played across her face.
‘Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t want me to strap it up or anything? Can I help?’ She put her arm out for him but he shrugged her off.
‘The truck’s automatic and my right foot’s fine. I just need to get home and ice it. I’ll see how it is in the morning and let you know. I’ve also got lots of other jobs to do for the estate I can’t put off any longer.’
She nodded. ‘Sorry, I know how much you’ve been doing up here.’
His shoulders slumped. Had he upset her? Again? ‘It’s fine. I’d rather be here than at the castle. It’s just… If there’s anything I can to do to help you, ask, okay?’
Zoe looked up. ‘I need to get back to the castle to do a photoshoot for the website as soon as possible. Will you let me know when?’
‘Will do,’ he replied, limping off to the truck.
He reversed out down the track, throbbing with pain and desire. He needed this arrangement with her over sooner rather than later.
Zoe waited five minutes, then drove up the road to find a signal. She needed to talk to a friend; someone who knew her and didn’t know Rory. Sam picked up after one ring.
‘Babe! Oh my god, I can’t believe your timing, it’s perfect. We’ve just wrapped my scenes for today. Tell me everything, beginning with when the fucking fuck you’re coming home, and moving swiftly onto my favourite hot Scot, your brother-from-another-mother, Jamie.’
Zoe giggled. ‘You have no idea how much I need you right now. I need to talk to you about Rory. I’m totally in lust with him but I’m pretty sure he can’t stand me and thinks I’m a nutjob,’ she moaned.
‘Oh, babe, being a nutjob is what makes you so utterly adorable. Have you laughed at him shirtless again? Got stuck up any more trees?’
‘Ugh… Yes, after he gave me a bed and kissed me on the head. And I also told him he had an awesome water butt.’
‘Whaaaaat? He gave you a bed? With him in it? And he kissed you on your head? Where? Did he miss your mouth? Did he try and tongue your ear? WTAF is going on?’
Zoe snorted. ‘Oh god, Sam, it’s such a mess. Sometimes I think he might actually like me, but it’s either that or he wants to murder me. If there’s a fine line between love and hate then he’s walking it, and I don’t know which way he’s going to fall.’
‘Well, if you’re near a bed then make sure he falls on you. Have you got any condoms?’
‘What? God no.’
‘Right, I’m going to send you some as I’m sure the locals just use sheep guts. What’s your address again? Creepy cabin, Deliverance-ville, East Bumfuck, Scotland? That’ll get to you right?’
Zoe really missed her friend. ‘You are a very bad person. Tell me what to do. You’re so good when it comes to men and I’m bloody clueless.’
‘Ha! The only advice I have is to leap on him. Always works for me.’
* * *
Two days later, whilst sitting in her favourite plastic chair in the library, she received a text from Rory.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: You can get into the castle tomorrow to take photos if that works for you. Let me know if you need anything. Rory.
A thrill of excitement ran through her. Her fantasies, well, some of them, were about to be fulfilled. She replied.
Zoe: Awesome! What time? Do you have a kilt?
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: Why?
Zoe: Oh, and a sword. Cheers.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: What?
Zoe: Long, pointy thing, made of metal.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I know what a sword is. Why do you need one?
Zoe: I’ve got a few ideas for the photos you can help me with. I just need you and a few props. Can you get them? What time tomorrow? Cheers.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: Where are you?
Zoe sighed. This had been a gamble and it wasn’t about to pay off.
Zoe: At the cabin. What time tomorrow?
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: Great phone signal you’ve suddenly got. Where are you?
Should she reply?
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: Zoe?
She tossed the phone on the desk and dropped her chin. She wasn’t going to see him until he’d had a chance to calm down. She had work to do.
Five minutes later Rory stalked into the library. Thank god it was empty. He walked through to the back, where hidden behind a wall of bookshelves was a row of tables and computers. There she sat, bent over a magazine, her corkscrew curls tied up but grazing her exquisite neck. God she was beautiful. She was concentrating so hard on what she was reading, she didn’t hear him. He looked at what she was engrossed in and his heart sank. Brad bloody Bauer.
Rory believed a special circle of hell should be created for wife beaters, child abusers, and Brad Bauer. He was Lucy’s celebrity crush, and she’d made Rory agree she was allowed to snog him if they ever met. In return, she magnanimously offered him a free pass to kiss the celebrity of his choice. Rory told her the only person he wanted to kiss was her and she got annoyed with him, telling him he just didn’t get it. She said that to him a lot.
