‘Sporran or no sporran?’
Zoe didn’t raise her head. ‘None, please. I want to start with shots at the window, a bit like what we were doing in the cabin.’
He threw the sporran onto the table, stalked to the window and stared out. The two women followed. Zoe put her camera over her shoulder and took Liam from Fiona.
‘What do you want me to do, Zo?’
‘I don’t want it tamed, but I do want separation to get more graduation and depth.’
‘It?’ asked Rory.
‘Your hair!’ said Zoe, flushing to her roots.
Fiona grabbed a chair and Rory sat down with a thump.
‘I don’t think even I could tame this,’ she said, spraying on water, then deftly arranging his hair with a wide comb, whilst he sat woodenly, staring out into the middle distance. ‘He’s all yours, Zoe,’ said Fiona, stepping back and taking Liam off her.
Rory stood. ‘Right. Let’s get this over and done with.’
Zoe looked at her camera for moral support. ‘Okay. Let’s begin by having you by the window.’
His features beat any landscape hands down. The cool north light coming in from outside accentuated the sweep of his strong jaw, the bump on the bridge of his nose, the long lashes framing his luminous eyes. Every line, every curl, every part of him was a work of savage art, the imperfections creating a perfect whole. The more photos she took of him, the more she knew this was right. He personified the castle.
She moved him to one of the thrones at the end of the hall, removing the second one and placing him in the middle of the dais. She had him sit, his legs apart, the fabric of the kilt resting between his enormous thighs. The look she was going for was undiluted confidence and power. The fact his shirt was undone and he had work boots on only added an extra layer of sex. She knew the images were pure filth. If he saw them as she did then he would never allow her to use them, but she was going to take the chance anyway.
She moved him into different poses and got Fiona to bring up the sword. When Rory took it and pointed the blade into the floor, casually resting his hand on the hilt, Zoe let out a squeak, unable to contain her visceral reaction. ‘Watch the floor!’ she said breathlessly.
She took more photos, then the three of them climbed up to the castle tower, Rory carrying the flag and the sword, Fiona carrying Liam. At the foot of the tower the steps got older, narrower and more uneven.
Fiona stopped. ‘You two go on, I don’t want to take Liam up there.’
‘Okay, we won’t be long,’ said Zoe and she made her way up the tower after Rory, holding the cold stonework for support.
They exited through a trap door onto the flat roof of the turret. A pole was the only decoration, a tattered flag with the MacGinley coat of arms at the top, fluttering in the breeze.
‘Okay, what now?’ Rory sighed.
‘I want to do similar shots to what we did in the hall, then we’ll bring the flag out and have a play around with that.’
Despite his grim expression he was the perfect model, anticipating what Zoe might need and improvising when she wasn’t sure. She unfurled the flag and had him standing, looking out over the battlements, holding it in one hand, the sword in the other. The breeze lifted the flag and his curls, giving life to a man who was so strong he could have been part of the tower.
Zoe put her camera down and paused.
‘Do you want me to take off my shirt?’ he asked.
Zoe dropped her head. ‘Only if you don’t mind,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Are you going to laugh again if I do?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Probably. It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just the stress of the situation. You’re a very, er, fine example of a man,’ she muttered to her feet.
Rory grinned. ‘I’ll take that. Coming from you, fine is the best compliment I could ever hope for. It’s a big step up from hobo.’
In her peripheral vision she saw a white shirt land on the ground and her heart sped up so fast the pounding in her ears was deafening. She willed her shaking fingers to be still and brought the camera up, only looking through the lens, never at Rory directly.
Even through the tiny viewfinder, he was larger than life. No classical statue could ever compete with the godlike perfection of his body. At the base of his torso, indentations ran from each side to vanish into the top of the kilt, a small line of brown hair following them down from his navel.
Zoe’s breathing became more uneven and a hiccup burst out of her.
Rory raised his head to the clouds. ‘Come on,’ he said, resignedly. ‘Let it all out.’
