Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
IONA
As the sun sinks towards the horizon, painting the landscape in warm shades of orange and pink, I ascend the stone steps that lead to the Glen Garve Resort’s grand main entrance. Above me, the building’s turreted silhouette stands tall against the twilight sky.
The concierge—Gregor, a local man—greets me with a friendly smile. He’s dressed in a smart jacket and tartan trousers. “Good evening, Iona. Lewis is waiting for you inside.” He holds open the door for me.
When I come here to use the gym, I go in via the leisure centre entrance, and there’s no fanfare there. I could get used to this sort of treatment.
“Thank you, Gregor.”
Inside, polished hardwood floors gleam under the light of crystal chandeliers. Elegant floral arrangements in large vases add a burst of colour, while modern art pieces hang alongside classic landscapes, creating an intriguing contrast.
It’s been years since I was in this part of the building, and I’d forgotten how breathtaking it is. The small family-run Bannock Hotel has a special place in my heart, but the Glen Garve Resort operates on a different scale entirely and typically caters to a wealthier clientele. Tourists with money to spend come here for its luxurious facilities, respected golf course, and fine dining.
For most locals, a meal at the resort’s restaurant is for special occasions only—it’s not cheap. As a result, Lewis and I should be able to have a private conversation without Bannock residents constantly walking over to tell us how pleased they are to see us together. I don’t even have to worry about the cost because tonight Lewis is paying.
I spot him over in the seating area, in a leather armchair beside a roaring fire. He rises and grins. The smattering of stubble he’s sported since I returned to Bannock is gone. He’s clean-shaven once more, as he always used to be. His chestnut hair is immaculately styled—short on the sides with just the right amount of tousle on top, as if he casually raked his fingers through it with just a touch of wax.
My gaze trails down to the charcoal tweed jacket that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, showcasing the strength beneath. His crisp white dress shirt is tucked into grey wool trousers that accentuate his long legs, while brown brogues complement the leather belt around his waist. Damn, he looks good.
It’s perhaps a little silly that we came here separately, given we live opposite each other. Maw certainly made a few comments about it as she dropped me off, despite her delight that Lewis and I are finally going on a date. But, hey, a girl likes to make an entrance every once in a while. As Lewis sweeps his eyes over me from head to toe, taking in every detail, I’m confident I made the right call.
My mid-length wrap dress, crafted from stunning navy blue chiffon, drapes elegantly around my curvy frame. The fabric is adorned with shimmering stars and planets, creating a galaxy effect that sparkles with every movement. Sheer butterfly sleeves add an almost ethereal touch. I’ve teamed the dress with bright- green low-heeled ankle boots, which don’t match the navy at all, but I love the bold clash.
Lewis takes in everything while striding over to greet me, but I notice he pays special attention to my cleavage. In my opinion it strikes the perfect balance—tempting yet tasteful.
“Iona. Wow. You look incredible.” A mischievous sparkle dances in his dark-brown eyes. “And this isn’t nearly as modest as you threatened.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“Definitely not.” He hugs me in greeting, treating me to a whiff of his enticing, spicy aftershave.
Over the last six years, there have been occasions I’ve had to give Lewis a quick, reluctant embrace. Coming home for Christmas, say, I’d hug Ally, Jamie, and Cat then have no choice but to do the same for Lewis, so no one noticed the omission and thought it odd. This is different, though. I don’t find it uncomfortable at all. In fact, I appreciate the solid wall of his chest pressing gently against mine.
As he holds me, he murmurs into my ear, “Given I’ve now sent you several intimate photos, I’m glad you decided to rethink your wardrobe.”
His scent, his hushed tone, the heat radiating from his body... this is dangerous territory. I can’t let myself forget that he’s on trial here. He needs to prove himself to me.
And yet, after withdrawing from him, I can’t resist engaging in a little teasing banter. “You’ve kept to the five-minute deadline so far. Well done.”
His mouth curls into a lopsided smile that sends shivers down my spine. “I’m good at meeting deadlines,” he replies smoothly, then he inclines his head towards the restaurant entrance. “Shall we?”
