Five Days in Skye: A Novel (10 page)

Except she wasn’t so sure she wanted to leave.

She groaned and massaged the tense muscles in her shoulders. That was ridiculous. She had traveled all over the world, and never once had she been reluctant to go home. Her beautifully furnished apartment waited for her, and this time she had almost a full week until she had to leave on another trip. There would be jogging in Central Park and lazy evenings with old movies and huge bowls of popcorn. It wasn’t Tahiti, of course, but it was still downtime.

Andrea forced her mind back to the screen. Fortunately, this proposal was an easy one. The needs of the MacDonald brothers were straightforward: project management, a full marketing plan, ongoing metrics. At one time, she would have been the one writing up the marketing plan, but this proposal needed just enough detail to convey the value her company could lend to the project. Then Andrea would pass it on to the various teams who would be involved in the actual implementation, and she would follow up on a weekly basis to make sure the timeline was being met and the client was still pleased with their work.

She pressed her fingertips to her temples and forced herself to organize her thoughts. Then she started typing.

She managed to keep her mind on her work this time, and she didn’t notice the changing color of the light from bright white to dusky orange until she had to flick on the desk lamp.

“Good,” she said at last. She read the document over with a satisfied nod. It was based on her boilerplate proposal, but she included enough specific details to make it relevant to the project. Ian would be impressed. She didn’t think James would care about the presentation as long as it hit the highlights.

The knock at the door startled her from her thoughts, and she glanced at the clock. Six already? She saved her file and rushed to the door, where James waited. “Give me just a minute to email this to you.”

She attached the file to the message and quickly typed in both Ian’s and James’s email addresses. The cursor hovered over the “send” button for a moment before she forced herself to press it. Then she closed her laptop with a decisive click.

Project complete, she thought as she grabbed her purse from her bed. Once the MacDonald brothers had inked their signatures on the bottom, she could head back to New York, away from the ridiculous feelings James and his island stirred up inside her.

Chapter Thirteen

Emmy claimed Andrea as soon as she walked in the door, just as she had done that morning. The dolls had been put away, but an enormous tub of crayons and a drawing pad the size of the coffee table took their place. “Come draw with me, Andrea!”

“Emmy, Andrea doesn’t want to sit on the floor with you in her nice clothes again.” Serena sat on the sofa in front of the television while Max gummed a teething ring on the rug between her feet.

“I don’t mind.” Andrea’s suit was already wrinkled anyway. “I have nieces and nephews. I spend most of my time on the floor at my sister Becky’s house.”

“Here, use this one.” Emmy thrust a red crayon into Andrea’s hand and shoved a piece of paper at her. “I’m drawing mermaids, but you can draw whatever you want.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Andrea said wryly.

Serena laughed. “You’re a good sport. Jamie usually tries to divert her to paper airplanes or something less girly.”

“I heard that,” James called from the kitchen. Serena grinned in his direction.

Andrea doodled on the paper. “So you live in Inverness, Serena?”

“Yes. Jamie’s so busy, I try to visit Skye when I know he’ll have some free time.”

Andrea felt a pang of guilt for intruding on what should have been a family week together. “How long will you stay?”

“Just through the weekend. Emmy has to be back for the start of summer term on Monday.”

“And what do you do?”

“This.” Max began to whimper, and Serena hoisted him into her lap before it could turn into a full-blown wail. “Eventually, I may go back to work, but right now it’s more important to be available for Max and Emmy. As much as I swore I’d never be a trust-fund cliché.”

Trust fund? Andrea blinked a couple of times, and Serena clapped a hand over her mouth, reddening.

“Oh, forgive me. That was completely tasteless. It’s just become a joke among the three of us. Mum’s family is absurdly wealthy, and they’re baffled as to why we’d want to make our own way in the world.”

Serena jiggled Max on her knee with a rueful smile. “Let’s face it. Mum gave us trust funds. Dad gave us stubborn Scottish pride. Until Edward died, you can guess which won out.”

“I can understand wanting to make your own way in the world.” Andrea hadn’t asked anything from anyone, even in the days she’d shared a two-hundred-square-foot Manhattan apartment with two other girls, surviving on packaged ramen noodles. Still, it cast James’s comments in an entirely different light. Was that how he’d pegged her so easily as a small-town girl? She’d thought his assessment of her was meant to be complimentary, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“What about you, Andrea? Do you enjoy what you do?”

