Page 50 of Highland Games
The high-pitched wail of a baby could be heard echoing down the corridor, getting closer and closer. Reality hit her like a cold bucket of water. She was lying across a four-poster bed. Wearing Fiona’s wedding dress. Having just experienced the most intense orgasm of her life. From the sexiest man she had ever met. Who apparently liked her. Really liked her.
She shot off the bed, her hands smoothing the dress down, then fluttering to her hair. The comb holding the veil had fallen out to the floor and she snatched it up, jamming it back into her curls. The ornate counterpane covering the bed was in disarray so she pulled it straight, then looked frantically around the room for more evidence of carnal carnage. She found her reflection in a gilt mirror and stared at herself in horror. Liam’s screams were right outside the door but coming no further. Was Rory keeping Fiona talking? How could it not be obvious what had gone on?
As the door opened, she went to the table where her camera lay.
‘Shit, Zo, I’m so sorry, he’s shat over everything and upchucked cottage pie. He’s in a state; I’ve got to get him back to Mum’s,’ Fiona rattled out over Liam’s cries. ‘I’m so sorry to let you down, but Rory told me he’s got to get back to work so can we finish this another day? I’m so sorry, love. Who’d have a bloody baby, eh?’
Fiona was frowning with anxious worry, holding Liam wrapped in a blanket as he attempted to throw himself out of her arms, beetroot red with rage.
‘God, Fi, no worries, let me get this dress off, then I’ll help you get him home,’ she replied, bustling them both out of the room.
Two hourslater she was back at the cabin, holding a small package that had arrived at the post office addressed to her. It was from Sam, and she knew exactly what the contents would be. She tossed it unopened into one of the boxes containing her clothes, checked on a sleeping Basil, filled the firebox of the Rayburn with wood and made herself a cup of tea.
Sitting at the table, she switched on her camera and went through the photos from the shoot. The pictures from around the castle were good and definitely showed it at its best. The photos of Rory however, were incendiary. Her gaze roamed lasciviously over his body, remembering how his lips had felt on hers, the hot warmth of his tongue, his voice in her ear telling her how beautiful she was, his finger sinking deep inside her. She gasped out loud, her head spinning, her heart pounding in her chest. What had he done to her?
She felt utterly changed by what had happened. As if she had been unpicked, turned inside out and stitched back together with threads of light. Her internal landscape had been transformed into something deeper, more primeval, more powerful. Nothing would ever be the same again.
What would happen when she next saw him? Should she drive up the road and message him? And if she did, what should she say? Hi, Rory, thanks for the earth-shattering orgasm. Fancy giving me another? Cheers, Zoe. Ugh. She sank her head in her hands. She’d made the first move. She would wait for him to make the second.
Seventeen hours later, she was still waiting. She had hoped he would pop around, come to see her after their abrupt parting, but he hadn’t, and now she was convinced she had dreamt it all. She packed her bag and drove to the library to work.
She satat her desk in the library and took out her laptop, chargers, notebook and phone. She had a new text message and feverishly opened it up.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I’ve finished your bed and borrowed a van. I can bring it to yours after lunch and we can drive to the storage place and collect your things. Rory.
She nearly dropped her phone. He had finished the bed. And now all she could think of was christening it with him. Shit. How could she reply without sounding crazy and desperate? Another message pinged through.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: If that’s okay with you?
Is that okay? Hell yes! She was shaking as she typed back.
Zoe: Yes please. What time?
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: What time is good for you?
She looked at her watch. Was nine o’clock in the morning after lunch? Could she pretend Kinloch was on Dubai time?
Zoe: Whenever, I’m easy.
I’m easy. Gah! Unsend! Undo! Nooooooo! Her phone pinged again.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I wouldn’t say that…
She dropped her head to the desk with a thump. This was mortifying. There was only one thing for it. She would have to leave Scotland immediately. Forever. Right now.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I’ll see you at one.
Okay, so maybe she’d leave tomorrow… Three hours and fifty-five minutes till she saw him. Not that she was counting or anything. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, and sniffed her armpit. It smelled okay but she wanted to shower again before she saw him. She’d work for the next couple of hours on the website, then go to Morag’s.
At half pasttwelve a squeaky-clean Zoe drove up the track to the cabin, knowing she had half an hour left to put on some make-up. She rounded the track and saw a huge white van parked up. Her stomach did several backflips and heat rose up through her body. She had to hold it together. She parked to the side so he could get out, and got out to face him.
He was on the porch, stacking the long pieces of the bed, wrapped in packing blankets, his tool belt slung low on his hips. An enormous mattress, wrapped in plastic, was leaning against the outside wall. Zoe’s heart hammered in her throat. She stopped at the bottom of the steps, unsure about going any further. Rory turned.
‘I was going to let myself in and make you a cup of tea, but you’d locked the door,’ he said in a conversational tone.
Zoe looked away. ‘Yes. I was trying to keep out undesirables.’
Rory gave a low chuckle which sent shivers of delight down to her toes. ‘I’m definitely that.’ He stepped off the porch and came to stand in front of her. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’ he asked softly.
