Chapter Twenty-Two
Iona
What a whirlwind my life has been over the past week. My quiet life as a journalist who writes about cows and school plays has exploded, and now I'm on the run from my own home. At least I have good company. Since Eric has given up on his quest to win my heart, we've become friends---in the past few hours. It's hard to remember what my life was like only a week or so ago. The new world I find myself in offers so much more than I could have imagined.
As soon as the jet reaches cruising altitude, which I know because the pilot announced that over the intercom, Eric begins to quiz Rafe. He seems sincerely fascinated by the man. Rafe has fascinated me since the day we met, even when I thought I hated him. But my interest in him is nothing like what Eric wants to know about the man.
We've all been sitting around a table that has chairs at either side of it. That allows us to see each other quite well. Eric sits beside Toby, while Rafe and I relax in the chairs opposite them.
Eric now leans forward, setting his elbows on his thighs. "So, Rafe, what did you mean when you said you've got a 'rather large plot of land'? That's kinda vague."
"I enjoy being vague. It keeps everyone else on their toes." Just as Eric seems about to complain, Rafe winks. "I was joking. The large plot belongs to my company. Unlike most lightning research firms, I do not work for a university or any other sort of educational endeavor."
"You're independent, huh?"
"Exactly. My company resides on that rather large plot---five thousand acres, to be precise. All our research begins there, though we also do field work outside of the UK."
"Your work sounds awesome. But does the UK really get much lightning?"
Rafe raises his brows. "You've lived in the UK for years. Haven't you seen any thunderstorms?"
"Well, uh...no? That makes me weird, huh."
"Never worry about being 'weird,' Eric. Being normal is very blasé. Why do you think I gravitated toward fulminology years before I was struck by lightning?"
I can't help interjecting. "Fulma-what?"
Rafe smiles. "Fulminology, pet. It's the study of lightning."
Eric's eyes light up, and he leans forward more, grasping his knees. "So, you're a fulminologist?"
"Yes. That's why my research group is based in southeast England, where the most lightning occurs in the whole of the country." Rafe smiles with a deviousness that makes me want to drag him into the bedroom. "I even built my own Tesla coil."
"Holy shit!" Eric grins. "You're my new hero, man. You are so based."
"I would thank you for the compliment if I knew what it meant."
Toby shakes his head. "Dad, you are so old. But Eric is right, you are totally based."
Rafe's brows wrinkle. "And that means..."
"You're super cool. Is that what you elderly people would say?"
"Watch your mouth, little twat. You'll be old soon enough."
The men go on teasing each other with generational insults, but I lose track of their conversation. My mind insists on letting me see only one thing---Rafe's face. Every time he smiles, at anyone, I feel warm and soft, and I want to crawl onto his lap. Naturally, I want to ask him questions, but not in front of the laddies.
My hopes of getting Rafe alone before the jet lands are dashed when the pilot announces we'll be touching down at Norwich in five minutes. I assumed we would need to land at one of the London airports and drive to Norwich, but I was wrong. I'd only been to England a few times in my life before now. It's hardly surprising that I know so little about the region.
Once again, we don't need to pass through security when we exit the plane. I wish I could always travel by private jet, but unfortunately, I don't have that sort of money. Billionaires like Evan MacTaggart might need their own jets to whisk to and from international meetings, but a lowly small-town journalist like me has no need for outrageous amenities.
A car is waiting for us on the tarmac.
The moment the co-pilot opens the door, Toby and Eric shout excitedly and slide down the handrail of the air stairs. Rafe holds my hand as we carefully make our way down the stairs. Only young laddies would slide down them. When we reach the ground, I realize why those two were so excited. The limousine parked on the tarmac has a passenger who's waiting for us beside the car.
And it's Courtney Taylor, Eric's fraternal twin sister.
He and Toby take turns hugging the lass firmly. They chatter away too, but I'm not close enough to make out the words yet. As Rafe and I amble toward the trio, I have to ask about something.
"I didn't realize Toby was good mates with Courtney too."
"Oh, yes, she's one of the gang. Courtney has the thankless job of trying to wrangle the boys and inject some small measure of sanity into their antics."
"I've met Courtney once. Dinnae think I'll get much chance to speak to her before she leaves."
Rafe halts, turning slightly toward me. "Leave? I gather no one told you. I assumed you'd overheard the conversation we gents had on the jet."
"Clearly not. I fell asleep for a wee while."
"I thought so. But your hair fell over your eyes, and I couldn't be sure."
"So, what did I miss?"
Rafe smirks. "Courtney is joining us at my home. That's the information you missed during your cat nap. Eric received a text from his sister whilst we were in flight."
"That's wonderful. I'd love the chance to spend time with the lass."
Someone whistles, and even here in the outdoors the piercing noise rattles my eardrums. I glance around and see Eric is the perpetrator.
"Hurry up, guys!" he shouts. "Get your butts in the limo. Some of us want to get to Rafe's place before New Year's twenty-thirty. Oh, wait, you old farts will be dead by then."
That cheeky laddie. Now that he's given up winning my heart, he's become terribly sarcastic.
"Watch it, tosser," Rafe calls out. "I might throw you out the window as we're speeding down the road."
Rafe lifts me into his arms and jogs toward the limo. Eric swings the rear door open as Toby waves his arm in a grand gesture, beckoning us to jump inside. Somehow, Rafe manages to keep me in his arms while he climbs inside the vehicle. He also sits down on the bench seat without releasing me. Now, I'm sitting sideways on his lap.
