I patted him on the back. “Not bad, old man.”
“Old man?” he said, his head snapping up. Amusement was laced into the turn of his lips as he got up to dispose of the condom. “This was a master class experience. I don’t think old men are giving that.”
“Solid four stars,” I agreed.
“Four bloody stars, as if.” He laughed, coming back to bed. “You just had the night of your life.”
“You’re such a cliché.” I grinned, stroking a lock of his hair off his forehead.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The wealthy businessman witnessing this beautiful vow renewal and responding by having a romp with a much younger woman.”
“I couldn’t care less about your age,” he said, bussing me on the cheek. “I care that you were the fittest woman there, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”
“Sure, sure,” I said as he started kissing me again, his lips nibbling at my jaw. I opened my mouth to say something, but he sucked on my neck just right, and the words fell away
He pulled back, waggling his eyebrows. “Fancy round two?”
“I suppose you’ve gotta earn that extra star somehow,” I said, happy to make the most of this one-night stand. He barked a laugh, then let his hand drift between my thighs as we started all over.
4
LOCKE
“Iknow you didn’t quite fancy the last property,” said the estate agent—an overly cheery woman named Angela. “But this next one is gorgeous if I do say so myself.”
I’d be the judge of that. Especially since she’d used almost the same words to describe a farmstead for sale between Braeburn and Glenby that had turned out to be a total disaster.
I needed a new deal to improve the optics of Fraser Developments, and the idea of helping the small-town community I loved was a no-brainer. But Fraser Developments was known for buying up prime coastal land and flipping derelict properties into luxury resorts. When we’d arrived to find the farmstead’s fields flooded, I knew the only thing I’d be building out there was a swimming pool. I’d always had my father’s sharp eye for spotting good property, and I could see in a heartbeat that the farmstead wasnota good fit for my company.
Weston nudged me from the back seat of the vehicle, inclining his head in Angela’s direction.
“Aye,” I said, realizing I hadn’t responded. “Can’t wait to see it.” I’d come all the way back to Braeburn four weeks after Weston’s vow renewal at his suggestion, hoping to snatch up the perfect property. But the few we’d visited had left me feeling lukewarm at best. I needed this next project to be a winner if I was going to rebuild the company’s reputation after our recent disappointment.
“Oh, here we are now,” Angela said, pulling into a gravel lot.
She parked, and I got out, staring up at the old MacRae distillery, a picturesque combination of rusty red brick and ivy curling toward the sun.
Weston came up beside me. “What do you think?” he asked.
“Huh,” I said, a warm, tingly sensation filling my gut. It wasn’t quite the butterflies I wanted. Not yet. But it was more feeling than any of the other properties had given me.
“This way,” Angela called, holding up a key. “I’ll give you a quick tour.”
I hurried after her, walking through the front door of the building. The space was filled with dust—a lot of it. Sunlight streamed in through shattered windowpanes. Old furniture littered corners. And there were crumbling bits of plaster all over the floor. But as I turned in a small circle, inhaling the old sweetness of the place, I felt certain we had a winner.
Nowthiswas the potential I was talking about.
“It needs some work,” Angela admitted before adding quickly, “but out back the view is lovely, and you get all that land.” She waved us on.
Weston and I followed her into the garden. The grass was overgrown, but beyond it was a worn path. I could hear the rush of the creek.
“I won’t take you all the way,” Angela said, stopping at a fork in the path, “because it’s quite a hike, but if you just go down there to that lookout point, you can see the far side of the waterfall.”
Waterfall? Right, yes. I navigated my way down to the lookout where someone had built a wooden railing. I leaned against it, staring out at the scenery, remembering how Isla had gushed about how beautiful this place was. She’d been absolutely right. I thought that picture in the lobby of the Deerhound had embellished the sight, but no. It really was that gorgeous.
I inhaled deeply. With the rush of the water and the twittering of the birds, a person could really let go here. It could be the perfect retreat—a place to relax, to rest and heal, surrounded by beautiful nature—while enjoying top-notch luxury accommodations, of course.