Zoe began wheezing as she inhaled, trying to get air in when all she wanted to do was laugh till she collapsed. She bent over, trying to protect the camera. Rory stepped forward, taking it from her and pulling the strap gently off her curls.
She dropped to her knees, clasping her sides as if trying to relieve a stitch. Rory crouched down beside her and touched her shoulder. ‘You okay?’
She shook her head violently and put her hand out to signal him to go away. He stepped back to give her space. Eventually, the laughter petered out, and her breathing slowed. ‘It’s gone now. I’m sorry.’
Rory looked at her wryly. ‘I’ve never had this effect on a woman before, but now I’m kind of used to it.’
She wiped her eyes. ‘Thank you for being so understanding.’
He passed her camera back to her. ‘Shall we have a go at giving Brad Bauer a run for his money?’
Zoe smiled shyly back at him and nodded, getting to her feet and lifting up the camera.
As she snapped away, she thought that Rory actually appeared to be enjoying himself. He loosened up, swinging the sword above his head, roaring like a lion. In between poses that promised death and retribution, his face relaxed into smiles, as they imagined what an American tourist would want to see. They spent longer than planned, and when they got back to the great hall Fiona was feeding puree to Liam from a glass jar.
‘Did it go okay? Get what you wanted?’
‘Yes,’ replied Zoe. ‘It was perfect.’
‘So, according to your notes, you want to get shots that look like they’re from a wedding?’ Fiona asked.
‘Yes, details of the happy couple, sitting on the thrones, standing lovingly by the window, that kind of thing. When you’ve finished feeding Liam you can get changed.’
Fiona nearly dropped the jar. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, that’s why I got you to bring your wedding dress.’
‘You have got to be joking! I’ve just had a bloody baby! I dieted for six months before the wedding and now all I eat is cake and biscuits! There’s no way I’d fit into it now, and besides, I had three hours sleep last night and look like shit.’
‘But who can I get to wear it?’
‘You, you daft bugger. You’ll look stunning in it.’
‘But I need to take the pictures.’
‘I’ll do it. Set the shot up how you want it and I’ll press the button. If it’s a bit wonky then you can straighten it out on your computer.’
‘But…’
‘How does it feel to be on the other side of the camera?’ Rory asked.
Zoe gave him a murderous glance, took the bag containing the dress and walked to the door where Rory had changed, opening it and slamming it shut behind her.
The room was now used for storage. It was small but filled with plastic folding tables against the walls, and piles of stacked chairs. There was a big industrial floor cleaner, cleaning products and rolls of blue paper towels. Draped over a chair in the middle of the tiny floor space were his work shirt and trousers.
Zoe pulled another chair off a pile and laid the bag containing the dress on it. She looked at the door, then back to the chair where Rory’s clothes lay. She tried to memorise their exact position then lifted them up to her face. She breathed hungrily, inhaling his incredible scent. She couldn’t get enough; it was a thirst that could never be quenched.
She knew if
she didn’t hurry then Fiona would come searching for her, so she reluctantly put his clothes back and lifted the bag containing the dress. She heard a knock at the door.
‘Are you okay, Zoe? Do you want some help?’ Fiona called through.
‘I’m fine, just give me a second.’
She hastily unzipped the bag, took the dress off the hanger and slipped it on. It fit like a glove. It was made from cream satin, strapless, fitting tightly around the bodice, skimming down the hips, then flaring out into a fishtail to the floor over layers of net. It was simple and beautiful, the kind of dress that would make anyone feel like a princess.
Zoe couldn’t manage to do the back up so called out to Fiona. ‘Could you help me with the zip?’
Fiona entered without Liam and her jaw dropped. ‘Oh my god, Zoe, you’re beautiful! If only Mum and Jamie could see you now.’
‘It’s an incredible dress, Fi, you must have looked a picture.’
Fiona zipped the dress up, then anchored the veil in the back of Zoe’s hair with the attached comb. ‘I scrubbed up well. But you. Oh, my lord, you’re stunning.’ Zoe blushed as Fiona steered her out of the room. ‘That Rory won’t be able to keep his eyes off you!’
