‘Don’t forget your seatbelt, lassie!’ boomed the cashier.
Zoe’s arm snaked up from the floor to pull it down, and Rory drove out to a chorus of claps, cheers and whistles. Zoe sat back in her seat, head in her hands. ‘That was mortifying,’ she mumbled.
Rory chuckled. ‘Not from my perspective. It was insanely hot, and now everyone is wondering what I did to deserve you.’ He smiled at her. ‘We’re nearly there. Can you direct me the rest of the way? The satnav lady sounds like she’s channelling my old drill sergeant and I’d rather listen to you.’
Five minutes later, they drove into an industrial estate to the end where a security guard opened a gate to a yard holding shipping containers of various sizes. Zoe handed him her paperwork and he unlocked her container as Rory backed up the van. They both got out and stood looking at her life in objects.
‘Is that a sun parasol?’ Rory asked. ‘You’re a little optimistic. Have you got a bikini to match?’
‘I downsized!’ Zoe wailed. ‘And now it looks like I’m a hoarder. We’re never going to get it in the van. We’ll have to come back,’ she said glumly.
Rory was undaunted. He was used to thinking spatially, working in three dimensions. Here was a problem he knew he could solve. After an hour, the storage unit was empty and the van was full. He’d performed the miracle of the loaves and the fishes in reverse.
‘I can’t believe you got it all in,’ said Zoe, shaking her head.
‘I knew the hours playing Tetris as a kid were worth it. Shall we get going?’
Anticipation crackled in the air between them. Zoe nodded, blushing. They got into the van in silence and drove off, the security guard shutting the gate behind them.
* * *
By the time they rounded the bend in the track to see the cabin once more, neither of them had uttered a word for nearly an hour. All Rory could think about was getting the bed made and her in it, preferably naked. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing, as she was out the van as soon as he cut the engine, dashing to the front door of the cabin to prop it open.
He jumped out and opened the back of the van, grabbing the first few boxes, stacking them high, then jogging to the cabin. As he hefted furniture and her other belongings, he thought back to the obstacle courses he did in the army. Pulling himself and others over high walls, crawling through mud under netting, swimming through pipes of black water, bursting to breathe, trying to better the time he had set before. He approached unpacking the van in the same way: focused intensity, efficiency of movement, controlled power and speed.
In twenty minutes everything that was staying in the cabin was in, and her tent was packed away. She asked to keep the chairs and the commode, so he kept the ones she had brought from London in the van to store in the workshop, along with the sun parasol and other things she had no room or use for. He then carried in the pieces of the bed and began unwrapping them.
As soon as the first one was on the floor in the far corner of the cabin, Zoe knelt down and ran her fingers over the intricate carvings. ‘It’s so beautiful. Are you sure I can have it?’
He held her gaze. ‘Yes. It’s yours.’
She blushed. ‘I’ve never owned anything so special in my whole life. The rest of my furniture is from IKEA.’
‘Would it make you feel better if I gave it an unpronounceable Scandinavian name?’
‘Definitely.’
He paused in the middle of unwrapping the long side pieces. ‘How about Sloplard? Or Murkburgerslappen?’ Zoe giggled. ‘Or Pantsplatnurfle? If they’re no good then give Basil some random consonants and see what he comes up with.’
‘Pantsplatnurfle is my favourite,’ said Zoe. ‘And if you ever decide you’ve had enough of wood then I’m sure the marketing department at IKEA would have you in a heartbeat.’
He grinned at her and snapped on his tool belt. ‘Can you lift the footboard for me and I’ll start putting it together?’
It was the first time he had ever assembled it. He had wanted it to be a surprise for Lucy on their wedding night. However, Lucy only liked surprises if she had planned them out in advance. She told him which ring she wanted him to propose with, and when, where and how the proposal should take place. When he’d let it slip he was making a bed for her, she didn’t stop badgering him until she’d seen it. At which point her face said it all. It was never going to go with the modern aesthetic she was after.
