Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CAT
As I unlock my front door, the distinctive thump of heavy bass greets me, along with the sharp tang of fresh paint. I dump my bag of marking in the hall then open the living room door, only to stop short.
Wow, what a transformation! The walls are covered in fresh white emulsion, making the space feel bigger and brighter.
Robbie has his back to me, his old jeans and vest dotted with flecks of white. Apparently, he’s not heard me over his music yet, so I take the opportunity to admire him. There’s something mesmerising about the way he moves, each stroke of the roller in sync with the pounding heavy metal blaring from his little speaker. And honestly, if there’s a more perfect sight than Robbie MacDonald’s arse in worn jeans, I’ve yet to see it.
He must sense my presence because he turns. His eyes flick over my work outfit—fitted pinstripe trousers and a grey blouse—before meeting mine. “Afternoon, Cat.”
And there it is, that energy crackling between us, the same electricity I felt yesterday in his kitchen when I basically told him I was developing feelings.
Just as I’m getting lost in that electric pull, Robbie leans over, turns down the speaker, then nods towards the freshly painted walls. “What do you think?”
I walk further in and give him what I hope is a casual smile, even though my pulse is anything but calm. “I love it! You’ve done a brilliant job. It looks amazing in here.”
“Amazing might be pushing it, but it’s getting there.” With the toe of an old trainer, he nudges the worn and threadbare carpet. “Wait till I rip this thing up and buff the original floors. Then you’ll really think it looks good.”
I give the room another once-over, this time taking an even closer look at Robbie’s handiwork. The walls, now smooth from his plastering and gleaming with fresh paint, are barely recognisable.
Robbie grabs the hem of his vest and uses it to wipe a smear of emulsion from his forearm, unwittingly flashing me a tantalising glimpse of his abs. “I’d like to finish this room before I call it a day, but there’s still a fair bit left of the second coat to do. Do you mind if I stay on a while? Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.”
“Of course,” I say, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Can I help? Four hands are better than two, right?”
Robbie arches an eyebrow but then gives an easy shrug. “Suit yourself, but—” His eyes flick down to my blouse, lingering just a heartbeat too long before he glances away. “You might want to throw on something you don’t mind ruining.”
“Give me two minutes.”
In my bedroom I change quickly into a pair of old grey joggers and a faded T-shirt that’s seen better days, then twist my hair up into a messy bun. When I return to the living room, Robbie has a second paint tray filled, with a spare roller beside it.
“You ever painted a room before?”
“Honestly? No,” I admit, a tad embarrassed. Any time something needed done at the hotel, Da or one of my brothers handled it. If I so much as picked up a paintbrush, they’d shoo me away like an annoying wee fly.
“Right. Well, there’s a bit of a technique to it,” Robbie says, without judgement. He takes the roller, dips it into the tray, then rolls it back and forth on the ridged part until the paint is evenly coated. “Don’t overload it. You want it covered, not dripping.”
He steps up to the wall. “Start in the middle and work out like this.” He makes a large W shape with smooth, practised strokes. “Then go back over it to fill in the gaps and even it out. It stops streaks and gives you good coverage.”
He hands me the roller, his expression encouraging. “Your turn.”
I copy him as best I can, but after half a minute, he shakes his head. “Not quite.” He steps in behind me, placing his big hand over mine, and suddenly I’m cocooned in his heat, that spicy, masculine Robbie smell curling around me.
“Like this,” he says, guiding the motion, firm but gentle. The roller glides across the wall like magic.
“Got it?” His breath tickles my ear.
“I think so,” I manage, even though my mind is far more focused on the feel of his body than painting techniques.
He steps back and I immediately miss his warmth. “Good. You keep working on this bit, and I’ll finish up over here.” He moves over to another wall.
I’d much rather work side by side, but maybe this is safer. Less chance of getting distracted by those tattooed arms of his flexing with every paint stroke.
For a few minutes, we work in companionable quiet, the steady thrum of rock music and the swoosh of our rollers filling the space. But after a while, I decide this is the perfect opportunity to learn a bit more about Robbie.
“So, did you always know you wanted to do this sort of hands-on stuff?”
“Suppose I just kind of fell into it. Wasn’t much of an academic at school, but I liked the practical classes, especially woodwork.”
“Right, but how’d you go from that to being good at, like, everything?”
“I wouldn’t say I can do everything .”
“Says the man who completely renovated his own home.”
Robbie rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, and for a second, he seems almost bashful. He’s clearly not used to compliments.
“Aye, well, I did a few apprenticeships after school—never really stuck with one long enough to call it a proper trade, mind.” He shrugs. “But I probably picked up most of my skills at the resort. There’s always something breaking there. Leaky taps, temperamental heating systems, fancy light fixtures going on the blink... in maintenance, you learn quick or drown in work orders.”
