20. Piper After the Kiss
Chapter twenty
Piper After the Kiss
I touch my lips and smile. That kiss!
I can’t stop thinking about it as I close the bedroom door. Wind whispers against ancient stone.
Murphy circles twice on the rug before collapsing with an exaggerated sigh that seems to say his duties as Official Castle Greeter have finally come to an end for the day.
I change into an oversized T-shirt, brush my teeth, wash my face, and do everything a sensible woman is supposed to do before bed.
None of it helps. Because every few minutes, without permission, my mind wanders back downstairs.
Back to Tristan. And back to the kiss.
I stop brushing my hair halfway through and stare at myself in the mirror.
"What exactly are you doing, Piper Monroe?"
The woman staring back at me looks entirely too pleased with herself. I kiss a mysterious Scottish aristocrat, and suddenly I'm smiling at mirrors. Fantastic.
Murphy gives a sleepy huff from the rug.
"Don't judge me."
His tail thumps once.
I climb into bed and pull the quilt over me. The linen feels wonderful against my skin. Outside, moonlight slips through a gap in the curtains, painting pale silver across the wooden floor.
Sleep should come easily.
Instead... my thoughts refuse to cooperate.
I think about the village. About Angus telling me Glenhaven has teeth.
About the old photograph in the library.
About the strange way everyone spoke about Tristan.
Not Lord Sinclair. Not the owner. Not the gentleman living in the castle. Simply ... the laird.
I didn’t tell Tristan about these details yet. I didn’t ask the questions in my notebook yet. It didn’t seem the right time.
I roll onto my side.
There are mysteries everywhere in this castle. The sealed corridors, locked doors to the dungeons, stone covered with potential hidden passages. The old portraits. The chapel no one seems to visit. The strange reverence every villager has for Glenhaven.
And somehow, every mystery eventually circles back to him.
Tristan Sinclair.
I close my eyes. Unfortunately, that doesn't help either. Now all I can see is him standing beneath the Observatory windows with starlight catching in his dark hair.
Or smiling over dinner as he defended wallpaper decorated with crowned pheasants as though it were a matter of national importance.
Or looking down at the fountain pen with an expression so unexpectedly vulnerable it made something tighten quietly inside my chest.
I have known him ... what? Four days or so?
This is absurd. Completely absurd. He’s private, complicated. Occasionally infuriating. Entirely too handsome.
And somehow capable of making the words Good evening sound like the beginning of a love poem.
I stare up at the carved wooden canopy above the bed. The funny thing is ...
It isn't only Tristan. It's everything. The Highlands. The quiet countryside and sky full of stars. The mornings wrapped in mist. The smell of old books in the library. The fireplaces always lit and glowing.
Mrs. MacLeod pretending she isn't delighted every time I compliment dinner, or anything she does. Justin’s quiet smile. Liam’s eyes that twinkle. The village café. The bakery. Even the absurd crowned pheasant wallpaper.
When I boarded the plane for Great Britain, I'd expected another project. Another property. Another adventure that would eventually become another line on a résumé.
Instead, every morning here seems to uncover another question. Of course, the legal situation hangs over my head. But apart from that, there’s another story, another mystery, another reason to stay.
The realization settles over me so unexpectedly that I actually sit up.
I don't want to leave.
The thought hangs in the quiet room.
I don't find myself counting the days until this legal mess is sorted out anymore. I find myself wondering how much time I have left before it is.
The castle creaks softly around us. Almost comfortably. I smile despite myself.
"Good night, Glenhaven Castle."
The words are barely louder than a whisper. Somewhere below, a clock begins striking the hour.
Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, another thought quietly slips into my mind.
I hope Tristan is still awake. I don't even know why. The thought simply makes me smile. Eventually my eyes begin to grow heavy.
The mysteries can wait until morning. The photograph. The strange stories. Sebastian Ashcroft's invitation.
Tomorrow will still be there.
Just before sleep finally claims me, one last memory drifts through my thoughts.
His eyes after I kissed him. For the briefest moment, they had been black, beautiful and full of emotion. Not uncertainty or surprise. More like hunger and intensity. As though kissing me had required every ounce of self-control he possessed.
And somehow, it doesn't make me want to run. It makes me want to understand why.