The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) (17 page)

“I can’t imagine that your parents only had you with a house this big to fill,” she remarked as Colin returned to the sofa with several bottles in his hands. “And I hope you aren’t suggesting that we drink all of that before your cooking lesson.”

“You can see why a house like this makes you want to entertain people,” he said, placing the bottles on the coffee table and seating himself on the other wing of the sofa, where he could look at Fiona. “These places were meant for hosting hordes, not hiding out on one’s own.”

“Or besieging rival feudal lords and hiding away from angry peasant uprisings,” she replied with a smile. “I doubt your earliest ancestors were best mates with the working poor.”

He smiled at her ruefully. “You are still assuming that I have Scottish blood,” he said. “Not that my parents bought this place twenty years ago and restored it. With a genuine love of the Highlands, by the way, not as a crass investment. Now what can I offer you?”

Fiona chose a port, watching the flickering light play on Colin’s face as he poured her drink into a heavy crystal glass.

“I suppose it would be lonely in such a big place alone,” she said, thinking of her own small cottage. “Why don’t you get a dog or fill those stables with horses?”

“Far too much responsibility for the likes of me,” he answered promptly as he fixed himself a whiskey and sat back down. “With a demanding social schedule such as mine, I can’t afford to be tied down. It might force me to grow up or some other horrible consequence.”

“Slainte,” she said, raising her glass and appreciating the play of firelight on the facets of the crystal. “I would have thought you’d just have a stable hand or somebody to look after them for you when you were away,” she continued, wanting to discern his real attitude towards animals. It wasn’t a necessary compatibility for a short fling, but it would certainly direct her decision in broaching the subject of Livingstone. There was no way that a dog-hater would have the same understanding of her plight as an animal-lover.

He relieved her with his casual reply. “You could do that with horses, if necessary,” he acknowledged. “But a dog, that’s like a
serious committed relationship and you can’t just pay somebody to take over when you want to go. Which is why I’m both dogless and single.”

“But you do like dogs,” she pressed, ignoring the uneasy feeling that his last line gave her. Was he telling her that he was single and in the market? Or telling her that he still considered himself single despite their love-making?
In any case, if he didn’t like dogs the question was moot due to insurmountable incompatibilities. Livingstone had been in her life before Colin and had managed to take over a large portion of her heart. Whoever shared the remainder had to be comfortable sharing it with a hairy hound.

“Of course,”
Colin answered in an offhand way. “My mother is the classic English country gentlewoman, all about horses and dogs. Still is, back in Kent. We grew up with beasts of all sorts, and although we did have help taking care of them, my mother was personally very involved. Now why does that make you smile? Am I continuing to fit your cliché of the upper class twit of the year?”

“Not at all,” she assured him, simply happy that he liked dogs. “It’s just this port on an empty stomach. I think I’d better have a nibble before we hit the kitchen and I find myself legless.”

The port was actually warming her quite nicely and she let the relaxation spread as she sank back onto the couch and looked at the fire, nibbling on a square of cheddar. Colin had stretched his legs out and was watching her.

“I think that your worries of not feeling comfortable here were unfounded,” he observed dryly. “It’s amazing how quickly we can adapt to new surroundings and situations, isn’t it?”

“Do you mean to new settings or to new people?” she asked, stifling a yawn. “It’s true, I no longer feel that you come from a completely different planet. Not so sure about your friend Bridget, though.”

“Oh, she’s not
usually so bad, really,” he said with a gentle smile. “She’s just a bit worried about losing her spot in the group and tends to try too hard. Not a problem that you would understand.”

Fiona considered this comment and gave up. She was too tired to think clearly and preferred to let her mind drift back to his earlier statement about how quickly people could adapt. When she thought about it, she was starting to feel quite at ease with Colin, more so than she would ever have imagined.
More than at ease.

She sat up quickly. These thoughts and the comfort of the couch were making her feel languorous and she was going to lose her motivation to move very soon. And she didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to cook in the castle kitchen and to
introduce Colin to something new, no matter how tempting the option of a soiree by the fire was beginning to feel. Perhaps they could return here for an after dinner drink and see where it led.

For now, she got to her feet, surprised to feel stiffness in her shoulders. She had always considered golf a soft sport and hadn’t expected to feel her muscles afterwards.
She rolled her shoulders back and forth a few times before she caught Colin’s expression.

“I could give you a massage if you like,” he offered with a lazy smile.

“Maybe later,” she said, not wanting to end up in a dangerously physical situation before she had the opportunity to confess about the dog. Afterwards, a massage would be more than welcome. “First, your cooking lesson.”

He groaned. “You Puritanical Scots,” he grumbled. “Do you have to be productive and efficient all the time? The pre-dinner drink with your feet up is sacred in certain circles.”

“Yes, in those who can afford cooks to prepare their meals while they glance through the papers,” she replied tartly.

“I don’t have a cook, I order food in,” he corrected her lazily, slowly getting up from the sofa. “Actually highly efficient in terms of time. You should approve.”

“I would, if you used that time to do something useful,” she told him. “Why not take more interest in your family’s trust and find
creative new projects to support? You might enjoy it and do some good at the same time.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, stretching as he got to his feet. “But as I told you, I’m also very busy playing the role of lavish host and entertaining people. That’s not entirely self-centred and I’m actually quite good at it, as I would love to show you if you let me.”

“That’s not what I want from you,” she told him, realising how uncomfortable she would feel with him throwing his money around to buy her fancy dinners. It would make her wonder even more about their ambiguous relationship.

It was as if he was thinking the same thing. “So what do you want from me?” he asked softly, stepping closer.

