He said, ‘Well, obviously, you can stay here. It’s not as if there’s not enough room.’
‘Thank you.’
She didn’t sound thrilled by that prospect and Jamie tried not to let it make his insides curdle. What had he expected?
At that airport in Vegas the morning after the wedding night, they hadn’t been able to walk away from each other to their respective gates quick enough.
His conscience mocked that memory because it wasn’t entirely accurate. He had stopped and looked back at Lucy and, for a moment, he’d willed her to turn around, but she hadn’t.
He’d called himself an idiot and he’d always been glad she hadn’t caught that little moment. They may have spent the hottest forty-eight hours of his life together and got a quickie wedding, but it wasn’t as if they’d done it because they’d fallen in love. Lust maybe. Lust was a palpable tangible thing. Love had not been part of the equation.
And yet... He had tracked her down and was traveling to Dublin to see her, but then his father had died – and circumstances had changed overnight. But he hadn’t planned on bringing divorce papers with him. He’d wanted to seek her out, to talk, to see... He shook his head at himself mentally. No point even going there.
In light of current events, the Dublin trip was something he had no intention of her ever finding out about. He welcomed the fact that fate and circumstance had brought them together like this, because now he was under no illusions that she wanted anything from him, but a divorce.
He said, ‘I’ll get your bags and show you to a guest room.’
CHAPTER 7
Lucy
Iwas re-regretting my hot-headed decision to come here as I followed Jamie through labyrinthine corridors and up staircases with tartan carpets. My hair felt very wild and untamed, and I could just imagine the state of my make–up, what was left of it.
The fact that through marriage I actually had a stake in this place made me almost laugh. Especially when I more currently resembled a charity fashion case in thick woollen socks and a voluminous jumper than a cool sophisticated businesswoman or a Lady of the Manor.
My plan had been to come here and put the documents in a letter-box. I really hadn’t expected to see Jamie. If I had ever imagined meeting him again, I’d very much hoped to appear cool and in control and together and most importantlyunbotheredand very muchno longer attracted.
Never hinting for a second that I’d thought about him pretty much every day of the last three years and that he’d featured fairly regularly in my moments of intimate self-care.
I was also finding it hard to take my eyes off his very broad back, narrow hips and muscular buttocks. I felt like any veneer I’d had was being stripped back to reveal something much morebasic and elemental. Exactly how he’d made me feel when he’d introduced himself to me in Las Vegas.
Not that I needed much encouragement to recall how ripped he’d been and how fucking sexy in that kilt. He’d had some secret magical ability to make me aware of myself as a sexual being in a way no-one else ever had. But it had been more than that – I’d felt an instant tug of emotional recognition.
‘Here you go.’
He had stopped and I was almost about to face plant into the middle of his back which only reminded me of the disparity in our sizes.
He stood back and I tried not to close my eyes and breathe him in as I went into the room. I let out a breath. ‘Oh wow, this is amazing.’
It was a sizeable room but felt cosy with pale coloured tartan carpet. Thick curtains were held back from the windows that looked out over the slate grey lake and hills disappearing under the snow; little flashes of yellow gorse still peeking through. Dark wood furnishings gleamed in the weak sunlight.
There was a four-poster bed heaped high with spotless linens and a woollen throw. There was a stone mantelpiece and an en suite bathroom with a big roll-top old-fashioned tub and pristine white ceramics. Black and white tiles.
It was romantic. I hated that I noticed that because I was in the presence of the man who had tapped into that very deep and secret seam of romanticism that I’d tried to hide all my life behind my cynical shell.
He’d broken that shell and he’d exposed me and when he’d rejected me in the cold morning light, it had made me feel like I’d felt when I hadn’t been enough for my father. Tainted. Not worthy. So I’d held onto that feeling for three years because it had been the only thing stopping me from wondering if we could have ever had any kind of a relationship.
But now in this magical castle with him literally in my face, I could feel that shell starting to crack again.
He put my bags down on the bed and said, ‘I’ll light a fire to warm up the room.’ He left, and I let out a breath.
A freaking fire? And a four-poster bed?I welcomed the space. These revelations were not welcome.
I went into the bathroom and closed the door. My reflection in the mirror showed me a worse picture than I’d imagined. My hair was ridiculous. I groaned. And then I perked up when I saw luxury products on the shelves.
The fact that Jamie Ross was clearly from some serious amount of wealth was too big to think about right now, so I washed my face and tried to tame my long wavy hair into some kind of order.
When I went back out into the bedroom I opened my duffel bag and
