CORMAC LOOKED AROUND the room in case he’d missed anything, but Milla had only used a few pages in one of his grandfather’s sketchbooks. She’d left it open on the table. He stared at an unfinished sketch of a face. It had to be one of the urban portraits she’d talked about—the eyes certainly had a sad, brooding quality.
If she was having an artistic crisis then he could understand why she’d bribed him with the promise of a painting in return for a tour of the wilds, but he hadn’t wanted to ask her what had thrown her off course. It was none of his business. She was none of his business—even if he kept having to remind himself of it.
He fingered the folder in his hands, then tucked it into the sketchbook and closed the cover. He’d take it up to the bothy; she might find it useful.
He looked up as Rosie came into the room with Milla’s holdall and jacket.
‘That was easy! She’d hardly unpacked a thing.’
‘Well, she wasn’t planning to stay.’
He reached for the bag, but Rosie put it down and fixed him with a wide, blue gaze.
‘Hang on a sec. I want to talk to you.’
He heard a distant ringing of alarm bells. ‘Oh?’
‘Don’t get defensive, okay, but last night at dinner I couldn’t help noticing the way you were looking at Milla.’
‘You’re imagining—’
‘No, I’m not. You’re my brother. I can read you like a book.’
‘For goodness’ sake—’
‘Stop interrupting. I’m trying to say something.’
He knew Rosie would never let him go until he’d heard her out. ‘Okay. What?’
He folded his arms and watched her cross to the bookcase. She picked up a silver frame he recognised.
‘I love this photo of you and Duncan. You look so happy.’
He felt his chest tighten. ‘And your point is?’
She put the frame back. ‘I want you to be happy again, more than anything. I want my brother back—not this shadow you’ve become. Milla’s a sweet girl, but she seems...’
‘What?’
‘Uptight. Fragile. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m wondering if this is the kind of girl you should be falling for—’
Cormac felt a stab of irritation. ‘Who says I’m “falling” for her? I’m not interested in attachments—you know that. If I was looking at her it’s because she’s pretty, that’s all.’ He picked up the holdall and walked to the door. ‘I need to drop off her stuff. I’ll see you later.’
He set off for Strathburn, berating himself for flying off the handle. Rosie hadn’t meant any harm—she was only concerned about him. They all were. He sighed. He never used to be so volatile. It was the legacy of Afghanistan, and one of the reasons he was now chained to a desk at Chatham.
When Rosie had called him a shadow, she was right. He was a hollow shell filled with darkness.
Milla folded her arms and inspected her work. Around her, the floor was littered with charcoal sketches—studies of outlines and textures, rock formations and dramatic skies. Charcoal wasn’t her usual medium, but it felt right for these studies—bold, dark strokes for the wild and rugged landscape that was Cormac’s favourite place.
She’d just started a new sketch when a sharp knocking sound startled her, and then she remembered Cormac’s promise to come back with her things. She tidied her hair with her hands, then limped out of the studio, but he’d already opened the door and was standing in the threshold. At the sight of him she felt a familiar thrill tingling in her veins and an unwelcome rush of heat in her cheeks.
To hide it she launched an offensive. ‘You frightened the life out of me creeping in like that. Were you in Black Ops, by any chance?’
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I did knock. As for Black Ops—I could ask you the same thing.’ She must have looked perplexed because he added, ‘You might want to look in a mirror...’
She looked down at her oily hands, then noticed the smudges on her vest. ‘I’m covered in charcoal, aren’t I?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘You could say that.’ He took a few steps towards her and motioned to the bag in his hand. ‘I’ve brought your stuff and there’s a sketchbook in the car...it’s the one you were using in the studio. I didn’t know if you’d want it or not...’
She felt a little jolt of dismay. The last thing she remembered drawing was... ‘Did you look inside at all?’
‘It was lying open. I saw a pair of sad eyes and then it all got too much for me.’
It had only been a partial sketch, and there was every chance he hadn’t recognised himself, but she wasn’t sure. When she felt his hand on her shoulder she came back to herself and saw that he was smiling at her.
‘Milla, I’m teasing.’
The warmth of his fingers on her skin and the way he was looking at her threw her off balance. Perhaps he felt it too, because he dropped his hand to his side and the spell was broken.
