In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  But here he was. And here Maddison was. The hardworking assistant, smooth and reliable. The clue solver, her quick brain jumping ahead, unabashedly delighted when she was first with an answer. The opera lover, enthralled by the music, lost in a world he couldn’t touch. The warrior, conquering her fear to help a creature in pain. The lover, tender, demanding, exciting, yielding.

  And now—the pool shark. It wasn’t just the dress distracting him; she had borrowed a T-shirt from Paul, the barman, to even up the odds somewhat—there wasn’t a man in here who could have played her in that dress and survived. It wasn’t the adorable way she bit her lip as she focused on the cue ball or the way she caressed the tip of the cue while sizing up her shot, although both of those gave her a definite advantage. No, the truth was she was very, very good. Or lucky. He hadn’t decided which.

  She was also more than a little drunk, having moved on to whisky. She had unwittingly committed sacrilege and asked for a blended whiskey but Kit had jumped in to change her order to the local single malt, although he had allowed it to be poured on ice. Her face at the first sip had had the entire bar in stitches but she had persevered a little too well—was that her second glass or her third?

  ‘Another round?’

  Was she talking about whisky or the pool? Kit wasn’t sure he could take either. ‘I wouldn’t mind some air first,’ he suggested.

  Maddison narrowed her eyes at him, reminding Kit irresistibly of a cat in her unwavering focus. ‘Scared?’

  ‘Terrified. My reputation may never recover.’ Truth was some of his shots had gone awry because she was so damn adorable when she was competitive, but he wasn’t going to admit that. It would just make her win all the more complete.

  ‘Okay. Air and then I whip your ass again. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  He steered her out of the door, realizing as he hit the street that she wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the whisky. Kit was mellower, calmer than he had felt in a long time. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the heat of the bar, the sound of the waves soothing after the laughter, loud talk and music pumping through the two small rooms. Kit reached for Maddison’s hand, breathing in a sigh of relief as the peace hit him.

  Only for the peace to retreat as the past roared in to engulf him once again. A past he would never be free of, not here, no matter whose hand he held, how much whisky he sank. No matter how much he tried.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’

  Kit loosened his grip on Maddison’s hand with a muttered apology. ‘I thought this time was different, this time I could handle it.’

  He crossed the road and leaned on the railings, the only barrier between land and sea, staring out at the moon path.

  She joined him at the railing. ‘They all seem to like you in there.’

  ‘I haven’t been back there in years. Not since...’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘They treated you like a regular.’

  ‘I was once. Place like that, once you’re a regular you’re always a regular.’

  ‘Sounds nice.’ There was a longing in her voice.

  ‘It was. The hotel and the pub belong to the tourists, to the incomers, to people like my parents. Even though I lived at the big house I never ran with the set. The bar belongs to the villagers. When I was home I was in the lifeboat crew. I helped build the jetty.’ He nodded over at the wooden structure bobbing about in the gentle waves. ‘Euan was with me but there was a difference—no matter how much he rolled up his sleeves and pitched in, he was still the Master, the future Laird. Half those folk in there live in tied cottages. They’d be paying rent to him one day. Now I guess they’ll be paying their rent to me.’ The prospect was bleak. He didn’t want the inevitable separation his title would bring.

  ‘Your father wants you home.’ It wasn’t a question.

  Kit nodded. ‘He does and he doesn’t. He thinks I should be here learning about the estate but he worries that I’ll want to change things. He wants the finance I can bring if I sell my house and bring my investments to the estate but not the power that will give me. He wants a Master of Kilcanon but not me.’

  ‘What happened, Kit? How did Euan die?’

  The question was inevitable; they had been approaching this conversation all day. He took a deep, shuddering breath, allowing himself to really confront the past, confront his role in it, for the first time in three long years. ‘We were ridiculously competitive. Mum says we would fight over anything and everything. I had to prove I was as good as him despite being younger—despite not being the future Laird. He had to prove his asthma didn’t stop him.’ Kit gazed out at the bay. He could still see them: two boys night fishing from a dinghy, kayaking over to the nearest island, still visible in the dusky night.

