“Indeed. You have a good eye, Ms. Sullivan.”
“Andrea’s a hospitality consultant,” James said. “She’s an expert in British architecture.”
“Hardly an expert.” Andrea threw him a glance, but the fact she didn’t color at the compliment made him think she was just being humble.
“Let me get your keys, and Donovan can show you to your rooms.” Mr. Black gave them what almost looked like a bow, then disappeared behind the reception desk half-hidden by columns in the corner.
Andrea looked at James with raised eyebrows. “Your colleague?”
“I thought you’d be more comfortable with that introduction.” And he couldn’t properly explain their relationship to someone else when he couldn’t define it himself. “I made your reservation under your name.”
“Thank you. That was thoughtful.”
Mr. Black returned with their keys, mechanical ones with old-fashioned brass key tags that bore the hotel’s thistle logo. “I’ve put you in room eleven, and Mr. MacDonald, you are down the hall in fourteen.”
They took their keys, said their farewells to the hotel manager, and followed the young bellhop, Donovan, up the sweeping staircase to the first floor. As grand as the structure appeared, James had always enjoyed the comfortable atmosphere of the hotel—much more like staying with friends at a country house than checking into a sterile, anonymous hotel with well-trained but impersonal staff. It was the kind of feeling he imagined for the hotel on Skye, though their place was not nearly so luxurious.
“Your mother’s family has a Georgian estate in England, if I’m not mistaken,” Andrea said.
“In Yorkshire, yes.” He shouldn’t be surprised she knew that, given her architectural background. “Designed by Robert Adam as well.”
“No wonder you like this hotel. It must remind you of it.”
“Actually I spent very little time there. My mother favored London, and of course, I preferred Scotland.”
“Your room, Ms. Sullivan.” Donovan stopped before a polished wooden door with a brass number placard and took the key from Andrea’s hand. James waited as the young man placed her suitcase inside on the folding rack and orientated her to the room’s features. She tipped him discreetly and paused in the doorway.
“We have dinner reservations downstairs at half past six,” James said. “Shall I come by for you a few minutes before?”
“I’ll be ready.”
James followed Donovan a few steps down the hall to a room on the opposite side. He dismissed the bellhop before he could go through the same routine with him. The room was less opulently decorated than the hotel’s common areas, but it was still expansive and tasteful. James spent a few minutes hanging the evening’s clothing in the wardrobe and then sank into an overstuffed wingback.
It was his last night with Andrea. The thought put a queasy feeling in his stomach. Even the prospect of visiting her in New York didn’t ease the ache of knowing he’d have to put her on a plane tomorrow and watch her fly out of his life.
What was to say she wouldn’t return home to New York, fall back into her routine, and realize this had all been a diversion, merely a pleasant interruption from the stresses and demands of a high-powered career? Meanwhile James would be left behind in Scotland, suffering another heartbreak he should have been smart enough to avoid.
No, he couldn’t accept that. Somehow he had to do something, and he had to do it tonight, before she walked away from him forever.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Andrea took her time getting ready for dinner, applying her makeup with a practiced hand and blowing her hair out straight and sleek, glad to have a blow-dryer again at her disposal. Then she pulled on her remaining pair of slim-fitting jeans and thrust her feet into stiletto peep-toes while she wavered on whether to wear the blouse hanging on the wardrobe’s handle. She always packed one dressy item in case she got pressed into an evening event outside of office hours, but the ombré sequined design seemed better suited to London than Inverness.
She shimmied into it and turned a critical eye on herself in the mirror. It wasn’t revealing exactly. In fact, the blouse only showed off her toned arms and her collarbone, but it flowed over her curves like a metallic waterfall. Maybe she should put something over it so it didn’t seem so flashy. She slipped on her tailored black suit jacket and then shrugged it back off.
This was idiotic. She never agonized this much over her appearance. Still, if this was to be her last night with James, she wanted to be sure he would remember how she looked. With an irritated shake of her head, she turned from the mirror and put the jacket back on.
A knock came at the door at twenty past six. Andrea opened it to find James standing in the hallway, dressed casually in dark jeans and an untucked button-down shirt. He looked her up and down, smiling, and for a moment she lost the power of speech. Somehow she always seemed to forget the effect that expression had on her.
She glanced down at herself. “Too much? Or too little?”
“You look . . .” He broke off and shook his head.
“I’ll take speechless as a compliment, then.”
“Oh, it is.” He moved in to kiss her cheek, pausing to inhale her perfume. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t think you’d thank me for mussing your makeup this early in the evening.”
She swayed toward him and had to place a hand on his chest to steady herself. “Isn’t our table waiting?”
He pulled back and grinned. “It is. Shall we go?”
She took his offered arm and grabbed her purse from the table by the door before letting it fall shut behind her. Wearing heels again, she was almost as tall as he was, and the height gave her confidence even though the shoes made her rubbery legs feel even more unsteady.
They were woefully underdressed for the hotel’s dining room—Scots tended to be more formal about their dress for dinner than Americans—but James didn’t seem concerned when the maître d’ showed them to their table. She didn’t object when he ordered wine for them, and she took his suggestion on her meal.
