“Not a problem,” Connor cut her off.
“I could help with that,” Ryder piped up.
Ethan whirled round, like he’d expected betrayal from Isla, but not from Ryder.
“You think I should do this?” Isla could hear the disbelief in his voice.
Ryder shot Connor a quick glance, then looked down at his feet. “I think you should help your brother out, yes.”
Ethan turned away. Isla couldn’t see his expression, but she could see the set of his jaw, his hands fisted at his sides. “Fine,” he spat.
Relief flooded Connor’s face, and his shoulders sagged. “Thank ye brother, you’ve no idea how much this will mean to them-”
“I amnae doing it for them,” Ethan snapped. “And before you thank me, there are conditions.”
“Aye, of course,” Connor said.
“You can have the ballroom and the cloakroom, that’s it, ye ken? No one steps foot anywhere else inside the castle. The ballroom doors open onto the terrace- people can come and go that way. Rose Wood is totally out of bounds. I want everyone out by midnight.”
“No problem. Whatever you say. Leave everything to me. All you need to do is put on your suit, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Ethan scoffed. “You think I’m going to stand around like a sideshow in my own home? You can have your party Connor, but I willnae be coming to it.”
Twenty Eight
Isla worked, but her heart wasn’t in it. She kept remembering the expression on Ethan’s face when he’d walked out of the study earlier, and no matter how much she told herself that she’d only been speaking the truth, it still felt like she’d betrayed him.
She might not know his reasons for keeping himself locked away, but whatever they were, they’d kept him isolated inside the crumbling walls of Rosehill for three years. He’d said himself that her kiss, her touch had been his first since his accident. He’d let no one into his life, with the exception of Ryder and his brother...and now her. And between the three of them, they’d persuaded him to host a ball.
Isla shuddered. It was cold enough in the attic that her breath formed vapour in the air. She stood in the centre of the long, narrow room, the low ceiling sloping away from her in either direction. A brass bed was tucked under the eaves at one side, rusted coils springing from the mattress that had long since been eaten away by mice...or worse.
There was very little furniture otherwise- a bedside table on crooked legs, a washstand with a cracked basin, and at the far end of the attic, stood a tall, narrow cupboard with slatted doors, hanging on crooked hinges.
Isla stepped towards it, and then stilled, tilting her head. There was a faint scraping noise coming from inside. Her blood turned to ice.
“Hello?”
Her voice bounced back off the eaves, and Isla cringed from the echo. What had she expected- an answer? There was no one up here but her. Was there?
Isla walked forward, heart pounding, and reached for the handle. She took a deep, shaky breath and yanked hard. The cupboard door flew open, and Isla cringed backwards, bracing herself for whatever horror lay within.
A tiny bat fluttered out with a victory screech as it swept past Isla’s hair. Isla’s heart slowed fractionally as she watched it make desperate laps of the attic. It must have been trapped since escaping the tower.
Isla wrenched open the door, and watched the bat swirl away into the dark corridor, before turning back to the dreary attic room.
But that would mean, the cupboard door had been open, in order for it to get in...surely? Isla turned back to the cupboard door and swallowed hard. There had been someone here. She knew it, no matter what Ethan might say about strange noises and broken catches. Someone - other than her - had been snooping in the castle last night. Ice trickled down her spine at the thought.
Dusk was setting in, and after her encounter with the bat Isla was more than ready to leave, but first, she needed to apologise.
Isla looked in all the obvious places for Ethan- the study, his bedroom, even the room with the piano...but she found every one empty.
Maybe he was out walking in Rose Wood? A shiver ran through Isla. There was no way she could face going back in there.
She was in the entrance hall, shrugging her arms into her jacket when she heard it. A low thudding coming from somewhere beneath her. She cast a glance into the shadowy space behind the grand staircase, where the door to the cellars stood, and felt the rhythmic pounding reverberate through the parquet floor.
