In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘I...I...’ She stumbled back, cheeks hot even as the rest of her shivered with an icy chill. ‘You’re right, we shouldn’t...’

  ‘Stay here,’ he finished. ‘We’re a little exposed here on the public footpath.’

  ‘Oh.’ She smiled at him a little foolishly, blinking as she twisted in his embrace, aware for the first time in several long minutes of their surroundings. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We could get a hotel room, here. If you wanted, that is. We’d still be back in time for the wedding. Only if you want to, though...’

  Maddison put a finger on his mouth. ‘I want to.’

  ‘Good.’ His voice was hoarse, ragged with need. ‘I was very much hoping you would say that.’

  * * *

  The early-evening sun slanted in through the window, turning the red-gold of Maddison’s hair flame-coloured. Kit pulled a strand of it through his fingers, the silky texture as smooth as her skin. He liked her hair like this, dishevelled, down, free, just as he liked her like this: soft, warm and drowsy.

  What on earth had happened? One moment he was stomping up a steep hill, almost blind to the beauty all around him, taking little notice of the fresh air filling his lungs, trying not to mull over their conversation in the car, and the next moment... It hadn’t just been the feel of her, soft and pliant in his arms as he’d pulled her free, it hadn’t been the way she had looked, so different from her usual neat and tidy self in her jeans and jacket, hair falling out of its elegant twist, face rosy with the exercise. It had been more. Maybe they had been headed here all along.

  Maybe it was the feelings she had roused in him in the car. Anger—not at her, for her. The abandoned child, the lonely girl, the jilted lover. She deserved more. But not just anger. She made him feel compassion, a need to possess her, protect her.

  His mouth curled. As if he could protect anybody. And yet he wanted to, wanted to pull out a sword and challenge all comers, shield her from hurt.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Maddison rolled over, the sheet pulled high, shielding her lithe body from his gaze. It was the body of someone with fierce amounts of control—slim, toned and smooth. It had been lots of fun helping her lose that control. Twice.

  ‘That I hadn’t expected to find myself here when we left London this morning.’ That was an honest reply even if it wasn’t all he was thinking.

  She looked around and Kit followed her gaze, taking in, for the first time, the pink flowery walls, the heavy velvet curtains fringed with tassels, the huge variety of cushions and the shiny pine wardrobe. She smiled at him. ‘No, I can imagine not. It’s probably a little pink for your tastes.’

  ‘We could have waited and found somewhere a little more boutiquey.’ He didn’t want to say romantic. This, whatever it was, wasn’t about romance.

  ‘No.’ She slid a hand over his chest, a smug smile tilting the corners of her mouth as he inhaled sharply. ‘This is perfect. Besides, I didn’t want to wait.’

  ‘No? Me neither.’

  ‘Do you think the landlady bought it? The impromptu walking-weekend story?’

  Kit allowed himself to twist another strand of that sunlit hair around a finger. ‘Sure she did. I’m sure she’s completely used to couples hammering at her door, throwing cash at her and disappearing upstairs.’ The modest B & B had been the first place they had passed with a vacancies sign. It might not boast Egyptian cotton sheets, designer paint or expensive antiques, but it was clean and, most importantly, available. Neither of them had been prepared to wait for something more luxurious.

  ‘I had a valid reason. I was covered with mud. I needed a bathroom.’

  Kit whipped the sheet off, ignoring Maddison’s squeals as she made a grab for it, and took a long, appraising look down at her legs. ‘You still are.’ He reluctantly let the sheet drop back down in response to her indignant tug and sank back down beside her. He could have feasted his eyes on her forever. ‘You need a good wash. Want me to help?’

  She pulled herself up on her forearm and looked down at him. ‘Maybe. How good are you with a sponge?’

  ‘Immensely talented,’ he assured her and watched her eyes glaze over. ‘Want to find out just how good I am?’