So, he was forced to endure viewings of Brad’s films, whilst calculating what else he could have done in the hours he was wasting. One of the last films he had watched with her, Death Party, had been set during the Afghanistan conflict and bore as much resemblance to reality as Alice in Wonderland. Lucy, keen to find a commonality between her fiancé and her fantasy boyfriend, told Rory about the
Special Forces training Brad had received and how many stunts he’d done himself. Rory thought the only stunt Brad had pulled was getting anyone to believe he could hold his own in a fight that involved anything more than pillows.
Rory stared at the image of Brad having sex with a kilt, and his blood went from boiling to thermonuclear. This was a man? An overly manicured pretty boy who spent his time in front of a camera, a mirror or in the pants of reality TV stars.
‘Please tell me you aren’t expecting me to recreate this?’ he hissed.
Zoe leapt around, her hand clutching her chest. ‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ she whispered. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
‘Long enough. Is this what you find attractive?’ he asked with thinly veiled contempt, indicating the magazine. Zoe became very interested in the carpet, scuffing at it with the toe of her boots. ‘Zoe?’
‘He was my first ever crush,’ she mumbled. ‘He’s super hot. I mean, he’s been voted the world’s sexiest man more than anyone else. But I’m only using it as inspiration. I don’t expect you to get naked or anything.’
Rory tried to hold it together. Now he knew for certain he didn’t have a chance with her. Her ideal man was a dark haired, perfectly formed fop like Brad Bauer, not an oversized scruff-bag like himself. He stared at her, still apparently obsessed with the library floor.
‘So, let me get this straight. You want me to put on a kilt and ponce about the castle, while you take photos then put them on the Internet?’
Zoe glanced up and blushed.
Rory shook his head. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t thought to ask me to take my top off and brandish a sword whilst yelling “freedom!”’
Zoe flushed even redder and looked away.
‘Jesus!’ said Rory. ‘You have!’
Zoe snapped her head back. ‘Shush! We’re in a library. And I didn’t think about the freedom part.’
‘No. This is not happening,’ he hissed through clenched teeth.
Zoe stood. ‘Listen to me. Please,’ she whispered urgently. ‘The whole point of the website is to sell the castle to tourists. Most of the people who visit are not from Scotland. They’re here to experience something different from what they get at home, and that means kilts, shortbread, haggis, castles and bagpipes. It means Ben Nevis and Glen Coe, the Loch Ness Monster and whisky. It can’t be sold through photos of a stately home that could be any old National Trust pile. We have to sell a story, a dream, and that involves people. I can’t photograph Lord Kinloch, and I bet he’s too stuffy anyway. You look right.’
‘What do you mean? Doesn’t Morag have a son? Why can’t you use him?’
Zoe smiled. ‘Jamie is a handsome man but he’s too shy to be a Scottish warrior. You look timeless, strong, wild. The kind of man that built the castle. The kind of man that other men want to be and, er.’ She looked away. ‘Some women want to have.’
‘So not a man-bear, yeti, hobbit, thingymajig then?’
‘Only a little bit, and only to me,’ she muttered.
Rory felt like he was on shifting sand, everything was unstable. ‘I’m not a performing monkey. I’ll be a laughing stock,’ he said quietly.
‘You won’t. I promise. Who cares what anyone thinks? People are only jealous they don’t look like you. These photos are going to make all the difference. I promise.’
Rory sighed. ‘What other plans did you have for me?’
Zoe passed her notepad to him and took a step back. He scanned the page, then his head shot up. ‘Marriage shots? Who the hell am I meant to be marrying? You?’ Heat scorched across his face. Hers was on fire.
‘God no,’ she replied. ‘Fiona, Morag’s daughter.’
He dropped the notepad onto the desk. ‘Morag’s daughter? Jesus!’
His skull was about to shatter. Keeping a low profile didn’t involve getting his kit off on the battlements. Soon the whole village would be speculating about who he was.
‘She’s going to bring clothes and hold lights for me. And I want her help with your hair, as she’s a hairdresser. She won’t tell anyone, I promise.’
Rory fixed her with a stare. He saw her swallow. ‘She’s the postmistress’s bloody daughter! I bet she could walk on water sooner than keep a frigging secret. I give it ten minutes before the whole of Kinloch knows what you’ve planned.’
‘I don’t know why you won’t trust me. I’m not the devil incarnate.’
He gave her a look that suggested he thought otherwise.
‘How about this,’ Zoe ploughed on. ‘Let me take the photos I know will work. And if you don’t like them, we won’t use them. You’ll have a veto. Deal?’