He’d made it in the basement of the family townhouse in Edinburgh, which he’d turned into a workshop after his father had died. Looking back, he realised how pivotal that moment had been. Caught up in the chaos, disorder and earthiness of the room, Lucy must have known there was always going to be a limit to how much she could mould him into the man she wanted him to be.
As he fitted the pieces together, with Zoe helping, he noticed how perfectly he had made it. Every joint was exact. It was the opposite of his relationship with Lucy, where each crack and gaping hole had been covered with designer wallpaper. He was glad Zoe was having it. It was meant for the cabin and it was meant for her.
‘This is going to be even stronger than the front door,’ she marvelled.
Her voice snapped him out of his daydreams. ‘I like to make things that can last generations.’
‘I’ll have to make sure I leave it to Basil in my will when I’m gone.’
‘I forgot how much you know about the rat life cycle. At least you haven’t got him a girlfriend.’
‘Oh, I’m still considering it. I can’t have him lonely when I’m out.’
He looked at her and she smiled back innocently.
She helped him heft the pieces of the bed together until all that was left was the headboard. He hesitated before unwrapping it, his fingers pausing on the buckle of the ratchet strap. Just get on with it. He tugged the straps apart and the blankets fell to the floor with a heavy thwump.
‘Can you take the other end and we’ll get it into place?’
There was no reply from Zoe. He held his breath.
She had seen it.
‘Is that me?’ she asked in a hushed tone, walking forward.
In the centre of the headboard, in the middle of the tree canopy, where before there had been a circle of unfinished wood, was now her face, her long curls waving out to join in with the leaves of the tree. The carving was of her head, neck and bare shoulders. She could have been wearing a low-cut dress, or she could have been a naked wood nymph. Sitting on her left shoulder, peeking out from behind a single curl of her glorious hair, was Basil.
A lump formed in her throat. It was like looking at her reflection staring out from a mirror of gold, a mirror that hid all your flaws and showed you the beauty often only others could see. She didn’t want to believe it was her and yet knew to her soul that it was. Did he see her like that? She was beautiful, ethereal. And yet there was also a glint of humour in her expression, a Mona Lisa smile.
His face was blurry through her tears. ‘Is that really me?’ He nodded. ‘It’s incredible. Did you use a photo?’ she asked, her voice a whisper.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t need one. My head’s so filled with you, there’s no room for anything else. You’re the only thing I see.’
His eyes were so bright, as if he was trying to offer up his soul to her. But there was something else too. Something desperate. She blinked, then the look had gone.
He lifted up the headboard. ‘Can you hold this up for me?’
She complied, watching him absorbed in his work, his strong hands gently tapping in wooden pins. In a painful moment of clarity she realised she had fallen into an endless abyss of love. A love she had never experienced before. No one else had ever touched her heart in this way. When they met in the courtyard, he had been a physical god. Now, that physical attraction had deepened into something else, something luminous and transcendent. She had seen his strength, his vulnerability, his humour, his creativity, his commitment to any task set before him. She knew the outer shell of his lo
oks was just a fantastic illusion. The true treasure lay within.
When the slats were fitted, Rory pulled the cover off the mattress and they heaved it into place. The bed was vast; an entire city state. Zoe shivered in anticipation and went to the boxes containing her bedding.
She brought out a soft wool mattress protector and Rory went to the other side of the bed by the wall to help her put it on. She felt a thrill watching him. The task of making a bed so mundane, and yet with him, and this bed, in this place, it was so magical her heart almost stopped. His movements were so confident and strong, his gaze so intent.
She put the folded bottom sheet in the middle of the mattress and he took it and shook it out.
‘Do you know how to make a bed properly?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘It was one of the first things I learned in the army. And now, you’re going to learn the vital skill that has kept our country safe for so long.’
She giggled. ‘Do I have to be able to bounce a bullet off it at the end?’
