Chapter Four
‘IS THIS SOMEBODY’S idea of a joke?’ Vito demanded from between gritted teeth, slamming the door on the swirling storm and the bright tail-lights of the car which was slowly trundling its way back up the snowy drive.
‘Who’s laughing?’ questioned Flora sagely.
She shot him a surreptitious glance. Certainly not him.
He was glaring like mad as he shook the snow from his cashmere coat—his icy-blue eyes the only element of light in his shadowed face.
‘You could have joined our driver and stayed at one of the local crofts, if this place doesn’t meet with your satisfaction. ’
‘Don’t try and be clever, Flora. I have things I’m supposed to be doing and places I’m supposed to be, namely on a skiing trip in Switzerland with friends, not stuck on some godforsaken estate in the middle of nowhere with…’
‘It’s Christmas, Vito,’ Flora said, hugging her arms around herself to try to generate some heat, because although Amy’s coat was very pretty it wasn’t the warmest thing she’d ever worn. ‘Most people have places to be. Even me,’ she added.
But despite her reasonable tone, her heart was racing as she tried to get her head around her current reality.
She was trapped with Vito Monticello.
Stuck in a snowstorm, in the middle of nowhere with her fierce and sexy boss.
And since the glowering look he was slanting in her direction showed no sign of abating, she made another attempt to placate him, because surely it was easier going into comfort mode than allowing herself to think about the long evening ahead…
‘Come on, Vito,’ she said soothingly. ‘Try and look on the bright side. It’s not all bad. ’
‘You think so?’ he growled.
‘Of course. It was very kind of the Laird to let us stay here. I mean, obviously bad luck that his niece and her children aren’t able to get here because of the snow, but a blessing in disguise for us.
Believe me, there are a lot worse places to be stranded.
’ She glanced towards the window with a look filled more with hope than certainty.
‘Who knows, they might even have the roads clear by tomorrow.’
The aristocratic landowner had described the building as a ‘humble gatehouse’ on the edge of his massive Scottish estate but to Flora—who was used to living in a cramped flat—it looked absolutely enormous, with a quiet and understated glamour all of its own.
The beamed ceilings were high, with thick rugs scattered over honeyed wooden floors.
An unlit fire sat prepared in the grate and above the marble fireplace protruded a massive stag’s head whose glassy eyes were surprisingly friendly as they followed you around the room.
Landscape paintings covered every available inch of wall space and the sofas were strewn with soft blankets, all in different tartan prints.
It was a warm and welcoming space—but that wasn’t all it had to commend it, as far as Flora was concerned.
Because, beside the huge, mullioned windows which overlooked a fairy tale landscape—stood the biggest Christmas tree she’d ever seen in a private home.
Its bushy branches were covered in tiny white lights and scarlet ribbons and the whole room was scented with a fresh, conifer smell.
‘The Laird is only being “kind” because my company is paying thousands to rent his land,’ Vito observed acidly.
‘That’s a very cynical approach.’
‘It might be cynical, but it’s true.’ He turned on her, his brow furrowing into an even more ferocious glare. ‘If you think I’m happy about being holed up—’
‘It’s hardly a hole, Vito,’ she objected. ‘And we don’t need to be happy all the time—grateful will do.’
‘Do not interrupt me,’ he iced back.
She met his narrow-eyed gaze. ‘You were the one who told me you wanted me to be honest.’
‘Which I do. But perhaps you could choose your moment before you start spouting cod psychology?’ he suggested coldly, pulling his cell phone from the inside pocket of his coat.
‘I’m going to ring my pilot to get his take on it.
He was in the Italian air force and I’m damned sure he’s navigated his way out of situations far more treacherous than this. ’
‘I’ve already told you. I’m staying put. I’m not taking any unnecessary risks.’
‘Will you just be quiet and let me make this damned call?’ he hissed furiously.
Flora waited in silence while he went through the pantomime of clicking on the contact, staring at the screen and then repeating the process several times until finally he gave up and hurled the phone onto the sofa, where it sank into a pile of velvet cushions.
