‘You two look after each other,’ I murmured to the sleeping goats as I stole through to the bedroom.
I sighed as I lay down and pulled Callum’s blankets close, sure that unconsciousness would wash over me within minutes. But sleep was hard to come by. I turned on one side, then the other. I counted sheep, then goats. I practised breathing deep and tried to clear my mind.
It refused to clear. Again and again, my thoughts centredon the man battling through snow right now to save goats. If I hadn’t been here to force him, Callum wouldn’t have stopped to clean and feed himself before he rushed back outside.
Duty was a powerful thing. I felt it, sometimes. The drive to conquer what puny magic I had in memory of Mum. The need to do well at university to justify Dad paying for my housing. The desire to look after Lucas when his dad upped and left. Duty affected my actions, but my life was generally free.
Callum’s wasn’t. He was driven every day by the need to protect the goats on this island. He held in all the sadnesses of his past because his sister didn’t want to talk about them. He just about looked after himself, but only so he would be in peak condition to run around and do all the things he felt compelled to do.
I shivered and tugged the blankets under my chin. For the rest of my time here—just over two months—I wanted to help Callum loosen up and have fun. To do things because he wanted to, not because he had to. The TV watching and hugs were a good start, but somehow I needed to wheedle out of Callum what his frivolous desires were. Or maybe help him think of some.
I must have dozed off to idle thoughts of teaching Callum to rollerblade because I was jostled from sleep by the bed dipping behind me. Freezing hands touched my back, and I snapped to full awareness.
‘Callum?’ I whispered.
The bedding rippled to the rhythm of his full-body shivers. ‘Aster, is this okay?’
Was it okay? Good question. I couldn’t deny that I’d allowed myself split-second fantasies of Callum joining me in bed, but I’d imagined him warm and pressing into me withinsatiable need, not apologetic and shivering. But there was no way I would reject him.
I wriggled until he was forced to wrap his arms around me, then pulled his frozen hands close to my chest. ‘Of course it’s okay.’
He relaxed, snuggling closer. His chest was flush with my back, his nose cold on the nape of my neck. His knees bent into the space behind mine.
Slowly, his breathing deepened. For a second time, I struggled to sleep.
My ulterior motive in coming to this remote Scottish island had been to cure myself of my need for romantic entanglements. I was supposed to return to London self-sufficient, needing closeness from no one.
As he slept, Callum rubbed his forehead into my hair. I threaded my fingers through his and closed my eyes.
My plan rested in tatters around my feet. One word from this guy, one sliver of interest, and I wouldn’t be able to resist.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CALLUM
Consciousness dawned slowly. The first sign of something odd. Most mornings, I jolted awake, and I tore out of panicked nightmares several times during the night.
There was none of this gentle rising from sleep.
I snuggled into the delicious warmth beside me. That was unusual too. Since relegating myself to the sofa, I spent several minutes each morning waiting for my healing to soothe away the aches caused by sleeping on something too narrow and cold.
Each morning, I rose before the sun. Now, pinkish light filtered through my closed eyelids. I felt well rested. I hadn’t experienced that in years.
I blinked, and the last steps towards full awareness were taken at a wild sprint.
I was in bed with Aster.
Not just in bed with him. I curled around him, my chest snug against his back, my legs threaded through his. My face hid in the gentle valley between his shoulder blades.
Thoughts galloping, I desperately fought to recall how I’d gotten here.
Flashes of bloodstained memories surfaced. Fighting through snow for hours. The seemingly unending screams of goats. Pulling the baby goat from his mother’s body.
And Aster. Feeding me. Caring for the kid. Waiting for me to come home and sink into his arms.
In my sleep-deprived state last night, I’d taken that final one far too literally. I remembered being so cold I could barely think. After I’d doused myself in a warm shower that took the edge off my shivering, Aster’s sleeping form in my bed had called to me. I wanted to be close to him, to reward myself for a day of the hardest labour by cocooning myself in his scent.
I vaguely remembered checking he didn’t mind. His heart hadn’t skipped a beat, but he could have been acting out of obligation. There were too many different ways he could have made peace with me climbing into bed with him.