“You eat here often?”
“When I stay in Inverness. The food is excellent.”
“High praise coming from you. Tell me, what was the business that interfered with our morning run?”
“If I recall, you were the one who slept in. I came by at six, but the lights were still off. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
“I can’t remember the last time I slept in,” she admitted. “I must have needed it.”
“You’ve more than earned it. But in answer to your question, I was at the bank, making arrangements for Kyle and his family.”
Andrea’s eyebrows lifted. One more task she thought he’d delegate, but in which he’d taken a personal interest instead. She certainly hadn’t expected him to pay for the move from his personal accounts. “How is he?”
“He’s been moved out of ICU. And they’ve arrested the shooter.”
“That’s great news! Isn’t it?”
“Kyle’s refusing to talk. There were witnesses, but it doesn’t seem likely they’ll testify either. They’ll probably have to let the suspect go.”
Andrea reached for his hand across the table and gripped it hard.
“What happens now?”
“I talked to a friend of mine who owns a restaurant in Essex. Kyle has all the basics down, so Rob’s willing to take him on as a kitchen assistant.”
“What about Kyle’s family?”
“His mum has had enough. She just wants her children out of London. We’ll help them get moved to Chelmsford. The mother’s a hardworking woman. The family’s just hit a spot of trouble.”
Andrea studied him for a long moment. “They’re lucky to have you.”
James brushed off the compliment with a shrug. “It’s not like I can’t spare the money. What good is it if I can’t help someone who really needs it?”
“I’m not talking about the money,” she said. “I’m talking about your time, your eff
ort. The fact you really care about the boy.”
“You make time for what’s important,” he said, holding her gaze. “People come first.”
They were no longer talking about Kyle and his family. She moistened her lips and looked away. His sudden intensity hummed along her nerves and made her heart do a double step. There was none of his usual playfulness in evidence tonight. Part of her waited breathlessly to hear what he might say, but the other part was afraid he would make a declaration she couldn’t return.
No matter what feelings he elicited in her, this week had been a diversion, an aberration. Nothing more. She would be foolish to make it into something it wasn’t.
Fortunately he kept the conversation light throughout the meal, which was indeed very good, traditional yet elegant. It couldn’t beat James’s cooking, but she was admittedly biased. Half her enjoyment of his food was in watching him work.
At the end of the meal, James signed the check to his room and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight. Are you ready to go?”
“Absolutely. It was a lovely meal, thank you.”
“What did I tell you? Scotland is full of surprises.”
“I’m willing to concede the point.”
James took her hand as they left the restaurant and went outside to where he had parked on the drive. Fog had already settled over the city, and a damp wind ruffled her hair. He opened the car door for her, but before she could get in, he captured her around the waist and turned her toward him.
“Jamie, we’re in full view of the hotel.”
“There’s no one around. Besides, I’m not doing anything scandalous.” His words were light, but his serious expression made her heart thud dully against her rib cage. Whatever he meant to say, she wasn’t ready to hear it.
“We’re going to be late, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and stepped back so she could climb into the car.
The concert venue wasn’t far from the hotel, back toward town and located in a surprisingly residential-looking district. From the outside, it looked like just another traditional whitewashed croft house, but a line of people already snaked through the door and spilled out onto the sidewalk. James found parking in a large adjacent lot, and they headed for the hall. This time when he took her hand, she didn’t try to dissuade him, despite the fact they were bound to draw attention.
A wall of noise and heat struck her when they finally made their way into the crowded building. The room was painted in dark colors and dimly lit, accented by a glass-and-metal bar that ran the length of the back wall. Semicircular booths with large round tables lined the room, cabaret style, with an open space near the curtained stage for standing room. Above them stretched a tiered balcony with more tables.
“Good turnout.” James pulled her closer, releasing her hand in favor of an arm around her waist.
“Interesting crowd.” Andrea looked over the concertgoers, a cross section of Scottish society. Some of the women were dressed like her, in heels and even more revealing tops, while others looked like they were headed for a casual night at the pub. A man brushed by her, his head studded with almost as much metal as his leather jacket.
“It’s not your typical cèilidh band,” James said. “Look, I see a couple of chairs over there.”
He took her hand again and led her through the crowd with practiced ease. Curious glances fell on them as they passed.
“I don’t know how you get used this,” she murmured beneath the din.
He looked around in surprise and broke into a grin. “They’re not looking at me, love. You are stunning tonight.”
She was saved from answering when a stocky blond man stopped in their path. “Jamie MacDonald! Is it really you?”
“Alec!” James shook the other man’s hand heartily. “Good to see you, mate. I didn’t realize you were back in Inverness.”
“I’m not really. The wife and I live in Stirling, but we heard Davy was playing, so we made the drive. How are you?”
“Excellent.” James drew Andrea forward a little and said, “Alec is an old friend of mine. He and Davy and I went to grammar school together. Alec, this is Andrea.”
Andrea reached forward and shook the man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, Alec.”
“The pleasure is mine. You’re American?”