  ‘Anything I could do he had to do better and vice versa, but we were really close even so.’ His lips compressed into a hard line. ‘We sailed, fished, camped, built dens. It was ridiculously idyllic, looking back. Just look at it, Maddison. Some people hate growing up in a place like this but we thrived. Like some Boy’s Own adventure. Only it was real life.’

  ‘Sounds amazing.’

  ‘I knew I had no future here and I resented that, I guess. The estate wouldn’t support me as well—second sons are useful spares but they can get in the way. So I headed to Cambridge at eighteen, started to build a life away from Kilcanon although I always yearned to come home. We would pick up right where we left off in the holidays, trying to get the better of each other. I just didn’t realize that nothing was off limits.’

  ‘Some things should have been.’

  Maybe. It was odd now, looking back. Remembering how hurt he had been. The sense of betrayal when Euan had just continued the game that had started before Kit could walk, carried it on to the ultimate conclusion. ‘I refused to show Euan how much he had hurt me. I had my pride, after all. I wished he and Eleanor well and I walked away as if I didn’t give a damn. I agreed to be best man at their wedding. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted my blessing, for me to tell him it was all okay. We were okay.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ Maddison placed her soft hand on his; the gleam of victory mixed with whisky gone from her eyes, her pointed chin no longer lifted in triumph, rather her whole body leaned into him in wordless sympathy.

  ‘Do? I refused to give him the satisfaction. I stayed in London, built up my publishing business, dated, came home for holidays and did everything I could to prove that I was better. I was insufferable. Had to coppice the most trees, catch the most fish, build the longest bit of fence, bring home a different girl each time, be the most popular brother with the locals. I was the life and soul of every party. He couldn’t compete but it didn’t stop him from trying.’

  It was easy to look back now and see how angry he had been. Maybe they should have had a good fight and got it out of their systems with some well-aimed punches rather than letting the anger fester for four long years.

  ‘One Christmas we got into a pointless row. We’d often raced across the harbour—row boats, sailing boats, motor boats and, being the insufferable brats we were, kept a running tally. I thought I was ahead, he thought he was and I wouldn’t back down. In the end he told me, in the most condescending high-handed way, that if I needed it that much then, okay, we would say it was me.’ Kit took another long look at the sea: boyhood playground, beautiful, endless, merciless. ‘Of course, I wasn’t having that. I insisted we sort the matter out immediately. One last race, winner takes all. He told me not to be stupid and I pushed and pushed until...by then we were both determined to win no matter what the cost. I didn’t know how high the cost could be.’

  He swallowed, memories washing over him, the spray of salt water on his face, the burning in his arms and legs, the sweet, sweet moment of victory turning sour as he realized something was very wrong.

  ‘His as
thma?’

  Kit nodded. ‘An attack right out there and of course the silly sod had forgotten his inhaler. I went back for him, God, I don’t think I’ve ever rowed as fast in my life, but I wasn’t fast enough. I got him to shore, called an ambulance but... I was too late. Too late to save him, too late to forgive him.’

  He paused for a long moment. ‘This was always the place I longed to be. I was so jealous of Euan, that this was his while I lived in exile.’

  ‘So why haven’t you moved back now your parents want you here?’

  ‘How can I? I killed my brother as surely as if I had pushed him off the cliff. I knew his chest was bad that Christmas but I couldn’t see beyond my own hurt pride. I forced him to race me and he died. How can I live here? How can I ever be happy when he’s in the ground, knowing I put him there?’

  ‘Oh, Kit.’ Her arms were around him, holding him tight, her lips on his cheek, on his jaw, his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her voice enfolding him with whispered comfort. ‘You do belong here, Kit, but it’s not Euan you have to forgive, it’s you. Let it go, Kit. Forgive yourself. Isn’t that what Euan would want? Let it go. Live.’

