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Aye. And consider this a formal request for the first picture. Your five minutes start now.
Whoa, slow down! I need to know for sure if you’re joking or not. Sometimes I misunderstand humour when it’s written down. The last thing I want to do is send you a photo of my cock, only for you to be like, “WTF did you send that? I was only pulling your leg!”
Not pulling your leg. Any time, day or night, I might message you, and when I do, you have five minutes. No more. And as a reminder, the timer for that first picture is already counting down . . .
But I could be in the restaurant or talking to a customer! I can’t agree to this.
Jesus, you’re taking the fun out of it. Okay, I promise not to make a request when the restaurant is open. And at other times, if you have a VERY good reason not to send a pic, I MAY—at my discretion—grant an extension. But there will be no leniency for this first photo. So what are you waiting for? *camera emoji* *eggplant emoji*
Bloody hell, this is nuts. But okay, gimme a moment . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
IONA
As the sun sinks towards the horizon, painting the landscape in warm shades of orange and pink, I ascend the stone steps that lead to the Glen Garve Resort’s grand main entrance. Above me, the building’s turreted silhouette stands tall against the twilight sky.
The concierge—Gregor, a local man—greets me with a friendly smile. He’s dressed in a smart jacket and tartan trousers. “Good evening, Iona. Lewis is waiting for you inside.” He holds open the door for me.
When I come here to use the gym, I go in via the leisure centre entrance, and there’s no fanfare there. I could get used to this sort of treatment.
“Thank you, Gregor.”
Inside, polished hardwood floors gleam under the light of crystal chandeliers. Elegant floral arrangements in large vases add a burst of colour, while modern art pieces hang alongside classic landscapes, creating an intriguing contrast.
It’s been years since I was in this part of the building, and I’d forgotten how breathtaking it is. The small family-run Bannock Hotel has a special place in my heart, but the Glen Garve Resort operates on a different scale entirely and typically caters to a wealthier clientele. Tourists with money to spend come here for its luxurious facilities, respected golf course, and fine dining.
For most locals, a meal at the resort’s restaurant is for special occasions only—it’s not cheap. As a result, Lewis and I should be able to have a private conversation without Bannock residents constantly walking over to tell us how pleased they are to see us together. I don’t even have to worry about the cost because tonight Lewis is paying.
I spot him over in the seating area, in a leather armchair beside a roaring fire. He rises and grins. The smattering of stubble he’s sported since I returned to Bannock is gone. He’s clean-shaven once more, as he always used to be. His chestnut hair is immaculately styled—short on the sides with just the right amount of tousle on top, as if he casually raked his fingers through it with just a touch of wax.
My gaze trails down to the charcoal tweed jacket that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, showcasing the strength beneath. His crisp white dress shirt is tucked into grey wool trousers that accentuate his long legs, while brown brogues complement the leather belt around his waist. Damn, he looks good.
It’s perhaps a little silly that we came here separately, given we live opposite each other. Maw certainly made a few comments about it as she dropped me off, despite her delight that Lewis and I are finally going on a date. But, hey, a girl likes to make an entrance every once in a while. As Lewis sweeps his eyes over me from head to toe, taking in every detail, I’m confident I made the right call.
My mid-length wrap dress, crafted from stunning navy blue chiffon, drapes elegantly around my curvy frame. The fabric is adorned with shimmering stars and planets, creating a galaxy effect that sparkles with every movement. Sheer butterfly sleeves add an almost ethereal touch. I’ve teamed the dress with bright-green low-heeled ankle boots, which don’t match the navy at all, but I love the bold clash.
Lewis takes in everything while striding over to greet me, but I notice he pays special attention to my cleavage. In my opinion it strikes the perfect balance—tempting yet tasteful.
“Iona. Wow. You look incredible.” A mischievous sparkle dances in his dark-brown eyes. “And this isn’t nearly as modest as you threatened.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“Definitely not.” He hugs me in greeting, treating me to a whiff of his enticing, spicy aftershave.
Over the last six years, there have been occasions I’ve had to give Lewis a quick, reluctant embrace. Coming home for Christmas, say, I’d hug Ally, Jamie, and Cat then have no choice but to do the same for Lewis, so no one noticed the omission and thought it odd. This is different, though. I don’t find it uncomfortable at all. In fact, I appreciate the solid wall of his chest pressing gently against mine.
As he holds me, he murmurs into my ear, “Given I’ve now sent you several intimate photos, I’m glad you decided to rethink your wardrobe.”
His scent, his hushed tone, the heat radiating from his body . . . this is dangerous territory. I can’t let myself forget that he’s on trial here. He needs to prove himself to me.
And yet, after withdrawing from him, I can’t resist engaging in a little teasing banter. “You’ve kept to the five-minute deadline so far. Well done.”
His mouth curls into a lopsided smile that sends shivers down my spine. “I’m good at meeting deadlines,” he replies smoothly, then he inclines his head towards the restaurant entrance. “Shall we?”
Through the open doorway, the soft hum of conversation mingles with the soothing melodies of a piano. The maître d’ greets us then guides us past crisp white tablecloths, gleaming cutlery, and the gentle flicker of candle flames to the table that Lewis has booked. We’re beside a tall window that offers a panoramic view of the glen. The hills are awash with a warm, ethereal glow that creates an almost magical atmosphere.
Lewis slips his jacket over the back of his chair, his muscles stretching the fabric of his shirt nicely. He dips into his jacket pocket and pulls out a flat, rectangular jewellery box, which he lays on the table as we take our seats.
