Chapter 11
Waking up with Lucy curled around him made Ian hard as a rock. The bed was smaller than his, but it kept them close, and he did like close where Lucy was concerned. Last night, loving her, learning her, making her scream his name or whisper it with tenderness . . . it had shaken him up.
She stirred and rolled off of him. The covers slipped, allowing him to admire the smooth skin and the sexy curve of her back and hip as she stretched like a lazy cat in the afternoon sun. Then, she glanced over her shoulder, all sleepy-eyed, and smiled at him.
He rubbed his chest, wincing a little.
"You all right?" she asked, her brow creasing in concern.
"Fine." Needing a distraction, he pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. Her camera sat on the bedside table, so he grabbed it, turned it on, and began flipping through the most recent photographs as Lucy settled beside him, the sheets tucked under arms.
Wide panoramic views. Close-ups on small details that said so much about his home and the land. "This is the way I see it," he said, amazed. "I see these things everyday, see the beauty in them, and sometimes wonder if it's just me seeing it. But it's here. In your pictures."
The grin Lucy have him was blinding. "They'll go well with the article. With my pictures and Riley's writing, we'll have every reader of The Ambler itching to make a reservation."
Ian leaned over and kissed her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. For what it's worth, I think the business is going to be a resounding success."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. Besides the location and incredible house, you love the place. Your heart is in it. You care about keeping the integrity of the estate. People will appreciate that. You're lucky…"
Ian stopped clicking through pictures and gave her a questioning look.
"You're doing something you love, something that has meaning to you. I've always thought those were the best kinds of jobs to have."
"So why don't you do the same?" he asked.
"You love taking photographs. And they're amazing, Lucy.
You could turn it into a business, do something you love too.
Question is," he ventured, knowing he was treading on thin ice from last time he mentioned it, but wanting her to be happy, "why aren't you? "
She stiffened and shrugged. "I don't know."
He turned toward her, resting his shoulder on the headboard. "Yeah, you do. You just don't want to admit it."
Her mouth thinned and her brown eyes shot fire. "So one night with me and suddenly you know all about it?"
"No," he said slowly, "But I do know when I see someone who's afraid to try."
Lucy withdrew, feeling like she'd just been slapped.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something rude, something immature, but nothing came.
What the hell did he know? Obviously enough.
He'd just exposed the heart of the issue, ripped it wide open.
It was one thing to know it, but to hear it from him, to realize she was so transparent.
Did she have SCARED written across her forehead?
Was she that big of a wuss that everyone could see it?
"Lucy wait," he said, regret in his voice as she got out of bed, pulling the sheet with her. "I don't want it to end like this."
End? She whirled on him, her heart squeezing painfully, as he got out of bed and pulled on his boxer briefs.
She hadn't wanted it to end at all. But apparently Ian did.
He saw an ending, though he saw it going much better than this.
Well, at least she had her answer. He wouldn't be asking her to stay.
At least she hadn't made a fool of herself by admitting how she felt, that she wanted more. More than a freaking ending.
"What does it matter?" she said in a controlled tone. "An end is an end, Ian." And the words made her sick.
As she closed the bathroom door behind her, she knew she was being a coward. He hadn't done anything wrong. She'd known what she was getting into. He was a good guy. One of the best. So she couldn't fault him for anything really. She couldn't even fault him for not loving her back.
God, she'd made such a mess of things. As usual.
"Lucy." Ian's voice came through the door along with a soft knock. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business what you chose to do with your life. I shouldn't have gone there…" He cursed under his breath. "Not sure why I did."
Blinking back the sting of tears, she drew in a deep breath and opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame, looking like some million dollar billboard model. "I'm sorry," he repeated.
"It's fine." She managed a half smile. "You called it like you saw it. And you happen to be right, so..."
Ian didn't respond and silence filled the space between them. At least he'd let the subject drop, thank goodness.
"I have some things to take care of with the farm," he said. "I should be done by lunch, late lunch."
"How about we meet for dinner? Then you won't have to hurry. I know you have a lot of stuff to do too." She smiled. It was better than crying. "I think I can amuse myself for one day."
Ian studied her for a long moment, uncertain. "You sure?"
"Positive."
He grabbed her face in both hands and really looked at her.
Lucy fought hard to keep the tears at bay.
Why did she have to go and fall in love?