She stepped back. ‘You might be teasing, but you’re right about the sad eyes. I’m glad I’ve gone back to landscapes.’ She smiled and tried to sound casual. ‘Even so, I’d like to keep the book, if that’s okay. I’ll go and clean up. Be careful where you walk if you go into the studio—there’s work everywhere.’
She confronted her reflection in the bathroom mirror and laughed. Cormac’s reaction had been typically understated. She was so smudged with black that she did indeed resemble a marine on a covert mission. A wash in the tiny sink wouldn’t cut it, so she showered quickly and put on clean jeans and a top. She brushed out her hair and tried to draw it up into messy bun, but for some reason she was all fingers and thumbs.
She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder and it was sapping her concentration. The way he’d looked at her, that soft light in his eyes... She didn’t want to feel these giddy butterflies cavorting around in her stomach.
She stared at herself and took a steadying breath, then forced her fingers to work her hair into the clip. She needed to get her feelings about Cormac into perspective. They’d had a nice morning together. He’d seemed friendlier than before, less starchy. He’d opened up a bit, so she’d warmed to him, but it didn’t mean anything except that maybe they were friends now.
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and put a fresh plaster over the cut on her hand. A minor injury—he must have seen so much worse. Yet again, she wondered what tragedy could have so altered him that the local villagers would throw its bones into casual conversation. Sam had said that Cormac had been in Afghanistan. That was bound to change a person. But at the end of the day it wasn’t any of her business. She should go and thank him for bringing her things back.
She found him in the studio, inspecting her work. He looked up as she entered and for a second she saw it again, that cloudy look in his eyes.
‘These are really good, Milla.’
‘Thanks, but they’re only studies...’ She felt a strange skittering sensation in her veins, a sudden dryness in her mouth. With difficulty, she swallowed. ‘The final pieces will be oil on canvas.’
He walked around the sketches carefully. ‘Well, I think these work on their own merits.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘Just my opinion.’
‘Thanks.’ She didn’t understand why his smile was making her blush, but the way he was looking at her was very disconcerting.
He glanced at her foot. ‘How’s it feeling?’
She looked down and shrugged. ‘I haven’t noticed it, to be honest, but then again I don’t notice much when I’m working. I suppose it’s aching a bit; I’ve been on it all afternoon.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not the afternoon. It’s after seven.’
‘You’re joking—right?’
‘I’m not!’ He frowned. ‘Have you eaten anything since I left?’
She was floundering now. ‘No. I was going to, but...’
His lips straightened into a line of exasperation. ‘You’re just like my grandfather. He’d forget everything when he was painting. You need to eat, and you need to rest. Your ankle won’t mend like this.’
‘I know, but I’m feeling so pressured about this exhibition. It’s making me—’
‘Foolish! That’s the word you’re looking for.’
His irritation seemed disproportionate to the crime and Milla bristled with indignation. ‘And you’re never foolish, I suppose?’
He stared at her for a moment and then the storm in his eyes passed. ‘I’m not saying that, but if you’re staying here you need to take care of yourself. That was the deal, remember?’ Unexpectedly, he broke into a smile. ‘Do you have a box of cornflakes?’
She squeezed her eyes shut and laughed. ‘I don’t know why I even told you that—and, actually, no, I don’t. I was going to shop properly the day after I arrived but then I came to the house...’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Well, I won’t have you starving to death on my watch. I’m taking you for dinner.’ He must have read her thoughts because he added: ‘Don’t worry. I’m not taking you to the house. I have somewhere else in mind.’
Was this a date or was he simply looking after her? Milla was confused. She glanced at him sideways. He looked relaxed—relaxed in the way he would be if he was heading out for a bite to eat with a friend. So—not a date, then, which was perfect.
She felt the evening sunlight playing across her face as he drove them through a winding glen and she closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she said no? She could have told him she had something in the fridge—she needn’t have told him it was only yoghurt. She didn’t understand herself. She’d just gone along with his idea and now it was too late to change her mind.
She fingered the catch on her bag, and then remembered how her mother used to tell her not to fidget, so she clasped her hands together and tried to focus on the view.
They’d emerged from the glen into a village, quaint, with narrow streets, neatly painted cottages and bright window boxes. Rows of colourful bunting flapped in the breeze and she found herself smiling.
