The Lost Dreams. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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“Three large crates. Addressed to Hansen.”
“I suppose Syl must have had it shipped.” He gave an embarrassed laugh.
“Seems a big investment if you’re only planning to spend a few weeks here a year.”
“Syl’s really into health and exercise. She works out for a couple of hours a day, weights and all that. It’s an important part of her lifestyle. She takes great care of her diet, too.”
“I see.” Charlotte nodded sagely. “Then I’ll have to be careful what I cook if she comes over for dinner, won’t I?” she said, getting up and clearing the plates with a sassy smile that far from portrayed her mood. “Pudding? Or should I say dessert?” She corrected herself with an American twang.
“What’ve you got?” he asked, eyeing her with a suspicious grin as he carried the rest of the dishes to the sink. Their hands touched when he handed her the remains of the lamb, sending shivers up her spine.
“I have trifle,” she said in a rush. What on earth was the matter with her? It was ridiculous to feel tingly just because Brad had touched her hand. Surely she wasn’t so desperate for a man that now even her oldest pal turned her on? She quickly scraped the dish, then left it in the sink before extracting the bowl of trifle from the fridge.
Neither noticed the time as they chatted and reminisced over dessert, followed by coffee and brandy. Old, long-forgotten stories, fond memories and shared secrets made them laugh or seek unspoken understanding in each other’s eyes, and it was past midnight by the time Brad regretfully glanced at his watch.
“Geez, it’s late. I hope Aunt Penn left the door open.”
“If not, the key’s under the mat.”
“Isn’t that rather obvious?”
“So much so that nobody would ever think of looking. Plus, we’ve never had a break-in at the castle—or in the area, for that matter,” she added proudly. “That’s one positive aspect about living in a remote area like this, you can’t beat the security.”
Brad rose reluctantly, loath to exchange the convivial warmth of Charlotte’s kitchen for his solitary bed in the master chamber, which Penelope had insisted he take now that he was the laird. He watched her, flushed and relaxed, eyes bright from wine, cooking and conversation. If anything, time had rendered her lovelier and the sudden urge to feel her close made him clamp down his self-control. But his eyes lingered on her high cheekbones and that incredibly silky white skin. Suddenly the years fell away, and he saw her lying pliant and wanting in his arms, stretched on the couch in Dex’s flat as he lowered his lips to hers.
Blowing out a breath, he fiddled in his pocket for his car keys and took a step back. “I guess I won’t need to lock the car here either,” he remarked, dangling the keys thoughtfully and laughing to cover his embarrassment. “Good night, Charlie. Thanks for a great evening.”
She opened the front door and leaned against the door-jamb watching him. “Good night, Brad.”
For a moment they stood in awkward silence, then he took her into his arms and gave her a friendly hug. “You take care, kiddo. I wish you hadn’t left the castle, but so be it.”
She mumbled something incomprehensible into his shirtfront, then reached up and touched his cheek. “Good luck as the new laird, Brad.”
“I’m still counting on your help, you know.” His eyes reached deep into hers.
She hesitated, then nodded and smiled, swallowing her warring emotions. “You can count on me for whatever you need.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” He touched her cheek lightly, then dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before walking quickly toward the car.
Charlotte stood a while, gazing at the fading taillights swerving back and forth as he avoided the ruts.
Brad was back.
And perhaps for longer than he realized. She let out a sigh. He still had no idea how much Strathaird would demand of him. Would he be prepared to give what it took? she wondered, turning back inside and switching off the porch light, trying to make sense of her mixed emotions. Perhaps she’d been too alone of late, not bothering to see friends or socialize, and this was the result. Shaking her head, she went to her bedroom. Perhaps she just needed some male company to remind her that she was young and human.
But Brad did more than just remind her of that. He made her feel alive, something she hadn’t felt in ages. Worse, he made her feel like a woman.
Entering her bedroom she undressed, then glanced at herself in the old cheval mirror. Was she still attractive? What lay hidden under Colin’s old shirts and shapeless sweaters? Slowly she pulled off the T-shirt, removed her bra and stared at the woman before her. John had spent years telling her how old she was becoming, how her breasts sagged after Genny’s birth, how her thighs weren’t as taut as they used to be. He’d even suggested plastic surgery in a tone that left no doubt that he found her repulsive. When he’d made love to her, he’d made her feel diminished and ugly, until she’d prayed he wouldn’t come near her. She shuddered, trying to see her true self and not the pitiful image he’d created. Then quickly she grabbed her nightshirt and flung it on crossly. All that part of her life was behind her now. There was no room in her new life for physical attraction. It was absurd, utterly stupid to be feeling like this, merely because she’d had a pleasant evening with an old friend, one who was very much engaged to be married.
She scrubbed her teeth and brushed her hair, then jumped into bed and cuddled under the plump goose-down duvet with her three well-worn stuffed animals. She had no business feeling anything for Brad except friendship. And you’d better not forget it, she ordered, reaching up to turn off the light, then fling herself against the pillow. There was no room for anything between them but what already existed. The fact that she suddenly wanted more just showed how much her life needed readjusting.
It was a good thing Sylvia was arriving soon, Charlotte reflected, eyelids drooping. For her own sanity, and for Brad’s good, she hoped it would be soon.
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