Chapter Fifteen

Andrea stepped out of her shoes and tossed her coat onto the nearest chair, thoroughly unsettled. It had been a night of terrible decisions. First she had agreed to stay in Skye with James for the rest of the week, for no other reason than he had asked her to. Then she’d played the piano for him and his family, even though she’d known the feelings it would stir up. She certainly hadn’t rebuffed his touch like she should have. Either time. As it was, the memory of his hands on her shoulders—first comforting, then unsettling—sent a current of electricity straight down her spine. Had she given him the slightest indication she would have welcomed it, he would have kissed her good night.

She was fairly certain she wouldn’t have resisted.

“You’re losing it, Andrea,” she murmured. She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, trading the businesslike wool for the comforting flannel of her pajamas. What was she thinking? She was fine on her own. She didn’t need a man. Didn’t want a man. Especially not one who moved through the female population like a tornado, leaving devastation in his wake.

Andrea sighed and reached for her cell phone before she remembered there was no signal at the hotel. She picked up the room phone and dialed her sister’s number. She didn’t wait for Becky to talk after she picked up.

“How much of an idiot am I really?”

“Uh, hello to you too, Andy. What did I miss?”

“I’m changing my return flight to Saturday.”

Silence stretched for several seconds. When Becky spoke, Andrea could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s interesting.”

“It’s stupid is what it is. I can’t afford to spend the week sightseeing in Scotland when I should be home working.” Andrea dropped onto the bed and drew her legs up beneath her.

“You already planned to go to Tahiti. I don’t see the problem. Unless of course the scenery you’re staying for isn’t of the landscape variety.”

Andrea smoothed her hair back fitfully. “He’s . . . I don’t know . . .”

“Gorgeous?” Becky suggested. “Talented? Charming? Gorgeous?”

“You said gorgeous twice.”

“Well, it bears repeating, considering who we’re talking about.”

“You’re finding this way too amusing.”

Becky laughed. “Of course I am. I never thought there would be a guy who could get under your skin. Really. It’s been a long time coming.”

“He’s not under my skin. It’s just . . .”

“Yeah, that was convincing. Did he kiss you?”

Andrea threw herself back against the pillows. “No! Of course not . . . Not yet.” She had to pry the last part out.

“Well, get on with it, then. You’ve only got three full days left. I wouldn’t waste them if I were you. Call me when you get around to it. I want details. I bet he’s a fantastic kisser.”

“You’re hopeless.” Andrea pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Thanks for being absolutely no help.”

Becky paused for another long moment. “Andy, I know you’ve spent the last eight years pushing everyone away. But not every man is like Logan. What’s the worst that could happen if you let someone in just a little bit?”

“You know what could happen,” Andrea said darkly. “You were there. Besides, a man who lives three thousand miles away on a different continent is hardly relationship material.”

“You never know what God has in mind for your life. Maybe there was a reason you got sent to Scotland at the last minute.”

“I gave up on the ‘God’s plan’ thing years ago, Becks. If there was a purpose in that whole sordid mess with Logan, I can’t imagine what it might be.”

“It made you who you are today. A successful, focused, talented woman with a lot to offer. I wish you would remember there’s more to you than your career.”

Unexpectedly, tears pricked Andrea’s eyes. She wiped them away before they could take up permanent residence and swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I love you, Becks.”

“I love you too. Just try, sweetie. If you think he’s trustworthy, let him in a little. If it makes you feel better, it’s only three days. It’s like . . . relationship training wheels. If everything goes south, you’ve got a plane ticket home on Saturday.”

“You’re completely right, of course.” Andrea sighed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Now go have some fun.”

Andrea hung up the phone. Her sister was right. It was silly to get all worked up over this. After all, James had done nothing but flirt and promise her a better time than she’d have back in her office in New York. That couldn’t be too difficult, could it? She was in a beautiful place with a handsome man who cooked spectacular meals. If she couldn’t see that as a dream vacation, she possessed very little imagination.

Unfortunately she had no shortage of that trait tonight. When she finally settled into bed and closed her eyes, all she could think about was his fingers on her cheek and what might have happened had he not, at the last minute, turned away.

Andrea awoke the next morning with a flutter in her stomach. For a moment, she lay ensconced in the fluffy duvet, trying to place the feeling.

Anticipation.

How long had it been since she had awakened feeling anything other than dread about the day before her? It had been years, maybe decades, since she hadn’t had to struggle against the heavy weight of anxiety just to get out of bed.

She dressed in the most casual outfit she could assemble from her business wardrobe, though the lipstick-red Jimmy Choos had to make a comeback. She used a light hand on the makeup and let her hair dry into natural waves in the absence of a hair dryer.

