by Beth Good
He shrugged, as though dismissing the awkwardness of her mistake. ‘You seem to be apologising rather a lot today. What do you say we take a break from misunderstandings and go for a walk instead? We can lend you some wellies.’
‘Oh, but … ’
She looked down at her short dress and bare legs.
‘No worries, my mother is looking out some loose, warm clothes for you to try. She’s not quite your size, but something should fit.’
Her cheeks flamed. Why didn’t he just call her fat?
‘Thank you, but … ’
Oh, what was the use? This trip to Scotland with a billionaire was just a glorious fantasy, and she had always preferred reality to daydreams. In actual fact, he was a hard-headed businessman who had brought her here to ensure there were no hiccups with his redevelopment plans. Not because he found her as attractive as she found him. Because that would be pushing beyond daydreams into sheer insanity.
Besides, there were a dozen things to do before the brief respite of the Christmas break. All those flowers for the church, for starters. Shantelle would be struggling without her at work today. Not to mention her father. Who was caring for him while she was gone? And she had to start thinking about her future now that she’d agreed to sell the flower shop to Thimblerig Holdings, after all. Assuming Nick Grimsby was going to keep up his end of the bargain.
‘Perhaps you should just put me on the train back to London,’ she said quietly. ‘I should get home to my dad.’
‘I thought you spoke to Mr Mistletoe on the phone last night, reassured him?’
‘I don’t like leaving Dad alone. Especially so close to Christmas. It may not be snowing in London, but it’s certainly cold.’ Her dad had insisted she should have fun on her ‘business trip’ to Scotland, and not worry about him. But guilt still nagged at her. Not to mention a fluttering in her heart which warned her she was in serious danger with this man. ‘Besides, I don’t belong here.’
She walked to the window in the silence that followed that remark, and looked out over the snowy Scottish landscape. It had started to snow again, the flakes already whirling softly outside the turret window.
Rose pressed her forehead against the icy glass and let her breath out slowly, watching the window mist up. She drew on the misty circle with a fingertip, and looked out through the line she had traced, down at the sloping lawns and woodlands around the castle. It was like being at Hogwarts, she thought wistfully, wishing she could go out and explore the grounds with him.
But she dared not stay to find out if there was any real magic here.
He was just too dangerous for her.
After a few crappy affairs in her early twenties, she had spent the past few years working assiduously not to get her heart broken by a man again, aware how such relationships always seemed to mess with her career as well as her heart. She did not want to lose that battle now. Certainly not with someone like Nick Grimsby, who was not only out of her league but on another bloody planet.
‘Okay, what did I say wrong this time?’ he asked, his voice gruff and right behind her.
Rose tensed, surprised. She had not heard him cross the room. ‘Nothing,’ she said hurriedly, and turned too quickly, confused by his proximity. ‘Oh!’
He put his arms about her, as though to steady her, but then did not release her again. His eyes searched her face. ‘Rose, look … I didn’t mean to … ’
‘To what?’
He has such long, thick eyelashes, she thought, staring up into his face. Like a woman’s. Only without the mascara.
She thought Nick was going to say something. But abruptly he shook his head, looking at her intently instead.
Then he bent his head and kissed her.
All those silly thoughts of this man being too dangerous and out of her league fled as soon as his mouth touched hers.
It was just so perfect. So unspeakably right.
Her arms snaked round his neck and drew him inexorably closer. His firm lips parted hers, and his tongue crept inside, dainty and careful, as though he was afraid of being rebuffed, and then she stood on tiptoe to kiss him back, and …
Oh goodness, he was an incredible kisser!
They kissed in silence for several minutes, learning each other’s lips, the napes of their necks, the increasing speed of their heartbeats. She let in a few doubts. Was it wise to let this happen? And so soon after they had met?
Then some biological imperative gripped hold of her, and all she could think about was his body pressed against hers, so strong and hard, and the bed so close beside them.
Nick seemed to be thinking along the same lines too, she realised, feeling his hands unzipping her dress. Then her dress was on the floor, and she was dragging his cream cable-knit sweater off his head – not as easy as it had seemed when she started; he got one arm trapped, and there was a short, breathless tussle while they worked to free him – and then at last they were standing chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin, while he undid her bra with infuriating expertise, his mouth still on hers.
Somehow he shed his jeans, socks and trainers, and she rather daringly tossed her knickers across the room, giggling as they caught on the lampstand.
Then she was floating in his arms, deposited gently on the bed with Nick kneeling above her. His gaze met hers. From the look in his eyes, she no longer feared he thought she was fat. Or anything but desirable, in fact. Which was an amazing thought, and one which warmed her despite the lack of a stitch on her body.
‘I want to make love to you, Rose Mistletoe,’ he said softly, and waited, as though giving her an opportunity to change her mind.
‘That makes two of us, Nick Grimsby.’