Why? Why did she always make a disaster out of everything?
Ian pressed his lips against hers, first light and then harder as though committing her lips to memory.
When he released her, she put her hand on his chest and pushed him away from the door, feeling broken inside, but smiling anyway. "Get out of here before I pull you in here with me."
His hand stopped the door from shutting. "I can make time."
Lucy laughed and shut the door.
Ian walked out of Lucy's room knowing to the very marrow of his bones that he loved her.
It didn't matter how much, or little, time they'd spent together.
All he knew was that he didn't want to face the future without her.
It was hard to imagine, waking up every morning, seeing to the business of the guest house, and not having Lucy be part of it.
A major part, if he had anything to say about it.
He'd upset her. He hadn't meant to and it frustrated him. He wanted the best for her, wanted her to be happy, and he knew—just as he knew he loved her—that being behind the lens of a camera was what she loved. She was afraid at failing, and worse failing at something she loved so much.
It was way easier to fail at a job you didn't care for than one you hoped with all your heart was a success.
He knew that first hand. He'd put everything on the line to open the castle and estate to guests.
And, yeah, it was scary as hell, the idea of failure, but it was worth trying.
Worth the risk. But he'd come to that decision in his own time, and he knew he had to let Lucy do the same.
Now he just had to get her to stay. He was pretty sure his feelings weren't one-sided, pretty sure whatever was happening between them was mutual.
He hoped.
Shit. What if it wasn't?
After a quick shower, where Ian forced himself not to panic, he cleaned the kitchen from last night's dinner so Fran wouldn't have to, then it was off to the barn to take care of the animals, then over to the cattle shed, followed by tackling the risk assessment he needed to complete for the guest house.
He breezed through the day, excited, anxious, randomly unfocused, and, yeah, still panicked.
What the hell did he know about love? It was like being thrust into the cockpit of a 747 and told to fly the thing home; he had no idea what to do. How it would end. And if he thought too much about it, he broke into a cold sweat.
By the time Ian finished with his day, a little before dinner time, he had managed to settle his mind and his heart.
"There's my lad," Fran said as he entered the kitchen. "Long day, no?"
Ian grunted in the affirmative and reached into the refrigerator for a bottled water.
"Enjoy your dinner last night?" she asked as she scrubbed vegetables in the sink.
Ian stilled. "It was . . . fine."
"Mmm." Usually when Fran mmm'd like that, she knew more than she let on.
"Trout was excellent. You would have been proud." He opened the cap and took a long drink.
"I'm always proud of you, Ian," she said, stopping her work to fix him with a meaningful stare. "I've known you since you were a wee bairn, you and your brothers. You three find your share of mischief, but never have I been disappointed in you."
He waited for more, but none came. "And you are now."
"Aye. What were you thinking, Ian, running that poor lass off like that? What'd you do to her?"
Instantly, it felt like his heart dropped into his stomach, and a cold dread swept in.
"Fran. What do you mean, run off? Lucy's not gone.
" No, Lucy couldn't be gone. She was supposed to meet him for dinner.
He was going to tell her how he felt and everything was going to be good.
More than good. Great. Fucking fantastic.
Bloody hell.
Ian raced from the room and took the stairs two at a time. "Lucy!" Her door was open. The room was clean. Her things gone. The bed was made, and on it were photographs she must have had printed during the day.
Dazed and out of breath, Ian sat on the edge of the bed. They were candids. Pictures of Fran and Hamish. Dev and Hildie. Dimon playing in the loch. He flipped through them, his heart pounding and hurting like hell. She left. Just . . . left.
The last picture he picked up was one of her. The one he'd taken at the castle ruins.
No. He wasn't accepting this. Not by a long shot.
Ian hurried to the ground floor and met Hamish as the old man strolled through the main hall. "Lost something have ye?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Not funny, Hamish. Do you know when she left?"
"Oh, I'd say about forty minutes ago. Willna get far, though. That rental . . . issue with the petrol, ye see."
Ian knew immediately that Hamish had done something to her car. Lucy wouldn't get far. He grabbed the old man in a bear hug, touched by what he'd done and so relieved he was shaking inside. "Thank you."
Hamish untangled himself and puffed out his chest, trying to appear unaffected. "While yer standing here actin' like a lass, the other one's gettin' away."
"Crap. You're right," Ian muttered and hurried from the house.