James knocked promptly at seven. She opened the door, and her heart tripped. In jeans, a fitted black turtleneck, and a black leather jacket, he epitomized the words effortlessly handsome. Okay, maybe not effortless. The cut of the jacket definitely suggested a certain London designer’s spring line. She had to admit, the man knew how to dress.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing down at himself. “Did I get toothpaste on myself or something?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I was just thinking how nice you look.”

He actually looked embarrassed by the compliment. “So do you. Except those shoes aren’t made for walking.”

“I know, but all my slacks are hemmed for heels. I could hardly wear running shoes. Besides, how can I turn down the justification to shop?”

“Women.” He threw the word back with a twinkle in his eye as they walked toward the car.

“Oh, don’t think I don’t recognize that designer jacket you’re wearing. You don’t know the meaning of the words off the rack.”

James laughed and held the door open as she climbed into the car. “I don’t suppose the fact the designer’s a friend of mine makes it any better?”

“No, actually, that’s even worse.”

“Just don’t tell my family, then. I’d never live it down.”

Their arrival at Muriel’s house was a repeat of the day before. Emmy claimed Andrea immediately, this time to mold play dough, while Serena gulped down an enormous mug of coffee and fed Max cereal at the low table. James immediately disappeared into the kitchen. When Andrea didn’t smell bacon, she assumed she would be saved from another massive breakfast. That notion fled when he called them to the table to a platter of eggs Benedict, complete with the richest, creamiest sauce she’d ever tasted.

“Sinful,” Andrea said. “The road to hell is definitely paved with hollandaise.”

Serena laughed. “Now you see the real reason we visit Skye. It’s good I don’t live here, though. I’d weigh twenty stone by Christmas.”

After breakfast, Andrea attempted to clear the plates, but Serena waved her off. “No, you two get going. It’s almost two hours to Fort William.”

James detached his car keys from his key ring and set them on the sideboard. “I’m going to leave the keys to the Subaru in case you need it. Don’t hold dinner for us.”

Andrea frowned at James as he led her out the front door and around to the garage. The door rolled up to reveal a silver Audi sports sedan. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked pointedly between James and the sleek luxury car.

He shrugged. “I never said I only owned one car. I promise you, it’s much more comfortable than the Subaru.”

Andrea let herself smile as she slid into the front passenger seat, where she was immediately enveloped by the masculine scent of leather and his cologne. When James climbed in beside her, she said, “All this big talk, and yet you consciously try not to impress a woman.”

“Maybe I don’t want a woman who needs to be impressed by an expensive car.”

“So the Green Monster is a test?”

“I like that. The Green Monster.” James backed out of the garage and turned the car down the pitted drive. “It’s not a test, though you would have passed. You don’t seem hung up on material things, despite the absurdly expensive shoes.”

“Like I told you before, I’m just a small-town girl at heart, regardless of my shoe collection.”

“Andrea, my dear, you aren’t just anything.”

For once, he wasn’t teasing. He actually sounded reproachful. She shook off a flutter of nervousness and quickly changed the subject. “Was moving to London a huge shock after growing up on Skye?”

“I’d gone to school in Edinburgh, and we visited our mother in London every summer. But, yes, it was still a shock.”

“Why did you stay so long there?”

“Time passes and you barely notice. Before I knew it, it had been ten years. Opening the restaurants in Scotland was almost an excuse to come back home.”

“Nice that you have that luxury,” Andrea said wryly. “Most people can’t just decide to expand their business because they’re homesick.”

“My success is a blessing. It was unexpected. I suppose my kind of cooking connected with the things people loved: traditions, home, family. I still get letters telling me my recipes remind them of their grandmother’s cooking. Only better, of course.”

“As long as you’re humble about it.”

He laughed. “I do my best.”

Andrea had met all sorts of men in her business travels. Some truly were humble, appreciative of their success. Most thought wealth and status gave them the right to do whatever they wanted. She’d had to extricate herself from the grasp of entitled, inebriated clients more than once, walking the tightrope between keeping a professional distance and maintaining their good graces.

It was exactly what she had been doing in London with James.

But he didn’t deserve the comparison. Those men wouldn’t bring her to a family dinner or give her an escape when she had a panic attack. They wouldn’t offer to take her sightseeing and shopping without expectations in return.

At least, she didn’t think he had those expectations. If he did, he wouldn’t have held back from kissing her even though he’d clearly wanted to. He might have a reputation as a ladies’ man, but he had done nothing but flirt. So far.

