‘You walk? You don’t have a car or a motorbike?’
‘I have a bicycle, but the chain’s rusty and the tyres are flat.’
‘I can get someone to fix that, if you want.’
‘Idon’twant.’ Her tone was sharp. She neither wanted nor appreciated his charity. Besides, she hated that bloody bike. The damned thing might get her from A to B faster than her feet, but the cost to her behind on the knife-edge saddle was unacceptable. The last time she’d used it to go to Portree, she hadn’t been able to sit down for a week. If she could have afforded to buy and run a car, she would, but as she couldn’t, she walked. Or caught the bus.
As she buckled her seatbelt, she was aware of Rocco sneaking a look at her out of the corner of her eye.
‘I don’t care for bikes,’ she explained, in a less acerbic tone. He was only trying to help, she reasoned. Or he was flashing his cash around. Either way, he owned the estate, and she was renting a studio from said estate, so was there really any point in antagonising him, even if he wouldn’t be her landlord for long?
As he gingerly drove down the track (with more wincing and several muttered oaths) Giselle took the opportunity to examine him properly while his concentration was on his driving.
Same aquiline nose, same strong jaw, shorter hair but with a hint of the curl she remembered. Smoky grey eyes, long lashes, nicely shaped lips and a light tan that she knew was his natural skin tone.Allover.
A blush whooshed into her cheeks, and she hastily looked away.
‘Well?’ he asked, his eyes straight ahead. ‘What’s the verdict?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Have I changed much?’
For a second, she feared he’d been asking whether she liked what she was seeing. For the record, she did. Jinny was right, hewasscrummy. As scrummy as he’d been all those years ago. But whereas at twenty-one he’d still had an air of youth about him, a decade later he was all man. Fit, sexy man.
Giselle was disconcerted to find she was as attracted to him now as she’d been back then. She’d have to keep a lid on that, for several reasons, all of them as valid as each other, but the main one was that he owned the castle and her future rested on that. Besides, even if that hadn’t been the case and he was in Duncoorie for a holiday, he lived in London and she lived here. He liked the finer things in life, and she didn’t care for them – he’d worn leather shoes to go rock pooling, for goodness’ sake! In every aspect, they were total opposites, including looks. If anyone saw them together, they’d think he was yin and she was yang. Black and white, dark and light, Italian and Scandi blonde—
He cut into her thoughts. ‘I take it from your silence that I have changed and not for the better.’
‘You’re putting words in my mouth.’
‘Only because you don’t seem to have any of your own,’ he countered.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’
‘The Codfather. We did say fish and chips from the chip shop, didn’t we?’
‘Ididn’t –youdid.’
‘If I recall, it wasyouwho said you preferred it to dining at the castle.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk. She wanted to wipe it off his face, and she would have done if she’d been able to think of a suitable retort. Shehadsaid that, and it was true, she did prefer it.
‘Did you visit Paris?’ he asked.
The change of subject took her by surprise. ‘No, but maybe one day.’
‘You liked history, I seem to recall.’
‘You seem to recall a lot,’ she retorted.
‘That’s because I haven’t forgottenanything.’ His emphasis on the last word and what that might entail sucked the air from her lungs, especially when he followed it up with a sweeping glance that travelled down the length of her body and back up again until his gaze met hers.
‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ she snapped.
He smirked again, but did as she asked, and she was relieved beyond measure when the car glided to a halt outside the chip shop. She was out of her seat and on the pavement before he could unclick his seat belt.
