Chapter 19 #2
After he’d read the same report three times and had taken none of it in, he gave up, closing his laptop and switching off the lamp.
Was there any point in going back to bed since he was wide awake?
He thought not. But he couldn’t just sit there and stare into space.
He wasn’t made for idleness. He had to be doing something.
Or – looking at it from a different perspective – did he feel that he should be doing something?
That by doing nothing, he was wasting valuable time?
That was the problem with living life in the fast lane: it wasn’t easy to slow down.
He’d slowed down in Duncoorie, though. Which was why Beverly was here. She clearly felt he was skiving off and not pulling his weight. Or did she sense something was amiss?
Rocco snorted. It was unlikely. She was just concerned he was taking too long to wrap up his affairs on Skye.
It was only when he jerked awake did Rocco realise he must have drifted off to sleep after all. Chilled and stiff, he got to his feet and stared out of the window.
It was light outside, but only just, the sun not yet having risen over the mountain behind the castle. Mist curled and coiled over the loch, the water unusually calm. A bird called, the sound haunting and melancholy.
God, this place was beautiful.
And so was she.
Giselle was picking her way across the sand, barefoot, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and her white dress as ephemeral as the mist itself.
Sprite, fairy, enchantress… She was as magical and as mystical as the landscape, and his heart ached at the sight of her.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
Giselle was a contradiction: delicate yet strong, timid yet fierce.
And in that moment, he realised he was in love with her.
Mesmerised, he left the boathouse, the chill air damp on his skin, the sand cold beneath his bare feet, and saw her at the end of the jetty. She had her back to him and was facing out to sea.
When he drew nearer, he knew she was aware of his presence by the tension in her slender shoulders, and he came to an uncertain halt, longing to take her in his arms, but holding back because something wasn’t right.
‘Giselle? I’m, um, leaving tomorrow. I have to go home.’
‘You should have told me you have a girlfriend.’ Her voice was wooden.
He wished he could see her face. ‘What?’
‘You’re up early.’
The abrupt change of subject confused him. ‘I fell asleep in the chair,’ he replied absently, then said, ‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’ Not true: he’d kind of hoped Giselle was his girlfriend.
‘You fell asleep in the chair?’ She spun on her heel to face him.
‘Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, so I did some work and— What’s this about, Giselle?’ He searched her face, looking for clues.
‘Claire.’
Rocco blinked. For a second he thought she’d changed the subject again. Then everything slotted into place. ‘You think Claire is my girlfriend?’
‘Isn’t she?’
‘No!’
‘She spent the night in your room,’ Giselle said, but her voice lacked conviction.
‘She spent the night in her own room. Beverly was in mine. I stayed at the boathouse.’
Her eyes widened, registering his pyjama-and-T-shirt state, along with his bare feet. ‘But… she was all over you.’
Rocco thought back to the kiss Claire had planted on his face in the lounge yesterday and her suggestion that she share his room, and he could see how it might look.
‘That’s just her way. She’s not my girlfriend.
’ He was disappointed that Giselle thought he was capable of being so underhand and deceitful, and his voice hardened.
‘I don’t sleep with one woman while dating another. ’
Giselle hung her head, her hair falling around her face. Rocco stepped closer to brush a strand away.
‘You know me better than that,’ he said.
Looking up from under her lashes, she whispered, ‘Do I?’
Emboldened, he took her in his arms. ‘Yes.’
Then he kissed her, a long, deep satisfying kiss, and when it eventually ended, the sun had crested the mountain and the mist had evaporated. It was going to be a glorious morning.
‘I went to the bothy last night; you weren’t replying to my texts or answering your phone, and I wanted to see you, to hold you.’ He was holding her now, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
‘I know. I was there, in the garden.’
‘Oh, Giselle,’ he sighed. They’d wasted an entire night, when they could have spent it together.
He was about to suggest they make up for lost time and ask her into the bothy, but a cheery ‘Good morning,’ made them both jump. Cal was putting something into a small boat halfway up the beach and grinning at them. ‘Going fishing,’ he explained.
The mood was broken. Rocco should return to the castle.
‘Can I see you later?’ he asked, after pretending the estate manager wasn’t there and kissing her again.
‘You know where to find me.’ She was beaming at him.
‘And you know where to find me,’ he countered, gesturing to the boathouse. ‘Although your place might be better as there are too many nosey parkers around here.’ He shot a meaningful look at Cal.
‘Nothing gets past Cal,’ she replied, slipping around him, her feet dancing on the dew-covered jetty.
Rocco caught hold of her hand, pulling her back for one more kiss. Then she was away, running across the beach, her laughter floating on the air.
He watched until she disappeared, his heart full, then he tipped his head back and gazed at the sky, the mountain, the castle… His castle. For now.
Could he—?
The unformed thought was derailed by movement at one of the turret’s windows.
Beverly was gazing out of it. He wondered how long she’d been there and what she might have seen.