The laddies wait for Courtney to get inside the vehicle before they finally jump in too. What chivalrous men. I had no idea young laddies could show this much respect for a woman. That makes me wonder about Toby's mother. She sounds like the worst sort of narcissist, and I cannae understand how she could be loving toward her son yet treat Rafe like the enemy. Toby must take after his father. He's a sweet laddie.
And so is Rafe. Well, he's not a laddie. But he is a sweet man underneath all his blustering.
We arrive at Rafe's home in the early evening. It feels like no time at all has passed since we left Loch Fairbairn. The limo driver drops us off and offers to carry our luggage into the house, but Rafe shoos the man away. He does give the driver a sizable tip, so the gent doesn't mind being gotten rid of, not at all. In fact, he waves goodbye and smiles as he drives away.
At last, I turn toward the house. And my jaw drops. " Pit air iteig , Rafe. Your house is enormous."
He tucks me under his arm and chuckles. "Didn't I warn you? Sorry. I meant to give you just enough details that it would be a lovely surprise when you lot saw my home. But it isn't as palatial as you're implying with that exclamation of shock."
I jab my elbow into his side. "You sneaky riatach . Were you afraid I would get my hooks in you and steal all your money?"
"Of course not." He kisses the top of my head. "Let's all go inside. I'm a bit peckish, despite the meal we enjoyed in flight."
"Yes, it was kind of Lachlan MacTaggart to lend us his chef."
When did Lachlan hire a chef? The one time I flew on his jet, the only food available was a fine selection of prepackaged snacks.
Lachlan must have grown his wealth lately.
Rafe digs his car keys out of his pocket and tosses them to his son so Toby can unlock the door. Then he, Eric, and Courtney rush into the house ahead of us, laughing and joking. We can hear their laughter even before we reach the concrete walkway that leads up to the door. Thankfully, Rafe does not insist on carrying me over the threshold, though it wouldn't have surprised me if he tried. I prefer to walk under my own power.
Once Rafe has shut the door, I let him lead me into the living room before I begin my inquisition. The youngsters have gone into the kitchen.
"Cook enough for all of us," Rafe shouts toward the kitchen. "Elderly people like us need more food than you children do."
Laughter erupts from the kitchen.
Rafe shepherds me over to an L-shaped sofa and drops onto it, his weight causing a thump sound. Then he pats the cushion beside him. "Sit beside me, darling, please. I need the feel and scent of you around me. I've become addicted to your presence."
I dutifully settle onto the cushion right next to him, cuddling closer. "You aren't the only one with a fixation. Dinnae think I can sleep or go anywhere without you anymore. You are my human security blanket."
"Whether that's a compliment or not is hard to say." He lifts my hand to his face and kisses each knuckle one by one. "But I can tell you with absolute certainty that I never want to be without you."
That statement, along with my "human security blanket" remark, seems to contradict what I've been telling myself for days now. I feel happier and safer with Rafe than I do with my own family.
He rubs his cheek against mine. "You always smell like every sweet, savory thing imaginable. I could devour you right here on the sofa with the children in the kitchen."
"We shouldn't call them children, should we? They're adults."
He makes a derisive noise. "They aren't acting like it today."
The children---um, young adults---emerge from the kitchen carrying plates of food. Toby has a tablecloth tucked under one arm, and he now spreads that out on the coffee table. Courtney and Eric lay the food items out, with each plate or bowl holding one dish. They've done a splendid job of setting the meal, and I'm impressed. Rafe seems equally amazed.
And the food is as impressive as the presentation.
The fare might not be restaurant class, but it's delicious and recharges all of us after our journey. Though Eric, Toby, and Courtney have their own flats, none of them live nearby or even in the same vicinity. So, they suggest staying here would be the best option. Thane did say we should stay together. I've lived alone for so long that it's hard to remember when that wasn't the case. I had my daughters with me for quite some time---until they went away to university.
Aye, I'd been alone ever since then. But I am not alone anymore. I have a big, sexy Brit in my life.
Our evening meal leaves us all feeling relaxed and rather sleepy. Rafe's house might be larger than mine in Scotland, and larger than most houses I've seen in Loch Fairbairn. He has enough rooms for everyone with four upstairs bedrooms and two downstairs. Toby quips that only his father and I should remain downstairs, otherwise everyone else might be "kept awake until dawn by the old farts shagging."
As it turns out, Rafe and I go to bed a few minutes later---and all we do is crawl into bed and drift off. Aye, we do sleep naked. Strictly because we're too exhausted to open up our luggage and find our nightclothes.
I wake up in the morning feeling oddly good considering the circumstances. Though I don't believe that cacan who assaulted Rafe will be able to track me down here in England, I still suffer from a wee bit of anxiety. That feeling crumbles away as soon as Rafe awakens and rolls onto his side to smile at me sleepily.
Then he yawns loudly.
I tousle his hair with my fingers. " Madainn mhath , gràidh . How do you feel?"
His brows lift. "That depends on whether you explain the alien language you were spouting. You've told me gràidh means 'darling.' But the rest is gibberish."
I feign offense. "Gaelic is not gibberish, you Sassenach."
Rafe chuckles. "Do Scots really still call us Sassenachs?"
"No, not unless a Brit annoys us. But you wanted to know what I said to you. Madainn mhath means 'good morning' in Gaelic."
"Fascinating. You must be trying to indoctrinate me into the Scots cult by feeding me Gaelic when I'm only half awake." He rolls on top of me, though he carefully holds his body a few inches above mine so he won't crush me. "Time for a morning shag. If the children hear us, they might faint. Shall we risk it?"
"Oh, aye, right now."