“Here on business,” Andrea said. “Jamie has been showing me around.”
“I see.” Alec’s eyes flicked mischievously to James, but he smiled at her. “Come join us. There’s space at our table. Lila and Cameron are here too.”
“Don’t worry,” James whispered in her ear as they followed Alec to a booth in the corner, already crowded with people. “You’ll like them.”
James and Andrea slid into the booth, and Alec introduced her to the others at the table. His wife, Maura, was a plump woman with pale skin and cropped brown hair. Lila, on the other hand, looked like a model, with long blonde hair and a slim figure clad in a slinky dress. Her husband, Cameron—Cam, he insisted—was her polar opposite: dark, pierced, and extensively tattooed. It was an odd mix of characters, but they conversed with the familiarity of long acquaintance.
“I’ll get our drinks,” James said in her ear. “What do you want?”
“Just a soda, please.” The heat and the noise already made her dizzy. She didn’t need to add alcohol to the mix.
“A fizzy for Andrea. Anyone else?” When there were no takers, he slid back out of the booth and pushed his way to the bar. Andrea watched him admiringly, but she didn’t realize her thoughts were written on her face until she saw Alec grinning at her. Her cheeks heated, which seemed to be their permanent condition when it came to James.
“How long you known Jimmy-boy?”
She grinned at the nickname, and her embarrassment faded. “Long enough to know he’d hate being called Jimmy-boy.”
Alec chuckled. “Right about that. Seem to remember him giving me a good thrashing for it.”
“You’re such a liar, Alec,” Maura said, giving her husband a nudge. “These boys were like brothers. Inseparable. Until Jamie left, that is. He came back for our wedding, but that was ten years ago.”
James returned with their drinks and slid in next to her. Ale for himself, soda for her. She raised the glass. “Slàinte.”
The others lifted their own glasses and echoed her. She took a drink. It wasn’t the Coca-Cola she had expected, but some carbonated currant-flavored thing. “Good choice. I like it.”
“See, I know you better than you think,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.
“Behave,” she warned.
James grinned. For that matter, so did the rest of the group.
Before the flush could take up residence in her cheeks again, the lights in the hall dimmed, and the spotlights came up on the stage. Patrons found spots at tables, the bars, even standing around the corners of the room, as the musicians emerged with their instruments. They filed onto the stage, and the room burst into spontaneous applause. James draped his arm casually over Andrea’s shoulder, and she settled against him for a better view.
A pretty woman with purple streaks in her short black hair stepped to the microphone, a fiddle held beneath one arm. “Wow. And here I always remembered Inverness having more sheep than people.”
The crowd chuckled, and she smiled. “I’m Davy McWilliams. This is my band. I hope you enjoy the show.”
She stepped back and raised the fiddle, then drew the bow across the strings. The notes of a mournful, traditional ballad filled the room, played with so much emotion that gooseflesh rose on Andrea’s arms. Then the drums, keyboard, and guitar came in with a driving dance beat, and the room went wild as the Scottish melody transitioned into a catchy rock riff. Andrea laughed out loud, and James’s arm tightened around her. The musicians were incredible, and he was right—she had never quite heard anything like it before.
The next song had more of a jazz vibe. She sipped her soda and relaxed against James,
letting the music wash over her. He kissed her temple and laid his cheek against the side of her head. It was getting difficult to tell herself she didn’t want this, that she didn’t long for the kind of affection he seemed to take for granted. He had the ability to make her feel like it was just the two of them, even surrounded by his oldest friends. How could she not fall in love with a man like that, at least a little?
No, no, no. She would not go down this path. She could not.
James must have felt her tension, because he whispered, “Breathe. You’re still on holiday, remember?” But the damage was done. The sweet moments of relaxation in his arms fled, leaving only the queasy tendrils of anxiety in their place.
Halfway through the set, the band took a break and the floor turned into a churning sea of people once again, hundreds of voices sending up a dull roar. Maura excused herself to the loo, and Cam slid over in the booth so he could talk to Andrea more easily.
“So, Andrea, where do you live?”
“New York City.”
“Oh? What do you do there?”
“I’m a hospitality consultant.” When he looked at her blankly, she said, “Basically I get to tell people like Jamie what to do.”
Everyone at the table laughed, and Cam grinned. “He doesn’t look too upset about it.”
Lila propped her chin on her hand and frowned. “So how does that work exactly, with you in New York and Jamie in London?”
Andrea’s stomach clenched. “Um, well, we’re not—”
“We haven’t quite figured that out yet,” James said smoothly. “Right now it’s just looking like a lot of travel for the both of us.”
He squeezed her closer, rubbing her shoulder, but it changed nothing. No matter what he said, their schedules didn’t allow for a long-distance relationship. She had to resign herself to the idea this was all there was. Five days in Skye had upended her world, and now she would be going home trying to piece it back together again. Alone.
“Jamie! Andrea! You made it!”
Andrea jerked her head up and found Bree standing at the edge of the table, looking down at them. She had squeezed her voluptuous figure into a short, tight black dress that left little to the imagination, and she held a sequined clutch under one arm.
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