Five Days in Skye

by Carla Laureano

  As he hung up his suit jacket, his mind wandered back to Andrea. She’d let her guard down tonight with his family, and he’d gotten a glimpse of the warm and witty woman that lay beneath the consummate professional. He couldn’t deny their mutual attraction, but he was surprised to realize he truly liked her.

  That was unexpected.

  As was the look that had passed over her face when Emmy hugged her. It had not simply been surprise. It was deeper and more painful than that. She’d recovered quickly, but he knew he hadn’t imagined it. What had happened in her past to cause that sort of reaction to a girl’s innocent excitement?

  The question dampened James’s enthusiasm for his teasing. Regardless of what Andrea might believe, he wasn’t after someone to take to bed. If that were his goal, he had more than a few willing participants in London.

  No, he’d been down that road in his youth. Casual sex only satisfied the momentary need, leaving him emptier and more restless than he’d been before. Of course, his twenty-year-old self had spent plenty of time denying it, ignoring that in large part what he had actually felt was guilt. That was not how his God-fearing father and aunt had raised him. It had just taken time to see he was hurting both himself and a long string of women with his actions.

  Whatever others might believe, he hadn’t returned to his reckless ways after Cassie’s departure. He simply wasn’t inclined to deny himself the enjoyment of flirting with a beautiful woman. He’d thought Andrea was just the sort to enjoy the interaction—tough, capable, smart. And she undoubtedly was. He just hadn’t counted on the flash of vulnerability he’d seen tonight, nor the niggling suspicion she wasn’t quite what she portrayed herself to be.

  Given all the other conflict in his life right now, it was a complication he didn’t need.

  Chapter Nine

  Andrea slept only a few hours despite her exhaustion, and she awoke while the sky was still dark, her heart thudding a staccato rhythm against her ribs. It took her only a few seconds to remember she was on the Isle of Skye, but by then the damage had been done. She was already ticking off her mental to-do list. Sleep would not be returning anytime soon.

  She swung her legs from beneath the heavy down comforter and danced across the cold floor to retrieve her laptop. She flicked on the light at the desk and booted up the computer, yawning while it cycled through its start-up sequence.

  “Focus,” she said aloud. “By this time tomorrow you’ll be on your way back home and away from Skye forever.”

  With a few hours’ distance from her last encounter with James, she could look at the situation more objectively. Of course she was attracted to the man. What woman wouldn’t find him appealing in some way? She had probably just spent too much time dating serious, stolid businessmen in New York if a little banter and a smile could make her heart skip a beat. Heaven knew most of the others hadn’t made it to the expected second-date kiss. She didn’t even bother to find a date for work functions anymore. She’d overheard the speculations about her personal preferences, but she wasn’t about to change her life to prove she was interested in the opposite sex.

  I like men. I just don’t particularly trust them. James MacDonald was a perfect case in point.

  “And that is enough time spent on that subject.” She retrieved a folder from her bag and began to put together the materials for her meeting with Ian later that day. James wouldn’t be impressed with marketing collateral, but Ian seemed like he’d expect it. Details on company history, their capabilities, and a sheet of recommendations from past and current clients went into the foil-embossed folio with a copy of her business card neatly inserted into the front slot.

  Andrea was contemplating what else to include when a light knock came at the door. She padded across the room and cracked it open.

  James stood there, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I saw the light.”

  “No, I was just getting ready for the meeting later.” She opened the door wider, letting in a rush of cold air. Her tissue-thin T-shirt gave her little barrier against the chill, and she hugged her arms to herself. “What’s up?”

  “I want you to see something. Put on a coat and come outside?”

  “Okay. Give me a minute.” She shut the door, then pulled on her coat and buttoned it over her pajamas. She thrust her feet into her single pair of practical footwear—lightweight running shoes—and put her hand on the door before she thought better of it and dashed back to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She caught her reflection in the mirror and made a face at her sleep-tousled hair.

  “Too bad,” she muttered. “Anyone who comes to my door this early in the morning will have to take what they get.”

  Outside, mist hung in the air, and the overnight drizzle had left a film of moisture over everything. She inhaled the cold, instantly energized by the bite in her lungs and the chill on her skin. James waited several steps away, holding two steaming travel mugs.

  She gratefully took the mug he held out and sipped the rich, strong coffee while she studied him over its rim. Unlike her, he looked ready to start the day, wearing a button-down chambray shirt and a pair of comfortably faded jeans. He had thrown a weathered barn coat on against the cold, but it was unzipped, despite the fact she was already freezing. It was unfair that he could manage to make such a casual outfit look so good. He was like some annoyingly perfect J.Crew model.

  But that was a dangerous line of thought. “What did you want me to see?”

  “Come with me.” James gestured with his head toward the deck behind her cottage.

  She followed him and then stopped abruptly at the edge of the deck. The dim morning light cast the rippling clouds in shades of white and gray and silver, reflecting them back on the glassy surface of the sound. Fragile shreds of mist hung suspended in the air. Rocky mountains rose sharply in front of them, setting off the slim white column of the old Ornsay lighthouse. For a moment, Andrea forgot how to breathe, the incredible beauty of the scenery striking her in the chest.