Andrea paused, surprised. People usually commented on the glamorous hotels and exotic locales. Few ever asked her what she thought about the job itself.

“For the most part,” she said finally. “I love walking into a property for the first time. No matter how rundown or depressing it looks, it holds such potential. It’s the best feeling to come back months or years later and see what it’s become. I just don’t enjoy waking up in the middle of the night and not knowing where I am, or walking into an airport and not being able to remember where I’m going next.”

“That would drive me mad,” Serena said. “I enjoy visiting Jamie and Ian, but I’m always eager to get back home.”

Emmy relented and handed over a blue crayon, so Andrea began to outline her scribbled flowers. Only then did she notice the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. “What is he making?”

“No idea, but it hardly matters,” Serena said. “Everything he makes is stellar. Lots of people can cook, but Jamie’s something special.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Andrea said slowly.

Serena gave her a knowing look. “I imagine you are.”

Andrea looked away before she could blush at the implication. Were her feelings that obvious? And here she thought she had done such a good job of hiding them, at least from the rest of James’s family.

Emmy abandoned the crayons and paper, and Andrea took it as a sign that she was allowed up off the floor. She settled herself on the sofa next to Serena and turned her attention to the television program. After a few moments of complete bafflement, she decided she’d made the right decision by not owning a TV and wandered into the kitchen.

James stirred something in a large skillet on the range, a frilly pink apron wrapped around his waist.

Andrea stifled a smile. “Pink’s your color.”

He threw her a grin over his shoulder. “There’s a plain one around here somewhere, but I suspect Serena of hiding it to make me look like a fool.”

Andrea sidled over to the stove, glad his usual good mood had returned. “What’s this?”

“Pork medallions in Montmorency cherry sauce. I improvised.” He scooped some sauce from the pan with a spoon and held it out to her for a taste.

The flavor of cherries, at once sweet and sour, burst on her tongue, balanced with other rich and tangy flavors. Balsamic vinegar, maybe, and a touch of wine. “If that’s what you call improvisation, you should give up planning completely.”

“Not too tart for you?”

“Nope, it’s perfect. Can I do something?”

He sent her a curious glance. “You really don’t like to be idle, do you?”

“Guilty as charged. What do you need?”

“There’s a bottle of Sémillion chilling in the refrigerator if you’d like to pour. This is almost ready.”

Andrea retrieved the wine from the refrigerator and took the corkscrew from the drawer where she had seen him stash it the night before.

“I’ve been thinking,” James said. “You should stay.”

“What?” Andrea turned and almost bumped into him where he stood only inches behind her. She backed up until she was pressed into the cabinets. “Stay where?”

“Stay here on Skye for the week.” He leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear. “I promise you will have a good time.”

Despite herself, she shivered at his proximity. She braced her hands on the counter behind her. “I just came here to give you my professional expertise, Mr. MacDonald.”

He laughed softly at her retreat to formality and backed off a step. “I know you did. Tell me something, though. If you leave here tomorrow, can you still go to Tahiti?”

“No,” she said. “I had to cancel my reservations.”

“And is there hope of rescheduling anytime soon?”

If only she could. She’d gone to so much trouble to ensure her vacation, only to have it called off at a moment’s notice. Now she was booked solid for the next three months. “Probably not.”

“What’s your office number in New York?” James picked up the cordless phone on the kitchen counter.

Andrea blinked in confusion, but she gave it to him, and he dialed quickly. “James MacDonald for Michael Halloran.”

He waited silently for the transfer. “Mr. Halloran, good morning. No, not at all. Ms. Sullivan is everything I expected.” The smile he gave her made her flush to her toes. “In fact, she’s been so insightful, I’m wondering if I can borrow her for a few more days. I’d like to get her professional opinion on some other matters. Friday at least.” He nodded and winked at her. “No, I’m sure it will be a most productive week.” He passed the phone to her. “He’d like to speak with you.”

Andrea took the phone, wanting to scowl at him, but her heart was beating too fast for her to do anything other than concentrate on steadying her voice. “Hello, Michael.”

“How’s it going, Andrea? Can you close this one?”

“Of course. It’s just … a little more complex than I expected.” She frowned when James laughed silently beside her, his eyes dancing.

“How long will it take you to wrap it up?”

“Until Friday, I think. I’ll be back in the office on Monday.”

“Close this one, Andrea. You know what’s at stake for you.”

