Chapter Thirteen

Emmy claimed Andrea as soon as she walked in the door, just as she had done that morning. The dolls had been put away, but an enormous tub of crayons and a drawing pad the size of the coffee table had taken their place. “Come draw with me, Andrea!”

“Emmy, Andrea doesn’t want to sit on the floor with you in her nice clothes again.” Serena sat on the sofa in front of the television while Max gummed a teething ring on the rug between her feet.

“I don’t mind.” Andrea’s suit was already wrinkled anyway. “I have nieces and nephews. I spend most of my time on the floor at my sister Becky’s house.”

“Here, use this one.” Emmy thrust a red crayon into Andrea’s hand and shoved a piece of paper at her. “I’m drawing mermaids, but you can draw whatever you want.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Andrea said wryly.

Serena laughed. “You’re a good sport. Jamie usually tries to divert her to paper airplanes or something less girly.”

“I heard that,” James called from the kitchen. Serena grinned in his direction.

Andrea doodled on the paper. “So you live in Inverness, Serena?”

“Yes. Jamie’s so busy, I try to visit Skye when I know he’ll have some free time.”

Andrea felt a pang of guilt for intruding on what should have been a family week together. “How long will you stay?”

“Just through the weekend. Emmy has to be back for the start of summer term on Monday.”

“And what do you do?”

“This.” Max began to whimper, and Serena hoisted him into her lap before it could turn into a full-blown wail. “Eventually I may go back to work, but right now it’s more important to be available for Max and Emmy. As much as I swore I’d never be a trust-fund cliché.”

Trust fund? Andrea blinked a couple of times, and Serena clapped a hand over her mouth, reddening.

“Oh, forgive me. That was completely tasteless. It’s just become a joke among the three of us. Mum’s family is absurdly wealthy, and they’re baffled as to why we’d want to make our own way in the world.”

Serena jiggled Max on her knee with a rueful smile. “Let’s face it. Mum gave us trust funds. Dad gave us stubborn Scottish pride. Until Edward died, you can guess which won out.”

“I can understand wanting to make your own way in the world.” Andrea hadn’t asked anything from anyone, even in the days she’d shared a two-hundred-square-foot Manhattan apartment with two other girls, surviving on packaged ramen noodles. Still, it cast James’s comments in an entirely different light. Was that how he’d pegged her so easily as a small-town girl? She’d thought his assessment of her was meant to be complimentary, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“What about you, Andrea? Do you enjoy what you do?”

Andrea paused, surprised. People usually commented on the glamorous hotels and exotic locales. Few ever asked her what she thought about the job itself.

“For the most part,” she said finally. “I love walking into a property for the first time. No matter how run-down or depressing it looks, it holds such potential. It’s the best feeling to come back months or years later and see what it’s become. I just don’t enjoy waking up in the middle of the night and not knowing where I am, or walking into an airport and not being able to remember where I’m going next.”

“That would drive me mad,” Serena said. “I enjoy visiting Jamie and Ian, but I’m always eager to get back home.”

Emmy relented and handed over a blue crayon, so Andrea began to outline her scribbled flowers. Only then did she notice the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. “What is he making?”

“No idea, but it hardly matters,” Serena said. “Everything he makes is stellar. Lots of people can cook, but Jamie’s something special.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Andrea said slowly.

Serena gave her a knowing look. “I imagine you are.”

Andrea looked away before she could blush at the implication. Were her feelings that obvious? And here she thought she had done such a good job of hiding them, at least from the rest of James’s family.

Emmy abandoned the crayons and paper, and Andrea took it as a sign that she was allowed up off the floor. She settled herself on the sofa next to Serena and turned her attention to the television program. After a few moments of complete bafflement, she decided she’d made the right decision by not owning a TV and wandered into the kitchen.

James stirred something in a large skillet on the range, a frilly pink apron wrapped around his waist.

Andrea stifled a smile. “Pink’s your color.”