Cormac caught her eye. ‘The bunting’s up for a local food festival—it makes the place look pretty for the tourists.’
She laughed. ‘Well, speaking as a tourist, I’d say it’s working.’
After a steep, twisting descent, the road opened out onto a waterfront. Cormac pulled over in front of a broad deck strung with lightbulbs and switched off the engine. ‘This is the Pier Smokehouse—it serves the best smoked seafood in Scotland. The view’s pretty good too.’
Milla gazed past the deck to the loch beyond. ‘It’s lovely... But this can’t be Loch Calcarron?’
‘You’re right.’ He unclipped his seat belt. ‘The glen we came through connects Calcarron to Collis—this is Loch Collis—it’s a sea loch.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s go.’
He helped her down from the four-by-four, his hand firm at her elbow. It was a simple courtesy, but in the context of this outing the lines felt blurry and yet again Milla wondered why she’d agreed to let him take her for dinner.
He released her and stepped back. ‘You can use my arm, or I’ll get your stick...’
Entering the restaurant on Cormac’s arm would be muddying the waters way too much; this non-date was already confusing.
She smiled. ‘I’ll go under my own steam, if you don’t mind.’
‘Why should I mind?’
He handed her the stick, then stepped aside to let her go through the timber arch which marked the way onto the decking.
He fell in beside her, adjusting his pace to hers. ‘Strictly speaking, it’s more of a landing stage than a pier, but it’s a great location for a restaurant. In high season it’s mobbed.’
Now that she was through the arch she could see the old smokehouse more clearly. It was a narrow building of weathered timber, its rusticity offset by crisp modern signage and tasteful metal planters filled with decorative grasses. Through the windows she could see red-checked tablecloths and winking tea lights. It was perfect—the kind of place that would have appealed to her if this had been a date. Which, she reminded herself, it wasn’t.
Inside, it was busy. She thought they’d have to wait, but Cormac seemed to know the owner and within moments they’d been shown to a corner table next to the window. As the waiter fussed around them, pouring glasses of iced water, she looked at Cormac and he caught her looking and smiled. She smiled back, and then, for something to do, slipped off her cardigan and arranged it over the back of her chair.
Did this whole thing feel as strange to him as it did to her?
When the waiter came back and handed her a tall menu she was relieved. She held it in front of her face and scanned the room. There was no getting away from it; this was a very romantic restaurant and she absolutely had to stop the butterflies racing around in her stomach.
When she’d composed herself, she lowered her menu slightly and risked a glance across the table. The low sun shining through the window bathed his skin in golden light, illuminating the shards of amber in his irises as he scanned the menu. Absently he drew his thumb across his lower lip and Milla’s insides churned.
Perhaps he heard the catch in her breath because he looked up, caught her in his enquiring gaze. She smiled quickly and looked down again, pretending to study the menu.
‘Have you chosen?’
‘I—I thought I’d let you recommend something.’ She couldn’t tell him she hadn’t read a word.
‘Okay...sea cucumber or hot smoked salmon?’
She grinned, thankful for his easy humour. ‘Hmm...the sea cucumber sounds tempting, but I think I’ll take my chances with the salmon.’
The waiter took their order and disappeared. Cormac topped up their water glasses while she gazed across the loch, wondering what on earth they were going to talk about. Jolting through the countryside together looking for landscapes to draw was one thing; facing each other across a table in a candlelit restaurant was quite another.
‘So, is this better than cornflakes?’
He was looking at her softly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Maybe he was feeling it too, the strangeness.
She smiled. ‘Definitely better than cornflakes—but I’m worried that your family will miss you at dinner.’
He sipped his water. ‘It’ll be fine. You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to listen to the ins and outs of table plans and hand-tied bouquets.’
‘I’m impressed that you even know the terminology.’ She felt her cheeks colouring and looked down at her glass. ‘I find the whole thing—’
‘I know.’
He was looking at her intently, and the curiosity in his eyes only increased her agitation. She didn’t want to talk about her past, but on the other hand, if he knew, he’d be a more effective ally against further invitations to the house.
She moistened her lips. ‘You want to know why, don’t you?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s none of my business.’
