CHAPTER TEN
Curiosity trumped common sense, and soon she found herself on board his private plane, seated by a window, gazing down at the winking lights of London in the distance. She had only been on a plane a couple of times in her life, and never one so small. Her fingers dug into the deep leather of her seat as the plane banked abruptly left, and continued to rise in the darkness. What on earth was she doing? She had basically allowed this man to kidnap her, and instead of screaming bloody murder as soon as she got out of his limousine, she had instead meekly stepped aboard his plane and strapped herself in, like she was off to Benidorm for a fortnight rather than being abducted.
From the seat opposite, Nick Grimsby, looking quite at his ease in his gorgeous tuxedo, crossed one muscular leg over the other and regarded her something akin to amusement. ‘Comfortable?’
'More importantly, where are we going?' she asked him for about the fifth time since he had led her across the frosty tarmac to the plane’s steps. 'If this is a business meeting, as you keep claiming, then what's with all this secrecy?' She forced herself to study his marvellous physique in the tightfitting black tuxedo. It was hard not to let her attraction for him show, but she added with as much sang-froid as she could manage, 'And why the penguin suit? Do you have a James Bond complex?'
He laughed. 'Perhaps I do. And on that note…'
Rose turned her head, startled as someone appeared beside her in the generous aisle. So they were not alone except for the pilot, she thought, a little comforted by that thought. At first, she did not recognise the tall, elegant blonde in a smart green uniform, holding out a bottle of champagne.
But then Ebba spoke, asking her in that distinctive accent, 'Would you care for a glass of champagne, madame?'
On the table between her and Nick Grimsby were two cut-crystal champagne flutes, a bowl of peanuts, and some document files. When she nodded mutely, Ebba glanced at Nick for permission first, and then poured them both a glass of sparkling bubbly.
As she turned, Nick said quietly, ‘Leave the bottle, please.’
Ebba placed the champagne bottle on the table with a smile before disappearing back into the other compartment without another word.
His gaze followed her until the door closed with a click, and Rose suddenly wondered if he was sleeping with his … Well, she had been going to call Ebba a chauffeur. But since she was also his flight attendant tonight, maybe her role in his company was more flexible than that. Just how flexible though? she pondered, trying not to imagine those two in bed together. They would make a stunning power couple though: Nick with his fit, toned body and drop-dead gorgeous looks, and Ebba with that cool Nordic beauty.
He was looking at her now, his lips curved in a crooked smile as though reading the contents of her head. If he could do that though, she considered drily, he’d have to sort through the jumble for quite a while to find anything coherent.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
He raised his champagne flute in a toast. ‘To a spirit of cooperation between us,’ he said, and took a sip.
‘Sod that,’ she said, and saw his eyebrows shoot up. He put down his glass, watching her warily as she went on, ‘Look, stop treating this like it’s a normal night out for you. Is this an abduction? What’s going on here? And where the hell are you taking me?’ She hesitated, a sudden thought almost snatching her breath away. ‘We’re not … not leaving the country, are we?’
He shook his head. ‘No need to worry, Rose. Scotland is our destination.’
‘Scotland?’
‘I have a place up there,’ he said unrevealingly, and then gestured to her champagne. ‘Try some. It’s perfectly crisp and dry. And chilled to exactly the right temperature.’
She drank numbly, trying to process what he had told her. The plane was going to Scotland. She tried to imagine what her dad would say when she failed to return from the restaurant. And Paul …
Almost spilling her champagne, she set the glass down abruptly and rummaged through her evening bag for her phone. ‘I need to call my dad. And Paul. They’ll be so worried.’
‘I told you, Paul is taken care of. And as for your father …’ Nick smiled, that odd laughter back in his eyes. ‘Once I explained the situation, he was only too happy to stay home tonight instead of accompanying you to dinner.’
She did not understand at first. Then her mouth gaped in a somewhat ludicrous way as she pieced it together. ‘You m-mean … my father knew what you were planning? Is that why he refused to come with me tonight? He let me get into your limo when he knew perfectly well hat you were planning to kidnap me?’ She shook her head, her voice high and unsteady. ‘No, I don’t believe you. Dad would never do that.’
‘Nonetheless, he did.’
