‘Thank you,’ he said as he took a sip of the mocha.
‘It’s just coffee,’ she replied.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
Silence steeped between them, awkwardly filled by the rustling of her paper bag as she broke off a piece of her pastry. Duncan, on the other hand, wasn’t even looking at his food. He was looking solely at her.
‘Bex, about what happened last night?—’
‘It’s hardly the first time I’ve seen you drunk, Duncan.’
‘I know. I didn’t mean that though.’ He bit down on his lower lip. ‘About that photo. Those girls…’
Bex looked down at her lap. She hadn’t been sure how much of the night Duncan would remember, and this was one part she’d hoped he’d forget. Purely so they wouldn’t have to have this conversation.
‘Duncan, you don’t have to?—’
‘Aye, I do,’ he interrupted. ‘You know what I said before. At Burns Night. I meant it. I want to be with you. That’s all I want. And I know it will nae be easy, figuring out how we’re going to make this work. But we will. I promise.’
‘Dun—’ she started, but he cut her off again.
‘And I know what you’re thinking about the laird thing too. Worried it’ll change things. Change how I feel, or maybe how you think I should feel. Or maybe what folk’ll think, but I dinnae care. I dinnae care what anyone thinks ’cept you.’
Bex didn’t say anything, but the twitch of her lips gave her away. He let out a light chuckle.
‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he said softly, brushing his thumb over her hand. ‘And I love you. Laird or no laird, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, s’ long as that’s what you want.’
‘I do,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘I think… I think I do. No, I know I do. I love you. I love you too.’
They were the only words she could get out. Her mind wasn’t moving properly, but her body was. Slowly, she leaned towards him, her lips, her hands, every part of her drawn to him.
Her fingertips reached him first, finding the hair at the base of his neck. As her fingers threaded through it, Duncan closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh, as though his body had been just as desperate for her touch as hers had been for his.
He shifted slightly, but then winced.
‘Your jaw?’ she questioned. ‘I can get some more ice from downstairs.’ She went to stand, but before she could, Duncan grabbed her hand.
‘Not now,’ he said softly. ‘Please. Not now.’
She hesitated, then nodded. Her hands returned to the back of his neck, and she leaned closer again.
Since she’d returned to Scotland, this was what she’d longed for; to kiss him, to feel him, to be close to him again. And now it was finally going to happen. Her lips brushed tentatively against his, nervous about hurting him. Yet, seemingly unconcerned by the issue, Duncan placed her hand at the base of his spine, as if to pull her in close. Only before he could, a sharp ringing made her jump.
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Duncan groaned. ‘Whoever it is, tell them to sod off.’
Bex glanced at her phone.
‘It’s not me, it’s you,’ she said, her throat tightening as she realised it was probably Lorna, or someone else, telling him about the post online. ‘Just hang up. Call them later.’
Given how desperate he had been for the reconciliation, Bex expected Duncan to do as she’d asked, but instead, he was staring at his screen.
‘Who is it?’ Bex asked.
‘Gordon.’
Her eyes narrowed. Nervousness wasn’t an emotion she associated with Duncan, and yet she could feel the shift. The tension radiated from him. So much so that the phone had stopped ringing by the time she found her voice.
‘You think he wanted to get a DNA sample?’ she said quietly.