She shouldn’t. Her curiosity had got her nothing but trouble so far at Rosehill. She was tired and emotional, and the best thing to do would be to go home, pour herself a glass of wine, run a deep, hot bath, and try to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.
The pounding continued, thudding up through the soles of her feet.
“Urgh.” Isla dropped her bag on the side and followed the noise into the shadows.
*
The staircase down into the cellar was a stone spiral into darkness, and Isla’s heart thudded in time to the reverberations as she followed it down, with one hand on the slick stone wall. The air was heavy and damp, and by the time she reached the bottom, Isla’s hair had started to curl at her temples. A maze of tunnels splintered off in every direction, each as uninviting as the next. The ground beneath her feet was the same uneven stone that formed the walls and ceiling. Isla felt like she was in a tomb, and panic blossomed in her chest.
The thudding continued on and on, and she followed the sound of it further into the darkness, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. Isla had a sense that if she made one wrong turn, she might be lost forever.
Ahead, an arched-door stood ajar, and alongside the thumping ringing in her ears, Isla heard the clatter of a heavy chain.
Bracing herself for what she might find, Isla pushed against the door with one trembling hand and peered into the dark, dank space.
Gym equipment filled every corner. There was a treadmill, a rowing machine, a bench press, a metal frame with a bar, and in the centre of the room, a square mat covered the stone floor. A thick chain hung from the low ceiling, and at the end of it, a punch bag swung back and forth, violently pummeled by Ethan’s fists.
He’d stripped down to a pair of black gym shorts, and sweat glistened on the rippling muscles of his back. Ethan had headphones in and hadn’t noticed her come in. Isla took a tentative step towards him, knowing that if she caught him unaware, one of those blows might land on her. He was relentless, hitting the bag over and over, the chain rattling and creaking.
His hair fell into his eyes with every punch, but Ethan didn’t stop, he barely even paused between swings. Isla’s heart fell when she saw his knuckles. Split and bloodied. Every hit left a smear of red on the leather.
“Stop!” she cried out. “Ethan, stop!” But it was no use, he clearly couldn’t hear her.
Isla rushed towards him, not thinking, not caring about anything other than the pain he must be feeling. She ducked beneath his arm as he rained yet another blow down on the bag, and caught him around the waist. He roared in surprise, and she yanked the earbuds from his ears.
“It’s me, it’s me,” she gasped, as his hands tightened around her upper arms, lifting her clean off the floor.
“Isla?” he panted. A raw, unforgiving melody spilled from the headphones hanging around his neck.
“You’re hurt, Ethan. You have to stop.”
Ethan’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing ragged. Isla watched a droplet of sweat trickle down the side of his face.
“What are you doing?” He lowered her to the ground, releasing her from his grip.
“Looking for you.”
“Isla.” He breathed her name like a prayer, pulling her against him and burying his face in her hair.
Isla pressed her mouth to his neck, tasting salt, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath her lips. “You don’t belong here,” Ethan spoke into her hair.
Isla didn’t know if
he meant in the cellar, or at Rosehill altogether, but she couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt she felt at his words.
Ethan pulled back, holding her at arm's length. “You deserve light, and happiness and those are things I cannae give you.”
“What about you?” Isla brought his bloodied knuckles to her mouth and brushed her lips over them. “What do you deserve Ethan?”
He didn’t answer.
“Come back upstairs with me.”
*
Both Connor and Ryder had long since left, but she was still there. It was as if she knew that he was waiting for the castle to be empty to let the darkness in, and she was trying to delay it as long as possible.
Ethan heard the clatter of the poker as Isla took it from its stand, and the fire pop in response to her efforts.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
He wondered if she heard the double meaning in his words. If she did, she didn’t let on.
“No. But if you can manage it, I figure I should be able to.” There was a clang as she set the poker back in place.
“Ryder taught me,” Ethan said. “I have to use my other senses to gauge the heat and listen to the flames. Even then, I’ve had my fair share of singed arm hairs. I set fire to the rug once.”
