When I finally pull out and collapse beside her, she curls into my side like she belongs there. No awkwardness this time, no panic about boundaries or mistakes. Just contentment, warm and golden in my chest.
“Stay a bit longer?” she murmurs against my shoulder.
I should go. Pretend I’ve still got some boundaries. Remember my bed is in the main house with my son and my dog.
Instead, I tighten my arms around her. “Aye. A bit longer.”
We lie there in comfortable silence, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest, my hand stroking her hair. For once, my head is quiet. I’m just here. Present.
Eventually, though, the pull of sleep tugs at me, and I know I need to go back to the house before I fall asleep in her bed.
“I should head back,” I murmur reluctantly.
She nods, understanding, and I force myself to sit up, to pull on my clothes. When I’m dressed, I lean over her one more time, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
“Goodnight, Blair.”
“Night, captain.”
I step outside, the night air cool against my skin, but her warmth lingers with me back to my own bed and follows me into sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BLAIR
I wake to the soft sound of waves against pebbles and a delicious ache between my thighs that brings last night flooding back in vivid detail. A smile tugs at my lips before I’m even fully conscious.
Lachlan. His hands exploring every inch of my body. The way he’d looked at me—reverent, hungry, completely undone. The feel of him finally inside me, moving with careful control until it broke into something raw and desperate.
Jesus. The man knew what he was doing.
I stretch languidly in the narrow bed, savouring the pleasant soreness, the echo of pleasure still warming me. Last night wasn’t frantic like the first time. He’d held on, slowed down, made it last. Which meant, hallelujah, I actually got the full experience this time. And afterward... the way he just held me, like he couldn’t bear to let go.
Rolling over, I squint at my phone. Nearly nine. I pad to the kitchenette in just my underwear and vest, putting the kettle on for coffee.
As I wait for it to boil, reality creeps back in around the edges of the afterglow still clinging to me.
What the hell am I doing?
The thought hits me as I’m spooning instant coffee into a mug. I came to Scotland to escape complications, to live simply for a few months while I figured out my next move. Instead, I’ve somehow gotten myself tangled up with a widower and his six-year-old son.
This isn’t some breezy summer fling with a charming local. He lost his wife. His son lost his mom. This is real-life heartbreak territory—with a ticking clock because eventually I’ll have to leave.
The kettle clicks off, and I pour the boiling water, watching the coffee crystals swirl and dissolve. I take a tentative sip, then another.
Ugh. I never drink instant at home. Thought I might get used to it after a few days here, but nope. It’s just not good. Better than nothing, though, and the caffeine does bite through the fog.
Do I regret last night? God, no. How could I regret sex that good? But standing here alone in the morning light, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m in way over my head.
My phone buzzes.
Ellie
Still on for our Sunday adventure? x
Blair
Absolutely. Need it more than you know x
