Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
M ercifully, the bothy was only a five-minute walk away. Well, a five-minute half-run when one was being chased by torrential rain and the Western Isles’ wind.
The weather managed to dull the angry thud of her pulse in her ears, and the cardio provided a good excuse for her rapid breathing. Despite the brewing tantrum, the professional within Ivy managed to take in the beauty of the scene in front of her as she reached the little house settled in the central valley of the island. She would have to find a way to work this into the tours.
She was relieved to find that Ross, ever the gentleman, had left the bottle green door on the latch, allowing her to barrel straight in without lingering in the rain fiddling with the rusted locks.
Stepping inside, she took in the scene in front of her. It would surely look cosy in her brochure but currently was absolutely freezing. It was also short one surly tour guide. This, Ivy thought to herself, was quite the feat, given the property consisted of this main room and a, hopefully working, bathroom. The open door and heap of their belongings and remnants of the ill-fated picnic confirmed he had been here at some point, therefore hadn’t fallen dead on the moor during his brief head start, but for now she was on her own.
She hovered in the middle of the room, debating whether she was best to remain in her wet clothes, or to strip at least some of them down. She looked longingly at the empty fireplace, before deciding to remove her outer layers and hope her thermals were at least semi-dry still.
They weren’t.
The damp material clung to her, but as she wasn’t ready to commit to the full Naked and Afraid experience with Ross still around here somewhere, Ivy instead opted to grumble to herself as she set about looking in the cupboards to see if she could find a kettle.
Striking gold in the corner that served as a kitchen, she found a kettle that was presumably left behind by the workmen who fixed up the bothy as a passion project between actual jobs.
Holding her spoils aloft, Lion King style, Ivy hummed a victory anthem to herself.
“The electricity is off.”
She jumped, almost hitting the ceiling.
“Jesus Christ, Ross,” she hissed, spinning around and realising where the voice had come from. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He looked non-plussed, running a hand through his sodden hair and kicking off his boots.
“We’re the only two people on the island, who else would I have been?”
“Literally the entire premise of the psycho-horror-serial-killer film genre.”
“Right.” He sighed, and even with his eyes closed, Ivy could sense his eye roll. No friendly camaraderie had been borne from this weather ordeal, clearly.
He was now removing his waterproofs and slinging layers of micro-fleece onto the dining table. Ivy fidgeted as she tried not to watch, suddenly very aware she was only in some thin, damp, white layers herself. She watched him hesitate as he got to the waistband of his trousers. The light tan colour was now dark and patchy, confirming he had been soaked through as well. That couldn’t be comfortable. What’s underneath, a voice whispered in Ivy’s head, deafening her over the terse silence between them.
Ivy had been failing at the whole trying not to watch thing. A fact she really only realised when she caught him glance over at her as his hands hovered over his buckle. She dropped her eyes, his hand falling from the remaining clothing. He cleared his throat and for a second they both floundered in the moment.
Not willing to get caught in another unfounded argument, Ivy beat him to the punch.
“So you said the electricity?—”
“Is off.” His voice sounded strained. Why was he pissed at her this time? She hadn’t summoned the storm.
“Right…” she continued watching him, one eyebrow raised, but he just looked back blankly.
“Right.”
It was as if he had no idea why she would be curious, concerned even, about the fact that they were stuck on an uninhabited island, in the cold, with rapidly fading sunlight and no electricity. Follow up questions seemed reasonable to her, but he had turned away and was instead inspecting the remaining contents of the coolers and taking out what she assumed was set to be dinner.
“Ross.”
“Ivy.” His voice was level. He didn’t turn around as he spoke, just continued opening bags and holding up thermoses to the window as he squinted in at their now cold contents.
“Oh my God. Are you going to be a dick all night?” She snapped.
“I’m not being a dick.” He continued unpacking.
She stood beside him now, as he remained fixed at the table, close enough that she could make out the outline of his biceps and back through the thin base layer he had left on.
“Are you being serious? It’s fucking freezing, we’re soaked, and you won’t even—” She trailed off as he stepped back and walked out of the door again.
The man was walking into a storm to avoid talking to her. She would remember to be offended when she was less angry. Ignoring the precariousness of the whole thin, white clothing versus rain situation, Ivy thundered after him.
“What are you— doing…” Her breath hitched on the last word as he reappeared, walking back into the house, with an armful of wood. He shot her a pointed look as he passed, leaving her standing in the rain, oblivious to the cold as her cheeks burned.
Finally, she gave in, and returned to shelter, tail firmly between her legs. She hung awkwardly beside the table, watching him crouched at the fireplace, stacking the wood.
“I went and got it from the shed when I arrived.” His tone had softened, and Ivy was sure she detected something bordering on an apology, though for what she wasn’t entirely sure.
“Oh.”