As they re-entered the great hall Rory gave them a quick glance then turned away, letting a chortling Liam shove his tiny fist into his mouth.
He gently pulled out Liam’s hand. ‘What shots do you want then?’
Fiona strode up to him, taking Liam out of his arms. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
Rory gave Zoe a perfunctory glance up and down, then shrugged his shoulders.
Fiona walked back to Zoe, shaking her head. ‘Well, I think you look incredible. Now, what do you want the shots to be?’
Zoe stood silent, lost in thought. She knew she looked nice in the dress. It would have suited just about anyone. When she’d entered the hall, she noticed Rory’s eyes widening, his lips parting, and his cheeks burning. Even now, she could see a muscle twitching in his jaw and his hands balling into fists at his sides.
Had his behaviour simply been his attempt to keep her at arm’s length? She thought of Sam’s advice to leap on him. Easier said than done with Fiona and Liam around, but what she could do instead was a bit of scientific investigating. Playing the role of the happy couple would give her the perfect opportunity to find out what he really thought of her.
She turned to Fiona. ‘The castle is the perfect place for weddings, so I want to get a few shots that look like they could be from a real wedding. I want to keep them mid length and close up so we don’t get our shoes in. I saw a fantastic location upstairs so I thought we could start there.’
She picked up her camera and sashayed off across the hall without waiting for a reply, deliberately undulating her hips. She was going to find out the truth from Rory’s body even if his mouth remained closed. They made their way up the main staircase, and Zoe opened the door to the grandest of bedrooms. In the centre was a huge four-poster bed, the mattress so far off the ground it was at the height of her hips. The window was a three-sided alcove, a wooden window seat running along the sides. It was intimate, a place for private conversations and leisurely kisses.
‘Okay,’ said Zoe. ‘We’ll begin by the window. We need to make sure you can’t see our left hands as we don’t have any rings on.’
‘You can take mine,’ said Fiona. ‘If I can get them off that is.’ She put Liam in the middle of the four-poster bed, twisted them off and passed them to Zoe who put them on.
‘Oh, they’re beautiful, Fi! What do you think, Rory?’
He shrugged. ‘Can we get on with this so I can go back to work?’
‘Yes of course,’ said Zoe sweetly. ‘Now if you could sit there.’ She indicated the window seat and he sat down stiffly. ‘Now I’m going to sit on your lap.’ She turned her bottom towards him.
He stood back up immediately, bumping into her and sending her tripping forward into Fiona. ‘No,’ he said, his face red. ‘We need to stand.’
Zoe kept composed and noncommittal. ‘Okay, that’s fine, you stay there, let me just readjust my dress.’ Facing him, she reached down inside the front of the gown and lifted her breasts a little higher. ‘That’s better,’ she sighed.
She glanced up to see Rory staring at the front of her gown, his mouth open. He looked in agony. Zoe gave her camera to Fiona, delirious with excitement, and turned back to face him. ‘I’ve been chatting to Fi about what I want,’ she said casually. ‘I’ve put the camera on automatic, so instead of setting up each shot, we’ll just get into various poses and she’ll snap away. Okay?’
Rory nodded, fixing on a point an inch above her head. Zoe chewed her bottom lip. Rory swallowed.
‘Okay, so you stand there,’ she said. She brought herself up to him, her right hand resting on his heart, her left tucked around his waist. ‘If you could put your arms around me and look at me that would be perfect,’ she said cheerfully.
He slowly brought his arms around her as if she were the finest porcelain, and looked down into her eyes.
The rest of the world dropped away.
Zoe felt the heat from his chest under her palm, the thudding of his heartbeat. The muscles of his back tensed underneath her fingers. She breathed in the scent of woodsmoke, soap, and aroused male. She lost herself in the blackness of his dilated pupils, the irises a nebula of silver light and blue fire. Her lips parted and she licked them.
He tensed and she shifted closer, pressing herself along the length of him. There was something big, long and hard underneath his kilt, digging into her tummy. Oh my god, it hadn’t been a Maglite that day she’d pushed him off the ladder. It had been him. He hadn’t been in pain, he’d been aroused.
