9. Edie #2
It’s impossible. He’s an entitled, dismissive control freak who expects people to jump the second he snaps his fingers. Do not think about his fingers, Edie. Do not think about the way they slowly and relentlessly stabbed inside you, your breath hitching as his tongue met your core ? —
One hand reaches as if on autopilot for the handheld jet and I switch it on.
I cup one breast in my hand, grazing my nipple with a thumb as I let the spray play on the soft curves of my stomach for a moment before I surrender and focus the jet between my legs.
I picture the fury in his eyes as I walked into the study earlier and his brusque anger as he spoke, and at the same time I can see him standing naked with his thick cock in his hand, those same eyes meeting mine.
I feel the heat gathering at my core and my legs quiver as I pinch my nipple hard.
Oh god. I buck against the cool tiled wall as I come almost instantly, with no sense of restraint whatsoever.
For fucks sake, Jones.
I finish up in the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and give myself a stern talking to as I get dressed.
That was an aberration. I’m a serious and professional writer here to fulfil a contract and from now on I’m going to focus on work and work only.
I’m never going to make it up the publishing ladder if I don’t keep my eyes on the prize.
And Rory Kinnaird is not the prize.
It’s eight o’clock and I’m standing in the dining hall alone.
Upstairs there are five different outfits discarded on the bed and even now I’m not sure I’m in the right clothes.
I have this vague memory from a TV show about the Royal Family dressing in black tie for dinner every night, and I’ve no idea what I was meant to wear.
I’ve settled on the dress I wore to Annabel’s launch and a pair of suede boots.
And tights, as a psychological passion killer, just in case I end up sitting opposite Rory and my subconscious gets any ideas.
Not that appears to be a problem, because I’m the only person here, the table isn’t set, and the only sound besides the ticking of an enormous grandfather clock by the door is my stomach growling with hunger.
If I go looking for someone now and they all walk in I’m going to look like an idiot, but if I stay here much longer…
I don’t know what to do. I’ll give it until five past then take a peek into the hall.
The second hand inches towards twelve when a door opens at the far end of the dining hall.
“You must be the writer.”
I turn to the unfamiliar voice to see a tall man with untidy dark hair and a grin on his face. He strides towards me, hand extended. There’s no doubt he’s related to Rory, but where he’s ramrod straight and measured, this man gives off a completely laid-back vibe.
“Jamie Kinnaird. You’re in the wrong place. I had a feeling I’d find you in here.”
“Edie Jones.”
“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he says with an easy charm. “My brother didn’t mention that part.”
“The name?” I can’t help smiling in relief.
“Not just the name.” His brow quirks for a moment and he turns to open the door. “After you, ma’am.”
Back in the entrance hall, I catch a whiff of something delicious and my stomach growls again.
“I’m ravenous too. Let’s get to dinner before Rory wolfs it all down.”
He leads me into a smaller dining room which is vaguely familiar from the house tour earlier. “Sorry, I got my rooms muddled up.”
“Easily done in this place. Where the hell is Rory now?”
“I’m here,” says a clipped, low voice. I turn to see him standing behind the door with his hands behind his back and an unreadable expression on his face.
My face flushes pink with mortification as I have a sudden vision of him having some sort of control room with video cameras into every bedroom and bathroom.
I look to the floor to try and reorient myself before looking back up to see him regarding me with his green eyes, which look somehow darker. I guess it’s the fury.
A bearded man appears with a tray, setting out an arrangement of dishes on the table as we sit down.
He stands back for a moment before Rory gives him a brief nod.
“You get off, we’ll sort this. Give Shona our love.”
“And good luck,” Jamie adds, just before the door closes. “His wife’s going in for an op tomorrow,” he explains, buttering a piece of bread.
So he’s not completely devoid of humanity , I think, as Rory offers me the dish. It’s some sort of lamb tagine, with a heaped pile of couscous studded with jewel-pink pomegranate seeds on the side, and a salad garnished with fresh mint leaves. It smells unbelievable.
“Well, this is nice,” Jamie says. “Have you seen Yellowstone ? Sitting around the table here feels a bit like that, only we’re missing a Beth to storm off halfway through dinner.”
Rory raises a brow and looks at Jamie, who smirks briefly.
“Alright, we do have a Beth.”
“I’m not sure Finn would appreciate the comparison,” says Rory .
“Is Finn your brother?” I venture a question. I’m not sure I’ve got it in me to survive three months of awkwardly polite conversation and trying not to make a weird noise when I swallow.
Jamie nods. “He’s the difficult middle child. It’s a long story.”
“There’s no story,” says Rory. His hand tightens on the wine glass.
“Does he live here on the estate?”
“Nope. He’s on Benruar making whisky and taming seals.”
“Oh.”
“Finn’s an enigma,” Jamie says, chewing. He points at Rory. “He’s the control freak, and I’m the easy-going one.”