There was that crooked smile again. Then he kissed her more roughly, and Rose closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure as their naked bodies came together. And outside the window, snow began to fall more heavily, blanketing the woods and hills in a deep, crisp, magical whiteness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Late morning, once breakfast was over and the snow had stopped falling, they walked out together across the lawns at Ben Glassie. Rose was wearing spare wellies and an old pair of his jeans coupled with an outsize T-shirt, plus gloves, woolly bonnet and a fleece-lined jacket that belonged to their cook, a large, cheery Scot whose few words to her this morning had been utterly incomprehensible, like listening to someone speaking through a mouthful of crisps. But the woman had seemed happy enough to lend her some warm things for outdoors, nodding and smiling as she pushed them both out of her vast, steamy kitchen. ‘Haggis,’ had been the only word she could decipher in fact, the woman pointing at a large, lidded pan bubbling on the Aga.
His mother’s two greyhounds bounded ahead, far enough away in the fresh air for them not to leave her sneezing. Snow crunched under their boots with a satisfying sound. The world seemed muffled, every tree branch heavy with snow, every field and stretch of woodland turned to pure, virgin white. They headed along a narrow track that led uphill into the nearby forest, the snow broken only by tiny, light bird prints and the occasional deeper holes left by fox or rabbit paws.
‘This place is incredibly beautiful,’ Rose said in awe, staring up at the blanched slopes above, and the ragged grey clouds that topped them. She glanced back at Ben Glassie Castle, its bleak stone turrets and battlements also coated with a blanket of snow. ‘It’s like something out of a fairy tale.’
‘You mean, too good to be true?’
She did not answer but turned to study Nick uncertainly, still not quite sure what was happening between them.
Yesterday they had been professionals at war, near-strangers facing each other down in the cabin of that small plane. Enemy combatants, each determined not to give an inch. Yet today, all their cold words and brittle stares had given way to this strange, mutual softening of heart and body, an emotionally intense bond that made her feel she could trust this man with anything. Even her life.
Was it foolish of her to believe that? To trust someone so t
horoughly and implicitly after only a few hours’ love-making in a secluded turret room?
Perhaps.
Yet it felt real enough – more real than anything else in her world. And whenever she glanced his way, she saw an answering connection in his eyes too. An afterglow about his face that was more to do with his soul lighting up inside than the healthy exercise of two people making passionate love to each other. Unless he was the world’s best actor, she thought candidly, Nick felt the same way too.
And how did she feel?
Reborn, she thought wonderingly, crunching happily through the snow like a child. Freshly-made and wide open to every sensation around her. All her senses prickling with this new and astonishing awareness of somebody else beside her, always there in her heart, even when she was alone. It was like looking into a mirror and finding not the expected reflection of her own face there, but a new person staring back at her. Someone else swimming in exactly the same wild, chaotic waters: incredibly alive, alert to the world, and very possibly in love.
In love? Already?
Nick reached out for her gloved hand, and she gave it willingly. His eyes met hers. ‘You okay?’ Such a universe of nuance in those two little words. She nodded mutely, and his fingers laced with hers, somehow giving her fresh strength. ‘Good.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘If it’s any consolation, I feel the same.’
‘You do?’
‘Like I’ve been hit by a truck.’
She smiled then, her lips a little wobbly. ‘Yes.’
Under the vast snow-laden pines, they stopped and looked back while the dogs ran about them, panting happily. Solid and pale, the castle seemed to float up out of the white landscape that cradled it, turret windows like heavy-lidded eyes, the open portcullis gate a kind of gappy mouth, smiling with metal teeth on show. And on the main lawn stood the living Christmas tree she had seen from the plane last night, hung with outdoor fairy lights and glittering baubles, no less beautiful for the wintry sunlight now bathing it.
Nick drew her close and kissed her. When he raised his head again, he looked almost feverish, dark eyes glittering. She suspected in fact that they were both a little pink-cheeked and breathless. Not a good look for someone with red hair, even when it was hidden under a springy woollen bonnet. But she could not bring herself to care.
‘You meant it, didn’t you?’ she whispered.
‘Meant what?’
‘The redevelopment … It wasn’t just to … ’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘You think I lied to get you into bed?’ Nick laughed, but she sensed hurt behind his smile. ‘Sorry, not my style. I meant every word.’ He dropped her gloved hands, his voice a little more distant as he stared back towards his home, the ethereal castle lifting above the trees. ‘I’ve called a press conference for later this afternoon at Thimblerig House in London. We’ll be flying back after lunch. Come with me, hear what I have to say.’
Snowflakes whirled about their heads, freezing her cheek with their icy fingers. She blinked a thick flake away from her lashes, studying him.
‘Nick, why did you bring me to Ben Glassie?’ she asked impulsively, needing to be sure regardless of his words.
‘The truth?’
Now her eyebrows rose. ‘Of course the truth.’
‘My mother wanted to meet you.’ He sounded awkward, much younger than he looked, a hard line of red tinging his cheekbones. ‘She asked me to bring you home. Insisted on it, to be more accurate.’ He shrugged at her surprise. ‘I’d mentioned you a few times on the phone, and I guess … Well, I don’t talk about women very often. So I suppose she was curious. Also, she had such fond memories of your shop …’
Rose was speechless.
‘Come on,’ he added brusquely, and whistled for the dogs, who came running at once, ‘this snow fall is getting too thick for walking. If it gets any heavier, we might not be able to leave.’