“Of course. I will. Talk to you soon.”

Andrea hung up and handed the phone back pointedly. “I don’t know what you expect that to accomplish.”

“I just bought you the rest of the week out of the office. I know it’s not a tropical vacation involving sun and white-sand beaches, but you have to admit, I am a very good tour guide.”

“Do I have any choice?” she asked. “You’ve practically ensured I can’t leave without losing my job.”

He actually looked surprised. “Of course you have a choice. We’re going to hire your firm regardless. That was never in question.”

“Then why do you want me to stay?”

He leaned close again. “Because I want you to fall in love.”

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

He straightened, holding the stack of plates he’d been reaching for behind her. “With Scotland. You’re halfway there already; you just need a little push. Could you take the wine glasses to the table?”

Andrea gathered the glasses silently and carried them to the dining room, her jaw clenched. He was toying with her. The larger part of her—the part that had clawed her way to this position through hard work and without relying on her feminine wiles—resented it to the bone.

It was the part of her that didn’t, the part that thrilled to the promise in his voice, that worried her.

Chapter Fourteen

James smiled to himself as he began plating their supper. First a drizzle of his balsamic reduction, followed by a mound of wild rice, then an artful swirl of pork medallions beneath the cherry sauce. Andrea bustled around the kitchen, trying to be casual, but he could feel both nervousness and resentment boil off her like steam from a kettle. She might pretend he had forced her into staying, but she had agreed to it of her own free will. Or at least she hadn’t refused.

If he were to be honest, his own pulse wasn’t feeling entirely steady at the moment, though he didn’t know if it was his fear she would say no or the almost irresistible desire to kiss her every time she was within arm’s reach. He might have intended to lure her out from behind her stolid professionalism, but standing that close had sent his imagination into overdrive. She was not the only one ensnared by the force of attraction between them.

For the first time since he conceived the idea this afternoon, he wondered if he was making a mistake.

He finished plating the meal, including a smaller portion for Emmy, with his mind only half on his work. So she had agreed, more or less. Now he just had to make sure she didn’t regret her decision.

He went to lift the plates and remembered the apron. He snatched it off and tossed it on the countertop, stifling a groan. Had he actually just tried to play seductive while wearing pink ruffles? He was lucky she hadn’t laughed him out of the room.

Andrea barely looked up when he set the plate in front of her, though she murmured polite thanks. When they were all seated, Muriel bowed her head and thanked the Lord for the food, the gathering, and their guest.

“It’s a shame you’re leaving tomorrow,” Muriel said. “You’ve scarcely gotten the chance to see Skye.”

“Actually, James has convinced me I’d be remiss in my research if I didn’t stay a little longer.” Andrea’s eyes met his, the challenge in them clear.

“Did he now?” Muriel said calmly. “Well, you couldn’t ask for a better guide. He’s jogged or hiked almost every inch of Skye at some point or another. But you won’t go far in your fancy clothes.”

“I thought we might go to Fort William tomorrow,” James said to Andrea. “Buy you some suitable things.”

“Can I go?” Emmy asked. She looked confused at the laughter that rang out around the table in reply.

“I think they want to do grown-up stuff,” Serena said in a stage whisper.

James smiled as two spots of pink rose to Andrea’s cheeks. “You’ll like Fort William,” he said. “If we’re lucky, we might see some porpoise in the loch.”

“Really?” Andrea said. “I’ve never seen a porpoise before.”

“Even in Tahiti?”

“This would have been my first time,” she admitted. “The closest I usually get to water is the Hudson River. I thought I should expand my horizons a bit.”

“I feel even worse, now, that we ruined your trip,” James said. “We’ll have to make this week special.”

Her eyebrows lifted, and she studied him like she didn’t quite believe he was serious. Then she smiled—a true smile, not the polished, rehearsed one. It knocked the breath from him.

“Did you decide what we’re going to play?” Emmy asked suddenly.

Bless her for her timing. Everyone’s attention turned back to the little girl, giving James a moment to compose his thoughts and force air back into his lungs.

“I think we should keep our song a secret, don’t you?” Andrea said to Emmy. “So everyone will be surprised?”

“Good idea.” Emmy nodded seriously.

Serena and Muriel volunteered to clear the table at the end of the meal, and Andrea followed Emmy to the piano. James leaned on the door frame and watched them perch on the bench, side by side.