By her.
Rory’s cheeks were flushed, his breathing unsteady. She angled her body to his, his lips tantalisingly close. His grip tightened. He slowly brought his mouth down towards hers.
Holy crap. She wasn’t imagining what was under his kilt or his feelings for her. This incredible man was about to kiss her.
‘Keep it up! This is amazing, you guys. It looks like you’re about to kiss,’ yelled Fiona in excitement.
Rory dropped Zoe as if she was on fire and stepped away. Zoe stumbled and reached out to the window for support. There was a deafening silence, broken only by the sudden, terrifying sound of a red-faced Liam unleashing an apoocalypse into his nappy.
‘Shit, Liam, no!’ yelled Fiona, thrusting the camera at Zoe, scooping him off the bed and lifting him into the air to check for leakage.
‘Sorry! If I could control him I would. Give me five minutes, back in a bit.’ Fiona ran out of the room, Liam in her arms, and slammed the door behind her.
Zoe was left alone with a one hundred per cent aroused Rory and a four-poster bed.
Time to leap.
17
Zoe put her camera down on a small table. Rory was facing away from her, his hands squeezed so tightly into fists the knuckles were white. She walked to his side.
‘Rory?’ He continued to stare out of the window, his body tensed. She swallowed. ‘Can you look at me?’ He ignored her, but she could see a pulse beating wildly in his neck. She touched his arm. He flinched and shrugged her off.
‘Don’t you like me?’ she asked.
Rory turned towards her. His eyes were burning. She stepped back, her breath stuck in her throat. Silence stretched out, waiting to snap.
‘No, Zoe, I don’t like you.’ His voice was strained; the voice of a man pushed to the edge of reason, then kicked off into the abyss. ‘I’m overwhelmed by you. My head is so full of you there’s no room for anything else.’
He pressed his fists into his temples.
‘My life was simple before you showed up, and now it’s a car crash. I can’t think straight. Fuck, I can’t even think at all when you’re around. I might as well try to count all the stars in the universe than make it through a day without a raging hard-on or dropping a boiler on my foot.’
He adva
nced on her. She backed away until she bumped into the edge of the bed. She leaned back against it and he leaned forward, towering over her.
‘So no, I don’t like you. I want you. I crave you. I hunger for you. Everything you are, and everything you do drives me crazy. Like doesn’t even begin to cover it.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I can’t be here. I can’t—’
Zoe put her arms around his neck and stopped his mouth with a kiss.
Their lips touched with a tingle of electricity, a fizzing pleasure that spread through her chest and ran down her spine with a shiver. She moulded herself to his rigid body, stroking the back of his neck with her fingertips, coaxing him to respond. His lips were shut but soft and warm. She kissed around his mouth, the prickle of his stubble thrilling her nerve endings.
He reached back behind his neck, grabbed her wrists and slowly pulled them away from him, breaking the connection. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, his tone harsh but his breathing ragged, as if he had just run for miles.
‘I’m kissing you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t like you either.’ She saw confusion, uncertainty, doubt, disbelief and hope flash across his face like a summer storm.
‘You don’t?’
She shook her head, then rewound her arms around his neck and brought her mouth back to his, running the tip of her tongue between his lips, willing him to open to her. As she scraped her nails up into his hair, he broke, groaning and wrapping her in his arms, meeting her passion with his own. He kissed her like a man lost in the desert being given a cool glass of water, holding her tightly, possessing her, running his tongue into her mouth, drinking her in. Zoe gasped, relief and desire coursing through her. She clung to him, a throbbing heat urging her closer.
He broke the kiss and stared at her, blinking as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. ‘You’re so beautiful. Jesus, Zoe.’ He lay her back on the bed, his left hand cradling her head, and sunk his face into her curls, kissing her, inhaling her, growling with desire. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ He buried through her hair to the sensitive skin of her neck; kissing, nipping, licking whilst she writhed beneath him.
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 16