  James watched her silently, and she thought she glimpsed a smile from the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. The sun was rising rapidly now, the colors changing from silver-gray to gold and streaking pink through the clouds, and she stared in rapt amazement at the fast-shifting landscape.

  “This is my favorite time of day on Skye,” he said.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. You feel it right here.” She touched her heart, then instantly felt embarrassed. She wasn’t usually the type to wax eloquent over scenery, however much it might touch her.

  James just nodded. “Living in London, sometimes I forget there are still places on earth that look like this. I never get tired of it, and it never stops being a surprise.”

  “It’s harder to take it for granted when you’re away.” Andrea sank down onto a wood lounge chair and cupped the travel mug, letting the warmth thaw her hands while she breathed in the morning quiet.

  “Indeed. I confess I’ve considered moving back to Skye more than once, but I always wonder if I would appreciate it as much if I lived here.”

  “I’m not sure I could ever get tired of this view.”

  He studied her, and the scrutiny heated her cheeks. “I thought I’d show you the hotel after breakfast and then drive you to Broadford to meet Ian. Does that suit?”

  “It does.”

  “I’m going to head up to the house about seven. Join me?”

  She smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in a bit, then.” He disappeared around the cottage and left her alone to enjoy the sunrise.

  Chapter Ten

  Emmy flung herself at Andrea the minute she and James stepped through the front door. The little girl still wore her pink pajamas, and her dark hair had pulled loose from its ponytail in messy tendrils. “You came! Did you decide what you were going to teach me?”

  James laughed. “Why don’t you wait until after breakfast for the piano, Em.”

 
; “Then you can play dolls with me, Andrea!”

  Andrea shot James a helpless look as she let Emmy drag her toward the coffee table.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” he said, laughter in his voice.

  Emmy pulled Andrea to the floor beside the table where her extensive collection of tiny dolls lay scattered across the surface. She really shouldn’t have worn the skirt suit. She eased off her shoes and placed them neatly at the side of the sofa, embarrassment twinging at the memory of James’s observation at the airport. It took a couple of minutes to find a position that was both comfortable and modest, but she finally settled on her knees with her legs and bare feet tucked under her.

  By the time James called them for breakfast, Andrea possessed an intimate knowledge of the strangely tiny plastic dolls and their equally tiny plastic wardrobes. She looked up and saw James smiling at them in the doorway.

  “Up for a traditional Scottish breakfast?”

  “What do you think, Emmy?” Andrea said. “Should we give it a shot?”

  “Uncle Jamie’s a good cook,” the girl said seriously.

  “All right then. Up you go.” Andrea tried to brush out the wrinkles now pressed into her skirt as she straightened, then gave up. Her dry cleaner could deal with it when she got back. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, table’s already set and tea’s on the sideboard. Go ahead and have a seat.”

  Emmy ran ahead of Andrea into the adjacent dining room, where Serena already sat with Max in her lap, dressed for the day in jeans and a colorful Fair Isle sweater. Andrea went to the electric kettle on the sideboard and made herself a cup of tea.

  “Sleep well?” Serena asked.

  “Very well,” Andrea lied. “How about you?”

  “After last night? Seriously thinking about hiring an au pair.”

  Andrea laughed. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

  “If you don’t mind, please. White, two sugars.”

  “Coming up.” Andrea poured tea into another mug, made up the cup with milk and sugar, and placed it on the table. Serena gave her a grateful smile and quickly slid it out of the baby’s reach.

  Andrea seated herself next to Serena. “Ian’s not joining us?”

  “After last night, he’ll make himself scarce. Besides, he’s probably out on the water somewhere. Old rowing mate of his lives in Dunvegan now.”

  Andrea nodded and sipped her tea, relieved they wouldn’t be subjected to a repeat of last night’s tension. Somehow she felt like she’d gotten wedged in the middle of the simmering resentment between the two brothers, even if it had nothing to do with her.

  “Good morning, Andrea.” Muriel entered the room, the picture of a 1950s housewife in a shirtwaist dress and elegantly backswept hair. “Sleep well?”

  “Better than Serena, I hear.”

  “I told you. A wee nip of Scotch, and the bairn will sleep soundly all night.”

  Serena gave her aunt an exasperated look. “That’s grounds for visitation by child protection, Auntie.”

  “We did it when you were young, and you turned out just fine.”

  “Serena did.” James entered with several plates balanced on his forearms. “I’m beginning to understand where you went wrong with me.”

  “Wheesht, Jamie.” Muriel waved a hand in his direction. “It had nothing to do with the Scotch. Your father just dropped you on your head a few times too many.”

  James grinned and set the plates before them. Andrea looked down at hers in dismay. There was scarcely an inch of uncovered territory: fried eggs, a rasher of bacon, sausage, sautéed tomatoes and mushrooms, baked beans, and several slices of toast.

  “Is this breakfast for the whole island?” She usually considered herself lucky if she had time for a cup of coffee and a protein bar before she rushed to the office.

  “Busy day,” James said. “You should eat up.”

  “We’d have to be running a marathon to justify this.”

