Five Days in Skye: A Novel (16 page)

“Fine by me.” James pulled a tartan flannel blanket from the hamper and spread it out onto the grass. She knelt as he began to unpack their feast. Two stemless wine glasses came out first, followed by a tall glass bottle. He held it up. “Sparkling water. I didn’t think wine was the best idea, given the climb.”

Next came out two melamine plates and real cloth napkins, followed by several plastic containers. James popped the lids and pointed to each dish. “My take on tuna Niçoise sandwiches, new red potato salad, and fresh fruit. I was going to bring some sorbet, too, but I figured it would melt.”

“This is the fanciest picnic I’ve ever had.” She smiled and unfolded a napkin across her lap while he poured her a glass of water.

“Advantages of sightseeing with a chef.” He arranged the items on her plate as carefully as he would have in a fine restaurant and set it on the blanket before her.

She took a bite of the sandwich, and her eyebrows flew up in approval. He’d hoped she would like it. This was one of his favorite recipes, even though it was remarkably simple: seared tuna, seasoned delicately with olive oil, vinegar, and Dijon mustard, then layered with hard-boiled eggs and spring greens on an artisan roll. Even a day old, the bread was fantastic, a perfect balance of soft custard-like crumb and flaky crust.

“You’re an artist,” she said. “Truly. This makes me think of spring and country air and …” She broke off, blushing again.

Did she have any idea how appealing that shy little habit made her? Even more so because he had the feeling he was the only one who coaxed it out of her.

He smiled, an expression that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face around her. “You appreciate food more than any non-chef I’ve ever met.”

She accepted the compliment with a pleased smile of her own, leaning back onto her hands while the breeze rustled her hair. “You love this place. I can see it in your face when you bring me somewhere new. Why did it take you so long to come back?”

He’d asked himself the same thing. “The arrogance of youth perhaps? There’s a certain prejudice against Scots in England. Not like there used to be of course, but it’s still there. Once I succeeded in London …”

“You didn’t want to acknowledge your roots.”

“Something like that.” The smile faded. “When my dad died and I came back for the funeral, I realized what I had been missing. You bury the past, and maybe you lose a little of what made you who you are.”

Tears glimmered along her lower lashes before she blinked them away. “That’s what Becky says. But sometimes the past is better left buried. Just because circumstances shaped you doesn’t mean you should dwell on them.”

“But you have to face them before you can move on.”

“It seems to me you and Ian have plenty of unfinished business.”

James flinched as the comment struck home.

Andrea’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re right. Ian and I have always had a complicated relationship. When our parents split up, they let us—made us—choose where to live. Serena and I chose Skye with Dad. Ian chose London with Mother. After that, he assumed the man-of-the-house role, always wanted to give me advice. Eventually, I stopped visiting. I got tired of hearing from Mother about how I should be more like Ian.”

“Is that why you rebelled in school?”

He gave her a wry look. “No, that was just my own mischievous nature. The fact it infuriated Ian and Mother was just an unexpected benefit.”

“You don’t like being told what to do.”

“Does anyone?”

“No, I suppose not. We all want to be in control of our lives.”

“Sometimes we don’t know what we need,” James said softly, catching her eye. “Sometimes we have to have matters taken out of our hands.”

“That sounds suspiciously like you’re fishing for a compliment.”

She was too quick. He grinned. “Only if you’re handing them out.”

She laughed. “It hasn’t turned out too bad so far.”

“That’s the best you can do? I’m going to have to try a little harder then. I have somewhere else in mind.”

“Good. I, for one, would like to get off the top of this death trap.” Andrea began to pack their plates and silverware into the hamper.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like one last look over the side?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Tempting as that sounds, I’m wise to your plan now.”

“Next time I’ll try to be less transparent.”

He caught her smile before she turned her back on him to fold the picnic blanket. When she finished, James shoved it back into the hamper and then led the way down through the crevice.

He took Andrea’s hand again when the path leveled out and emerged onto the green hills. They didn’t linger in the meadows this time, taking a more direct path back to the car. He squinted at the sky, where the fluffy clouds over the mainland were giving way to a gray ceiling.