“You remember Edie’s a writer, and she’s probably taking notes under the table, yes?”
I waggle both hands in the air. “I’m not, I promise.”
“You might have a recording device tucked in your dress.” Rory’s gaze rakes over me for a long moment and I feel the hairs at the back of my neck rising. I flatten my hands on the table for a moment, steadying myself.
“No devices,” I say, brightly, taking a gulp of wine and trying not to choke. I can’t help remembering the last time he looked at me like that. “So, you said your brother is rescuing seals?”
Jamie helps himself to some more potatoes. “Yeah, he’s a marine mammal medic. It’s a lot of Ms for someone who scoops up baby seals and saves them when they get washed ashore or abandoned by their parents. It’s probably highly symbolic,” he adds, earning another glare from Rory.
I try my best to answer Jamie’s well-bred attempts to keep the conversation going, and his brother snaps tersely, his eyes never leaving me as if I’m an unexploded bomb about to go off at the table opposite him.
“So did Janey give you the guided tour?”
I tip my head sideways. “Ish. She showed me downstairs and gave me a map of the castle, but she said there was lots more to see.”
“Did you see the stables?”
“Stables?” I shake my head. “We didn’t go outside.”
“Do you ride? I could take you out tomorrow if you like, show you the place from horseback. It’s a good way to get the lie of the land.”
“I haven’t ridden since I was a teenager,” I admit, and a flutter of nerves gathers in my stomach. “I think it’s probably like riding a bike though, isn’t it?”
“Not if we put you on Ras, the stallion,” says Jamie with a grin. “He’s more like a formula one car than a bike.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” says Rory flatly. He reaches across the table and slowly pours himself a glass of water before speaking. “I’ll take you out,” he continues, surprising me. “After breakfast.”
“I’ll tell Kate on the way back to the house,” Jamie says equably. “She’ll probably be glad of some female company. I suspect I bore her to death, hanging round the yard every day.”
I carry on eating, stuck for something to say. Rory tops up my wine.
“Or would you rather champagne?” He fixes me with a look and his brows lift for the briefest of moments. I can’t work out if I’m imagining the implication.
“Red is fine, thank you very much.”
“You’ll like Kate,” Jamie says a moment later.
“She’s pretty fucking amazing. Don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s just a stable girl.
She’s responsible for the whole stud, deals with horses worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, sells them over the world.
” He sits back in his chair and takes a swig from his wine glass.
“She knows their bloodlines inside out. It’s pretty cool. ”
“Edie can see for herself tomorrow,” says Rory. “Have you got everything you need? Janey’s generally on top of everything.”
I nod. “Even notebooks.”
“She’s a gem. She basically holds this place together.”
“She is,” Rory agrees. “Every estate needs someone like Janey. She’s worth her weight in gold.”
“She has to be,” he adds. “Half the time I think she’s the only one who knows what a shitshow this place really is.”
He sounds genuinely affectionate and it’s the first crack in his armour I’ve seen. Maybe he’s not a complete monster, after all.
“She keeps us in line,” Jamie says, offering the wine around then helping himself to more when both Rory, and I shake our heads. “Not to mention the rest of the workers. Basically, if you want anything, Janey’s your first stop. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s got her eye on the ball 24/7.”
“She has no choice with you,” Rory says, pinning him with a narrow-eyed look.
Jamie raises his glass in a mocking toast. “Someone has to keep the family traditions up. That wine cellar isn’t going to empty itself.”
Rory sits back and folds his arms, looking across the table with cool contempt.
The sleeves of his expensive-looking white shirt are rolled up again, showing off the dusting of dark hairs and the lines of the thistle tattoo.
I’ve traced those lines with my finger. My stomach contracts at the memory .
“ Droit de seigneur went out with the dark ages, little brother,” he says crisply.
Jamie is sprawled loose-limbed on his chair, wine glass held casually in his hand. My writer brain kicks in. It’s not hard to imagine the scene – he turns up with his easy charm and that big smiling mouth, laying claim to the ancient feudal rule of lords having their way with their subjects.
There’s a long beat of silence and then the corners of Jamie’s mouth twitch.
“I’m bringing that Game of Thrones energy back to the estate.”
Rory closes his eyes, shaking his head. “That might be amusing if I wasn’t half expecting a string of pretty young staff members turning up on the doorstep, demanding you fork out for child maintenance payments.”
Jamie shrugs. “And if they do, that’s my problem.”
I shift awkwardly in my chair, pulling down the hem of my dress. I look up a moment later. Rory’s eyes are on me, his expression unreadable. I tuck a strand of hair back behind my ear.
“So,” I say, “how many people work here on the estate?”
Rory’s brow arches almost imperceptibly and he stiffens in his chair.
“Do you need to go and get one of your new notebooks, or is this just a general conversation?”
Jamie snorts.
“No, thank you,” I say, primly. “I was just wondering.”
“I’ll give you the full rundown tomorrow when we ride.”