I expected him to leave. But feeling his continued presence, I opened my eyes. Theo’s expression bordered on irritation as he looked down at me. Suddenly, he shrugged as if we’d just had a conversation and he rounded the bed. He slid in under the duvet and pulled me back against his chest like he’d done all those weeks ago when I’d had fever chills.
“I’ll probably want you in the morning,” he murmured in my ear as if by way of explanation.
Too tired to analyze whether that was the whole truth, I nodded. And then nodded off.
Fourteen
THEO
“There’s a rumor going around that you’re a missing person,” North told me wryly.
I huffed, ear pressed to my phone against the winter breeze, as I watched Sarah walk along the beach. We were entirely alone this morning, and she was enjoying her sedate stroll near the shore. Even bundled up in a winter coat, scarf, hat, and gloves, my hunger for her stirred in the warm tightening of my balls. I’d expected my attraction to fade or to at least calm down over the last two weeks. I mean, I’d had Sarah every which way on almost every surface of the cottage. Yet, my need for her had only increased. It was bloody inexplicable.
It was utter madness, is what it was.
I didn’t … I didn’t quite feel in control of it, which was disconcerting. Irritating. But I also didn’t want to analyze it. I knew eventually I’d have to put a stop to it. However, I was the most selfish bastard I’d ever met, so that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. Sarah hadn’t asked for a commitment. She seemed as reluctant as I to talk about what this thing between us was. So I’d decided to just give and take what I could from the situation.
“Theo?”
I shook my head, looking away from the woman who had turned me into the equivalent of an amorous, sex-obsessed teen. Bloody hell. “I … I, uh, well, I’m not missing, as you can clearly hear.”
“Where are you, then?”
“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. There are some people I don’t want knowing where I am right now, including my brother. So you can’t even tell your fiancée.”
“My fiancée is in the Highlands while I’m in Glasgow,” he muttered almost petulantly. “I can’t wait for filming on the show to end.”
“I thought you were enjoying it?” The filming was set to wrap near Christmas.
“I am. But I miss Aria.”
I rolled my eyes. “You see her nearly every weekend.”
“It’s not the same.”
My gaze darted back to Sarah as I grunted.
“Is that it? No commentary on how pathetic and lovelorn I am?”
“You just did it for me.”
“Bawbag,” he said without rancor. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I won’t tell anyone. Where the hell are you?”
Sarah slowed to a stop and tilted her face up to the sky. I couldn’t see her expression, but I imagined her eyes were closed as she enjoyed the tranquility of the beach. My heart beat a little faster as I told North about Sarah being the author of the S. M. Brodie books. How I’d followed her to Gairloch and somehow ended up in her bed while we wrote together.
There was silence on his end of the phone.
Then, “Sarah McCulloch? As in Ardnoch’s shy wee housekeeper?”
I scowled. “No, Sarah McCulloch as in Ardnoch’s resident master storyteller and—” I’d been on the verge of making some droll, overshare comment about how exquisite she was in bed, but I stopped. Not because I hadn’t before. I’d made all sorts of outlandish comments about my one-night stands to North and other friends. Somehow, however, it didn’t sit right to speak about Sarah like that.
She wasn’t some casual stranger I’d enjoyed a good night in the sack with.
I didn’t know what she was, but she wasn’t that.
“And?”
I cleared my throat, willing my heart rate to slow. “And … a grown woman. She’s thirty-one, not some innocent child. And you can’t tell anyone about her pen name. That’s up to her when she wants that information made public.”