  ‘Soon,’ she promised him, slumping down onto him, her body hot against his skin. Kit shifted so that he was curled around her, his arm holding her tight, the heavy weight of her breast just under his hand. It had been so long since he had just lain with a woman, caught in that languorous twilight time between sex and the real world. The promise of pleasure still hanging, musky in the air, and yet sated enough to let the promise stand. For now. Maybe. He allowed his finger to circle around the tip of her breast, a light caress, a small possession as he burrowed his face into the sweet spot at the nape of her neck, tasting her skin one more time.

  ‘Mmm...’ Her sigh was all the encouragement he needed and he deepened the caress, his other hand sliding along her hip, across the flat plane of her belly, as he nibbled his way along her shoulder. ‘Do we have to go to this wedding? Can’t we stay here forever?’

  Kit found the delicate spot at the top of her shoulder and tasted it, his tongue dipping into the hollow, following the line down towards the top of her other breast. Maddison shifted, allowing him access to her body, submissive under his gentle onslaught.

  ‘I would much rather stay here.’ He was taking his time, enjoying the quickening of her breath, her hands fisted in his hair. ‘I am suddenly very fond of pink curtains.’ But as he kissed his way down her body, sampling her slick, salty, satin skin, revelling in the knowledge that he was responsible for each moan, each cry, each movement, he knew that it was just a pipe dream. Duty called him home. But tonight? Tonight was all about pleasure and Kit intended to make the most of every single second.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE MORNING AFTER the night before. It wasn’t usually a problem. After all, he always made his position completely clear before anything compromising began—no commitment, no emotional attachment, no expectations. Just two people hanging out, enjoying the moment. And if, in the end, the other person wanted more, well, his conscience was clear. He wasn’t the one changing his mind.

  But there had been no laying out of the rules this time. No clarity. Just an overwhelming need overriding sense, overriding thought. He could have taken her there and then on the hillside, mud and hikers forgotten. At least he’d had enough sense to call a temporary halt.

  But not enough sense to halt it altogether.

  Kit gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. Need meant weakness. Need meant attachment. He didn’t do either. He only dated women he was in no danger of falling for. That was the rule.

  Maddison Carter broke every rule.

  But it wasn’t as if she were after anything more serious either. Maddison had her heart set on her perfect marriage to the perfect guy who would give her the perfect family. And he was far from perfect.

  Surely she knew that this, whatever it was, was just an interlude. She wouldn’t want it to be anything more any more than he did.

  Which in many ways made her the perfect woman.

  Although following up a night of mind-blowing passion with a trip to the family home wasn’t the best idea in the world. Even the most clear-headed of women would be forgiven for finding the signals confusing.

  Maybe not just the women.

  Kit turned his attention to the road ahead. Most people headed north from Loch Lomond, past Fort William, up into the deeper Highlands, but to get to Kilcanon Kit took an early turn away from the loch, dropping back down on to the long peninsula that would take them down, past the sea lochs to the coast. The road twisted and turned, climbing up into thickly forested heights where eagles soared before dropping back down to the loch side. Glasgow, just an hour and a half away, felt as remote as London or New York; a bustling city had nothi
ng in common with this wild and natural beauty.

  And Kilcanon was possibly the wildest and most beautiful part of all. The Buchanans’ ancestral lands were at the very tip of the peninsula where land met sea. The road ahead was achingly familiar; here it was, the first glimpse of home. Every time it hit him anew, a sharp punch to his heart.

  ‘There it is, Castle Kilcanon.’ They were the first words either of them had spoken in the last hour and he slowed the car down so Maddison could look out at the sweep of water below, at the round grey castle dominating the landscape like a sentinel.

  ‘That’s your home?’ She sat up straighter and peered down at the dark, rotund keep. ‘Where’s the flags on the turrets and the knights galloping over the drawbridge?’

  ‘We don’t keep the knights on a full retainer.’ The village spread out across the bay, the harbour home to several small boats bobbing on the sea, the castle on the other side of the bay. The weather had lifted a little and even though the grey of the sea met the grey of the sky on the horizon, the two blending into one, he could still see the craggy, green islands, some impossibly close, others mist-shielded ghosts.

