CHAPTER TWELVE
When she woke the next morning, snuggled up warm under thick covers, it was to a sense of disbelief at where she was. A wood-panelled guest room in a Scottish castle, for goodness’ sake, with a tapestry on the wall beside her, and vast windows hung with elegant gold and white curtains. She leapt out of bed like a child on Christmas morning and dashed barefoot to the window, dragging back the curtains to reveal a breath-taking vista of snow-laden forests and hills. She had slept in her underwear, since abductees rarely packed nightwear, refusing Barbara’s kind offer of a nightdress. Anyway, Ben Glassie Castle was surprisingly snug upstairs, a state-of-the-art heating system keeping the old stone walls warm. And there was no time to feel cold, since she heard steps on the winding stair that led to her turret room and swiftly dragged on her dress again.
A knock on the door made her heart jump. ‘Y-Yes?’ She turned hurriedly to the mirror and checked that she was decent. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest, but that was nothing new. ‘I mean, come in.’
The door opened.
It was Nick.
Christmas morning indeed, she thought, and felt her temperature soar several degrees just looking at him.
‘Good morning, Miss Mistletoe,’ he said politely, but his eyes held a deeper message as that dark gaze shifted to her bed, and the crumpled bedclothes. ‘Did you sleep well?’
The billionaire tycoon was looking more relaxed than on the flight up to Scotland, she noticed, the tuxedo gone and a casual cable-knit cream sweater taking its place, his blue denim jeans loose about his hips, and just faded enough to be fashionable. A pair of dark blue trainers completed his outfit, and his short dark hair was damp, as though he had only recently showered.
He looked edible, in other words.
‘Sorry?’ She shut her mouth, which had been gaping. ‘Oh, yes, sleep. Erm … What was I saying? Yes, I slept very well. Brilliantly well, in fact. Best night’s sleep I’ve had in years. There must have been something in that cocoa your butler made.’
‘McTavish.’
‘Bless you!’
Nick blinked. ‘No, that wasn’t a sneeze. I was just … ’ He grinned. ‘McTavish. That’s the name of my butler.’
She felt incredibly foolish. ‘Right, sorry. I forgot.’
‘You make me laugh.’
She folded her arms over her chest. ‘I said that I was sorry.’
‘No, that’s a good thing.’ Nick came closer. ‘When I’m in London, I’m surrounded all day by very serious people. My personal assistant has a joke with me sometimes, but that’s about as far as humour goes in my life. It’s good to meet someone who makes me laugh.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘It’s relaxing.’
So long as she didn’t relax him so much he tried to get her horizontal, she thought warily, taking a step backwards, and only then realised that the idea was not such a terrible one.
Why shouldn’t she get horizontal with a man like him?
Before his change of heart over the redevelopment of Christmas Parade, it had been a matter of principle. She had not wanted to be seduced just so he could get his grubby tycoon hands on her shop. Not that his hands were particularly grubby, she thought, suddenly studying them. They were clean and strong, perfectly manicured, and with long, beautifully tapering fingers …
‘What’s her name?’ she asked abruptly.
He blinked again. ‘Whose?’
‘Your personal assistant’s name?’
‘Chris.’
‘And how old is Chris?’
‘Twenty-three, I believe.’
‘Twenty-three.’ She nodded. ‘And incredibly attractive, I bet. Exactly like your Nordic chauffeur.’
‘Ebba?’
‘She made quite an impression on my dad, I can tell you.’ Chagrin bit into her as she continued, painfully aware of her red hair, the bane of her life at school, and her less than perfect figure. She could diet, of course. But there was little she could do about being short. ‘I’m going to guess you like your employees long-legged and stunning. More like models, in fact.’
His brows shot up. ‘I hired Ebba for her skills as a factotum, not her looks.’
‘A fac – fac – ’ she stuttered, then gave up.
‘It means a Jack-of-all-trades, I suppose. Someone who can do everything, and tends to double-up on jobs. Ebba chauffeurs for me, and helps out with my clients – ’
‘And serves you champagne on your private plane.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Sometimes, yes.’
‘So is Chris beautiful too? Like Elegant Ebba?’
‘You sound jealous.’
‘Me? Jealous?’ She threw back her head and laughed rather too loudly, so it came out more like a braying donkey than sarcastic laughter. ‘Why on earth would I be jealous? I only just met you, Mr Grimsby. I don’t care if Chris bounces up and down on your knee every morning while taking dictation …’ She looked at him suspiciously when he made an odd face. ‘What? Too close to the truth?’
‘No, I was trying to imagine Chris on my knee.’
‘I’d rather not imagine it, thanks.’
‘I’m sure Chris wouldn’t, either. Bouncing on my knee wouldn’t be particularly comfortable for him.’
She opened her mouth to continue her jealous little rant, then shut it again.
Him?
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Nick grinned at her silence. ‘Chris is short for Christopher. And he’s happily married with two children, and not at all given to crushing on me. Thank goodness. I’m not sure how we would get any work done otherwise.’
What an idiot she was.
‘I’m sorry.’
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.