Glancing up at him, Fiona felt her pulse begin to race. With this sexy man standing close to her, his eyes reflecting the firelight and the heat making her body relax, she knew exactly what she wanted from him right now. But it didn’t answer the bigger question of what she wanted and she forced herself to take a step back.

“I want to show you how to cook,” she said brightly, fighting to resist the pull of his body. “Show me to the kitchen.”

He hesitated just long enough for her resolve to waver as the image of his body pressing hers down into the sofa invaded her thoughts. Then he took a gentlemanly step back, ushering her toward the far end of the room with exaggerated courtesy.

“If Madam would just follow me, please,” he intoned. “I think you’ll find all that you need this way, in the sterile and cold kitchen, far from the cosy ambiance of the fireside.”

She ignored his barbed comment and walked quickly away from temptation toward the indicated doorway. A short, arched corridor led to a massive kitchen, still in the original medieval kitchen room with its massive hearth and spit, wide counters around the walls and a walk-in larder. In one corner, modern kitchen furnishings had been installed in a more user-friendly manner but it was still equipped to serve dozens.

“You do have a cook,” she said accusingly as she stared around her at the stainless steel counters and the refrigerator large enough to store a red deer.

“We use caterers occasionally,” he conceded. “Or bring in a chef for certain special occasions. But when I’m here on my own, this room isn’t used much.”

“All the more reason to learn to cook,” she said briskly. “Since you love to host and entertain, it’s a useful skill.
We’ll start with something basic. Let’s see what’s in this fridge of yours.”

Colin followed her around the vast room like a lost child sticking close to the nearest adult. He seemed as curious as she was to peer into the refrigerator.

“Oh, look, lots of plates of cold cuts,” he said enthusiastically. “That simplifies things.”

“You never even come to look in the fridge?” Fiona asked incredulously. “That’s my favourite place to search for inspiration when I’m writing. Whatever do you do for breakfast?”

“There’s a smaller fridge in the breakfast room,” Colin said, gesturing vaguely. “McTavish keeps it stocked with what I need so I never have to venture this far out of my comfort zone.”

F
iona shot him an unimpressed look, then faced the food in front of her with enthusiasm. “How does a stir-fry sound to you?” she asked, already rummaging for the fresh vegetables and eggs. “It’s the simplest thing and always tasty and if you undercook it, nobody gets sick.”

“You’re the head chef and I’m just the apprentice, remember?” Colin said, accepting the carrots, celery and broccoli she handed him, followed by coloured peppers and mushrooms which he piled in an unceremonious heap on the nearest counter.

“There have to be onions here somewhere,” Fiona said, leaving the fridge to search the large cupboards along one wall.

Colin followed her example, rummaging through cupboards as if he’d never seen them before.
“Oh, look, I’ve found music,” he announced happily, pulling a portable stereo from a high shelf. “That might liven things up.”

“That and a glass of wine,” Fiona suggested, glad to see him starting to enjoy the idea
as she pulled out a couple of chef’s aprons to add to the sense of cooking classes and to protect her borrowed clothing.

Soon
they were side by side chopping vegetables, glasses of red wine at close reach and a radio mix of music that sometimes had them dancing along and sometimes left them laughing at past musical trends.

“I suppose the eighties were as harsh on the rich as the poor when it came to music,” Fiona said with a grin as Colin pushed his hair back from his face
and did a good impersonation of Cory Hart along with the music.

“Vintage classics, it all increases in value with age,” he said with a
very nineteen-eighties wiggle of his hips. “Rather like us, I hope. And the clothes we now wear and think are classy. Well, some of us.”

He winked at her and she gave him a friendly push, only to be caught up in his arms and forced to dance along.

“You know, I think we should take dancing lessons together,” he mused aloud. “Swing, tango, that sort of thing. What do you think?”

She smiled, dizzy with being spun about and giddy with the wine. “If you come to a
ceiligh with me,” she bargained.

“Any time,” he agreed readily. “What is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Where have you been hiding?” she bemoaned. “It’s traditional Celtic music, reels and the likes, with a live band and somebody who calls the moves, tells you to swing your partner and then to sashay down to the end of the line, that sort of thing.”

“Ah,” he said flatly.
“Country dancing.”

“The original and a lot of fun,” she defended it.
“And highly Scottish. You must have been at least to a few functions, weddings, that sort of thing here that ended with a ceiligh.”

“Probably,” he said dismissively, “But in those cases they ended
for me just before the music began. I never quite saw the appeal of everybody stomping along together and being told what to do next.”

“It’s
good craic,” she said indignantly. “And no less ridiculous than dancing to La Macarena or things like that. You can’t judge this without trying at least once.”

“I’ll try if you’re my dance partner,” he said smoothly. “Look how quickly I’m taking to cooking lessons. You have an amazing power to change my opinions.”

He let his hands start to wander from her waist, a suggestive smile playing on his lips.

“The food,” Fiona said, suddenly remembering. “Let’s get it frying and start the rice while we wait for a better tune to come on.”

“I can see why you’re such a success at what you do,” he said, looking pouty as he let her go. “A relentless work ethic that never allows you to forget about it all for a while and just enjoy the moment.”

“I think I let go well enough after our last walk,” she said pointedly, deciding that now was a good time to broach the subject of their current situation as she finished dicing the onion and busied
herself with warming the oil in a frying pan. “You can’t say I was too serious there, unable to be frivolous.”

Without turning her head she felt his eyes drilling into her and soon he was standing close behind her by the stove. “And was that frivolous?” he asked softly, his mouth close to her ear, his entire being suddenly feeling very close to Fiona.