  Kit stared out to sea, Maddison’s heat, her fire slowly warming him, bringing him painfully back to life. Isn’t that what Euan would want? Was it? He had no idea.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, standing back so he was at arm’s length, so that he could see her face, her eyes, her truth. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Think what? Think that three years of self-imposed exile, three years of guilt, of estrangement is enough? Because it is, Kit. You didn’t kill your brother. He knew the rules, he was an active player, sometimes the instigator, always the main competitor. What happened to him is beyond sadness, beyond grief, but it isn’t your fault.’

  Kit desperately wished he believed that, but his mind flashed back to that bleak December day. To the pain and anger in his father’s eyes, the anguish enfolding his mother, Bridget’s sobs and Eleanor’s stony-faced grief. The identical looks on their faces when he’d walked wearily into the hospital waiting room. The looks that had told him quite clearly that they knew exactly where the blame lay.

  And he had agreed. Had willingly shouldered the toxic burden and let it infect his whole life. He deserved it.

  Maddison cupped his cheek, her hand branding him with its gentleness. ‘What did Euan want that whole time he was married to Eleanor? For you to forgive him. He wanted his brother back. What would he say now, if he was here?’

  To get over myself. But it wasn’t that easy. ‘It’s not just you that you’re hurting.’ Her voice was gentle but her words inexorable, beating away at his carefully erected shields. ‘Your parents, your sister. They miss you. The way things are they’ve lost two brothers, two sons. You can’t bring Euan back, Kit, but you can give them back you. You can become part of the family again. And sure, it’ll hurt. You’ll miss him every time you have to make a decision he should have made, perform a task that was his, visit a place he loved, but that way you’ll preserve his memory too. Because right now? You’re denying him that.’

  Kit stared down at her. Was she right? Was his decision to stay away, to keep apart from his family, to carry the burden of Euan’s death alone selfish? An excuse to wallow in his grief? Coming home, being part of the family again, moving on would hurt, not with the dull, constant ache he’d carried for the last three years but with sharp, painful clarity, but maybe, just maybe, it was the right thing to do. The right way to honour and remember his brother.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE HADN’T SLEPT a wink. Kit stared at the window, the first rosy tints of dawn peeking through the flimsy curtains—sunrise came early this time of year. As boys he and Euan would often be up and out, determined to wring every second of adventure out of the long summer days.

  Maddison was soft, warm, curled into him like a satisfied kitten, and he shifted, careful not to wake her. She murmured and turned, the sheet slipping to expose the creamy point of her shoulder, red-gold hair tumbling over it like spun sugar. He could nudge her awake, kiss her awake...

  Kit slid out of bed and grabbed his clothes. If he woke her then he would make love to her and that, that would be amazing on many levels, especially as it would stop him thinking, stop his brain turning her words over and over and over. But it was time he faced his situation head-on—and he wouldn’t be able to do it with a naked Maddison so temptingly within reach.

  Everything she had said made sense. He thought that he was truly, fittingly punishing himself by staying away, but all he was doing was running from his troubles. He needed to come home, part of the time at least. He needed to shoulder the responsibilities that were his to bear now that he was Master of Kilcanon. He needed to do more than suggest business ideas to his father; he needed to provide the capital, the manpower and the know-how he could so easily manage. He needed to celebrate his brother’s legacy by being part of it, not tarnish it by hiding from it.

  Maddison shifted again and the sheet slid a little lower. Kit stopped and stared, his mouth dry as he drank her in. Funny to think he had known her just a few weeks, and that for the beginning of that time he had barely noticed her at all. She looked so different asleep: softer, sweeter, more vulnerable.

  But she was vulnerable, wasn’t she? The realization hit him like a freezing spring wave. That efficient exterior was nothing but a carefully honed act; at heart Maddison Carter was a lost little girl searching for a happily ever after. What had she said she wanted? Hayrides and clambakes and a huge family Thanksgiving? He wasn’t entirely sure what a clambake was—but he was pretty sure that he wasn’t planning to find out.

