Modern Romance March 2019 5-8. Dani Collins
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the inescapable fact, Ivo realised, that he had made the mistake of nursing preconceptions, having them challenged made him feel slightly off balance—not something he was accustomed to.
He didn’t intend to get accustomed to it.
He hadn’t even realised until the door had opened that he’d been expecting a tall willowy blonde standing there. He’d not been imagining a petite redhead, a belt holding up her snug-fitting jeans around an impossibly narrow waist.
Ivo dug his hands deep into his pockets as his long brown fingers flexed in response to the mental image of them closing around the circumference. The slight but distinctly feminine sinuous curves above and below the belt sent a fresh slug of scorching heat through his body as he studied them again before he dragged his attention back to her face.
He couldn’t pretend it was a hardship to look at the woman his grandfather had casually suggested he marry.
From nowhere an image of her floating down a church aisle in white came into his head but he pushed it away. The same way he pushed away any thought of marriage. It had seemed like an inevitable prospect, something he owed to the continuation of his name...but the existence of Bruno’s child, the next generation, took the pressure off.
Ivo was here, yes, but not to marry anyone!
Was his alternative plan any less insane? Actually, ‘plan’ might be overstating it—more a play-it-by-ear than actual plan.
So, yes, possibly insane, but less insane than it had seemed around the same time he had seriously contemplated abandoning his car on a section of the road that was underwater about half a mile away.
Ivo didn’t believe in fate, signs or divine intervention, but when you were driving along a road that was rapidly becoming a river a man, even one who prided himself on being rational, did start to wonder: was someone somewhere trying to tell him something?
And it wasn’t the first snag!
Ivo prided himself on being adaptable but today had tested him. Since he’d set out this morning everything that could go wrong had. Engine problems shortly after they had taken off from the private airstrip had forced the pilot to turn back and make an emergency landing in Rome.
When he had finally landed in the replacement jet there had been no driver willing to make the journey up to Skye with weather warnings out advising only essential journeys being made.
Considering that his journey was essential, he had been privately pretty scornful of weather warnings in the British Isles, assuming they’d probably meant heavy drizzle.
His contempt had come back to bite him. He glanced down at his ruined handmade leather shoes—the elderly couple he’d rescued after they’d run off the road had treated him like a hero—not a good fit.
And now he was here and things were still not going to plan. He focused the objectivity he was famed for—some called it coldness—on the heart-shaped face turned up to him.
To suggest that she was not beautiful—even taking into account that his taste in women had never run to petite and fragile—would not have been an objective assessment. He’d met women who were more beautiful, though none had possessed a heart-shaped face framed by wild Pre-Raphaelite curls, the deep titian interwoven with strands of lighter gold.
As unexpected as the vividly pretty heart-shaped face had been was the twist of hard desire he’d experienced when he’d first laid eyes on her.
Setting aside that visceral response, he continued to study the face that had drawn this reaction. It was a face that came complete with tip-tilted nose, a cute, curvy full mouth and wildly sexy and deep kitten-wide pansy-blue eyes framed by spiky, thick, straight lashes. There was the suggestion of a cleft in her pointed, determined small chin.
* * *
In response to his question, Flora lifted her eyes from the relative safety of mid-chest level. His hard stare was disconcerting.
‘You’re wearing a tie.’
She squeezed her eyes closed and thought, Any moment now I’m going to say something that suggests I have more than two brain cells.
Please make it soon!
When she opened them again he’d already unbelted his overcoat and a jacket button. The long brown fingers of his hand were smoothing the already smooth streak of his grey tie that stood out against the spotless background of white, a white made virtually transparent by its saturated condition.
She registered the shadow of dark body hair before she looked quickly away, ignoring the tingling tightness that extended even to the skin of her scalp.
‘You have a dress code?’
Ignoring the sneery sarcasm in his question, though if they had had one it would have been waterproofs and walking boots, she reminded herself that it was her job to make their guests’ stays happy ones, even the ones who were objectionable. Though to be fair she supposed that anyone who had negotiated the single-track-with-passing-places roads to get here, scary for the uninitiated in any weather, might have some excuse for feeling stressed.
Not that he looked stressed, quite the opposite. The aura he projected was of someone in charge, not someone who needed reassurance and sympathy. It was hard to imagine anyone offering him a cup of tea and very much easier, she mused as her eyes drifted to that mouth, to think of them offering him a more intimate form of comfort.
She tried to walk back from the image that flashed into her head—it didn’t help the situation in any way imagining a man naked—and produced a half-decent professional smile. Though the effect was probably spoilt by baby sick on her shoulder...again.
‘No, but we do have drying facilities if you venture out on the hills, though obviously not recommended in this weather,’ she added hastily. It was amazing how sometimes you had to spell out the obvious and amazing how little respect some city types had for either the elements or the terrain of the island.
‘Oh, and there are Ordnance Survey maps in all the bedrooms, though some of guests make use of a local mountain guide service. And if you’re interested in geology there are some fascinating—’
‘I’m not, and I have quite a good sense of direction.’ It had enabled him to be one of only a handful of entrants to complete the arduous desert trek against the clock and the elements for charity, but perversely right now the only place it was taking him was the curve of her lush lips—every road led to the same place.
The awkward silence stretched. Flora filled it with a cheery, ‘So, you’re here for the fishing?’ As much as they desperately needed the money, Flora found herself wishing that he wasn’t here at all.
His jaw clenched. ‘I’m not here for the fishing.’
Fighting the childish urge to tell him she wasn’t really interested anyway, she smiled. ‘Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.’ She hesitated a moment before admitting, ‘The truth is I wasn’t aware we had any bookings. Have you come far?’
‘Yes.’
I’ve had more interesting conversations with a brick wall, she thought, keeping her smile in place until she discovered he was staring at her hair. She fought and lost the impulse to lift a hand to smooth the tangled curls, which at some point today had come free of the tight, efficient ponytail. The time when she was working in Edinburgh and spent the twenty minutes required in the morning to religiously straighten it to a smooth, shiny, straight river seemed a million years ago.
Luxury in this life was applying some lip balm.
‘Well, I think you’re very brave to make the journey in this storm, or possibly very foolish...?’ As the addition slipped past her guard she added a smile, which hopefully robbed the comment of insult.
You did have to wonder, though, who in their right mind made a journey in this weather, ignoring advice from every agency out there including the stretched