‘Prove it.’
He nodded to her mobile phone. ‘I doubt you’ll get a signal on that, but when we get to my place, you can phone him. Check for yourself.’
‘I can’t go to Scotland. I can’t leave him for so long.’ She was panicking. ‘I’ll be gone overnight, surely? And he’s all alone – ’
‘It’s been taken care of.’
She stared. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve arranged for him to have some company tonight.’ Nick shrugged when she shook her head and made a disbelieving sound under her breath. ‘Trust me, he’ll be fine. But as I say, you can ring your father when we land. I’d rather you were relaxed and not worrying about him all through dinner, anyway.’
Turbulence hit them abruptly, tossing the small plane up and down. Rose, in the act of picking up her champagne flute, inadvertently jerked her hand up and forwards, a gesture rather like making a toast, only more violent. The champagne flew out of her glass with astonishing velocity, splashing Nick Grimsby full in the face.
'Oh my God, I'm so sorry,' she said, hurriedly putting down her glass.
He sat motionless for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only about ten seconds, champagne dripping down his nose and stubble-free chin. Then slowly, he took a white linen handkerchief from an inner pocket, and wiped his face with a few economical movements. He did not seem amused. In fact, he seemed very far from amused.
'Sorry,' she repeated in a small voice.
His dark gaze met hers silently.
A drip he had missed sparkled on the tip of his nose. Exactly in the same instant that she noticed it, he became aware of it to, and put a finger to the drop. Too late, alas. It fell into his lap and was lost in the folds of his expensive suit trousers. His groin, to be precise.
Rose clamped a preventative hand to her mouth, suddenly seized by a semi-hysterical impulse to laugh. His gaze narrowed on that gesture, then lifted, seeking her eyes. His mouth, previously a hard line, twitched. She stifled a snort, and saw his lips jerk again. Then he gave a lopsided smile, which was just enough to tip her over the edge into full-blown, schoolgirl giggles.
'Thank you for that impromptu shower,' he said. 'Though next time you'd like to see me bathing in champagne, let me know first, so I can at least take my clothes off.'
'I really am very sorry,' she said again, rocking slightly as she sought to restrain her laughter.
'Of course you are,' Nick agreed smoothly, then dropped the damp handkerchief onto the table beside his champagne glass. 'Just as I'm sure you're sorry about your plan to picket my London headquarters.'
Her laughter stopped, and Rose stared at him in sudden, terrible apprehension.
She knew that he was aware of the protest group. It had been reported in the press several times over the past month, with prominent members like herself named, along with a few details of their decisions.
But how the hell had he found out about their plans to picket his headquarters?
The members of the protest group had all agreed – and indeed held a vote on it, which had been unanimous – to keep their plans secret from the general public. Someone at the meeting must have betrayed them, a thought which made her so wild with outrage, her heart began to thunder so loudly that she felt unwell.
'What's the matter, Rose?' he asked softly. 'Oh dear … Was it supposed to be a secret?’ His lazy smile made her chest hurt. ‘In that case, you might want to be more careful who you allow into your private meetings.’
'Is that what this is about?’ She glared at him. ‘Have you abducted me to your Scottish lair in the hope it will destroy our plans to picket your headquarters? Because if so, you’re suffering under a sad delusion. It won't make any difference if I'm not there. The rest of the protest group will still go ahead with our plans.’ His silence was intimidating, she thought, having paused to let him say something only to be rewarded with a big fat nothing. But she was determined not to let this man frighten her. Her chin stuck out, she finished in a breathless rush, ‘So you've wasted your time and effort abducting me, Mr Grimsby, not to mention your money. I hope you realise that.'
His gaze tangled with hers, though he said nothing.
She felt an odd fluttering in her chest.
Good grief, he was phenomenally attractive. Even with that mean scar along his cheekbone. Looking at Nick Grimsby was like being hit repeatedly over the head with some kind of club-like aphrodisiac.
The door behind her opened, and Ebba came into the small cabin again. His gaze shifted to the blonde, and Rose felt as though she had been released from some kind of mesmeric spell, her body relaxing in relief.
What on earth was the matter with her?