Raindrops spattered down on the windshield, and James squinted at the sky. “I may not have picked the best day for high street shopping. Of course, we like to say in Scotland: ‘If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.’”

“So I’ve noticed. I don’t mind a little rain, though.”

“Is that so? What happened to Scotland being wet and miserable?”

“I said cold, not wet. And maybe it’s not quite so miserable.”

James slanted her an amused expression. “We’ll hope it passes quickly, then. I don’t want you to miss the chance to see the loch and the views of Ben Nevis. If it were later in the year, there would be some incredible hikes we could take.”

“So you really are an outdoorsman,” she said. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“No more than you.”

He was referring to her playing the night before, but he was sticking to his word that he would let her tell him when she was ready. She chewed her lip, wondering how much she could safely reveal without treading on subjects she didn’t share with anyone.

“I double-majored in architecture and music at NYU.” She waited for the inevitable barrage of questions, her stomach tight.

“That explains it. Doesn’t NYU have one of the best music schools in the country?”

She relaxed at his delicate treatment of the topic. “Yes, it’s known for music performance.”

“It’s a shame you don’t play more. I can’t even whistle in tune, but I grew up with a musician in the house. I recognize talent when I see it, and there’s no doubt you’re something special.”

Heat rushed to her face, and she willed it away in embarrassment. What was it about this man that kept her constantly off guard? She had blushed more in his presence these past days than she had in the last ten years.

“Thank you,” she managed finally.

“You’re welcome. Now you might as well get to it.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve got a captive audience for at least another hour. You know you’re going to feel guilty all day if you don’t get some work done. So go ahead. Give me your pitch.” He was smiling, but he didn’t seem to be joking.

“All right. You sure?”

“Of course. Convince me I’d be crazy to pass up this opportunity.” He shot her that wicked grin again.

It came almost as a relief. This James was far easier to handle than the sensitive one who treaded lightly around topics she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss. She launched into an overview of the proposal she had e-mailed the night before, pausing only to answer James’s occasional questions.

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“I know it’s hard to believe I can be serious, but I do mean to make this hotel a success. It’s been closed for over a year, and the longer we wait, the harder it will be to retain our regular guests. We’ve had families book their holidays here every summer for years. Once they find another spot, they may not come back.”

Andrea murmured her agreement. “You’ve got matters well in hand. If your contractor is good, you should be booking for Christmas.”

“I think so too. Fancy a Christmas in Scotland? Skye is lovely under snow.”

“Becky would kill me. It’s the only time I’m ever guaranteed to see her and the kids. That’s assuming I don’t get called out of town at the last minute.”

“Don’t tell me you’d actually let them send you on a business trip on Christmas.”

“If it’s a big enough deal, I don’t have much of a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

Andrea turned her head so he couldn’t see her face. Maybe she did have a choice, but it had become increasingly difficult to spend time with her sister’s happy family. They loved her, of course, welcomed her, but she didn’t belong there. Small-town girl or not, she didn’t fit into Becky’s cozy life any better than she melded with the domestic scene at the house in Isleornsay.

“So what about marketing?” James asked.

Andrea turned back toward him and abandoned her melancholy thoughts, grateful for the change of subject. If only he didn’t read her so easily. She quickly outlined her thoughts on marketing for the hotel, which she would convey to the London team once she had a signed contract in hand.

Armed only with the knowledge that Fort William was the Highlands’ biggest town, Andrea was unprepared for the charming village that spread from the edge of Loch Linnhe. A jumble of buildings lined the street, some of which looked like they dated back to the eighteenth century, while others were built in Tudor or Georgian styles. Ahead on the motorway, a brown welcome sign proclaimed in Gaelic, Fàilte do’n Ghearasdan, with its English translation—“Welcome to Fort William”—below it. James slowed as they entered the town, then turned onto a small intersecting street where he found a parking spot along the curb.

The morning’s weather had transitioned from threatening to just plain dreary, and a damp wind blew off the loch, throwing Andrea’s hair into her eyes as she stepped onto the street. She buttoned up her wool coat and thrust her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in Scotland,” she muttered.

“I always thought it was San Francisco.”

“Mark Twain must never have come to the Highlands.”

James laughed. “Come, clever girl. And mind your step in those shoes.”

Fort William’s High Street was narrow and bordered by slender, crowded buildings on either side, following the original layout of the road from the town’s days as a military installation. Stone pavers lined the sidewalks, and cobblestones set in a fan pattern undulated down the center of the street. She wobbled precariously on the uneven surface until James guided her to the sidewalk with his hand on the small of her back. She peered into store windows with interest as they passed: one sold woolen goods of all types, from tartan blankets to brightly woven kilts; another a vast assortment of Highland whiskeys.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here while you shop,” James said.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this, clotheshorse.” She grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him away from the window. “You know what you’re planning for the week. You need to help me.”