I’m tempted to ask if there’s any part of him that misses his role at the resort, but I don’t want to drag him into heavy chat. Instead I say, “Your love of woodwork obviously stayed with you after school. Those shelves you built for your living room are gorgeous.”
“Och, that’s just me fiddling about in my free time.” Once again, he’s playing things down.
“Well, if society ever breaks down and we’re flung into a post-apocalyptic world, you’ll be sorted with your survival skills. Meanwhile, my contribution will be—what? Reciting sonnets by the campfire?”
He snorts. “I suppose someone will need to educate the roaming hordes. You could give them lessons in literature, spread civilisation one Shakespearean reference at a time.” He points his roller at me, mock serious. “Never forget, McIntyre. The pen is mightier than the sword.”
I grin at him. “Was that Robbie MacDonald giving me an actual compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
AC/DC takes over the conversation, filling the room with “Thunderstruck”. Robbie moves closer to me and tops up both trays. We load up our rollers with fresh paint and push on.
It strikes me how different our interactions have been recently. Days ago, all I saw was Bannock’s bad boy—a thrill to chase, a conquest to make. Now I see a man who’s been misjudged his whole life. Someone more thoughtful, talented, and vulnerable than his reputation suggests.
And I care about that man.
“You’re quiet,” Robbie observes, breaking into my thoughts. “For a change.”
“Just thinking.”
“Care to share?”
I’m thinking about how yesterday I told Robbie I liked him, and instead of kissing me, he said it was late and time for me to go. And I’m thinking that, thanks to the way I acted around him at first, I may have blown any chance of something romantic happening between us.
But instead of saying what’s in my head, I go with, “Oh, I was just thinking about the case. About Samantha and her mystery man. Any guesses who it could be?”
Robbie pauses. “Aye, I have an idea. But if it’s who I think it is, that’s a real kick in the balls.”
“Oh?” I pause too. “Who do you think it is?”
“Not now,” Robbie says, tension growing in his jaw. “I’ve been trying to treat the painting like therapy. Trying not to think about it.”
Respecting his wishes, I let the matter drop.
We move onto the last wall, Muse’s “Super Massive Black Hole” filling the silence. We start at opposite ends and gradually work our way towards each other until we’re painting shoulder to shoulder, so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
Every so often, our arms and shoulders brush, sending tingles blooming across my skin. There’s something about having Robbie next to me—his size, the way he fills the space—that makes me feel both utterly safe and completely on edge at the same time.
I don’t want this to end, but all too soon Robbie steps back and surveys the walls with a critical eye. He nods. “That’s us done for today.”
He sets his roller down and wipes his hands on an old rag, taking the opportunity to put a bit of polite space between us. And just like that, the bubble we were in bursts. Suddenly it’s just me, him, and four damp walls.
I stand there clutching my roller, wishing I could think of some excuse to keep him here. Anything to stretch these moments out. But nothing comes.
“Is it all right if I nip to the bathroom first to wash up?” Robbie asks, already edging towards the door. “Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Aye, of course.” I try not to sound as deflated as I feel.
He disappears, and I busy myself fiddling with paint trays and pretending to tidy up, but really I’m just listening out for his footsteps and desperately hoping he won’t leave the moment he’s rinsed off the worst of the paint.
Time drags. Rationally, I know he’s only washing his hands, but it feels like ages. Finally he appears again in the doorway, just long enough to give me a nod before stepping aside for me to take my turn. Again, he’s careful to keep a bit of distance between us.
I duck into the bathroom and attack my hands with soap like they’ve personally offended me. A sinking feeling settles below my ribs, the kind you get when you reach the end of a good party and everyone else goes home but you’re not ready for it to be over.
Through the open bathroom door—did I leave it like that as an invitation?—I hear the music being turned off and the sounds of Robbie gathering his things. He’s getting ready to leave. Just as I’m reaching for the towel, his footsteps enter the hall.
“Well, I’ll be off, then,” he calls. “See you tomorrow?”
“Aye... see you tomorrow.”
I’m expecting to hear the clunk of the front door, but instead there’s a soft tread outside the bathroom, and I glimpse movement in the mirror. Robbie fills the doorway behind me, one hand braced against the frame.
“I just wanted to say... oh, hang on. You missed some.” He steps closer and wets his thumb under the tap, then wipes it gently across my cheek, sending a jolt straight through me. “That’s better.”
I meet his eyes in the glass—so blue they look almost unreal—and my heart gives an unhelpful flutter.
“Do I have any more on me?” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to.