“I’m going to teach you the melody, okay?” Andrea demonstrated a simple tune and then watched as Emmy played it several times. “Good. Now I’ll bring in the harmony. We’ll practice a little so we can show off when they all come back.”

By the time Serena and Muriel returned from the kitchen, they had worked out the details enough to make a respectable duet. James led them in a loud round of applause, and Emmy grinned broadly as she bounced up off the bench.

“You’re a natural,” Andrea said. “Keep with it. You’ll be playing the Royal Albert Hall before you know it.”

“Thanks, Andrea,” Emmy said and threw her arms around her neck.

Expressions shifted over Andrea’s face—surprise, dismay, that fleeting pain he’d already noticed—before she could manage to return the embrace. “You’re welcome. Keep practicing, all right?”

“Will you play something for us?” James asked.

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh, please do!” Serena exclaimed. “It’s been ages since anyone but Auntie has played.”

“There’s always been music in the house,” James finished for her. “Our father taught pipes and fiddle. Unfortunately, none of us inherited his talent.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Andrea said. “Anyone can play, given enough practice.”

“Then you’ll play for us?” James said. “Trust me, if you miss a note or two, we won’t know the difference.”

Andrea looked reluctant, but he could feel the draw the piano had for her. “I suppose. I’ll play something you all might know.”

Andrea took a deep breath and laid her hands lightly on the keys. James nodded silently when he recognized the piece from the first notes, Debussy’s “Claire de Lune.” It was a long step from his usual rock or jazz, but this was one of the few classical pieces he knew and loved. He had always thought it a simple piece, but as Andrea moved from the quiet chords of the initial measures into rolling, sweeping arpeggios, he realized how wrong he’d been, just as he realized how far short she’d sold her ability.

The delicacy of her playing was like nothing he’d ever heard, turning even the slightly tinny sound of the old piano into something ethereal and beautiful. He caught his sister’s gaze across the room and saw his surprise echoed in her face. This was not the playing of a casual musician, but a gifted, deeply dedicated pianist. A slight smile came to Andrea’s lips and her eyes closed halfway, an expression of peace and wholeness he had seen once before as she looked out onto the waters of Skye. It looked as though she interpreted every note with her body, her hands gliding gracefully over the keys. He’d never noticed how much the music felt like the ebb and flow of the tide, the notes floating and rolling like waves, until he saw her sway with the rhythm of the melody.

Her playing spoke louder than anything she could have said. This meant something to her, and she had chosen to share it with them.

The last notes faded into silence, and his family remained quiet, as reluctant as he to fracture the spell. Muriel broke it first, wiping dampness from her eyes with the back of her hand. “That was beautiful, my dear. You are one talented young lady.”

Andrea opened her eyes in shock, and the peaceful expression faded into dismay, as if she had forgotten their presence. She rose from the bench abruptly. Her voice trembled when she whispered, “I need a glass of water. Will you excuse me?”

James exchanged a confused glance with his family as she strode unsteadily from the room. He followed her into the kitchen, where she was filling a glass from the tap. She lifted it to her lips with a shaking hand.

“Are you all right?” James asked quietly, stopping a safe distance away.

She looked up, startled again by his presence, and forced a smile. “Of course.”

“This wasn’t just something you picked up, was it?”

A smile flickered over her face. “Not quite.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No, not really.” She took a long drink of her water and set the glass down on the countertop with a click. “I’m tired. Do you think we could go back now?”

The tremor in her voice told him she was barely holding onto her composure. He should just retrieve her coat and escort her out, let her deal with whatever memories lay connected with her astounding talent. He was never one to do the smart thing though.

Instead, he closed the space and turned her to face him. She jerked in surprise at his touch, but she didn’t try to pull away as his fingers smoothed her collarbones, and then brushed soothingly down her shoulders. Her eyes drifted closed as his fingers gently kneaded the knots in her shoulders, and she let out a long sigh.

“Better?”

“Better,” she whispered, swaying toward him. It would be so easy to close the gap between them, take her fully in his arms, see where things went from there. Before he could turn the thought into action, her eyes snapped open, and she stiffened beneath his hands.

James stepped back. “Do you still want to go?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll get your coat.” James left her in the kitchen and ducked back into the living room, where Serena and Muriel waited with Emmy, their expressions concerned.