  “Don’t tempt him,” Serena said. “He’s always trying to get me up at sunrise to jog with him. The only thing my brother takes seriously besides his cooking is his exercise.”

  Andrea could believe it. James’s button-down shirt fit closely enough to see the ripple of muscle beneath when he moved, and if she were completely honest, she’d already noticed the fit of his faded jeans. Given his propensity for cooking rich food, it took more than an occasional jog to maintain that kind of shape. Her gaze followed him as he left the room before she realized what she was doing. “I’m afraid I’m on his side on that one,” she said. “I run every morning when I’m home. I don’t live far from Central Park. It’s a nice way to start the day.”

  James returned with the rest of the plates and settled into the chair beside her. “I saw you brought your trainers. There are some spectacular views of Sleat you can’t see from the main roads.”

  “I don’t see when I’ll have time for a run. My flight leaves at eleven tomorrow. I imagine we’ll have to leave pretty early.”

  “That’s a shame,” James said. “I’d love to be able to show you the island before you go. Maybe after you’re done with Ian I’ll take you on a driving tour.”

  It was tempting. Skye’s scenery tugged at her heart. But she’d already allowed herself to get too distracted by her client and his family. It was time to get back to work. “I need to wrap up everything this afternoon. I should have a preliminary proposal done by this evening.”

  “If that’s what you prefer.”

  Was that disappointment in his voice? No, she must have misinterpreted it. He was now tickling Emmy, making the little girl squirm and giggle in her seat. Andrea repressed her smile.

  “Enough, Jamie, let her eat her breakfast.” Muriel shook her head. “Wee bairns, both of them.”

  Andrea took a tentative bite of sausage and nearly groaned with pleasure. It had been so long since she’d even thought of eating something this rich that she’d forgotten how good it could taste. Clearly, she’d have to pace herself. Before she knew it, though, she’d cleaned her plate.

  When they were finished, she again insisted on clearing the table. She scrubbed out the frying pans and placed the plates in the dishwasher while James put away the remnants of breakfast and wiped down the counters.

  They were halfway to the front door when Emmy skidded to a stop in front of Andrea. Her face scrunched into a frown. “Are you leaving? You promised to teach me something.”

  Guilt crashed over her. “I forgot. I’m sorry. We have work to do, Emmy.”

  “Are you coming back?”

  “Supper, if you like,” James said. “We should be done in plenty of time.”

  She looked down at the little girl. “If you’re good for your mom and great-aunt today, I’ll teach you how to play my favorite duet on the piano after dinner, okay?”

  “You promise?” Emmy asked suspiciously.

  “I promise.” A pang bit into Andrea’s midsection again, a combination of longing and something deeper, more painful. She swallowed hard and squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  She stepped out onto the porch and forced down the feeling. She’d had enough practice that it was as natural as breathing. Almost.

  Evidently she didn’t hide her reaction as well as she’d thought. James peered at her with concern as they walked down the front steps to the car. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Let’s go. I have a lot of work ahead of me.”

  He didn’t push her as they drove back to the hotel, but she knew he was mulling her strange reaction. She’d never been terribly comfortable around children, even her niece and nephews, but Emmy . . . when she looked at Emmy, she couldn’t help but think about what might have been. But those thoughts served no one. They certainly changed nothing.

  James parked in front of the hotel. “Wait here. I’m going to get us a couple of torches.”

  Andrea climbed out and surveyed the exteri
or of the hotel. The main house, the original part, was just a stone box that had been expanded outward over the decades. A timbered conservatory addition off one side gave it a slightly unbalanced look, as did the new framing off the rear. She took out her phone and snapped several pictures of the exterior.

  “Here we are.” James returned and handed her a flashlight, and she followed him to the door. He had to wiggle the key in the lock and thrust his shoulder against the door to unstick it from the frame. “Moisture,” he said. “The door likes to swell in the damp. Mind your step.”

  Despite its many windows, the interior of the hotel was dark and cool. Andrea flipped on the flashlight and swept it over their surroundings. Most of the plasterboard had been pulled from the framing, revealing plumbing and wiring on the interior walls and ceilings, and exposing the original stone on the exterior.

  “Traditional croft-house construction,” she said. “But with a second-story addition, correct?”

  “Correct. The original structure dates from about 1820, and then the upper story was added in 1945. My great-great-grandmother was born here.”

  “Really? So the property has been in your family for a long time.”

  James nodded. “It was turned into a hotel shortly after the addition. My grandfather ran it until his death, and then our father took it over. Aunt Muriel oversaw it when he died two years ago.”

  “What happened then?”

  “A storm took the roof off, did so much damage she had to close it. The hotel’s assets wouldn’t begin to cover the repairs, but Ian and I had the funds to put into the restoration. The roof and the foundation have already been addressed. The electrician will start the wiring next week, and then we’ll be on to the cosmetics of it.”

  Andrea carefully picked her way through the bits of debris still clinging to the floor, taking in the proportions of the foyer. To the left lay a large room framed for double doors. To the right was an open living area. Stairs headed straight up in front of them, then took a sharp left turn to the second floor. “What are your plans for the layout?”