Rory raised an eyebrow and her heart rate spiked. ‘I could bounce a grenade.’
Desire shot like lightning through her body. The skin of her breasts contracted, her nipples tingling. Nervous anticipation fluttered in her tummy, and a pulse throbbed deep inside her. She grabbed the sheet. ‘Okay then, Rambo, show me how it’s done.’
They both took the sheet and lifted it into the air. It billowed like a parachute above them, then settled slowly onto the bed. Rory lined it up so the crease line lay exactly down the middle, then smoothed the surface out with his big hands.
‘Would you like me to get the tape measure?’ she asked snarkily.
He stared at her. She looked quickly away, immolated by the fire in his eyes.
‘Okay. We’re going to do the corners first. Take the long bit out like this, then we’re going to tuck this end underneath to make the corner neat and tight and tuck it under like so.’ His demonstration was masterful.
‘Oh! Hospital corners. I always do them.’ She deftly tucked in the corners of the sheet on her side, as he had done. He deflated.
‘Have I saved the free world yet?’ she asked.
He straightened. ‘Only if you can put a duvet cover on within thirty seconds.’
‘You’re on.’ She took out the duvet, placing it the right way around on the bed, then unfolded the cover, laying it on top. She moved her head from side to side and jogged on the spot. ‘Right. Count me down.’ She flexed her knees, and spread her fingers, ready for action.
Rory looked at his watch. ‘Five, four, three, two, one, go!’
Zoe’s hands flew forward. She ran them into the duvet cover, finding the far corners and grabbing them. She then tugged them towards her down the bed and seized the corners of one end of the duvet, lifting it and flipping the cover inside out. She then bounded along the side of the bed, pulling the duvet cover down one long end, before throwing herself onto the bed and rolling over to the other side next to Rory to pull the other side of the cover down.
‘Done!’
‘Hang on, it was inside out to begin with. That’s cheating! And you haven’t done the buttons up.’
Zoe grabbed the end and fiddled with the buttons.
‘Five, four, three, two, one. And we’re done,’ finished Rory.
Zoe threw the duvet down. ‘Dammit! I would have done it in time if you hadn’t distracted me.’
Rory laughed. ‘I thought the roll across the bed was particularly good. It reminded me of basic training. And the forethought to already have the cover inside out was masterful.’
Zoe crawled back over the bed and threw three pillows at him followed by a pile of pillowcases. ‘No creases now. I’m a princess, remember.’
She did up the buttons of the duvet, her fingers trembling. Her internal wiring was shorting out, sending surges of power through her, exploding in a fire of burning sparks. When the bed was made this was it. They were going to have sex. Oh god. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? Should I try and keep my clothes on?
When the pillows were finished Rory smoothed out the duvet and she reached into the bottom of one of the boxes to pull out an enormous blanket. Working in the charity shop for so many years, her mother often came across cashmere jumpers that were donated but had too many holes or were too threadbare in the elbows to sell. She’d made a donation, then taken them home, cutting squares from what was still good quality, and stitching them together into a glorious soft patchwork. It had taken her years to finish and she had backed it with brushed cotton and given it to Zoe when she moved into her flat.
Zoe folded it in half and they placed it at the end of the bed.
Rory eyed it. ‘Did you make it?’
‘My mum did mainly and I helped. If you see some wonky blanket stitch then it’s definitely mine.’
As he touched it, a thrill ran across her skin. ‘It’s so soft. It’s beautiful.’
‘Cashmere. It’s the classiest thing about me.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he replied softly.
They were standing opposite each other, the bed between them, their eyes locked. The heat from Rory’s gaze seared through her clothes, scorching her skin. The ache between her legs was now a throbbing pain. She wanted him so much it hurt.
He swallowed.
This was it.
19
Zoe pulled off her jumper and T-shirt in one swift movement, leaving her in a white bra, her nipples already hard and pushing through the lacy fabric.
