Rocco snorted. It was unlikely. She was just concerned he was taking too long to wrap up his affairs on Skye.
It was only when he jerked awake did Rocco realise he must have drifted off to sleep after all. Chilled and stiff, he got to his feet and stared out of the window.
It was light outside, but only just, the sun not yet having risen over the mountain behind the castle. Mist curled and coiled over the loch, the water unusually calm. A bird called, the sound haunting and melancholy.
God, this place was beautiful.
And so wasshe.
Giselle was picking her way across the sand, barefoot, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and her white dress as ephemeral as the mist itself. Sprite, fairy, enchantress… She was as magical and as mystical as the landscape, and his heart ached at the sight of her. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. Giselle was a contradiction: delicate yet strong, timid yet fierce.
And in that moment, he realised he was in love with her.
Mesmerised, he left the boathouse, the chill air damp on his skin, the sand cold beneath his bare feet, and saw her at the end of the jetty. She had her back to him and was facing out to sea.
When he drew nearer, he knew she was aware of his presence by the tension in her slender shoulders, and he came to an uncertain halt, longing to take her in his arms, but holding back because something wasn’t right.
‘Giselle? I’m, um, leaving tomorrow. I have to go home.’
‘You should have told me you have a girlfriend.’ Her voice was wooden.
He wished he could see her face. ‘What?’
‘You’re up early.’
The abrupt change of subject confused him. ‘I fell asleep in the chair,’ he replied absently, then said, ‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’ Not true: he’d kind of hoped Giselle was his girlfriend.
‘You fell asleep inthe chair?’ She spun on her heel to face him.
‘Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, so I did some work and— What’s this about, Giselle?’ He searched her face, looking for clues.
‘Claire.’
Rocco blinked. For a second he thought she’d changed the subject again. Then everything slotted into place. ‘You thinkClaireis my girlfriend?’
‘Isn’t she?’
‘No!’
‘She spent the night in your room,’ Giselle said, but her voice lacked conviction.
‘She spent the night in herownroom.Beverlywas in mine. I stayed at the boathouse.’
Her eyes widened, registering his pyjama-and-T-shirt state, along with his bare feet. ‘But… she was all over you.’
Rocco thought back to the kiss Claire had planted on his face in the lounge yesterday and her suggestion that she share his room, and he could see how it might look. ‘That’s just her way. She’s not my girlfriend.’ He was disappointed that Giselle thought he was capable of being so underhand and deceitful, and his voice hardened. ‘I don’t sleep with one woman while dating another.’
Giselle hung her head, her hair falling around her face. Rocco stepped closer to brush a strand away.
‘You know me better than that,’ he said.
Looking up from under her lashes, she whispered, ‘Do I?’
Emboldened, he took her in his arms. ‘Yes.’
Then he kissed her, a long, deep satisfying kiss, and when it eventually ended, the sun had crested the mountain and the mist had evaporated. It was going to be a glorious morning.
‘I went to the bothy last night; you weren’t replying to my texts or answering your phone, and I wanted to see you, to hold you.’ He was holding her now, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