She shifted her gaze to the loch. It didn’t matter any more anyway—nothing she could tell him would change anything. ‘I was engaged, planning my own wedding, when my fiancé broke it off.’
‘I’m sorry, Milla. That’s really tough.’
The kindness in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes but she didn’t care. Now that she’d started, she wanted him to know everything. ‘Dan was working away in Berlin—he’s still there, actually—and he met someone else. Someone he loved more than me.’
Cormac sat in silence. She managed a smile. ‘Maybe it was a good thing. What I mean is that at least it happened before we were married.’
‘Maybe—but pain is pain, whenever it comes.’
She could see it again, a depth of sadness in his eyes which made her want to ask him... But she couldn’t.
She took a sip of water from her glass. ‘The break-up knocked me for six, affected my work—everything, really. It’s why I’m here. My tutor suggested it—he said being here would help.’
Cormac’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I can see it’s been a big help—no water at the bothy, a wrenched ankle and a serious case of wedding fever. If I’d known all this before—’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. You couldn’t have stopped any of it happening.’
He was looking at her in that intense way of his and she felt the familiar dizzying spiral of awareness. She was glad when the waiter arrived with their order.
As they ate the sun slipped lower and the golden ambience of the interior intensified. With its waterside location and delicious food, Milla decided that the Pier Smokehouse could easily hold its own against any London restaurant, and as she put down her dessert spoon she realised that telling Cormac about her broken engagement had lightened her spirits somehow.
She caught his eye. ‘It was nice of you to bring me here.’
He smiled. ‘I could hardly let you starve, and I knew you wouldn’t want to have dinner with my family again.’
‘Your family is lovely—’
‘I know—but things are hectic right now.’
She fiddled with her napkin, then smiled. ‘How did you know the terminology for table plans and hand-tied bouquets?’
It had been a light-hearted question, so she was surprised to see a fleeting pain in his eyes.
He looked for the waiter, gestured for the bill, then turned to meet her gaze. ‘I was best man for a friend. I must have absorbed more than I thought.’
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and as they stood up to leave Milla couldn’t help thinking that she’d touched a nerve.
Cormac pulled on the handbrake and switched off the engine. He wondered what had made him say it. ‘I was best man for a friend.’ He could have said anything at all—he could have said that he only knew wedding jargon because of Rosie—but instead he’d dipped his toe in the waters of intimacy and frightened himself.
Maybe it was because Milla had told him about her broken engagement—some subconscious part of him had wanted to open up too, tell her about Duncan. But he’d faltered at the last moment, and he knew that she was wondering why he’d been so quiet on drive back.
She started to move and he touched her shoulder. ‘Sit tight. I’ll help you to the door and see you safely inside.’
He felt her eyes on his. ‘Thank you.’
Perhaps taking her out for dinner had been a mistake. When he’d brought up her bag nothing could have been further from his mind, but somehow events had overtaken him and now he was adrift, unsure of how to get things back to the way they were before.
As he unclipped his seat belt he felt grateful for the darkness, grateful that she couldn’t see his face.
Inside the bothy he switched on the lamps for her and wondered how he was going to take his leave. It ought to be straightforward, but she was looking at him with that little crease in her forehead, as if she was trying to work something out.
He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll check the water filters before I go, okay?’
She smiled softly. ‘Thanks, but I don’t want to keep you. You’ve already done enough for me today.’
‘It’s no trouble; the cupboard’s just through the back. It’ll only take a second.’
When he returned she was holding the folder he’d slipped into her sketchbook and her face was lovely with smiles. ‘I just found these photographs hidden in the sketchbook.’ She took a step closer. ‘You took them for me...thank you. It was kind of you.’
Her smile warmed him and he suddenly felt better. ‘You couldn’t manage the climb... I could see how frustrated you were.’
She held his gaze, then glanced at her foot. ‘At least it’s temporary—when this gets better there’ll be no stopping me.’
The light in her eyes was mesmerising, and he swallowed. ‘I’d better be going.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll show you out.’
On the deck, she lifted her face to the sky. ‘So many stars; they never look as bright as this in London...’
‘Because of the light pollution.’ He tipped his head back. ‘Desert stars look amazing too...’
‘Oh, my!’ She turned to look at him. ‘Did you see that...?’
‘I don’t know...what did you see?’
