As if he can sense my mood, James leans down, taking a quick nip of my ear. I squirm. And, wow, does he know how to work my body. Shots are fired somewhere inside of me, exploding like fireworks in my hands and feet, making my fingers and toes tingle. I’m instantly worked up thinking about when we’ll be alone together again.
Dear lord, am I ever going to recover from this trip?
This can never work, Fliss.
When James asks Bernie what he happens to be doing all the way out in the Highlands, he talks about his job at a furniture brand. He says he collects these fancy pieces from some place up by the coast. Apparently rich people in London pay a fortune for it. I imagine that’s exactly the sort of thing Michael would do. Buy a coffee table with a story about being handmade by a small Scottish family, just so he can make himself seem more interesting. He’d never be seen dead in Ikea. At least somebody is profiting from it, I suppose.
As we near a layby, Bernie indicates and pulls over, coming to a stop. He nods at James’ window. There’s nothing here. Not even a signpost. It’s just more green hills and thorny, angry bushes. The sky is once again an ominous grey.
“You’ll want to head in that direction about half a mile then you’ll join a proper trail. Keep going till you find the village. The station is there – I’ve forgotten the name.”
“You sure?” James asks, looking dubiously out the window.
“Aye. I walked the trail some years ago. You’ll be alright.”
I share an exasperated glance with James. Without the need for words, he quietly opens his door and climbs down, turning back to gesture for the bags. I hand one down at a time before I try to climb down myself. Before I know what’s happening, James has a hand on my waist to support me. Our faces are close, his nose almost grazing mine. My eyes drop to his lips. Memories of last night spring to mind. I clear my throat when he releases me.
We say goodbye to Bernie, who has disappeared out of sight before we even have our bags on our backs. The path to get out of the layby is steep and my body sags at the thought of it.
“Come on, Felicity,” James says, taking my hand, his fingers warm and strong. He practically hauls me up the first part before I suddenly find my steam again and stride ahead.
*
After about fifteen minutes, a sprawling valley opens before us, swamped in bracken and green and purple flowered bushes, with a thin, icy-blue lake at the bottom. We take a moment to check the map again now we have a better assessment of our location. We both agree on a direction and head that way, stepping straight into a fresh gentle breeze that tangles in our hair.
“Thanks for lending me this, by the way,” I say, starting to unzip his sweatshirt.
“Ah, keep it if you’re comfortable. I’m not cold.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile.He’d let me wear his clothes. He’d say he liked it when I lounged around in his boxer shorts and baggy t-shirts.
“About last night,” he says, purposefully not looking at me this time.
I manage to look away too just as a prickling sensation spreads through my cheeks and neck.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I think we should.”
I tighten my jaw, ball my hands into fists. Why am I preparing to fight? Or is this me preparing to protect myself? I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should never have gone there. It’s up there with some of the dumbest shit I’ve ever done. Granted, there hasn’t been a whole lot. But this really does trump it.
Wanton wench– falling for a sexy, shaggy-haired Austen hero. Ugh.
“I really enjoyed it,” James says.
“Oh.”
“And I know we’re colleagues and don’t usually get along but… and I cannot believe I’m saying this… I think Michael’s idea has actually worked. Turns out you’re not as much of a dickhead as I thought you were.”
“I think his idea was to make us get along. Not for you to have an epiphany.”
He laughs, gives me a warm smile. “All I’m saying is… I wouldn’t be opposed to catching up with you outside of work sometime. That’s if you’re open to it? I think you’re funny, Felicity.”
“As friends?” I ask instinctively, immediately kicking myself for asking such a dumb question.What else, Fliss? Are you expecting a marriage proposal?
James steps in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders to stop me. I suck in a breath. Here it is. This is where he says,yes, as friends. And I’m going to be ok with that. I’m going to make myself be ok with that because he’s not boyfriend material anyway. He’s slept with a client for crying out loud. He drops his hands, placing them on his hips, doing that bloody Austen stance again. I hate how much I dig it.
“If that’s what you want?” he asks, his forehead scrunching into a row of deep wrinkles.