“Don’t think so...” He bends slightly to get a closer look, and his gaze lingers on my lips for half a second too long. I swear he’s about to close the gap, but he doesn’t.
God. If I have to go on waiting for him to make a move, I’m going to explode. So I do what I do best: I throw caution out the window. Rising onto my tiptoes, I press my lips to his.
For the briefest second, it feels awkward—a fumble of noses, a rush of want—then heat blooms under my skin. But just as I’m starting to melt into him, Robbie jerks back, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something that looks like hunger.
“Cat.” His voice is rough. “If this goes any further, I won’t be able to hold back. As soon as I’ve got you in my hands, I’m going to want to taste you... fuck you. And it won’t be gentle.”
A delicious shiver dances down my spine at the crassness of his words. “I can handle you,” I say, trying like hell to sound cool and not as desperate as I feel.
Robbie’s pupils dilate, nearly swallowing the icy blue. But still he hesitates. “Your big brothers won’t be happy.”
“I don’t care. This is between us. Just... kiss me already.”
Robbie growls, then he pulls me towards him, his mouth crashing against mine.
The smell of him—paint, sweat, and that dark, masculine note—fills my senses as he kisses me deeply, his tongue ploughing into my mouth, demanding and dominant. His large hands slide down my back to grip my backside, and I press closer to him, feeling him thickening against me. My body responds instantly—hot, wet, aching for him—and the sound that escapes me is half-moan, half-surrender as I lose myself in the sheer power of him.
When he breaks the kiss, his eyes are molten. “Take off your top.”
I’ve never removed an item of clothing so fast in all my life.
He runs a hand over his mouth, his eyes lingering on the freckles across my chest, my heaving cleavage, and my hardened nipples beneath my bra.
“Last chance to back out.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then let your hair down.”
I do, auburn waves tumbling around my shoulders. I feel a flash of vulnerability, standing here half-naked, my cheeks flushed. But Robbie reaches out and brushes a loose strand from my cheek, gentle as anything.
“You’re beautiful, Cat.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and for once I’m speechless.
His voice turns rougher. “Take off the bra.”
I do, letting it drop to the floor.
He looks at me—really looks. His eyes roam over my bare skin, lingering on my chest in a way that makes my nipples tighten even more. The heat in his gaze is almost as tangible as a touch. Only when I’m squirming under the weight of it does he finally reach out and cup me in both hands, his thumbs grazing over my nipples. I gasp and arch into him.
“Quite the handful you’ve got here, McIntyre,” he murmurs, making even my surname sound sexy.
He sits on the edge of the bath and pulls me close, and suddenly his hot mouth is on my breasts, his stubble brushing exquisitely against my bare skin. He licks, nips, and sucks at my nipples until I’m trembling all over.
I bury my fingers into his black hair, surprised by how silky and smooth it feels. He lets my right nipple go with a pop then sits back to examine the results of his handiwork—my breasts now pink, the nipples redder from his attention. It’s like he’s marking me in some way. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.
He stands and pushes me firmly against the bathroom wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to his heated body. Then he steps back and eyes me with a commanding look that has me ready to do anything he wants. I’m basically putty in his hands. It’s like that night in the woods, when he took control so decisively and left me aching for more.
He pulls his vest over his head in one swift motion, revealing his broad chest. His nipple ring glints in the bathroom light, and those mesmerising tattoos snake across his skin like secret stories. I drink in the sight of him, not knowing where to focus first.
My eyes trace the raven on his left biceps, wings raised as if about to take flight from a branch. A chain with a broken link wraps around his upper chest, its detailed metalwork appearing almost three-dimensional against his skin. On the side of his neck, a belladonna flower blooms. Beautiful but dangerous, just like the man himself.
I reach out to touch the chain, but Robbie growls and grabs my wrists—first one, then the other—and pins them over my head with one big hand. His eyes lock on mine—hungry and intense—and I go utterly still, savouring every delicious moment of surrender.
Robbie’s mouth claims mine again, fierce and hungry, his erection pressing insistently against my lower abdomen, the tension between us almost unbearable. But when I writhe closer, he pulls away, leaving me aching. I whimper in protest.
And then... his hand slips inside my joggers. “Christ, Cat, you’re soaked,” he groans in my ear. His thumb circles my clit, his fingers sinking into me. “So tight. You’re going to squeeze my cock like a vice once it’s inside you.”
The combination of his words and touch sends me over the edge. I clench around his fingers, my body shuddering with release.
Robbie looks down where his hand disappears between my legs. “Wait, Cat... are you...?”
