The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) (12 page)

“You think that it’s personal subjects that we avoid,” Colin said as they continued their hike. “But actually it’s emotions that we avoid. But that seems to be universal, bridging all classes.”

He spoke with his usual flippancy, but she knew that he was offering her an opportunity to speak.
But she didn’t need to explain herself to this spoilt, rich man, she told herself angrily, falling back on her earlier stance rather than analysing the mix of emotions boiling up in her now.

Not only could she not understand him, but she could no longer understand herself. Her previous views about rich Englishmen and the whole class system still held, and she was aware that her younger self would never have dreamt of spending time with this man. At the same time, she was starting to see past her stereotype, learning to see the man beyond the prejudiced image, and liking what she saw.
Most of the time she was certain that he liked her too, but it was hard to say in what capacity. And to top it all off, the simple, compassionate gesture of his hand on her chin was enough to send her chemistry off, hormones aching for another kiss and more contact.

So instead she strode ahead, wondering what she could throw back at him about emotions or family, anything to switch the focus of conversation back to him.
But when she opened her mouth she surprised herself by saying, “Really, next time we meet can be on your turf.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, sounding wary. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. Well, I
do mean to in other ways, but not about this. I just thought it might be interesting for you, open your mind a bit.”

“Yes,” she said, not sure herself of why she was doing this. Was it her pride? Or did she have something to prove to herself about making it in the world? She pushed these questions away and looked to the horizon.

The dark clouds that had been building up throughout the afternoon were now advancing rapidly, pushed along by a sudden wind from the sea. “We’re going to get wet before we reach the car,” she said, indicating the approaching wall of grey. She hesitated a moment, unsure of why she was pushing the idea of a date on his ground, but she found herself saying, “Just don’t make it your club.”

“I brought a raincoat,” he responded to her first comment
before considering her second one. “How about a golf date then?”

She shook her head firmly.
“Anything but golf. I’ve never played.”

“Never?” he repeated, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “In that case, let me introduce you to the truly Scottish sport.”

“What, caber tossing?” she asked sarcastically.

“No, really, you have to try it at least once,” he said, his voice gaining enthusiasm.

She turned to face him. “I’ll just embarrass you,” she told him. “And humiliate me. I don’t want your friends to meet me like this.”

He nodded in understanding. “But what if it was just the two of us?” he prodded gently.
“One lesson, just to introduce you to it. Go on, you’re all about learning new things. It’s time that I can show you something for once.”

Fiona
shrugged her shoulders in a non-committal way.  Between a genuine fear of humiliating herself and a broader dislike for the game on principle, she had no desire to play golf. At the same time, she was acting close-minded and she knew that he had followed her ideas without the slightest hesitation.

“I’ll think about it,” she said grudgingly.

“Not too much,” he admonished. “Remember what I said about analysing things too much and taking them too seriously. Golf is just a game, after all.”

She snorted.
“Right. Tell that to most golfers.”

He winked. “I did say there were a few things that I take seriously. I say, here
comes that rain.”

By now they were most of the way down the ridge, and the car park was in sight.
Fiona broke into a jog, which became a headlong downhill run as the first drops arrived.

“You can have my jacket if you forgot yours,” Colin called after her as he started to run as well.

“It’s only rain, don’t take it so seriously,” Fiona called back, laughing as the path became slippery in an instant.

She heard him grumble something in response, but his words were lost by a distant roar of thunder. The drops grew heavier and they continued down toward the car, slipping and sliding and soon covered in mud.

Fiona reached the car first and turned around triumphantly as Colin jogged up to join her. Her fine hair was plastered to her head by the falling rain, and her t-shirt now clung to her body, almost completely transparent.

She was oblivious to this fact until she caught Colin looking at her in a new way. He slowed his pace as he approached and took the final few steps toward her more deliberately.
Fiona looked down and saw her form perfectly outlined in her wet shirt, and looked up to see Colin now directly in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eye, and then he had pulled her tightly up against him and was kissing her fiercely, possessively.

This time she responded with no inhibitions, as if this were inevitable, something that had been building since the first dinner date. There was no trace of the gentle, patient man waiting for her to make the decisions as he grasped her face and pushed her back against the car with quiet power. This was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted
Fiona.

And
Fiona wanted the same thing. She had never cared for take-charge men, but this sudden display of hot-blooded virility was intoxicating, a reassurance after the mixed messages she had been receiving and proof of his desire as well as a flash into another side of his personality, something stronger and more raw than the polished persona she had seen so far. His strength and hunger made her feel light-headed and she surrendered fully to his passionate kissing, letting his hands drop to her shoulders and then her breasts.

Fiona
found herself letting go with uncharacteristic abandon, not thinking of consequences or their situation as she closed her eyes and savoured all of her body’s sensations, the strong mouth kissing hers, the hands exploring her body, the rain soaking them both. It was only when he pulled back slightly, looking at her with feverish eyes, that she became aware of the fact that they were still in a public car park, pressed against her Vauxhall.

This intrusion of reality into their embrace gave her time to wonder fleetingly if their behaviour was at all appropriate, and if suggesting that they continue this somewhere else would break the mood forever. She didn’t want to stop this for anything but was afraid that Colin might end up being the more sensible one here.