Nick turned back towards the castle, and she followed him automatically, planting her wellies in the large smudgy holes left by his boots. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his dark head bent, sprinkled with white flecks of snow.
I don’t talk about women very often.
What did that mean?
She thought about his love-making, passionate and yet gentle, with exactly the same edge of desperation she had felt too. This need to know him inside-out, to learn everything about his body, his likes and dislikes, almost to get under his skin, was something she could not control. It had been more than purely physical between them, that was for sure. The way he had rolled her over on top of him, their eyes locked, drinking each other in, his hands careful never to let go of her, whispering her name …
She stumbled with a faint cry, and he turned at once, steadying her.
‘You okay?’ he asked again, his voice rough, and she looked up into his face, thinking he was angry with her, but found only raw emotion there, and tears in his eyes.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Nick Grimsby.’
‘It’s … complicated … and … personal.’ He battled with the words, then said in a hoarse rush, ‘My mother has cancer. The doctors say it’s in remission, but I’m so afraid I’m going to lose her, I can’t stop thinking about it. I know that sounds … ’ Nick swallowed hard, not looking at her. ‘My mother is all I have in the world. The only person who’s ever cared about me.’
‘But your father … ’
‘He never married my mother. She left London and came to work at the castle when she was still quite young, answered an advert in the Evening Standard for cleaning staff.’ He sounded almost angry, his tone hard. ‘My mother was a very attractive woman when she was young. My father seduced her, got her pregnant, but then refused to marry her … He was engaged, you see, to a wealthy French woman, and needed her money for the upkeep of the castle. My mother managed to keep her pregnancy quiet from the other staff, and stayed on here. I think she hoped he would change his mind. But then there was an accident, and she … she had me prematurely.’ His face was like stone now. ‘Within hours of my birth, my father had sent her packing, and me along with her. His only child.’
Rose was incensed. ‘Good grief, that’s practically Victorian behaviour. Your mother should have sued him.’
‘He paid her off through his lawyers.’ Now the contempt in his voice was undisguised. ‘Made a handsome settlement to cover her needs, and all my expenses through to university, in exchange for her silence. Then he got married.’
Rose felt so sorry for him. Poor little boy, what a horrible childhood he must have had, knowing his own father hadn’t wanted him around.
But she still did not understand. ‘So how is it you own the castle today? Did you … Did you buy Ben Glassie yourself out of revenge?’
Nick gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Nothing so dramatic. When I was twenty-three, and taking a Masters’ degree, my father was widowed and inherited his wife’s vast estate. He and Emmanuelle hadn’t managed to have children. So I was still his heir, nominally. Then he realised he was dying of cirrhosis. He got in touch with me at university.’ He looked at her grimly. ‘Make no mistake, I hated the man for what he’d done to my mother.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘But although my mother was working, she’d become ill by then too, and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had to keep taking time off work and was running out of money. I was still a student then, and couldn’t help her. But I knew my father could.’
Rose nodded, looking at him sympathetically.
‘I agreed to meet up with him.’ He made a face. ‘It was not a happy meeting. But basically we were reconciled, and he gave me a generous enough allowance to pay for my mother’s treatment and buy her a new house. As soon as I had my Masters’, I went into business with him. When he died, I formed Thimblerig Holdings and used my inheritance to move into property redevelopment in London.’ He shrugged. ‘You know the rest.’
‘Bi
llionaire playboy tycoon?’
His grin disarmed her. ‘Something like that. Though the playboy element may have been over-exaggerated in the press.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’ They both laughed, but she could still see pain in his face. Quickly putting a hand on his arm, she said, ‘Thank you for telling me. And I’m sure if your mother is in remission, she has a good chance of staying that way. Especially with all the care she must be getting.’ She paused. ‘And you by her side.’
‘I’m not by her side as much as I’d like these days,’ he said bluntly. ‘And now I have to go back to London, instead of staying for Christmas. But your little stunt with the picket line has made it impossible for me to spend Christmas here. And there’s simply too much to arrange over the changes to the Christmas Parade redevelopment deal, I can’t be away from the office at a time like this.’
She felt ridiculously guilty. ‘The picket line. I’d … I’d forgotten all about our plan. Our protest was scheduled for this afternoon. Has it gone ahead without me?’
‘What do you think?’ His mouth quirked, and not with amusement this time. ‘I had a call from Head Office just before we left the castle. There’s a picket line in place across the front of our company headquarters. With some very unflattering slogans about me on the placards and banners, apparently. And there’s been some chanting and singing, and harassing of staff members trying to get in and out of the building.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Look, we’d better get back. I have to say goodbye to my mother.’
She studied him in some surprise. ‘Why not ask her to come with us to London? Don’t you have a place there where she could stay over Christmas?’
He hesitated, frowning. ‘She never comes to London at Christmas, not since moving here after my father died. She says that she prefers the Scottish countryside. Much quieter and … ’ He indicated the snowy landscape. ‘As you can see, more beautiful than the city in winter.’
‘But if she wants to spend Christmas with you?’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll help you persuade her if you like. This change of plan is partly my fault, after all.’