  Kit grimaced, reality stabbing through him along with the dawn sun’s rays. What was he doing? She worked with him, worked for him and he was no Prince Charming. He could offer her a few weeks of fun but he couldn’t give her the porch swing, the four children, the clambakes and fireworks. He had his own life to sort out—he didn’t know where he would be living, what he would be doing in three months let alone three years, thirty years. He didn’t think he could promise three months. He didn’t know how to.

  And Maddison needed security like most people needed air.

  Maybe she didn’t want security from him. Maybe she was happy with things the way they were but he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk her getting hurt. Or, a little voice whispered, himself; he couldn’t get too used to having her around. She would be heading away, back to the future she needed, she craved. This thing, whatever it was, had got too deep, too intense far, far too quickly. He curled his hands into fists. There were many difficult decisions he needed to face today but this one was easy. He needed time and space away from Maddison Carter—it was the best thing he could do for her.

  * * *

  Maddison came to with a jolt, aching all over, a sweet, luxurious ache that almost begged her to push harder, again and again. She rolled over, unsure for one moment where she was, why she felt this way: sore, sated, satisfied. The windows were barely covered, the sun shining through the thin filmy curtains. She slumped back onto the soft pillows, the memories running through her mind like a shot-by-shot replay. Sex had never been like that before. Never been so intense, so all-encompassing. She had never been so lost in someone else, so lost to pleasure.

  She sat up, her heart thumping.

  What had she been thinking? To be so dependent on another person with no guarantees at all that the words, the touches, the intimacy meant anything, would lead anywhere. She had taken her entire rule book and just ripped it up. Maddison curled her hands into tight fists as reality set in, the cold and harsh light of day displacing her sleepy, sated dreams.

  Okay, reality check. Last night had been about emotion-driven sex—that was all. That was why it had been so very intense. So all consuming. So very, very good... She was still riding high on adrenaline aft
er her own bout of confessional honesty. It hurt, that opening up, allowing someone in. It hurt to face her own flaws. Sex was some kind of all-purpose plaster, helping make everything feel better, mind, body and soul. And then Kit had trumped her, tearing open his own secrets, facing his own demons.

  No wonder their lovemaking had been so hot, both of them trying to lose themselves, forget themselves, seek absolution in the other’s touch. But that was all it was. All it could be.

  Maddison stretched out an arm and brushed the other side of the bed. It was cold; Kit must have left her some time ago. She pulled her phone off the nightstand. It was still early, not yet seven. He must have left her before dawn. She looked around. No note, no sign of him at all.

  A chill brushed her chest and the ache in her limbs intensified, a little less sweet, a little less luxurious. Now the ache just made her wince, a physical reminder of her own vulnerability.

  What if he regretted it all? Not just the sex but the emotional honesty? What if he decided their closeness had all been a mistake? There was no way she was going to hand all the power over to him; no way was she going to allow herself to be made vulnerable. She needed to re-erect her barriers and fast.

  Maddison showered and dressed quickly, mechanically, building up her armour layer by layer with each brush of her hair, each sweep of the mascara wand, each blotting of her lipstick. Armour was preventative, protective. It kept you strong, kept you alive to fight another day. And the very fact that she felt that she might need it told her everything: she had let Kit in too deeply, too quickly, too intensely. And she didn’t trust him not to hurt her.

  She didn’t trust herself not to let him.

  She sank into the easy chair by the bedroom window and stared out at the stunning view, all blues and silvers and greens. It was a living picture, one she could never get tired of as the sky shifted and the sea moved restlessly. In the distance a gannet dropped, a reckless, speedy plunge into the water below, and her stomach dropped with it. She had been that reckless. She had plunged into intimacy with no thought of tomorrow. Would she, like the gannet, resurface with nothing to show for her dive?