Apparently Colin was thinking the same thing, because he gazed dismissively at the car and swung his small backpack from his shoulder to the ground at his feet, holding Fiona close with the other hand the whole time. With his free hand he opened his pack and pulled out the thick picnic blanket he had brought along, tugging her through the rain to an enormous sheltering oak at the edge of the field.

She felt giddy as she let herself be pulled along, both of them soaking and not caring, to the
relative protection of the massive oak, where Colin tossed the blanket on the ground at their feet and went back to kissing her. Slowly he pulled them both down to their knees on the blanket, still locked in their embrace, lifting his head to look at her just long enough to be sure that she didn’t mind the impromptu location.

“I was hoping to lie you down on softer sheets,” he murmured, stroking the wet hair away from her forehead and gazing down at her upturned face.

“I can’t imagine anywhere more romantic than here,” she replied with smile. “This is perfect.”

And it was.

Chapter Eight

Fiona
snuggled deeper in the blankets, not even opening her eyes as she swatted at the bedside table to turn off the alarm clock. It was too comfortable and warm to contemplate leaving the shelter of the bed as she listened to the storm blowing outside the windows. She had never been a naturally early riser and it was twice as hard to get up now that she had a warm body to share her bed with.

The fact that it was a heavy dog didn’t matter. She loved the reassuring weight of Livingstone’s warm body lying across her lower legs and
his calm, rhythmic breathing. He grunted and snuffled once in response to her arm movement and then settled back sleepily to wait for her.

Of course it would have been even nicer to have Colin sharing her bed, but she pushed the thought firmly from her mind and wriggled her toes under Livingstone’s belly
, enjoying the sound of rain lashing against the windows. Sleepily she opened an eye to watch a rivulet streaming down the glass and was immediately reminded of Colin’s face above hers, the rain streaming down his glistening cheeks.

With a sigh she pushed away the blankets and sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. This was no way to start the day. It was time to start focusing on her work again, rather than day-dreaming of the afternoon with Colin under the oak tree.

They had not seen each other since that day in the rain. Both were busy, she with her work and he with a visit from his parents, and when they had parted ways that afternoon he had warned her that it would be trickier to find time for her during their stay but that he would somehow find a way. It had been less than a week ago, so there was no reason to start to second-guess their relationship, but Fiona’s overly-analytical mind kept combing through the memory in case she had missed clues about where they stood.

To her enormous relief, there had been no awkwardness after their love-making, no sense of having spoilt something or ended it. Instead they had been laughing and close,
and very, very wet, running back to the car half-naked to put the heater on full-blast while they waited to warm up enough to drive. In the end Colin had driven her car as far as his, parked further up the valley, while Fiona huddled in a cold, damp bundle of blankets and clothes on the seat beside him. He was his usual cheerful self, chatty and joking, with only his arm draped over her shoulder, tenderly playing with her wet hair, to show that something had changed.

“May I invite you back to my place to warm up in front of a hot fire?”
he had asked enticingly, a suggestive glint in his eye. “No matter how uncomfortable you might feel in extravagant surroundings, I can promise you that you’ll feel more comfortable than under that tree.”

“Oh, I felt quite alright there, thank you,” she had responded gamely, smiling through her cold, blue lips. His invitation was certainly tempting and she would have liked nothing better than to continue this romantic little episode, wherever it was headed, while the bubble lasted. But she had a dog to pick up from the bar, because Sarah was headed to her in-laws in Glasgow for the evening and couldn’t take care of Livingstone. Neither of them had anticipated that her walk might lead to this.

Unable to explain her real reason for declining his offer she had claimed a deadline for a report, as well as admitting that if she ever warmed up properly again she was likely to pass out. “But I’ll take a rain check,” she suggested hopefully.

“It’s raining now,” Colin pointed out with a smile, but didn’t push the matter further. “
I suppose I’ll have to let you do the sensible and serious thing,” he said reluctantly. “But my parents are coming down sometime this week, so that may hamper my activities for a spell.”

Fiona
’s sensitive ears strained to hear if there was any trace of a brush-off in his voice or words, but he seemed as genuine as ever, and she was even more reassured when he pulled out his mobile phone.

“I get the strong impression that you aren’t the sort of girl who gives your phone number to just anyone,” he said teasingly. “But perhaps at this stage in proceedings, it isn’t impertinent to ask.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she had bargained, and now they were both in possession of the other’s number and neither had used it.

Now, rolling out of bed and reaching for her old woollen jersey,
Fiona fought the urge to check again for messages or missed calls. She had become rather obsessed about checking, which she took to be a sign of pathetic weakness on her part, but she couldn’t help turning her cell phone on and waiting impatiently to see if she had missed anything during the night.

Every day she told herself that she could also be the one to make the first move, to send him a text message just to provoke a response, but she held back. She didn’t want to show how desperate she was
for reassurance, and she knew that she would feel more confident if he wrote her out of his own volition, not because of his polite upbringing that would make him feel obliged to respond.

There was a missed call from her sister but nothing from Colin. Moodily she went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, trying to push Colin from her mind and to think about her writing.

She fed Livingstone while she ate her breakfast, standing by the kitchen sink and watching the rain pour down outside. He wolfed down his food and looked up at her expectantly, wagging his tail impatiently, ready for a walk. Reluctantly she reached for her raincoat and rubber boots, pulling them on over her pajamas and thinking of her sister’s envious comment that only Fiona managed to go to work in her pajamas.