Through the open doorway, the soft hum of conversation mingles with the soothing melodies of a piano. The ma?tre d’ greets us then guides us past crisp white tablecloths, gleaming cutlery, and the gentle flicker of candle flames to the table that Lewis has booked. We’re beside a tall window that offers a panoramic view of the glen. The hills are awash with a warm, ethereal glow that creates an almost magical atmosphere.
Lewis slips his jacket over the back of his chair, his muscles stretching the fabric of his shirt nicely. He dips into his jacket pocket and pulls out a flat, rectangular jewellery box, which he lays on the table as we take our seats.
“I saw this in the Otter’s Holt. It’s just a wee thing.”
I draw the box towards me and open it, revealing a delicate bracelet with a small silver pig charm.
“I hope it’s okay. I know pigs aren’t renowned for their beauty, but I thought it was kind of cute, and it reminded me of that time when I dared you to—”
“—set free Fergus Murray’s pigs,” I finish, smiling. It’s adorable, with tiny legs and a round belly. “I love it. Thank you.” I slip it on.
He beams, pleased. “So I’ve not been eliminated from the dating competition yet?”
“Not yet, but it could happen anytime. I’m going to be testing you all throughout this meal. Do you know Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘If’?”
He nods.
“Well, I’m looking for someone who can walk with kings without losing the common touch. A bit like myself, I’d say. Yes, I enjoy smutty historical romances, but I can hold my own in discussions about current affairs or the latest innovations in veterinary science.”
Aye, I can , but generally, after a hard day’s work, all I want to do is let my hair down—not engage in anything highbrow. But I’m trying to challenge him here. And anyway, if I can’t put on airs somewhere like this, where can I?
“As for you,” I continue, glancing around then lowering my voice, “I’m aware you can send a dick pic on command, so that’s the second requirement ticked off. But can you walk with kings, Lewis McIntyre?”
He leans back, steepling his fingers. “I’d like to think so, but how do I prove that to you?”
“The other day, at the loch, I said that if you can’t laugh at a penis, you’re taking life too seriously. I stand by that comment, but I also acknowledge there’s a time and a place. And this”—I gesture around the posh restaurant—“is neither. This is a place for scintillating, clever conversation, and I need to know that you can take part in such exchanges. I’m not twenty-one anymore, and while I may still enjoy a dick joke, there are other facets to my personality. I want a partner who’s the same—someone who can make me laugh but also stimulate me intellectually.”
He scratches the back of his head. For the first time tonight, a flicker of doubt crosses his face. “Er... you know I never went to uni, Iona.”
Damn it, there’s something about this flash of vulnerability that melts my heart, just a wee bit. I’m trying to put him through his paces, not feel sorry for him. I warned him that dating me would be challenging.
Still, I soften my tone a little. “You manage a hotel, Lewis. I bet you know a lot about tourism and issues affecting the Highlands. You also help in the restaurant, and you’ve always liked baking. Plus, you’re keen on health and fitness. Engage me with fascinating facts. Entertain me with witty anecdotes. I don’t care that you didn’t go to uni—that’s not the point. With sex not on the cards for the foreseeable future”—I will absolutely not cave to his good looks anytime soon—“and with dick jokes off the table, prove to me that Lewis McIntyre, now aged twenty-seven, is still a fun and interesting person to be around.”
In a flash, his uncertainty is gone. A confident smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I can do that .”
And he does. Well, his stories are more entertaining than intellectually stimulating, but that works for me. I hadn’t really wanted an in-depth discussion about Scottish tourism—amusing tales about funny things guests have done or said are far better. But we keep it clean. We engage in wholesome conversation that wouldn’t make my maw blush, and I have a really good time.
When we were younger, we could talk for hours and hours, day after day. As the wine flows, we gradually slip back into the effortless rhythm we once had. Soon we’re chatting as freely and easily as we did in our youth.
I don’t make Lewis do all the talking. I amuse him with a few of what my brother, Aidan, calls my “Bridget Jones moments”. Like the episode where, as a newly qualified vet, I tripped and fell into a sheep’s water trough. I was so embarrassed I told the farmer I’d been head-butted into it by the ram.
