The Royal Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘It was,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I want everything else to stay the same.’
He took his hand off her. ‘Are you trying to say that you don’t want to do this again?’
‘No!’ said Lotty, horrified. ‘No, I do want that. Definitely.’ Corran’s expression was as hard to read as ever, and abruptly Lotty lost her nerve. ‘If you didn’t mind, of course.’
A smile quivered at the corner of his mouth as he pretended to consider the matter. ‘I think I could bear it,’ he said and put his hand back.
‘You’re laughing at me.’ Lotty would have liked to have had the strength to pull away, but it felt too good with his big hand gentling down her spine and over the flare of her hip, and his fingers tightened on her.
‘I am,’ he agreed, the smile deepening. ‘Why on earth would I mind?’
‘I’m not your type,’ said Lotty, but she eased closer anyway until her bare skin was pressed against his.
‘Aren’t you?’ His palm was so warm, so sure against her that Lotty caught her breath.
‘You said yourself that I’m not the kind of woman you’re looking for,’ she managed.
That was true. Corran was oddly jolted by the reminder. He shouldn’t have needed reminding. His mother had been lesson enough and, after his ill-fated marriage to Ella, he had no intention of falling for another woman who wouldn’t fit in with life here in Mhoraigh.
Corran was clear in his own mind. He wanted a practical, sensible woman who wanted to share his plans and work with him to restore the estate to its former glory. A woman who would belong at Mhoraigh and be part of his life for ever.
Lotty wasn’t that woman. No matter how hard she worked, there was an elegance to her that made her look like an exotic orchid planted out in a kitchen garden.
And she wasn’t going to stay. She had been clear about that.
But none of that had mattered last night when she had asked him to kiss her. All the reasons why it would be sensible to keep a distance had evaporated at one look from those beautiful grey eyes. He could have said that it wasn’t a good idea, Corran realised in retrospect, but he could see how much it had cost Lotty to ask him and the truth was that he hadn’t wanted to say no.
The truth was that kissing her was all he had been able to think about as they walked along the loch and the moment he had looked at her and seen the uncertainty and desire in her face he had been lost.
Last night had caught Corran unawares. He had wanted to give Lotty pleasure, to make her first time special, but he hadn’t expected to be shaken himself. She had been so sweet, though. So surprising. All his life he had kept a careful guard over his feelings, and it was unsettling to remember how easily it had been swept away by the feel of her skin, by the taste of her, by her warmth and aching innocence. By the heat that had blazed so unexpectedly between them and blotted out all sensible thought.
Sensible thought. He should be able to do that, at least. Corran hauled his mind back to more practical channels with difficulty. Lotty herself seemed to be approaching the matter pragmatically. Surely he could do the same?
‘I was thinking about marriage when I said that,’ he told her. ‘I’m not ready to marry yet. And as you don’t seem to be in any hurry to marry either, why shouldn’t we make the most of the time we’ve got together in the meantime?’
Something flickered in the lovely grey eyes. Corran couldn’t be sure if it was relief or disappointment. ‘That’s what I think,’ she said. ‘We both know that it’s only temporary. I’ll be leaving in a few weeks.’
LEAVING. A cold finger touched Corran’s heart, but he pushed the feeling aside. ‘That’s settled, then,’ he said, sliding a hand over her hip to draw her closer but she fended him off once more.
‘It’s just that the rest of the time, when we’re not…you know…’ She trailed off in confusion and Corran felt something shift in his chest at her blush.
‘I know,’ he said, doing his best to keep his smile under control, although he wasn’t sure how well he succeeded as Lotty was looking at him suspiciously.
‘Yes, well…the rest of the time, I want it to be the way it was before,’ she said. ‘I want to carry on working just the way I’ve been doing, and I want you to be just as crabby and cranky as you always are.’
‘Cranky?’ He had her warm against him once more, could kiss his way along the lovely slope of her shoulder. ‘When am I ever cranky?’
‘All the time,’ said Lotty, but she sounded breathless.
‘I’m not feeling very cranky at the moment,’ he told her, smiling against her skin. ‘You don’t want me to be crabby now, do you?’
‘Not now.’ Lotty’s hands were moving hungrily over his back, pulling him closer, pressing her nearer. ‘Later then,’ she managed unsteadily. ‘Promise me you won’t change.’
‘I promise,’ he said.
But it was difficult when the weather stayed fine for the most part, when the days drifted one into the other and the long summer evenings seemed more golden than usual. Corran found it harder and harder to be as cross as Lotty wanted. How could he be cranky when she was there, smiling at him? When, no matter how hard they had worked, there were long hours of sweetness to look forward to at the end of the day? He did his best to maintain the grouchy demeanour that seemed to mean so much to her, but even he could see it was less and less convincing.
Every morning, Corran told himself that he couldn’t afford to lose focus on getting the cottages finished. Every morning he reminded himself that Lotty would be leaving.
There was no point in telling her his plans for the farm, Corran knew that, but still he found himself asking if she wanted to come with him to check on the sheep, found himself driving her up into the hills on the long summer evenings, walking with her across the heather. And if she stayed in the kitchen, as she often did, his step would quicken as he headed back to the house and, every time he caught sight of her, his heart lifted alarmingly.
Lotty was still persevering in her attempt to bake the perfect scone.
‘I wish I’d never told you I liked scones,’ he said, coming into the kitchen to find her sulking over another batch of leaden scones with burnt bottoms.
‘I’m going back to Mrs McPherson,’ grumbled Lotty. ‘I’m sure she forgot some vital ingredient.’
Corran slid his hands around her waist and pulled her back against him so that he could kiss the side of her neck. He liked the way she arched when he kissed her there, liked the tiny breath she sucked in. He liked how he could make a smile tremble on her lips, no matter how cross she was.
Not that he was supposed to be noticing things like that. He was supposed to be thinking about the estate, not about how warm and sweet she was as she turned in his arms. Sure enough, she was smiling and the grey eyes were shining. He loved how transparent she was, how true.
Loved? Corran caught himself up on the word. No, that wasn’t right. Liked, yes. Admired, yes. Loved, no.
No, no, no.
‘What is it?’ said Lotty, and he realised that he had let her go.
‘Nothing.’ She wanted him to be grouchy, he would be grouchy. Now he felt grouchy. ‘I’d rather you spent time painting than making scones.’
‘I’ve been painting,’ she pointed out. She was on the third cottage and making good progress, as Corran well knew. ‘I’m waiting for it to dry before I do the top