Chapter 7
Lucy
Iwas re-regretting my hot-headed decision to come here as I followed Jamie through labyrinthine corridors and up staircases with tartan carpets. My hair felt very wild and untamed, and I could just imagine the state of my make–up, what was left of it.
The fact that through marriage I actually had a stake in this place made me almost laugh. Especially when I more currently resembled a charity fashion case in thick woollen socks and a voluminous jumper than a cool sophisticated businesswoman or a Lady of the Manor.
My plan had been to come here and put the documents in a letter-box. I really hadn’t expected to see Jamie. If I had ever imagined meeting him again, I’d very much hoped to appear cool and in control and together and most importantly unbothered and very much no longer attracted.
Never hinting for a second that I’d thought about him pretty much every day of the last three years and that he’d featured fairly regularly in my moments of intimate self-care.
I was also finding it hard to take my eyes off his very broad back, narrow hips and muscular buttocks. I felt like any veneer I’d had was being stripped back to reveal something much more basic and elemental. Exactly how he’d made me feel when he’d introduced himself to me in Las Vegas.
Not that I needed much encouragement to recall how ripped he’d been and how fucking sexy in that kilt. He’d had some secret magical ability to make me aware of myself as a sexual being in a way no-one else ever had. But it had been more than that – I’d felt an instant tug of emotional recognition.
‘Here you go.’
He had stopped and I was almost about to face plant into the middle of his back which only reminded me of the disparity in our sizes.
He stood back and I tried not to close my eyes and breathe him in as I went into the room. I let out a breath. ‘Oh wow, this is amazing.’
It was a sizeable room but felt cosy with pale coloured tartan carpet.
Thick curtains were held back from the windows that looked out over the slate grey lake and hills disappearing under the snow; little flashes of yellow gorse still peeking through.
Dark wood furnishings gleamed in the weak sunlight.
There was a four-poster bed heaped high with spotless linens and a woollen throw. There was a stone mantelpiece and an en suite bathroom with a big roll-top old-fashioned tub and pristine white ceramics. Black and white tiles.
It was romantic. I hated that I noticed that because I was in the presence of the man who had tapped into that very deep and secret seam of romanticism that I’d tried to hide all my life behind my cynical shell.
He’d broken that shell and he’d exposed me and when he’d rejected me in the cold morning light, it had made me feel like I’d felt when I hadn’t been enough for my father.
Tainted. Not worthy. So I’d held onto that feeling for three years because it had been the only thing stopping me from wondering if we could have ever had any kind of a relationship.
But now in this magical castle with him literally in my face, I could feel that shell starting to crack again.
He put my bags down on the bed and said, ‘I’ll light a fire to warm up the room.’ He left, and I let out a breath.
A freaking fire? And a four-poster bed? I welcomed the space. These revelations were not welcome.
I went into the bathroom and closed the door. My reflection in the mirror showed me a worse picture than I’d imagined. My hair was ridiculous. I groaned. And then I perked up when I saw luxury products on the shelves.
The fact that Jamie Ross was clearly from some serious amount of wealth was too big to think about right now, so I washed my face and tried to tame my long wavy hair into some kind of order.
When I went back out into the bedroom I opened my duffel bag and
took out the clothes Jamie had interrupted me changing into at the side of the road. I guess I could be glad he hadn’t found me with my bare arse hanging out. But then that made me think of him putting his hands on my naked skin and pressing up against me from behind.
I shook my head to dislodge the memory. Not helpful.
I pulled on jeans, a silk long-sleeved top and a jumper, but at the last minute, I pulled Jamie’s much bigger jumper on over mine, telling myself it was for practical purposes and not because I couldn’t bear to take it off. I also kept the thick socks on.
I went to the window to see Jamie appear below in snow that now looked about a foot deep. Wrapped up in the coat and hat again. Sturdy boots. George trotting loyally by his side.
There was a pile of wood and Jamie started collecting logs and putting them in a wheelbarrow.
And then it hit me. I’d come all the way here and he’d asked me if I was seeing someone but hadn’t given much information about himself at all.
And here I was feeling vulnerable and exposed.
The thought of Jamie knowing all about me and being stuck together for the foreseeable future made me want to close the bedroom door and lock it, until it thawed outside enough for me to sneak away with signed divorce papers.
But I wasn’t going to hide away as if I’d done something wrong. I was going to confront the man who I suspected hadn’t given me a moment’s thought in three years, or at least not until his precious inheritance was called into question.