He shook his head at their unspoken question. He didn’t understand what was behind her reaction any better than they did. “I’m going to take her back down to the cottages. There’s a bowl of fruit in the refrigerator for dessert.”

“Thanks, Jamie,” Serena said.

James kissed his sister and Emmy, but when he came to Muriel, his aunt gripped the back of his neck hard and whispered in his ear, “She’s fragile, that one. Handle her with care, Jamie.”

He wanted to say he wasn’t handling her in any fashion, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice the flippant words. He just nodded, retrieved Andrea’s coat from where it was draped over the arm of the sofa, and returned to the kitchen to help her put it on.

On the way out, Andrea smiled brightly and thanked Muriel for her hospitality, but for once, James could see cracks in her hard, polished shell. They crunched back to the Subaru in silence, enveloped by the misty night air. Once they were safely ensconced in the car and headed back down the drive, she said in a small voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would affect me that way.”

“You’re entitled to have feelings,” he said, though it really wasn’t what he wanted to say. How did such a talented pianist find herself working as a hospitality consultant? How did a woman who obviously felt things deeply manage to live such a staid, ordinary life? He sensed she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, address the questions, so he changed the subject instead. “I thought we could leave for Fort William right after breakfast tomorrow. Make a day of it. There’s plenty to see.”

“That sounds great. What time should I be ready to go up to the house?”

“Seven, if that suits?”

“Seven is fine.”

Their headlights splashed against the whitewashed stone of the hotel as he pulled into the lot. He parked and killed the engine and lights, plunging them into darkness. He opened her door wordlessly and escorted her to the cottage where he hesitated. He could see the emotions tumbling around behind her eyes when she turned to face him, but he couldn’t pinpoint whether the source was panic or something else.

“I know you want to ask,” she said.

He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. The frigid strands released the subtle scent of her perfume into the air, drawing him closer. He trailed his fingers down the side of her face and felt her sudden sharp intake of breath. When his eyes drifted to her lips, parted in surprise, all he wanted to do was find out if they were as soft as they looked, if she tasted as sweet as she always smelled.

He couldn’t do it. She was vulnerable tonight, and he wouldn’t take advantage of that. If she kissed him, it should be because she wanted to, not because she didn’t have the presence of mind to refuse.

He dropped his hand. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Good night, Andrea.”

“Good night.” She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. The deadbolt slid home on the other side with a heavy clunk.

He stared at the bright red door for the space of a heartbeat and headed for his own cottage before he could change his mind.

She wasn’t what he needed right now. Cassandra had been that dangerous combination of fragility and strength as well. She’d taught him that heartache came in the form of beautiful women whose vulnerability roused his protective instincts.

But the comparison was hardly fair to Andrea. Cassandra had fooled him into believing her innocence and openness were real, when it turned out to be a role she played when it suited her. Their engagement had been a boost to her career: a publicity ploy, a diversion while she secretly carried on with her then-married costar.

Andrea, on the other hand, asked for no help. Wanted no help. She hid her thoughts deep and masked her vulnerability well. She’d made her opinion of his reputation clear, and yet tonight she’d actually shown him a measure of trust.

He couldn’t break that trust. The last thing he wanted to do was turn what was supposed to be a relaxing week into an experience she’d regret. How in the world did he manage to get himself into these situations? He’d meant to have a little innocent fun, but he hadn’t counted on a concert pianist who almost fell apart when she performed.

He toed off his shoes and sank into the chair in front of the television, flicking it on with the remote. He reached for the weathered, leather-bound Bible on the table beside him and set it in his lap, but he didn’t open it. He knew the inside well, its pages worn, dog-eared, and marked by a kaleidoscope of colored Biro pens. Duncan MacDonald may never have set foot inside a church other than the day he married James’s mother, but he lived by the words in this book. Just holding it brought back an ache two years had done nothing to abate.

His dad should be here right now. He would know what to do. If James had taken his father’s last advice, he might have avoided the whole mess with Cassandra in the first place.

The elder MacDonald would have liked Andrea, though. Her musical talent alone would have endeared her to the man who’d taught cèilidh pipe and fiddle to children on the island for almost thirty years. Besides, his father had as much of a weakness for beautiful women as James did.

“I wish you were here,” he said aloud, smoothing the cover of the Bible. “You’d know exactly how I should proceed.”

But he already knew what to do. His father’s answer had usually been one of two things: “Wait on the Lord,” or “Treat others as you wish to be treated.”