“Looks like rain,” he said. “And the wind’s beginning to pick up.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t melt.” She squeezed his hand. “If we only have today and tomorrow, I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Have I actually been successful?” he asked in mock astonishment. “Do I hear Andrea Sullivan wanting to enjoy a holiday? In Scotland?”

“Oh, shut up.” She gave him a shove, and he ducked out of her way, laughing.

Since Andrea was determined to see Skye’s points of interest, James turned the car north toward Uig, intending to take the long loop around and hit the most spectacular natural sights. Most of the roads this far onto the Trotternish peninsula were single-track, and more than once, James had to pull into a lay-by and wait for a vehicle to pass in the opposite direction. When they finally arrived at Duntulm, he found a parking spot in the gravel by the side of the road.

He and Andrea walked out to the promontory, where the ruins of the old MacDonald castle stood, their hands linked. Errant clouds slid in front of the sun, driven by the stiff sea breeze, alternately casting their surroundings in shadow and sunlight. The water made a moody blue contrast to the dark, rugged edge of Harris in the distance.

The idea James’s ancestors had built this castle, lived and died here, always seemed somewhat surreal. His clan was the largest in the world, but somewhere in the tangled branches of his family tree, he knew he was descended from the MacDonalds of Sleat who had built the castles on the island. Maybe that was why his father had never wanted to leave. There was too much history, too much MacDonald blood spilled over this small expanse of Scotland.

The ground near the castle was marshy and uneven, bisected by several lines of wooden fences to keep holiday-goers from pitching off the heights to the rocky break below. The closer they got to the cliff where the ruins lay, the harder Andrea gripped his hand.

“You do realize I might pass out,” she said. “I may have used up all my courage on the fairy tower.”

“Then stop here and enjoy the view.” He paused at a cluster of stones that had once been the castle’s foundation and slipped an arm around her. She relaxed against him and looked out over the incredible vista, and he watched the uncertainty fade from her face in favor of quiet appreciation.

“Let’s go into the ruins, shall we?”

She nodded, finding his hand again. They tramped around the dirt floor, surrounded by the crumbling walls of the old castle. He held her around the waist as they peered through the keyhole opening in the front wall that framed a view of the sea. He found himself watching her as much as the scenery, enjoying the look of pleasure on her face and the feel of her body pressed alongside his. He didn’t dare draw attention to the fact in case she panicked and withdrew again, but she seemed content to rest in his arms. It was a small step, but at least it was one in the right direction.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The first fat drops of rain struck them as they climbed back out from the floor of the castle. Clouds blotted out the sun again, and frigid wind buffeted them outside the protective shelter of the stone walls.

“Race you back to the car?” James asked.

Andrea didn’t think he meant it literally, but the skies apparently did, because they chose that moment to shed their full burden, loosing drops so large they stung when they struck her skin. She grinned at him and took off at a sprint up the marshy hillside.

Andrea dared a glance back and saw him following a few paces behind, laughing as he ran. She beat him to the car, but by the time he fumbled his keys from the pocket of his jeans, she was shivering and soaking wet. He quickly unlocked the doors, and they dove for the shelter of the wagon as if of one mind.

The doors slammed with a hollow thud. Rain drummed dully on the roof and splattered the windshield. Andrea shivered violently as water dripped from her sodden hair down her face.

James started the engine and flipped on the heater. “I’m so sorry.”

Laughter bubbled up inside her. “Did you actually just apologize for the weather?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I suppose I did. Cold and miserable, remember?”

“And horrible food,” she added. “I think we can agree that one isn’t true.”

“Good. I would hate to spoil your newfound fondness for my country. Wait here.” He jumped out of the car into the downpour and popped the hatch in the back. By the time he got back into the driver’s seat, he was even wetter than before.

“This should warm you up.” He pulled the picnic blanket out from under his coat and draped it around her shoulders, then pushed her wet hair back from her face. His touch stirred a riot of sensations in her middle. He started to pull away, but she curled her fingers around his hand and held it against her cheek.

“I’m beginning to think you are a good man, James MacDonald.”

He froze, his fingers twining with hers, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ve been thinking I should learn a few words of Gaelic while I’m here. What is it you said?
An toir thu dhomh pòg?
”

“Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Serena told me.”

“And what did she tell you?” He seemed to be struggling against a smile.

