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The uneasy feeling drifted away. She made things so easy. Things seemed to make sense around Grace. It was her manner.
He knelt down and checked the fireplace. It was clean and ready to be stocked. He knew exactly where the supplies were. It would only take a few minutes to collect them.
By the time he returned Grace had a smoky outline on her black jumper and jeans from the curtains. ‘They’re in the wash,’ she said happily. ‘But I think I’ll need to get cleaned up once I’ve made the bed.’
She shook out the sheets and made up the bed in record time. It was bigger than the average king-size and Finlay tried not to think about how inviting it looked covered with the thick duvet, blankets and masses of pillows.
Grace put a hand on his shoulder as she wheeled her pull-along case behind her. ‘You said the hot water would work?’
He nodded.
‘Then I’m going to duck in the shower.’
He stood up quickly, brushing his hands. ‘As soon as I light the fire I’ll go and check out one of the other rooms.’
She shook her head again. ‘Honestly, don’t worry. I’m pretty sure we can sleep in the giant bed without either of us feeling compromised.’ She gave him a smile, ‘You’ve no idea how many layers I can wear.’ She opened the door to the bathroom and dragged her case inside. A few seconds later he heard the shower start to run. She stuck her head back outside as he started trying to light the fire. ‘But if you decided to go to the kitchen and make some tea I wouldn’t object.’ She frowned. ‘Tea. We did bring tea, didn’t we?’
He nodded as the fire sparked into life. ‘Tea, milk and biscuits.’ He arched his back, stretching out the knots from the long journey. ‘Tea I think I can manage.’
Thank goodness he was tired. Thank goodness he was overwhelmed with stepping back inside the castle. If he hadn’t been, he would have spent the whole time wondering how on earth he would manage to keep his distance from Grace while they were the only two people here. He shook his head as he headed to the kitchen. He should have thought about this beforehand. If he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her under a lamp post in London, how on earth would he keep thoughts of touching her from his head now? He couldn’t even think about that bare skin in the shower. No way.
By the time he came back Grace was sitting on the bed, her hair on top of her head, wrapped up in one of the giant duvets. She looked as if she had old-fashioned fleecy pyjamas on. He was pretty sure he was supposed to find them unappealing and unsexy.
Trouble was—he just didn’t. Not when they were on Grace. He set the steaming-hot tea down on the bedside table along with some chocolate biscuits. She nodded towards the bathroom. ‘I left the shower running for you. Figured you’d want to wash the dust off.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Just don’t tell the owner. I hear he keeps tabs on the water usage.’
He put his tea down next to hers. ‘I think I can take him,’ he said with a smile on his face.
In the dim light of the room all he could focus on was the warmth from her brown eyes. ‘We’ll see.’ She picked up her tea and took a sip. ‘Not bad.’ She gave an approving nod. ‘And just think, Alec didn’t even give you written instructions.’
He laughed as he pulled his bag into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. It only took a few seconds to strip off his dusty clothes and step into the warm shower. Grace had left some shampoo and shower gel—both pink, both smelling of strawberries.
He started using them without thinking, let the water stream over his body along with distinctly female scent. His stomach started to flip-flop again.
She’d made things sound so casual. As if sharing a bed was no big deal.
And it wasn’t—to most men.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t shared a bed with a woman in the last five years. He had—if only for the briefest of moments.
But that hadn’t actually been sharing a bed. That had been using a bed. Something else entirely. He hadn’t slept next to another woman since Anna had died. He hadn’t woken up with another woman.
That was what made him jittery. That was what was messing with his head.
He couldn’t deny the attraction to Grace. His body thrummed around her. He couldn’t pretend that it didn’t. When he’d kissed her—he’d felt lost. As if time and space had just suspended all around them. His hands rubbed his head harder than they needed to, sending the shampoo over his face and eyes, assaulting his senses with the scent.
He leaned back against the bathroom tiles, adjusting the water to a cooler temperature. The house was still freezing. But the heat in this bathroom seemed ridiculously high. Steam had misted the mirror. It was kind of clawing at his throat, making it difficult to breathe.