Rather than respond with words—couldn’t if I wanted to—I cry out. Robbie watches my face, mesmerised.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” I gasp, the aftershocks rippling through me. Honestly, I didn’t even know it was possible to come that quickly with someone. Guess there’s a first time for everything.
Robbie releases my wrists and slips his fingers from inside me. “Never apologise for coming, Cat.” He kisses me softly, then drops to his knees.
My breath catches. “What are you doing?”
He yanks my joggers and knickers down. “Going to eat you out, obviously.”
“But... I’ve just come!” I protest, half laughing, half shocked.
“And you’re going to do so again,” Robbie says matter-of-factly, more to my pussy than me. He hooks a leg over his shoulder then buries his face between my thighs.
His tongue is hot and hungry on me, flicking over my already sensitised clit with a skill that turns my legs to jelly. I gasp, one hand fisting his hair, the other gripping the sink for balance.
“Oh, Robbie... yes!” The sounds tumbling out of me are unfiltered: breathless whimpers, desperate pleas.
“Christ, you taste good,” he mutters before diving back in. His hands keep my hips pinned against the wall exactly where he wants me while his mouth works me relentlessly.
Clearly, he’s been craving me far more than I realised.
His tongue and lips don’t let up for another half minute, until I’m shamelessly writhing against him.
“Are you close again, Catriona?” The way he says my full name sends another wave of heat through me. All I can do is nod frantically.
“Next time you come,” he rasps, standing, “I’m going to be inside you.”
God above. If it’s possible to combust just from anticipation, I’m about to go up in smoke.
Robbie unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, revealing black boxer briefs stretched tight over muscular thighs—and even tighter over the impressive bulge straining at the front. Then his boxers join the jeans on the floor, leaving him gloriously naked. My eyes settle on his massive erection with that glinting piercing.
“Please,” I whisper, “let me touch you.”
His eyes hood with lust. “Aye. Touch me, lass.”
But instead of going straight for what’s standing proud between his legs, my fingers trace the chain tattoo across his chest. He shivers under my touch, a reaction I hadn’t expected from someone so commanding. I let my fingertips drift over to his nipple piercing, then down the ridges of his abdomen, following the grooves and dips of his muscles before finally reaching his cock.
The piercing glints at me, wicked and tempting, and I can’t resist running a thumb around it, just to see how he reacts this time. Robbie’s hips jerk forwards—almost involuntarily—his breath coming out in a ragged growl. Emboldened, I wrap my hand around him properly, revelling in the weight and heat of him, the way he pulses faintly in my grip. And his skin—so soft over all that hard steel beneath.
Robbie hisses and captures my wrist. “Enough,” he says firmly.
In one powerful movement, he lifts me up and presses my back against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, and the tip of his cock nudges my entrance, the cool metal of his piercing making me shiver.
“Now, McIntyre,” Robbie says, his voice strained, “please tell me you’re on birth control. I never normally do this without protection, but I’m clean and want to feel all of you.”
I nod eagerly, trying my best to squirm against him. “Clean too, and on the pill.”
I’ve barely finished speaking when he pushes inside me in one swift motion. I gasp at the stretch. He’s big enough that it takes a moment for my body to adjust. His piercing touches the deepest place at my core, sending shock waves of pleasure through me. It’s an alien feeling, but so fucking good.
Robbie slides out then in again, setting a relentless pace from the start. The musky scent of our sex fills the small bathroom, and I moan loudly with each thrust.
“So tight,” Robbie growls against my neck, his breath ragged.
He pounds me so hard it blots out everything else. All I can do is hold on while he slams into me again and again, tension building inside me. Our bodies are slick with sweat now, every muscle straining towards something wild and inevitable.
I’m right there on the edge when Robbie suddenly squeezes my hips hard. His jaw clenches, our eyes meet—a flash of heat and vulnerability—and then I tumble headlong into oblivion. The orgasm rips through me, sharp and sweet, and I shatter around him, crying out louder than I knew I could. Robbie’s right there with me, jerking deep inside me, hot and desperate.
For a while afterwards, all I can do is cling to him, our bodies trembling in the aftermath, Robbie’s heart thundering against my chest. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, breathing deeply. When he opens them, they’re raw and unguarded.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet. I feel... claimed. Marked. Thoroughly and completely satisfied in a way I’ve never experienced before.
He pulls out and sets me down. My knees wobble treacherously, but before I can fall, he scoops me up, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. He carries me through to my bed and lays me down, then he leans over me and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I should...” he begins, then trails off, as if unsure what comes next.
I press a soft kiss to his lips. “Stay,” I whisper. “Just for a bit.”
At first I think he might refuse. But then he nods and lies down beside me, pulling me close as if he’s not quite ready to let go of the moment either.