Andrea leaned across the console and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Will you kiss me?”

“Close. More properly, it means, ‘Will you give me a kiss?’”

She laughed, and it came out far shakier than she expected. “James, stop talking and just kiss me.”

He smiled and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, then lowered his mouth to hers. The first touch sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold, and she sighed against his mouth. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, but his lips remained gentle, softly exploring, tasting. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she knew he was holding himself back.

His patience was torture. She gripped his jacket and pulled him closer. The urgency of his response stole her breath and made her head swim. He buried his hands in her hair, and Andrea surrendered to the moment, reveling in the taste of him, the restrained strength in his touch. When his lips traveled across her jaw and down to her throat, a whimper slipped from her mouth.

The sound must have brought him back to his senses, because he froze and lifted his head a fraction of an inch, his breath coming in bursts.

“You’re killing me, Andrea,” he whispered. He pressed another lingering kiss to her lips, then released her completely and fell back against his seat.

Her cheeks instantly heated. She had gotten wrapped up in the moment, driven by the need for closeness, connection. He probably thought … Well, she didn’t want to know what he thought. “I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry at all.” He raised her hand to his lips so her fingers curved against his cheek and kissed her palm. The mere press of his lips in such an unexpected place sent a thrill of electricity through her body. From the little smile he gave her, he knew it too.

“We should go back to the hotel,” he said. “You’re soaked.”

She looked down at her jacket, the light gray fabric now charcoal from the rain. “What’s the hurry? We can’t get any wetter, can we?”

“You only say that because it’s positively steamy in here now.” His mouth curved into the wicked smile that had gotten her into this situation in the first place. “Let’s go change into dry clothes, and I’ll make you a cup of chocolate.”

“All right. You sold me with the chocolate.”

James eased the car from the turnout, driving slowly in the steadily falling rain. The windshield wipers thudded against the windshield with every sweep, giving her something to focus on besides the man next to her. To say she hadn’t wished for that moment since she met him would be a bald-faced lie. She just hadn’t been willing to succumb to temptation when she thought she was just another conquest to him.

The rain dwindled to a spatter as they curved around the other side of the peninsula. James pointed out the Old Man of Storr, a particularly spectacular volcanic rock pinnacle, but they didn’t linger long. Despite her earlier words, she was chilled to the bone, the cold even more biting in contrast to the flush of heat she felt any time he touched her. She spent the drive back alternately shivering and trying to calm her racing pulse.

He opened her door and took her hand to help her out. “Go take a hot bath and change into some dry clothes. Then we’ll go up to the house, and I’ll make you the best cup of chocolate you’ve ever had.”

“Up to the house?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrows. “What’s wrong, James? Don’t trust yourself alone with me?”

“Not remotely.” He tugged her closer for another kiss, lingering long enough to weaken her knees and convince her of the wisdom of his decision.

“I see your point.” She dragged herself away from him and dug for her keys in her purse. “I won’t be too long.”

“Take your time.”

Andrea let herself into her cottage after two tries with the lock and shut the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it for support, cooling her cheeks with her chilled hands. If she could form a coherent thought, she would list all the reasons why this had been a terrible idea. Instead, a stupid smile spread across her lips. She might be out of practice with this sort of thing, but as kisses went, those belonged in the record books. She just wished they hadn’t been over so quickly.

She dropped her purse on the bed and headed straight to the bathroom where she filled the tub for the second time that day. She hung her wet jacket and scarf on the hooks behind the door and perched on the edge of the tub to remove her shoes.

Did she dare believe she was more than just a temporary distraction to him? She believed him when he said his reputation was no longer deserved, and his actions today told her he was keeping a firm hold on his self-control. Which was good, considering her own felt awfully shaky.

That didn’t bother her half as much as the realization that what she felt now went far beyond the physical.

She buried her face in her hands. How could she have let this happen? The issue of work concerns aside, they lived thousands of miles away from one another. His life was here in Britain, hers in America. A long-distance relationship could never work, even considering she flew to or through London every month.

Not that he had said anything about a relationship at all.

“Stop it.” Her voice echoed in the tiled room. She had two choices: end this right now, or enjoy the last bit of time they had together, regardless of the consequences to her heart. The smarter option was obvious. It just didn’t have a chance.