‘A green flash.’ She threw him a playful glance. ‘I’m thinking maybe it’s the Martians landing...’
There was something irresistible about her turn of phrase and he found himself laughing. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s probably the Northern Lights starting—the Aurora Borealis—you should stay out here. You wouldn’t want to miss it.’
The breeze lifted slightly and he noticed her pulling her cardigan tighter.
‘There’d be nothing disappointing about seeing the Northern Lights. I’ve never seen them before...’
He wished he could stop noticing that little quirk of her mouth, the milky hollow at the base of her throat.
‘But it would be nice to have company. Will you stay for a little while?’
She held him in her gaze and he felt his shoulders stiffen with momentary indecision. He knew he should go, but that awkwardness between them had gone, so perhaps there’d be no harm in staying to watch the lights with her, since it was her first time.
He licked his lips. ‘Sure. Why not.’
She brightened. ‘Would you like a drink? I’ve got whiskey—it’s Irish, of course, but I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Irish sounds perfect to me.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me where it is and I’ll get it.’
‘Sláinte!’
She grinned. ‘Sláinte chugat!’
He swallowed a mouthful from his glass, felt the heat of it in his throat. He dropped down onto the deck, leaned against the plate-glass window and looked up, searching the sky as he weighed up safe topics of conversation.
‘So, where’s home?’
She was sitting on the hammock, wrapped in the blanket he’d brought out for her.
‘Galway. My family’s still there, but I’ve been in London for quite a while. What about you? Where are you based?’
He cursed silently. He didn’t want to talk about the army, but it was too late now. He rolled the tumbler between his hands. ‘Chatham. It’s HQ for the Royal Engineers.’
‘Do you like it there?’
He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. ‘Not really.’
‘So why—?’
She was unstoppable. ‘I thought you wanted to watch the lights...’
‘I can watch the lights and talk at the same time—it’s called multi-tasking. Besides, you’re the one who started the conversation.’
He sighed. ‘I’m at Chatham because my tour came to an end.’
‘Your tour?’
Was she being disingenuous? He glanced at her face; she looked innocent enough. ‘Tour of duty. We get posted overseas for a period, and then we come back to base.’
‘And you prefer being away?’
He pictured his desk at HQ, heaped with paper. ‘Of course. That’s where we do the real work. It’s where we can make a difference.’
‘So, where have you been on tour?’
A knot tightened in his stomach. He needed to distract her. ‘You make me sound like a rock star.’
She sipped her whiskey and coughed it down, laughing. ‘Well, it could happen. James Blunt was a soldier and now he is a rock star, so there’s hope for you if you want a change of career. Obviously you’d have to be able to sing—’
He turned to look at her. ‘You literally can’t turn it off, can you? Words tumble out of your mouth and—’
‘And what?’
‘I don’t know... You’re funny.’
‘In a good way, I hope?’
‘Mostly good...’ He felt a slow smile tugging at his lips, wondering what she’d make of that.
‘Mostly?’ She shrugged. ‘Well, even professional comedians aren’t funny all the time... Anyway, you were about to tell me about where you’ve been on your tours of duty...’
He gritted his teeth—she wasn’t going to be distracted after all. ‘The Balkans, Iraq... Afghanistan.’
‘And where are you going next?’
A cold fist closed around his heart. He watched the lights shimmering in the sky above. Next. There was no next for him—not until he’d been reassessed.
He struggled to make his voice sound casual as he rose to his feet. ‘I haven’t been assigned yet. I’m going to get a glass of water. Do you want one?’
In the kitchen he filled two glasses from the tap. Maybe the alcohol was fuelling her open curiosity, but he couldn’t talk about Afghanistan, or his desk job, or about his future. He knew he ought to go. She kept asking him questions he didn’t want to answer, and when she wasn’t doing that she was just being herself. Her beautiful, bewitching self.
Back outside, he handed her a glass of water and watched the lights pulsing across the sky. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him and he wondered what was going through her mind, what she was seeing. He had a sudden curiosity about the kind of man she would be attracted to.
‘Was your fiancé an artist too?’
She looked momentarily stunned, then she rallied. ‘Yes, he was, but you know I don’t want to talk about Daniel.’