‘No signal?’ she guessed.
‘Top marks for observation,’ came the sarcastic reply.
‘I’m not personally responsible for the Artic conditions, Vito,’ she snapped.
‘But if you’re going to stand here glaring at the Christmas tree, help yourself.
Me, I’m going to explore. We’re in this situation now and we have to adapt to it.
We need to plan what we’re going to eat and where we’re going to…
’ The word came out as a kind of breathless gulp, which was not what she had intended at all. ‘Sleep.’
His brow darkened before he gave a heavy sigh which hinted at an element of capitulation. ‘I suppose so.’
To Flora’s alarm and—annoyingly—her even greater excitement, Vito followed her from the sitting room as she began her silent inventory of their loaned accommodation.
A quick hunt around the ground floor revealed an old-fashioned kitchen and pantry.
In the centre of the scrubbed wooden table stood a fancy wicker hamper and she remembered the Laird insisting they help themselves to whatever they needed.
‘So far so good,’ she said, lifting up the lid and peering inside. ‘At least we won’t starve. There’s plenty of tins in here.’
‘Wonderful,’ he murmured. ‘The gourmet meal I was due to have in Switzerland later will pale into insignificance.’
Flora didn’t respond. On one level his continued sarcasm was infuriating and yet on another, she quite welcomed the barrier it created.
She wanted him to annoy her with his grumpiness because surely that would stop her fancying him.
And she needed to stop fancying him. In the office she’d been able to keep her emotions hidden beneath the radar but that was easy when you could retreat to your own space, or sit there in your baggy clothes, diligently taking notes.
But now everything had changed. Being alone with him in this picturesque lodge, wearing Amy’s rather revealing tartan miniskirt, was leaving her feeling exposed in more ways than one.
Deferentially allowing him to mount the narrow stairs ahead of her, Flora knew a businesslike attitude would serve her best—otherwise Vito might conclude she was nervous about spending the night with him.
And he would be right.
But she wasn’t spending the night with him. They might be incarcerated under the same roof but the Laird had said there were four bedrooms.
‘Four bedrooms’ was a bit of a misnomer.
One had been repurposed as an office while a second was a repository for large pieces of furniture, covered in dust-sheets.
Eventually, Flora found a double bedroom and heaved a sigh of relief.
The big brass bed was covered with a hand-crocheted quilt and a flower-sprigged basin and jug stood on the nightstand beside it.
It was a solid and traditional room and she wondered how many generations might have used this antique bed.
Lingering on the threshold, she imagined what these four walls must have witnessed.
Married couples consummating their vows, and children being born.
It suggested a sense of family and continuity.
Everything she’d never really had and probably never would.
Amy would have them, but on the other side of the world.
How often would she get to see any little nieces or nephews?
she wondered, her heart clenching with pain.
She turned away, so overcome with emotion that she cannoned straight into the man who was standing behind her, and it was like colliding with a solid wall of muscle.
Like soft cream meeting brittle toffee. She swayed as their bodies made contact and Vito automatically reached out to anchor her.
As his hands rested lightly on her hips she could hear her heart beating out a wild and frantic tattoo.
She stared up at him and suddenly all the breath left her lungs.
Was it that lack of oxygen to her brain which made her feel so dizzy, or just the overwhelming sensation of his proximity?
They’d never even touched before—why would they?
—but that hadn’t stopped her wondering what it might feel like.
She wanted it to be a disappointment, but it wasn’t.
Despite the innocence of the gesture, it felt like she’d died and gone to paradise and she couldn’t seem to do a thing about her reaction.
Suddenly her breasts were pushing hungrily against the soft wool of her sweater and she saw from the brief flicker of his gaze that her hardening nipples hadn’t escaped him.
Was that why his blue eyes had grown so smoky—his sensual lips curving into a line of provocation?
Was he feeling it too? Like she would go mad if he didn’t pull her even closer and bring his lips down on hers, in a hard crushing kiss which might rid her of some of this aching frustration.
‘Steady, Flora,’ he said softly. ‘Look at a man like that and you might start giving him the wrong idea.’