  ‘There’s a lookout point. Can we stop?’

  Kit didn’t reply but he pulled over and sat there for a moment while she got out of the car and walked over to the railings, leaning over them while she took in the spectacular view. Once he’d have been hurrying her, eager to cover the last fifteen minutes’ travel as the road wound down and round to the village, but not any more. Now he was glad of the opportunity to delay their arrival by even a few minutes.

  In London he could push the memories away with work and play until all they could do was beat at his dreams, but as soon as he set foot in Kilcanon they would surround him, whispering ghosts reminding him that he was to blame. His eternal shame. His eternal punishment.

  Maddison’s hair was whipping around in the breeze, the red-gold a vibrant contrast to the greens and blues surrounding her. He got out of the car and walked to the rail, leaning next to her. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Like nowhere else.’

  ‘I’m sorry for yesterday.’

  She slid a green-eyed glance over at him, the corners of her mouth curving into a playful smile, which caught him and held him. ‘Why? I’m not.’

  ‘It shouldn’t have happened. I’m your boss and you were at a low point. I took advantage of you.’

  ‘No, you cheered me right up. Made me feel desirable and wanted when I couldn’t even look at myself without disgust.’ She turned to face him, laying one slender hand over his. ‘Look, Kit, it’s all right. I’m not Camilla. I don’t expect you to suddenly fall to one knee after one night together, no matter how amazing that night was. I know that’s not what you are looking for and I...’ She hesitated, lacing her fingers through his, her hand warm against the ice of his. ‘I don’t know what I want, not any more. It was all so clear-cut a few weeks ago. Even a few days ago.’

  ‘Four children and a rich husband?’

  She leaned into him with a playful shove. ‘Yes. Well, marriage, a family, security. That is really important, although maybe I need to re-evaluate how I get there. But whatever happens I think I need to start living a little, not plan so much. So you are off the hook, nobody took advantage of anybody. It doesn’t have to happen again, although,’ she added, her fingers caressing his, ‘I’m not saying that I’d mind if it did.’

  ‘Remind me of that later,’ he said softly and felt her quiver beside him.

  He stared out at the sea—still today, tranquil. ‘We used to take boats out over to the island, race them. Sails only, no motors allowed. Go fishing off the pier, kayak across the harbour. Everything was a competition, everything. Even love.’

  ‘You miss him.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘You have no idea how much. I don’t feel it so much in London. He never visited me there—the city air was bad for his asthma—but here, by the sea, he was fine. Every time I come back it hits me again, that he’s not here. And this evening I have to watch his wife marry someone else, as if Euan never existed.’

  ‘It was three years ago, Kit. She’s allowed to move on.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He freed his hand from hers and moved to stand behind her, his arms around her waist holding on tight, allowing her to anchor him to the here and now. ‘One of us should move on. We can’t both hold an eternal vigil.’

  ‘You are allowed to as well. It’s what he would have wanted.’

  If only she knew. He didn’t think he would ever break free of the chains binding him to his guilt and grief—and even if he could, would he want to? Did he deserve to? Euan was dead and he was alive and nothing would ever change that.

  ‘Come on.’ He dropped a light kiss on her hair, breathing in the floral scent, glad that she was here in all her vibrancy and warmth, chasing away the shadows that dogged his every step. ‘We have a family to meet and a wedding to attend. Ready?’

  ‘Absolutely. Parents are my speciality. Lead the way.’

  Kit took in a deep breath. There was no retreating now. But at least, this time, he wouldn’t be alone.

  * * *

  Maddison wasn’t quite as confident as the car swept up the long, gravelled drive to the castle. The gravel was grey like the thick stone blocks of the turrets. Grey like the sky above them, the sea behind them, and despite all her good intentions she shivered. ‘Is that where you slept?’ She tilted her head to look at the top of the keep, the windows narrow slits in the stone. It must be dark in there, dank. Her spine tingled as she imagined a small child, a mop of dark hair and huge blue eyes, sitting forlornly in a round, cheerless room.