He glared at her. She chewed on her bottom lip and he looked away. Fuck! He would do anything for her. ‘Deal,’ he said in a flat tone.
Zoe gave a little jump. ‘This is going to be incredible!’ She picked up her notebook, ripped out a page and passed it to him. ‘This is a list of things I need that I think you should have. What time can we start?’
He stuffed it in his pocket. ‘Eleven. I’ll meet you out the back.’
He walked out.
16
The next morning, Zoe went to Morag’s to collect a massive Scottish flag she had earlier bought online. Fiona had brought a bag of clothes, plastic flowers, her hairdressing supplies, and Liam.
‘I’m so sorry, Zoe, Duncan had to go for a meeting and couldn’t take him, and Mum’s working so he’s stuck with us.’
‘It’s okay, photos are silent so it doesn’t matter what noise he makes,’ Zoe reassured her, whilst worrying about Rory’s reaction.
They walked around to the back of the castle just before eleven, bags hanging off their shoulders and carrying the flag. Rory stalked out of his workshop to stand in front of them. His face was grim. Half executioner, half condemned man. He stared at them.
‘Hi, er, I’m Fiona. And this is Liam.’
Silence echoed around the courtyard.
‘I’m Rory.’
‘Morning, Rory!’ Zoe trilled like a bird on amphetamines.
Rory walked forward. ‘Can I help with your bags?’
Fiona handed him a bag and they followed him into the castle. When they reached the great hall, they dumped everything on a folding table next to a wall. Rory stood back as if the contents might explode at any point. A broadsword was propped against the wall next to three lights on stands.
Zoe was well aware he was here under duress, so quickly got her camera out and attached the lens she wanted.
‘Okay, first I want to get lots of shots of each of the rooms, so wides, mids and close-ups. Fi, can you take my notebook and tick off when I’ve got the photos I need? We’ll then come back here and do the ones involving, er, people.’
She risked a quick glance at Rory. He was looking away. ‘Rory, please can you bring two of the lights?’
He nodded. ‘Where do you want to go first?’
‘I thought we would start upstairs and work our way down.’ She looked at Liam asleep in his buggy. ‘Is there a lift?’
Rory shook his head and took the notebook from Fiona. ‘I can multitask.’ He walked off and Zoe hurriedly followed, mouthing ‘sorry’ back to Fiona who waved at her to go.
Zoe usually liked to take her time composing shots. She loved shooting landscapes because they didn’t move. This, however, was different. Rory was in no mood for artistic faffing. She had to get in, get the photos she needed and get out.
Most of the rooms had enough natural light to illuminate them, so she focused on making the old and tired spaces come alive again. Rory ticked off her shot list and they went through the castle in silence except for the sound of the shutter clicking away. Whenever the room was too dark, Rory added background light. They worked easily together as a team, and in an hour they were back in the great hall to find Fiona trying to entertain a wide awake Liam.
‘Sorry, Zo,’ she said, bouncing him up and down. ‘He wouldn’t sleep any longer.’
‘It’s okay,
I can hold him.’ She looked at Rory. ‘Um, could you possibly, erm, get changed now?’ she asked, her face reddening.
‘Can we get the worst of your ideas over and done with first?’
Zoe swallowed. ‘Er, the ones with the erm, sword and er, kilt?’
‘Yes, them.’
Zoe nodded.
He picked up a suit carrier and walked to a door leading off from the great hall. ‘I’ll get changed in here.’ He walked in, closing the door behind him.
Zoe turned away from Fiona, under the pretext of checking through the photos on her camera. She needn’t have worried as Fiona’s attention was caught up with a fractious Liam.
After a couple of minutes, the door reopened and Rory emerged. He was wearing a dark green kilt and a loose white dress shirt that was half unbuttoned. His legs were bare and his feet were back in his work boots. He had a sporran dangling from one hand.
Zoe looked up, then down again immediately, the heat blooming in her cheeks and rushing through her body. The back of her neck prickled, and she tugged at the front of her top to let in some air. She rolled up her sleeves to try and cool down and attached a different lens to the camera.
The brief glance had burned his image into her retinas. He was pure power and sex. His calves were big and strong, almost as bronzed as his arms and covered in light brown hair she felt compelled to feel against her skin. The kilt was slung low on his hips, the white shirt unbuttoned enough to get another glimpse at the expanse of his chest.
His wavy dark gold hair grazed his shoulders, framing his broad face. His full lips were closed and Zoe longed to bring hers to his and run the tip of her tongue between them, loosening them, claiming him. The pupils of his eyes were big and dark, the blue-grey irises lit up from within.
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 15