She needed to stand up to this man, not allow herself to be drawn into his only too alluring seductive snares. He was an evil tycoon, for God's sake, a ruthless capitalist intent on destroying her life and the lives of many on Christmas Parade in order to make money. Not everyone was happy with his company’s bid for their properties, after all. And many had only leased their shops, and so were helpless to prevent themselves from being turfed out on the whim of their greedy landlords.
Luckily for her, her grandfather had bought the shop when he opened it decades before, and so it was up to the ‘little people’ – as men like Grimsby saw them – like Rose and her dad to hold the line. And hold it she would, whatever the cost.
'We’ll be coming in to land in a few minutes, Mr Grimsby,' Ebba said, and he nodded. Her gaze fell almost disapprovingly on the damp handkerchief and tell-tale spillage of champagne on the table, but she tidied them away without a word.
Nick leant back in his luxurious seat, studying Rose again with those dark, imperturbable eyes that made her feel so small and uncomfortable, like an insect under a microscope.
Ebba glanced at her curiously, then back at her boss. 'I’ll let them know up at the house that we’ll be there soon. Will that be all, sir?'
Again, her boss nodded.
Ebba left as quietly as she had come in, bearing away the evidence of Rose’s champagne mishap. The plane began to descend almost immediately, turning steeply to the right. Rose checked her seatbelt was secure, and clung onto the padded arms of her seat, a reaction which seemed to amuse her captor.
He wasn’t really her captor though, a taunting voice said in her head. A captor was someone who was holding a person prisoner against their will. But she was there voluntarily. He hadn’t forced her to board the plane, after all, had he? She could have refused. Face it, the voice said coldly, you chose to come with him because you fancy him. Oooh, I do not, she told that voice, looking stoutly out of the window at absolute darkness. I do not fancy him one little …
‘Oh, how lovely,’ she gasped, her eyes widening on the sight of a fabulously huge pine tree below lit up with Christmas lights and baubles, and beyond it a vast baronial-style Scottish castle, for want of a better word, built with turrets and sloping roofs and great chimneys, all illuminated by lights on the lawn and covered with a magical dusting of snow. ‘Is this … Is that where you live?’
He glanced out of the window. ‘Yes, that’s Ben Glassie Castle, where I was born.’
‘You were born here?’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as the plane turned again, circling round as though heading for an unseen runway. ‘You don’t sound very Scottish.’
‘That’s because I was whisked away about seven hours after I was born, and taken to London. I didn't go back to Ben Glassie until I was an adult.'
Rose was surprised, but said nothing. There was some mystery there, she felt instinctively, and did not want to intrude by asking questions about what was obviously a personal matter.
'London is where I live most of the year now. But I still spend Christmas, and the occasional summer, at Ben Glassie Castle.’ He looked down into the darkness as the plane dropped even lower and then straightened for its final approach. ‘It's a beautiful spot, if rather isolated. Sometimes I bring business associates here too,’ he added, glancing back at her. ‘When I feel the negotiation is likely to be particularly delicate.’
‘Is that what this is?’ she asked without thinking. ‘A business negotiation? Because I’ve already told you, Mr Grimsby, I’m not selling up.’
‘Nick, please,’ he murmured, and sat back. ‘We’re coming in to land now.’ His gaze rested on her hands, her knuckles white as she gripped the seat. ‘Relax, Tom’s a great pilot. And he’s done this many times.’
‘In the dark?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, in the dark. Though the runway is lit up, don’t worry. He can’t miss it.’
A single bump, and much noisy engine thrust later, the plane came to a slithering halt on the runway. Relaxing her death-like grip on the seat arms, Rose looked curiously out of the window and saw the snow-covered turrets maybe a quarter of a mile above them, lit up beautifully in the dark.
It looked like a castle from one of the fairy tales her dad used to read her as a child, she thought, and drew a shaky breath. How was she meant to harden her heart against a man this drop-dead gorgeous, whose home also happened to look like Prince Charming lived there?
‘Come on.’ Nick Grimsby undid his seatbelt and stood up, holding out a hand to her. ‘I imagine my mother will waiting for us at the castle gate, and I don’t want her to get cold.’ Then he added, with a grin that totally disarmed her, ‘Ever since I described you to her, she’s been longing to meet you, Rose.’