  ‘Oh, no, I was down in the dungeons. Kids are always better off behind bars. That’s the family motto.’ Kit was gripping the steering wheel a little tightly but his tone was teasing and the wink he gave her knowing.

  ‘Of course you were, on a pallet of straw, a bucket in the corner.’

  To Maddison’s surprise the drive didn’t end in front of the imposing entrance, but swept around the castle, finishing in a semicircle in front of an eye-wateringly large house situated on a slanting hill two hundred yards behind the castle. The house was built from the same grey stone as the keep but it seemed softer somehow, maybe because of the wisteria clambering over the front and upwards to the roof, maybe because of the elegant, tall towers flanking both sides, or maybe it was the three tiers of tall windows promising a light, airy interior, the stone in between them decorated with delicate ornamental stonework. Either way, despite its size, it made a more believable—and more comfortable—home than the ancient, thick-walled castle.

  Kit braked the car and pointed up to the top floor. ‘The nursery floor was up there. Euan, Bridget and I all had rooms up there, along with the playroom.’

  She barely took in his words, her mouth open in utter shock. ‘It’s...it’s huge!’ Somehow the grand old house was more imposing than any castle could be. Twisting around in her seat, Maddison could see how the ground had been cleverly landscaped so that the keep hid the house from prying eyes and yet the house itself had an uninterrupted view, over smooth green lawns, right down to the sea. Behind the house lawns rose in wide, flower-covered terraces up into the hillside, hints of arbours, patios and summer houses hidden just out of view. She turned back to Kit and eyed him accusingly. ‘I can’t believe you let me think that you still lived in there.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s a common misconception but the keep’s been empty for years. By all accounts it was always cold and uncomfortable and our eighteenth-century ancestors were too nesh to keep shivering in there. With the Jacobite rebellion over they didn’t need such thick walls and so they built the big house, as it’s still known. Only the old castle gets the courtesy of being Castle Kilcanon, the ancestral home of the Clan Buchanan.’ He deepened his voice as he said the last w
ords, sounding more like a documentary maker than a son returning home.

  ‘The big house?’ Maddison had never quite got the British art of understatement. The house in front of her made the estates of her college friends seem small—and tacky—even though she had visited homes covering many more acres. She instinctively knew there would be no cinema rooms or bowling alleys here, no infinity pools or gyms. This was real class, real old money. She had no idea how to fake this kind of lifestyle. How to fit in.

  For the first time in many years doubt clouded her mind. She shivered again as a raven landed on top of the keep, a foreboding omen.

  ‘Kit!’ Maddison had no more time to panic as the huge front door was flung open and a pretty girl in her early twenties ran down the imposing front steps. She was casually dressed in an old sweater and jeans, her dark red hair scooped back and not a hint of make-up on the creamy face, liberally strewn with becoming freckles. Maddison pulled her cashmere jumper down, smoothing it with shaking hands, doubting her outfit. Was it too put together? Artificial?

  ‘Kit! You’re home! I can’t believe you left it till now. Mum has been spitting feathers. She was convinced you’d let her down and find an excuse not to come. Not that I blame you. If it wasn’t a three-line whip I would be far away from here. It sounds utterly dreary.’

  ‘Hey, Bridge.’ Kit was out of the car before the girl got to them and reached down, scooping her up and swinging her round. Maddison’s chest squeezed. She would give anything to have someone greet her with such uninhibited joy. ‘I have plenty of time. The wedding doesn’t start until five.’

  ‘I know.’ The younger girl pulled a face. ‘Evening candlelit ceremony and black tie. So tacky. I blame Angus.’

  ‘I doubt Angus had much of a say,’ Kit said drily.

  Maddison got out of the car, her legs stiff and awkward as she walked around to meet them, her throat dry and chest tight. She had thought she didn’t care what Kit’s family made of her, but she wanted this warm-faced girl who so obviously adored Kit to like her. To think her worthy.