Isla laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. That’s not funny.”
It hadn’t felt it at the time, but the sound of her laughter convinced him otherwise, and Ethan’s lips twitched at the memory of Ryder rushing in at the sound of his curses, and stamping out the flames.
“Ethan, I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “Dinnae fash, Isla. I amnae offended.”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry about the party. I shouldn’t have mentioned the ballroom, it wasn’t my place.”
Ethan sighed and tilted his head back to the ceiling. “It isnae your fault. I owe Connor everything, and he was right, he never asks for anything in return. How could I say no? If I were a better man, I wouldnae have needed your suggestion to see that. I would have said yes immediately. I would have-”
But Ethan broke off. There were too many things he would have done if he was a better man, and many he wouldn’t. But it was too late for any of them.
Any notion he’d had that the five years alone in Rosehill had changed him, had been proven false when she’d come to him last night, and instead of pushing her away, he’d grasped at her like a drowning man clinging to a life-raft. He was selfish. It was that selfishness he gave into now, holding his hand out to her.
“Come here.”
Her feet padded across the floor, her dress swishing, and her scent reached him before her hand did- lightly touching the back of his with her own.
“Your knuckles are a mess,” she said softly.
“Aye.”
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“I didnae feel it.”
“How about now?” Isla raised his hand to her mouth, brushing her lips against the back of his hand.
Ethan inhaled sharply. He felt a lot of things, some he couldn’t even name, never mind explain to Isla. He didn’t know if he’d gone down to the cellar to hide or to escape, but either way, she’d found him, and dragged him out of the past and into the present. Just as she had the night before when she’d found him at the piano, his fingers conjuring memories that pierced his heart like knives.
“Let me wrap them for you.”
Ethan tugged his hand away lightly. “Ryder can do that tomorrow if they arenae better.”
“But I’m here now,” she said.
“Aye, but you arenae my nurse,” Ethan huffed.
“And Ryder is?”
Ethan ran one hand through his hair exasperated. “No, but Isla- that isnae your job, it isnae why you’re here.”
“Ethan, it’s eight o’clock in the evening. I finished working hours ago. I’m sitting in a derelict castle with no electricity. I think we can both stop pretending that I’m here for my job. Let me do this for you.”
Ethan sighed, forcing all his misgivings out with his exhale. “Fine, if you must.”
*
Isla worked slowly, bathing his knuckles with a tenderness Ryder had never shown, and winding soft gauze in-between his fingers like it was poetry rather than medicine.
Round his thumb, over his wrist. In, out, in, out. Snip.
She lowered his hand to his knee. “Who will be at this party?”
Ethan jerked from his reverie at her question. “I dinnae ken.”
“Why don’t you want to go?”
Ethan sighed. “Because, as empty as my life may be, remarkably I can still think of things I’d rather do than stand around and be gawked at by people who dinnae like me.”
“Surely Connor wouldn't invite anyone who didn’t like you...”
“He'd be hard-pressed not to,” Ethan muttered.
“I don’t understand.”
No, of course she didn’t. She couldn’t - would never - understand. But understanding hadn’t been the agreement. This was physical. Pure and simple. Or as simple as anything in his life could be.
Ethan changed the topic. “Ryder told me that the valuation will be finished by the end of next week.”
He heard her swallow. “Yes.”
“So we dinnae have much time.”
Another swallow. “No.”
“In that case, I would rather not spend it listing people who dinnae like me, if that’s alright with you?”
“How do you want to spend it?” Her fingers slid easily between his.
“Oh, I can think of some ways to pass the time.” He drew her down to him.
Isla fell into his lap, her legs across Ethan’s, her hair brushing his cheek. She adjusted her weight and Ethan felt himself grow hard beneath her. No doubt she did too. As if she couldn’t already know what she did to him. It must have been painfully obvious the effect she had on him, even without his dick pressing into the back of her thigh.