He moved away from the display with pretend reluctance, but as she went to release his arm, he put his hand over hers and squeezed it to his body. After a moment of hesitation, she left it there. It had been ages since she’d walked arm in arm with a man. It felt nice.

No, it felt more than nice. The warmth seeping from his body through his coat made her stomach flutter with a delicious nervousness she hadn’t felt in years.

James paused before the door of a small boutique with an attractively dressed window. “This might suit, don’t you think?”

Grateful for the escape from her thoughts, she let go of his arm and ducked into the store. It sported displays of simple, outdoorsy clothing, and she soon had her arms heaped with garments on the way to the changing room. A few quick changes to assure her of her size, and she was back at the counter paying for three pairs of jeans, several simply cut blouses, a quilted gray coat, and a pair of sporty leather shoes that would suit walking or hiking. She retreated to the dressing room to change into several pieces of her new wardrobe.

When she emerged again, James smiled warmly. “Perfect.”

He took one of the paper shopping bags from her hand and held the boutique’s door open for her. Once they stepped back onto the sidewalk, Andrea realized how tall he actually was. In the heels, she had almost been able to look him in the eye, but now she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The feeling of vulnerability took her off guard.

James kept up a constant stream of talk, pointing out landmarks and drawing her attention to shop displays or restaurants he frequented. He could be a comfortable companion when he turned off his ego long enough to be serious.

But that wasn’t quite right either. He was comfortable with his fame and his money, but if Muriel was to be believed, the teasing, playful nature seemed to have grown out of his childhood love of pranks. Maybe Andrea really had done him a disservice with her snap judgment. He would probably act much the same if he were living paycheck to paycheck, working as a short-order cook.

“I’m getting hungry,” she said suddenly. “How is that even possible after your breakfast?”

“Fresh air and exercise. I know just the place. Let’s cross.”

His choice for lunch was a wood-clad pub, wedged between a brick Georgian and a building with a pseudo-Tudor facade. Gold letters on the bright-red sign above the window proclaimed The Blooming Fuchsia.

She opened the door before he could reach it and stepped into the warm, crowded interior.

Polished wooden booths with padded backrests lined the inside walls, and smaller tables with cane-backed chairs clustered in the center of the room. A gleaming mahogany bar with brass accents stretched the length of the opposite wall. The hearty aroma of pub food mingled with the earthy, hoppy fragrance of beer. It was well past lunchtime, but patrons still packed almost every available seat, and voices hummed together beneath the low ceiling.

“Some of the best food in the Highlands,” James said in her ear, his hand resting briefly on her back. “Let’s snag that table in the corner before someone beats us to it.”

They slid into a small booth and took menus from the rack on the wall. Andrea scanned hers quickly, and then snapped it closed. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. It’s your tour of the Highlands. I’ll leave myself in your capable hands.”

He grinned a little too broadly, and she suppressed the childish urge to kick him beneath the table. The waitress approached just in time to save him a knot on his shin.

“A flight of the local ales on tap,” James said immediately. “Steak pie for the lady, bangers and mash for me.”

“I’ve had steak and Guinness pie.” She’d expected something less ordinary, given James’s enthusiasm about the place.

“Not like this you haven’t. It’s the love child of bœuf bourguignon and a Cornish pasty. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

She settled back in the seat and looked around the pub. It was more traditional than James’s, now that she had something to compare it to: more clubby, less sophisticated. Maybe she hadn’t given the Hart and the Hound a fair shake after all. He’d managed to achieve the feel of the traditional corner pub while making it upscale enough for the trendy Notting Hill location.

“You never stop, do you?” James said.

“Stop what?”

“Working. Don’t try to deny it. You get this look on your face when you’re analyzing your surroundings. Like you’re trying to sum it all up in a neat paragraph.”

It was exactly what she had been doing. He really did read her too easily. “I was just thinking I owed you an apology for calling your pub middle of the road.”

“I’m not easily insulted,” he said. “I’m just wondering how I might get you to relax for an hour.”

“I know how to relax. This is still a business trip, remember?”

“Even you are allowed a lunch break now and then. Look, here comes your ale.”

Andrea stared doubtfully at the tray the waitress set before them, six small glasses in a little wooden rack. “I’m not going to drink all those.”