He threw her a grin over his shoulder. “There’s a plain one around here somewhere, but I suspect Serena of hiding it to make me look like a fool.”

Andrea sidled over to the stove, glad his usual good mood had returned. “What’s this?”

“Pork medallions in Montmorency cherry sauce. I improvised.” He scooped some sauce from the pan with a spoon and held it out to her for a taste.

The flavor of cherries, at once sweet and sour, burst on her tongue, balanced with other rich and tangy flavors. Balsamic vinegar, maybe, and a touch of wine. “If that’s what you call improvisation, you should give up planning completely.”

“Not too tart for you?”

“Nope, it’s perfect. Can I do something?”

He sent her a curious glance. “You really don’t like to be idle, do you?”

“Guilty as charged. What do you need?”

“There’s a bottle of Sémillon chilling in the refrigerator if you’d like to pour. This is almost ready.”

Andrea retrieved the wine from the refrigerator and took the corkscrew from the drawer where she had seen him stash it the night before.

“I’ve been thinking,” James said. “You should stay.”

“What?” Andrea turned and almost bumped into him where he stood only inches behind her. She backed up until she was pressed into the cabinets. “Stay where?”

“Stay here on Skye for the week.” He leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear. “I promise you will have a good time.”

Despite herself, she shivered at his proximity. She braced her hands on the counter behind her. “I just came here to give you my professional expertise, Mr. MacDonald.”

He laughed softly at her retreat to formality and backed off a step. “I know you did. Tell me something, though. If you leave here tomorrow, can you still go to Tahiti?”

“No,” she said. “I had to cancel my reservations.”

“And is there hope of rescheduling anytime soon?”

If only she could. She’d gone to so much trouble to ensure her vacation, only to have it called off at a moment’s notice. Now she was booked solid for the next three months. “Probably not.”

“What’s your office number in New York?” James picked up the cordless phone on the kitchen counter.

Andrea blinked in confusion, but she gave it to him, and he dialed quickly. “James MacDonald for Michael Halloran.”

He waited silently for the transfer. “Mr. Halloran, good morning. No, not at all. Ms. Sullivan is everything I expected.” The smile he gave her made her flush to her toes. “In fact, she’s been so insightful, I’m wondering if I can borrow her for a few more days. I’d like to get her professional opinion on some other matters. Friday at least.” He nodded and winked at her. “No, I’m sure it will be a most productive week.” He passed the phone to her. “He’d like to speak with you.”

Andrea took the phone, wanting to scowl at him, but her heart was beating too fast for her to do anything other than concentrate on steadying her voice. “Hello, Michael.”

“How’s it going, Andrea? Can you close this one?”

“Of course. It’s just . . . a little more complex than I expected.” She frowned when James laughed silently beside her, his eyes dancing.

“How long will it take you to wrap it up?”

“Until Friday, I think. I’ll be back in the office on Monday.”

“Close this one, Andrea. You know what’s at stake for you.”

“Of course. I will. Talk to you soon.”

Andrea hung up and handed the phone back pointedly. “I don’t know what you expect that to accomplish.”

“I just bought you the rest of the week out of the office. I know it’s not a tropical vacation involving sun and white-sand beaches, but you have to admit, I am a very good tour guide.”

“Do I have any choice?” she asked. “You’ve practically ensured I can’t leave without losing my job.”

He actually looked surprised. “Of course you have a choice. We’re going to hire your firm regardless. That was never in question.”

“Then why do you want me to stay?”

He leaned close again. “Because I want you to fall in love.”

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

He straightened, holding the stack of plates he’d been reaching for behind her. “With Scotland. You’re halfway there already; you just need a little push. Could you take the wineglasses to the table?”

Andrea gathered the glasses silently and carried them to the dining room, her jaw clenched. He was toying with her. The larger part of her—the part that had clawed her way to this position through hard work and without relying on her feminine wiles—resented it to the bone.

It was the part of her that didn’t, the part that thrilled to the promise in his voice, that worried her.