Page 63 of Surprises on the Scottish Isle

Eventually replete, Tara mopped up the last of the bean sauce with the rest of her toast and popped it in her mouth.

‘That was delicious,’ she said. ‘Exactly what I needed.’

‘I know what else you need: fresh air.’

‘I don’t think I can face a walk,’ she admitted with a shudder.

‘How about if you don’t have to walk anywhere, and can just sit and watch the world go by?’

‘That sounds better.’ She didn’t mind going for a drive. She’d thoroughly enjoyed the scenery to and from their hike the other day.

Tara stacked the dishwasher whilst Cal went to get ready, but when she’d finished she was surprised to see him waiting for her and the car nowhere in sight.

‘We’re going out on the boat, aren’t we?’ she guessed, horrified. A boat bobbing on the waves and a hangover didn’t make good bedfellows.

‘Yep. I promised I’d take you out on the loch, and today is perfect.’

She had to admit that the conditions were at their optimum. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and the surface of the loch was as smooth as the mirror in her bathroom.

‘Do you promise it won’t be too wavy?’ she asked.

He crossed his heart. ‘I promise.’

‘Do I have to wear anything in particular? Like a wetsuit?’

She could see him trying not to laugh. ‘Not unless you want to go for a swim, and even then, I wouldn’t bother with a wetsuit. The water isn’t that cold.’

Tara didn’t intend to find out. She wouldn’t even go as far as dipping her toe in. However, she was happy enough to sit in a boat where it was nice and dry, and she was even happier when Cal informed her there was a cushion for her to sit on and a throw if she got cold. He’d clearly thought about her comfort, because when she’d watched him row out to the opposite shore the other week, she was pretty certain he hadn’t bothered with a cushion.

After making sure she had her phone – this would be a photo opportunity, if ever she saw one – Tara was ready, and they set off. Cal had already hauled the boat to the water’s edge, and it only took a couple of shoves to push it all the way in.

He held her hand as she clambered into it whilst trying not to get her feet wet, and she was rather alarmed when it wobbled and bobbed in the water, although as soon as she sat down and Cal got in and took up the oars, it stopped rocking.

Soon he was rowing strongly, and the boat was gliding through the water. He sat directly opposite her, and she tried to focus on where they were going, rather than on the muscles of the man getting them there. But it was no good. His shoulders, chest, arms and thighs rippled and bunched as he powered the oars through the water in a steady, fluid rhythm.

It was mesmerising, and each time she managed to tear her gaze away from his body to his face, she found him watching her. It both excited and unsettled her.

Self-consciously she looked at the scenery over his shoulder, and noticed the far shore was getting steadily closer.

She wondered when he would stop rowing, put down those oars and take her in his arms, because the promise in his eyes told her that’s what he was going to do. Sooner or later, he would gather her to him and kiss her. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t kissed her before. He had, and recently. But out here, on the flat mirrored water, its meaning would be deeper, more significant, because this was his special place.

‘You don’t go out in the boat just to fish, do you?’ she asked with sudden insight.

‘I come out here to think. If I catch a fish, it’s a bonus.’ His gaze roamed over the surrounding mountains. ‘Look at it, it’s magnificent and humbling, and it feeds my soul. I always feel more grounded when I’ve been out on the water.’ His eyes were glistening. ‘I love this place, the wildness, the freedom…’

The passion in his voice made her shiver and her heart race. He was so at home in this landscape, and his love for it was as clear as the water beneath them.

Bringing the boat in close to the rocks, he glanced behind him, turning his head from side to side as he checked they weren’t about to be shipwrecked on those rough teeth of seaweed-draped stone.

She watched the skill with which he manoeuvred the fragile boat through the channels, and glanced over the side to see the hull glide over their submerged shapes as she held her breath.

With small sculling motions, Cal eased the boat closer to the shore and Tara heard the bottom scrape on the pebbly beach. Then he got to his feet in one fluid motion and leapt over the side, splashing into the shallows. Drawing the craft closer to the shore, he dragged it until the front was clear of the water whilst Tara gripped the sides, fearful of toppling in.

She took his hand when he offered it, and she expected him to help her jump to dry land. Instead, he scooped her effortlessly into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, and carried her beyond the high tide mark before depositing her gently on the grass.

‘Kiss me,’ she commanded, melting into him as he did as he was told.

With his mouth on hers, he lowered her onto the springy grass. She lay back, relishing the taste of him, the well-remembered feel of his body covering hers, the strangeness of new contours as her hands roamed over the less familiar landscape of his back and shoulders, and marvelled at the subtle changes that those lost years had wrought.

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