“I got distracted when I came back, and you were—” He turned over his shoulder to look at her and his voice caught as he lost his footing slightly. A smile tugged at the corner of Ivy’s mouth as she watched him. He cleared his throat and turned back to the fire. “Sorry.”
“For?” That was the longest run of words he had offered her since they had met, this was pushing it, Ivy scolded herself.
There was a pause as he finally got sparks to catch in the hearth, and then he continued, standing slowly. He faced her now and a moment of terror passed across his face. His eyes raked down her, and Ivy felt every hair on her body stand on end. She looked down herself, finally remembering her current state of dress and, hopefully subtly, crossed her arms and legs. In an uncharacteristic moment of not complete obliviousness, Ross clearly detected the shift and snapped out of it.
His gaze moved to just barely dust her own eye line, while an awkward arm tugged at the nape of his neck.
“For forgetting the fire. Not starting it sooner. I didn’t realise you were so cold.” The terror in his eyes was back. Or concern? He looked… worried about her.
Ivy stood up from the table she had been leaning on and took a step closer. The bothy being as small as it was, this step brought her about two paces from where he was now quite rigidly standing. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs, no part of him relaxed.
“I’m fine.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but the laugh had a strange hollowness to it. Probably all the stone walls.
“Are you sure?” His face still hadn’t completely un-crumpled itself, but she was sure she could see some of the tension lifting.
“Positive. Though, what would be the plan if I said no?” She teased, shooting him a genuine smile.
His brows knit together for a millisecond, and then he laughed.
Warmth flooded Ivy’s core, in spite of the damp clothing and the howling wind.
He smiled down at her softly. Barely above a whisper, he spoke. “Sorry for being a dick.”
“I thought you weren’t being a dick?” She murmured, attempting a smirk as she half-heartedly poked at his side. Once her palm connected with his torso, it stuck. Neither of them tried to move it, so she stayed there, her hand on his chest, his gaze beating down at it.
“Subjective, I guess.” His voice was hoarse now, audible only as he edged in closer.
Ivy’s breath quickened, their ribs almost flush as her chest lifted with each ragged inhale. She swallowed and her tongue darted across her lips, trying to clear a path for her answer. Instead, she watched as his eyes caught on the brief movement. As soon as they darkened, they lifted back to hers. Barely concealed desire mirrored between the two.
“I’m used to it.” She shrugged, trying to remind herself of every moment before this, when she’d wanted to be as far away from him as possible.
A sad smile rippled across his face, that made Ivy’s heart thud against her sternum. He looked to the corner of her mouth as his solid hand lifted to brush a stray hair from her face. As he traced the damp tendril, her fingers flexed against his chest, wanting to clutch at what was behind the toned walls. Reaching the angle of her jaw, his hand swept underneath her chin and one finger tilted her up to look at him. Watching, she saw him look almost surprised, as if his consciousness hadn’t quite caught up to the limb.
She parted her lips to speak, when an alarm blared and the two of them jolted apart.
The world began moving at hyper speed around her, while she stayed fixed in space. She was vaguely aware of Ross on the phone across the room, but could focus only the seared skin on her cheek where his hand had just been.
“Ivy.”
She crashed back into the moment, meeting his concerned eyes.
“Yep?” She squeaked, her voice uncharacteristically hollow.
“There’s a fire.” He remained very still for someone who had just learnt, and then announced, that there was a fire, so she had to check.
“A fire?”
Apparently, he also benefited from the reiteration, and suddenly leapt into action, clambering about the room, retrieving his shirt and then beginning to open cupboards.
“That was one of the boys from the project.” He pulled two torches from a drawer, then hesitated, setting one back. “He was checking the cameras because of the storm.” Next a large black box with FIRE emblazoned across it was dragged from a lower cabinet. “One of the pods is on fire. The fuse box must’ve sparked in the rain. Or maybe a lightning hit?”
“Shit. Well, I’m coming with you,” Ivy said, walking towards her boots by his side at the door. Ross looked up from tying his own boots, still crouched on the ground.
“No, you’re not.”
She tutted, rolling her eyes, and dropping to his level to do her laces.
“Ivy.”
“You’re being ridiculous. It’s pitch dark, lashing and you want to go firefighting alone?”
He held her gaze in his, weighing her up, his face six inches from hers. Breath evaded as she felt those blue eyes burn into her. Huddled by the door, she couldn’t put enough space between them to escape the way shadows danced over his face, or the way she wanted to trace a finger over his pinched brow to release it. Still as he was, from this close she could feel the tiny whir of his thoughts as he took her in and hoped that he wasn’t able to do the same of her.
“Fine.” He stood again, walking back to the drawer and retrieving the second torch.
As he returned, she was back on her feet, boots secured, and back in her waterproofs. She held out his jacket to him and his fingers caught on hers as he took it.
It barely lasted a second before he broke contact and growled, “Let’s go,” throwing on his coat and opening the door.
As she followed him out fighting to slow the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she wondered if that FIRE box had an oxygen tank.