He turned the dial on the shower once more; the water turned instantly icy, cooling every part of his body that had dared to think itself too hot. All breath left his body in shock as he turned the knob off.
He grabbed the already semi-wet towel and started drying himself vigorously. He didn’t want to think that this was the same towel Grace had used to dry her silky soft skin. He didn’t want to think that at all.
He glanced at his still-closed bag. Oh, no. He wasn’t a pyjama kind of guy. Never had been. What on earth could he wear in bed with Grace?
He leaned against the other tiled wall and sighed. Boxers. That was all he usually wore. Maybe he should just stick to that because the room outside was so cold that any part of him that didn’t behave might just drop off in the icy temperature. But he wouldn’t be comfortable like that around Grace. He had a terrible feeling that in the weird space between almost sleeping and not quite he wouldn’t have any control of his thoughts or body reactions. A suit of armour would probably help. Pity the castle didn’t have any.
He rummaged through his bag and found a black T-shirt, clean boxers and then, stuck in a zip pocket, a pair of gym shorts. Baggy and mid-thigh-length. He’d obviously planned on visiting the hotel gym on his last trip and not quite managed it. He sent a silent prayer upwards. Thank goodness for being lazy.
He wiped down the mirror with the towel and brushed his teeth as his brain started whirring. What kind of pre-sleep conversation would he have with Grace? What if he snored? What if she snored? He couldn’t remember ever feeling this nervous around a woman. It was like being fourteen years old again.
He ran his fingers through his damp hair as he refused to meet his own gaze. He was being ridiculous. He was tired. That was all. That, and being back in the house again, was reviving a whole host of natural memories.
It wasn’t quite as hard as he’d thought it would be. Having Grace here certainly helped. Seeing the house so desolate and neglected-looking had been a shock. He’d left it too long. He knew that now.
But now he was here. A thought flicked through his brain. It must be after midnight by now. It must be Christmas Day. At the very least he’d have to wish Grace Merry Christmas and thank her for accompanying him. It was time to stop delaying. Time to realise his duties as a host.
He pulled open the door and was surprised by the warm air that met him. The fire had certainly taken hold. He held his breath.
All he could hear was the comfortable crackle of the fire. And something else.
The noise of deep, soft breaths. Grace was sleeping. Her hair had escaped the knot on top of her head and her dark curls were spread across the white pillowcase. Her pink flannel pyjamas were fastened unevenly, leaving a gap at the base of her pale throat.
She looked exhausted. She looked peaceful. Turned out he didn’t need to worry about
pre-sleep conversation at all.
He walked over next to her and picked up his cup of now lukewarm tea. She shifted a little as his shadow fell over her and he froze. His fingers itched to reach out and brush a strand of hair away from her face. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to do anything to disturb her. Anything to make her feel uncomfortable.
He walked back around to the other side of the bed, sitting down carefully, cringing as the bed creaked. One quick slug of the tea was enough. He shouldn’t have spent quite so long in the shower. He slid his legs under the cool duvet, his skin bristling a little. The pillows were soft, the mattress comfortable under his tired muscles. He pulled the duvet a little higher as he turned on his side to face Grace.
The bed was huge. There was plenty of space between them. There would be no reason to end up on the wrong side of the bed, or touch arms or legs accidentally. He leaned his head on his hand and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest for a few minutes.
Even fast asleep Grace was beautiful. Her lips plump and pink, her pale skin flawless. In the space of a few days she’d woken him up. Woken him up to the world he’d been sleepwalking through these past five years.
Part of him was grateful. Part of him was scared. He didn’t know what any of this meant. ‘Merry Christmas, Grace,’ he whispered as he laid his head on the pillow and went to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GRACE’S EYES FLICKERED OPEN. It took a few seconds for her to remember where she was. The bed was so comfortable. Her fingers and nose were a little chilled but everything else that was under the covers was cosy.
Her body stiffened. She’d fallen asleep last night while Finlay had been in the shower. She’d tried to stay awake, but as soon as she’d finished her tea and the heat from the fire had started permeating across the room her eyelids had grown so heavy that she couldn’t keep them open a second longer.