A fire ran across Rory’s cheeks, his lips parted and his pupils flooded black. Before her nerve gave out, she scooted across the bed and kneeled in front of him, pressing her breasts into his chest. She scored her nails through his hair, running the tip of her tongue up the length of his neck to the soft skin where it met his ear. She tugged on the lobe with her teeth.
He closed his eyes and raised his head to the ceiling, his jaw tight. ‘Fuck!’ he hissed, as if trying to keep his inner animal on a tight leash.
‘Yes please,’ she whispered into his ear.
He dropped his face into her hair, and brought his hands up around her. His touch was light as he skimmed the soft skin of her back. She spread her knees, and circled her hips into the bulge where his cock was straining against his trousers. He pushed her away, breathing rapidly. ‘Zoe, you can’t do that.’
She kissed her way to his mouth, pushing into him. ‘Why not?’ she murmured against his lips.
He held her hips firm, his jaw clenched. ‘Because I want this to be good for you, and if you keep that up, you’re going to break me.’
Zoe smiled against his lips. ‘So how do you intend to stop me, Rory?’ She ran the tip of her tongue between the seam of his lips, and rubbed her breasts into his chest.
He lifted and plopped her backwards on the bed. She shrieked with laughter as he covered her, pinning both of her legs with one of his, locking her arms by her sides. He kissed up her neck, darting his tongue out to taste her skin, sending her from squirming to soft. He nuzzled below her ear and tugged the lobe, vibrating his tongue over the soft edge. She moaned, and he hummed with satisfaction.
‘This is how I’m going to stop you,’ he purred.
‘Well, if you insist.’
Rory chuckled. ‘Oh, I do.’
He cradled her face, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. She could feel his restraint, the repressed power, and she thrilled inside. He held her reverently, kissing her, running his nose into her hairline, breathing her in. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the sensations.
He kissed her freckles, running his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he gently brought his lips down to meet hers. He ran the tip of his tongue along her top lip, then gently sucked on the lower one. Zoe whimpered at his tenderness, the way he held her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring it, tasting her, wringing out sweetness till she was dizzy.
He slowly ran a single finger down her side, skimm
ing the curve of her breast, until he reached her bottom, squeezing it. He shifted, pulling her towards his thigh, and she wrapped her legs around it, pressing herself against the solid expanse of muscle.
She grabbed his hair, dragging him closer. His mouth was so hot. She wanted every part of him inside her. She fumbled to undo the buttons of his trousers, feeling his hard arousal. He took her hand away, up to his neck and ran his fingers down the side of her body again; long, tantalising strokes around the swell of her breast.
She whimpered, twisting towards him. He was maddeningly slow; teasing the edges of her breast, until finally he brushed across her nipple and she jerked, ripping her mouth from his and panting into his neck.
‘Oh god, Rory.’
He responded to the sound of his name by locking their lips together, devouring her as he rubbed her hard nipple through the fabric. She cried out against him, alternately trying to get away and get closer, her body flooding with pleasure. He reached behind and unfastened her bra, then knelt on the bed, tearing it off and tossing it to the side. His eyes raked hungrily over her.
‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he said huskily.
He trailed his fingers along her collarbone, then down her front, each hand mirroring the other, circling into the centre of her breasts, lightly pinching the nipples, then rubbing his calluses over the sensitive tips; sending intense and agonising pleasure spiralling out through her body.
She was lost to him, floating in a sea of sensory overload. Every part of her was fluid, ebbing and overflowing with sensation. He kept his hands on her breasts and dropped his head to her belly, licking her skin as her abdomen trembled under him, her breathing fitful. She felt his soft, golden curls, the hot wet heat of his tongue, the cooling air that followed it, and the sharp darts of pleasure shooting to her centre.
She grabbed handfuls of his hair, clinging to him, trying to anchor herself, to find a still point in the storm. He growled, sending vibrations through her abdomen. He licked his way to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, rasping the roughness of his tongue over the tip.
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 18