For some reason I have a whole catalogue of such stories—I honestly don’t know how I get myself into these situations. As I work my way through them, Lewis grins and shakes his head, those dimples of his making an appearance.
The food, of course, is incredible. We both start with seared scallops—tender and succulent, with a buttery richness that melts in my mouth—then I have the truffle parmesan risotto, while he opts for the crispy orange duck breast. The risotto is a symphony of flavours, each mouthful a decadent experience.
After finishing our main courses, a somewhat mischievous idea comes to me. It’s not at all appropriate for this setting, nor in line with how I told Lewis tonight was going to go. But then I have to keep him on his toes, don’t I? I can’t let him get too comfortable.
Lifting my phone as though to check a message, I tap it a few times, bringing up a certain image. Then, after glancing around the restaurant to ensure no one is looking our way, I turn the screen to him, just for a second.
His eyes widen, and a deep crimson flush colours his cheeks. “Bloody hell, Iona!” he whispers, squirming in his chair. “Someone might have seen that.”
“Relax, I made sure no one was looking.” Leaning closer to him, I add, “I call that one Dick at Dawn .”
Despite being visibly flustered, he lets out a nervous laugh. “You named the pictures?” His mouth tugs upwards ever so slightly.
“Of course.”
I requested that image after I woke early one morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. He took a rather naughty snap by his bedroom window, and the hills and the sky are really quite beautiful in the background—almost pretty enough to draw the eye more than the main attraction. What frustrates and excites me most, though, is my curtains are visible in the picture. Had I thought to open them, I might have seen him take it. Instead, I was still lying in my bed when it came through.
Lewis inches closer to me, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “This whole thing is pretty cruel, you know. I mean, I have to get into a certain state to snap these pics, and then I’m all worked up afterwards, and I have to try and calm down again.”
“Don’t blame me for that. I never specified that the pictures had to be of you when you’re erect. You decided that yourself.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Bloody hell, I’m not taking photos of my cock when it’s soft. That’d be fucking weird.”
I don’t know why he feels so strongly about this point, but the forcefulness of his statement makes me laugh. I’ve seen his penis when it’s soft—not for a long time, admittedly—but I remember it being really quite lovely.
“Anyway,” he says in a low voice, “you were always the one who took the lead in the teasing, but when we actually... you know... I was in control. You said sex was years away”—he smirks, not believing me for a second—“but just so you’re aware, when I’ve been taking these pics, I’ve been thinking very carefully about what I’m going to do to you when it finally happens. I’ve got it all planned out, and trust me, it’s going to make every fantasy you’ve ever had seem pretty fucking tame.”
He holds my gaze, and my pulse quickens at the raw hunger I see there. I remember that look well—it’s been so long last I last saw it.
He licks his lips. “You’re right to keep me waiting, but the longer you put it off, the more worked up I’ll get, and so the more details I’ll add to my plan. It’s already pretty extensive. If you resist for too long, there’ll be so much we need to fit in, we won’t be able to leave the bed for days.”
His words send a wave of heat straight to my core. The wine has loosened me up, and this promise turns me on more than I care to admit. I can almost feel his hands on me already, guiding me through every wicked scenario he’s imagined. My heart races at the thought of him pushing himself inside me, filling me completely. I clench my thighs together and bite my lip, desperately trying to focus on something else, but it’s impossible with him looking at me like he wants to devour me.
God, given our history, I absolutely cannot cave to Lewis any time soon. Like I said to him by text, we have to work on the other parts of our relationship—the romance, the bits we didn’t explore enough when we were younger. But for how long will I be able to resist him? On future dates I really must go easier on the wine. Because the way I’m feeling right now, it would be all too easy to let him do what he wants to me.
Lewis lifts his water and takes a very long sip, staring out the window as he does so, like he’s trying to calm himself down. When he eventually lowers his glass, he meets my gaze again and winks. “Anyway... shall we look at the dessert menu?”