“I imagined this.” The words slipped from Ethan’s mouth before he could stop them.
“You imagined what?” She was so close, her words were like a whisper across his cheek.
“You, in my lap, like this. Well, not exactly like this-” he broke off.
“When?”
“When you called me, from the club.”
Isla squirmed, which did nothing for the pressure in Ethan’s jeans. He shifted too.
“That was unfair of me.” He didn’t know if she was talking about the phone call or the movement.
“I amnae complaining,” he grunted. “But after, I couldnae stop thinking...about you...here, with me.”
“How was it different?” Isla’s voice had changed, the embarrassed lilt was gone. There was a challenge to her tone. An unspoken command. Tell me.
Ethan ran one hand over her leg, up to the hem of her dress, which he tugged lightly. “Well, there wasnae so much fabric between us, for a start.”
He felt her smile against his cheek. “Well, that’s easily remedied.”
And then she was lifting herself from his lap, and standing between his knees. Fabric rustled, and Ethan felt something fall at his feet.
An image flashed through his mind, populated by the things he knew of her- the curve of her hips, the fullness of her mouth, the thick unruly waves of her hair, and Ethan growled, reaching for her.
She let him pull her down onto him, straddling his lap. Ethan’s hands traced her curves like a melody that once learned could never be forgotten, felt her shiver beneath his touch, and heard her sigh as he reached her breasts. She was entirely naked, and he was still fully clothed, but even as he thought it, her hands were slipping beneath the cotton of his t-shirt and tugging it upwards. He let her undress him until there was nothing between them but skin.
“Like this?” she murmured into his neck, her hair brushing over his chest.
“Closer,” he grunted.
“Closer to how you imagined, or you want me cl
oser?” She teased, peppering kisses across his chest.
Ethan growled, gripping her hips and drawing her down onto him.
Isla gasped as he nudged against her, felt her slick readiness, but she resisted his gentle pull, and held herself aloft, teasing him with her body now, as well as her words.
“And when you were thinking of us like this, what were you doing?” She pressed light kisses to his jaw and then sat back on her heels.
“I-” Ethan felt his adam’s apple bob.
“Why, Ethan MacRae, I do believe you may be blushing.”
“I amnae. It’s the fire.”
“Hmm-hmm.” He could hear the laughter in her voice. She leant forward now, trailing one hand through the thick hair that covered his chest and stomach, and lower still.
“Ahh.”
Her hand closed around the base of his dick, and she moved it upwards in one slow, fluid motion. Ethan groaned.
“I think I can guess.” She hummed, repeating the action. “But I want you to show me.”
*
Isla watched For Ethan’s response, saw the flicker of his eyes as he grasped her meaning, and the flush that he’d blamed on the fire, returning to his cheeks. His mouth parted, and drawn to it like a moth to flame, Isla rocked forwards, kissing him.
When she pulled away his expression had changed.
“That’s what you want?”
Isla bit her lip. “Yes.”
Ethan gave a light shrug. “Then who am I to refuse?”
His hands left her hips, and although Isla yearned for their return almost immediately, she bit down on her lip, waiting, watching.
Night had fallen, and the only light in the study came from the flames of the fire, and the row of candles across the mantlepiece. Shadows danced across Ethan’s pale, bare skin, smattered by hair as black as midnight. Heavy lids shuttered his golden eyes, as he took hold of himself. Isla swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from where Ethan’s bandaged hand moved languidly up and down. His lips moved in a silent murmur, and Isla resisted the urge to lean forward and bite them, knowing that would mean a stop to this, and she didn’t want it to stop, not yet.
She’d never in her life seen such a brazen display of masculinity, and the wild thing was- he had no idea. Ethan wouldn’t know how the muscles corded in his forearm with each movement, or the way the candlelight played with the silver lines of his scars, first here and then gone, like a magic trick, or the shadows his long, dark lashes cast across his cheeks.
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