‘I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me—’
She tugged at the blanket. ‘You don’t have to be sorry. I’m over him—I just need a sticking plaster for my wounded pride.’
‘That sounds like bravado to me.’
She laughed. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’
Her words sounded hollow to him, but he smiled anyway.
She swung off the hammock and limped to his side. ‘You know, you’re different from how you were when we first met.’
‘Different?’
‘Not so standoffish.’
‘Standoffish?’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Well, maybe it’s because you’ve stopped being so spikey.’
It was her turn to look surprised. ‘Spikey? Is that what you thought of me?’
He felt a smile creasing his cheeks. ‘You came out with all guns blazing—I was only trying to help you change your wheel.’
He heard the laughter in her voice. ‘Well, you didn’t even introduce yourself. You were so aloof...you provoked me.’
He remembered the scene at the roadside—the wheel brace lying next to the punctured tyre, the jack close by. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I was too busy trying not to step on your evidently capable toes.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll admit I’m not much good at small talk, but I listen, and I notice things.’
‘Such as?’
‘The Aurora. You really should look up.’
The lights were in full spate now—glowing curtains of emerald-green, pulsing and shimmering. Time stretched and for a moment it felt to Cormac as if they were the only two people on earth.
When she finally spoke, he heard a catch in her voice.
‘It’s beautiful, Cor, don’t you think?’
She kept calling him ‘Cor’, and it sounded sweet from her mouth. He looked at her face, at the tiny lines wrinkling her forehead as she gazed at the sky, the smile playing on her lips. She was luminous, and the urge to touch her was overwhelming.
His voice emerged as a whisper. ‘Amazing.’
She seemed to sense that he wasn’t looking at the sky and turned to meet his gaze. ‘You were talking about the lights, right...?’
He watched the reflections dancing in her eyes and hesitated. ‘I was talking about the view.’ He didn’t know why he’d laid himself bare like that, but he saw an answering glimmer in her eyes that felt like an invitation.
Slowly, he lifted a hand to her cheek, traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, and then, as another flash lit the sky over their heads, he stepped closer. He couldn’t stop himself now. With infinite slowness he tilted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, and as their lips touched he felt her soften and rise to meet him. She wanted him too, and the relief of it filled him with joy. Gently, he pulled her closer, felt her body warm against his, her lips opening as he deepened his kiss.
He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but now she was in his arms and everything was spinning out of control. He’d never kissed a more beautiful mouth, touched a milkier skin. He pulled the clip from her hair and tangled his hands in the endless beautiful softness of it.
How could he resist the pressure of her fingers at his neck, drawing him closer, the sensation of her body yielding to his? He’d let her in, allowed himself a taste of what that invisible, immutable force had been driving him towards for days, and he knew that he could lose himself at any moment.
He pulled away breathlessly. He could walk away now and there’d be no harm done, but her eyes held his and they were hazy with desire. Suddenly he was lifting her into his arms, carrying her to the hammock, laying her down.
She gasped softly against his neck as he hitched her leg up and drew her body firmly against him. And then his mouth was on hers again and it felt to Cormac that they might have fused into a single entity, driven by physical yearning and some other inexpressible emotion. Desperate to touch her, he pulled the cardigan away from her shoulders—then froze.
What was he doing? He had no right to be happy—he didn’t deserve this beautiful girl.
‘What’s wrong?’ Her voice was breathless, husky with desire.
He twisted away, then levered himself off the hammock with a strangled sigh. ‘I can’t do this.’
She struggled up and looked at him in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’
He shook his head and stepped back. ‘It’s a mistake. I shouldn’t have stayed.’
She scrambled off the hammock and took a cautious step towards him. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
He waltzed backwards, riding the wave of pain coursing through him. ‘No, you didn’t; it’s not you, Milla—it’s me. I’m not in a good place.’
He turned to walk away and felt her hand on his arm.
‘If you’re not in a good place, then go somewhere better. You don’t have to live under that cloud.’
Her words jumbled chaotically in his head. He couldn’t cope with words right now. Gently, he lifted her hand from his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
He turned and strode quickly towards the car.
‘A kiss like that could never be a mistake, Cormac!’
Her words rang out behind him and momentarily stopped him in his tracks, then he wrenched open the door, started the engine and accelerated up the rise before he could change his mind.