“Of course not. It’s just meant to let you sample the different ones from the region.” He removed the lightest-colored ale first and held it up. “It’s a bit like tasting wine. This one is what’s known as a Light 60. First consider what it smells like. Some have notes of chocolate, others citrus or coffee. And then taste.” He slid the glass across the table to her.

Doubtfully, she sniffed the ale. “I smell . . . honey?” He nodded encouragingly. She took a sip, then made a face. “Burnt honey. This one is all yours.”

He smiled, took the glass back, and then passed her another. “Next.”

She sampled the rest of the glasses as James prompted her with questions. His eyes sparkled as he watched her, his arms folded on the tabletop.

“You take this all very seriously, don’t you?”

“Ale is to British food as wine is to French,” he said. “The concept of ale pairing is just as sophisticated. The flavor of one enhances the other.”

Andrea leaned back in the booth, warmed by his enthusiasm. No wonder he was so successful on camera. He loved sharing his knowledge and his skills. People could spot a phony, but she was beginning to believe James MacDonald was the real deal. What a shock to discover it wasn’t just marketing after all. Had she become so jaded she could no longer take someone at face value?

“That’s a grave look. What are you thinking?”

She realized she had been staring at him. She struggled for something plausible to say—anything but the truth—then exhaled in relief when the server approached. “Look, here’s our food.”

“Now who’s changing the subject?” he teased, but he didn’t press as the woman set their plates before them.

Andrea’s first bite of the steak pie was everything he had promised. “This is absolutely phenomenal. Even better than your pasta, if such a thing were possible.”

“Try this.” He pushed his plate toward her. “The bangers are made fresh on site. This is venison, I believe.”

She delicately cut off a small piece of the sausage and tasted it. “It’s good. But the pie is truly died-and-gone-to-heaven perfection.” She devoured the rest of the pie, aware of James’s amusement at her enthusiasm, but she didn’t care. Ladylike went out the window with food this good.

“Do you want to meet the owner?” he asked, signaling the waitress when they were finished. “She’s a friend of mine.”

“Sure. I’d love to tell her how wonderful this was.”

The waitress approached, and James asked, “Is Erica in today? We’d like to give her our compliments.”

The server disappeared through a door behind the bar. A few minutes later a petite blonde emerged, dressed in a black chef’s jacket, hair pulled back into a French braid. Her face lit up when she saw them.

“James! I don’t believe it! What are you doing here?”

James slid out of the booth, and the woman threw her arms around his neck. He squeezed her warmly and released her. “I’m showing a friend around Fort William today. Erica, this is Andrea Sullivan. Andrea, my colleague, Erica Baird.”

Erica held out her hand, and Andrea shook it firmly. “Welcome to the Blooming Fuchsia,” she said in a precise English accent. “How are you finding Fort William so far?”

“Charming,” Andrea said. “James tells me this is your place?”

Erica swept the room with a proud gaze. “It is. I hope you enjoyed the food.”

“Absolutely. The steak pie is amazing.”

“It figures. You didn’t tell her, James?” Erica laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “It’s his recipe. He gave it to me as a gift when I opened the place.”

“Only the filling recipe is mine. You’ve done something special with the crust.” Then James said to Andrea, “If it weren’t for Erica, I wouldn’t have made it through the pastry segment of my advanced certificate. I’m complete rubbish at baking. I owed her one.”

“You went to culinary school together, then?” The pang she felt at the revelation surprised her. Surely it wasn’t jealousy. She didn’t have any right to feel that. Still, the easy familiarity between them hinted at a long and close acquaintance. She just couldn’t tell how close.

“In London, yes. James was the one who told me this place was up for sale a few years ago. I said he was daft for suggesting I move to Scotland. But here I am. The place tends to get under your skin, whether you want it to or not.”

“I’m beginning to notice that.”

Erica gave an emphatic nod. “Well, then, I won’t hold you from your plans. Thanks for stopping by, James. Andrea, it was lovely to meet you. Enjoy your trip.”

“She seems nice,” Andrea said when the chef had retreated to the kitchen. “Old friend?”

James raised his eyebrows. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?”

Andrea gave him a supercilious look and took a drink from the nearest glass to save herself a reply. Unfortunately it was the burnt-honey ale she’d rejected earlier, and she narrowly kept a look of disgust off her face. “Your past is your business.”

James didn’t seem to believe her. His eyes traveled to the glass, and his lips twitched. “In any case, we never dated. She’s like a sister to me. She’s done a great job with the place.”

“Yes, she has.” Andrea tried not to feel pleased with the fact he felt compelled to reassure her. She had no right to feel possessive. It wasn’t as if this were a date.

As they left the restaurant, though, and James again tucked her hand between his arm and his body, that was exactly what it felt like.