33. Edie
EDIE
I open my eyes, and it takes a second before I realise where I am.
It’s familiar – the luxury, the discreetly striped wallpaper, the same heavy curtains which we didn’t draw last night so I can see the same view out across the loch I’m used to.
But there’s an arm draped over my waist, and as I twist around it’s into Rory’s broad chest.
He’s fast asleep and I realise how long his eyelashes are as I study his face.
There’s a smattering of freckles on his nose and forehead and the dark stubble enhances his strong jawline.
But he looks younger somehow – unguarded, without the stresses of everyday – and something about it makes my chest twist inside in a way I’m not quite ready to examine.
I slip out of bed. Not to sneak off – although I can’t help thinking of the night we spent in New York, when I woke up and he was gone – but to go to the bathroom. I feel like I’m humming with something almost electric, and I ache all over.
His bathroom is huge and exactly as you’d imagine – masculine, minimal.
There’s a separate loo and a huge roll top bath, the same enormous walk-in shower that’s in all the bedrooms I’ve seen.
Nothing out of place. I take a folded towel and switch on the shower, smirking to myself at the memory of my first encounter with the shower head in my bathroom.
Now I’ve had the real thing again there’s no going back.
I climb inside and close my eyes, letting the hot water soak into my hair.
A moment later I feel a hand on my waist, and I jump in surprise, turning to see a naked and rampant Rory laughing as he pulls me close.
“Who did you think it was?” His mouth is almost on mine.
I shake my head, laughing. “You gave me a fright.”
“I woke up,” he says, his hand slipping between my legs, “and you’d gone.”
“Now you know how I felt in Manhattan.” I quirk a brow at him, cheekily.
I gasp as his fingers part my lips. He holds his hand still, as if he’s contemplating his next move. I shift against him, pushing myself against the ball of his hand, unashamed in my need. He drops his head, and I feel his teeth grazing the skin at the base of my neck.
“Rory,” I gasp. Water is pouring down my face. He looks up at me, his long lashes wet.
“Edie?” He pushes me back against the tiled wall and I gasp at the feeling of the cool tiles against my hot skin. His finger grazes my entrance, and I groan again as his thumb brushes slowly and steadily.
I watch as if I’m in a dream as he bends his head to my nipple and takes it into his mouth, sucking then nipping it gently with his teeth.
I widen my stance, pushing myself towards him, and his fingers move inside me, one then two then three and still his thumb is moving on my clit.
His cock is rock hard, and I reach out and take him in my hand.
He groans against my breast and the sound of his need does something to me.
“Oh god,” I gasp, and I’m lost.
Half an hour later I’m sitting on his bed, wrapped in one of the huge white towels.
My whole body still feels like it’s vibrating but my brain is starting to catch up, and I feel almost seasick as the nerves overtake me.
My heart seems to be skipping it’s beating so fast, and my palms are prickling.
I look at the door, half-wondering if I could just make a run for it and not face the truth.
I shift, my heart knocking hard against my ribs.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, before I can convince myself not to. “About Anna.”
He stills for a second.
“She read some of—she got a hold of my laptop.”
Silence.
He puts the towel down on the bed beside me and stands up, walking to the window in boxers, his broad shoulders blocking out the shaft of sunlight that I’d been sitting in.
“I didn’t show her. She went through my things. She got into my room when I was—she needed something at the shop and when I got back, she was in my room, and?—”
“What do you mean?” His words are icy, each one like a knife cutting through the atmosphere of the room.
“Exactly what I said. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just?— ”
And just like that he’s gone. Not in person, but emotionally. The warmth drains from him like a tide, leaving nothing behind but cold, polished stone.
“You brought her here.” He surveys me from above and I shift uncomfortably, pulling the towel around my chest.
“You said she could stay,” I shoot back, sounding like a child with her hand in the sweetie jar. I’m not sure if I’m defending myself or begging.
“And you let her go through your notes.”
“I didn’t let her?—”
“Edie.” He laughs, but it’s mirthless and hollow. “Jesus Christ. Is this what it was? All of it? You got exactly what you needed—what did she offer you in return? A joint byline? A cover story?”
I think of her words in the tower. That part is half true. I stare at him, curling my fingernails into my palms. I will not cry. “Do you honestly think I’d do that to you?”
“I don’t know what to think. Apparently, I don’t know anything.” His lip curls slightly, as if he’s disgusted by me, and for the first time I look at him and really see the duke in him.
I can’t speak. Can’t catch my breath. This man – this version of him – he’s not the one who pressed me against the bathroom tiles an hour ago, breathing my name as if it meant something to him. This one is ice and fury, and it’s aimed squarely in my direction, his eyes cold.
There’s a knock at the door. Pippa, his PA.
“Rory, there’s an urgent call for you. Sorry.”
He doesn’t even look at me.
“Tell Anna to pack,” he says, tossing me a robe. “And you, too. I want you gone by midday.”