‘If I’d known we had an expert right here in Belbarrow, I wouldn’t have bothered going to culinary school.’ Rae laughed, sipping the wine straight from the bottle since he hadn’t brought glasses. ‘I must admit, I did wonder about it myself when I first started. If I were a customer, I’d probably choose a big, juicy burger over a slice of foie gras.’
‘Now you’re talking. With bacon and pickles.’
Struan offered the bowl back to her, but she shook her head. Stress, carbs, and non-elasticated jeans made for quick bloating.
Still, she pinched a shortbread slice from the basket, delighting in the buttery crumbs that melted on her tongue. Gran was definitely the better baker. ‘What about you? How did you end up as a guide?’
He shrugged, tucking his hair behind his ear before it could blow across his face in the evening breeze, made crisper by their proximity to the mountains. ‘I couldn’t settle on anything else. Then I saw the local rescue team advertise a training course. It made me think of Dad.’
Rae ignored the temptation to reach out and take his hand. She settled for lying down on her stomach to match his level, bones sighing in relief after the long day spent mostly on her feet.
It had been awful when Martha’s dad had passed. She’d been too young to know what to say or do, so she’d hugged her more than was probably wanted, watched old Disney movies with her long past midnight, and listened when Martha had confessed how hard it was, how scared she was, because it was the first time they’d realised that people could leave the house one day and not come back.When her own dad had been diagnosed with IBD not long after, Rae had been terrified that she’d end up facing the same loss. More so because the world had kept going, even when both Martha and Struan had shown up tired and blotchy-faced and half as happy as they’d been before. She was scared of that part the most: the after, when the grieving period was over and people expected you to shake off the sadness. As the eldest, Struan had probably struggled more with that, and she suspected the pressure was why he’d started staying out late and coming home high.
It spoke to his strength that he’d ended up here, doing something that would prevent other kids from going through the same thing. If they’d been able to find Mr Macgibbon on time, he might have survived the bike accident.
‘He’d be proud,’ was the best reply she could offer.
‘Maybe I could take you out,’ Struan suggested.
Rae almost choked on her drink. ‘Can you stop asking me out?’
Amusement glittered green in his eyes like leaves catching the sunlight. ‘I meant on a hike, not a date. There’s a gorgeous spot by Foxglove Falls you’d like. Peaceful, like here, only the view’s even better.’
‘Oh. Right.’ She sagged in relief, and perhaps a little disappointment, which was wrong – only she couldn’t quite remember why. Struan was good, kind, funny, if not a little bit silly. And he was attractive. So, so attractive that, when he licked his lips, her thighs clenched together, desperate for even a bit of friction.
‘I don’t see why it would be so terrible, though. Are we not enjoying dinner together now?’
‘Are you done?’ She snatched the bowl away before he could take another bite, covering it with tin foil and placing it back in the picnic basket. Even as she stood, Struan made no effort to follow, rolling onto his back like he had every intention of staying here all night. He slung an arm over his eyes to protect them from the sun, the paler skin under his biceps only making the coil in Rae’s belly furl tighter. She’d never thought of all the places she could kiss somebody before, places she might have forgotten, but he was baring them without realising it. A tuft of underarm hair crept out of his T-shirt sleeves, fabric sticking to his ribs and hips. His stomach was visible again, too, indented by the button on his jeans. She imagined leaving a mark like that; she would have liked to be a dimple on his skin.
Sunstroke. It had to be. In a desperate attempt to distract herself, she picked the low hanging cherries above, so ripe they were more black than red. Good. She needed something tart to take the edge off whatever madness was roiling inside her.
‘Dessert?’ With Struan’s voice sticky as syrup, Rae wondered if he was doing it on purpose. All this subtle flirting, the insistence he spend time with her…
Was he trying to seduce her? Why? Martha had told her about his weekend flirtationships down at the tavern. Apparently, plenty of people wanted to conquer Ben Nevis, and she couldn’t blame them.
But she couldn’t be one of them.
Or maybe she could. As she turned back to him, she saw his eyes had wandered to her arse. She might have been embarrassed, having always complained about being disproportionately bottom-heavy, if not for the dark hunger in his eyes. It was nothing like the leer Colin had given her earlier, more rapture than desire.
Worship, like Struan had said. The sort she apparentlydeserved.
She should leave. Only, she couldn’t remember anybody ever marvelling at her like this before. For the first time, having a bigger body didn’t feel like a hindrance, but rather something that offered an abundance for him to devour. Somethingshecommanded, not the other way around. It didn’t stop her from shifting coyly, so unused to feeling this bare.
Her breath turned ragged as she sat down, adding the harvested cherries to the fruit basket and wedging it between them before he got too close. She tried a tayberry first, an unusual amount of tanginess bursting across her tongue. ‘You must have had a warm spring here this year.’
He propped himself up on his elbow, looking more than a little impressed. ‘You can tell that just from the taste?’
‘More sun means more sugar content.’ These ones carried full-bodied, earthy flavour that left her licking her lips. She remembered the first year Dad had started growing tayberries, how excited Rae had been to learn about the hybrid plant. For the first few years, she’d only tasted raspberry, but later, as her palate evolved, the trace of blackberry came through. Gran had started teaching her all sorts of recipes that would make the complex flavour shine.As soft as overripe raspberries, they weren’t easy to harvest, which was why they were difficult to come across in a lot of places – but they were worth it when they tasted this good, and Dad thrived on the idea of being one of the few farms in the area to grow them.
‘Here. Try it.’ Without thinking, she found another ripe berry in the basket and pushed it between Struan’s lips. They parted in both surprise and acceptance, juice bursting across his teeth as he bit down. She should have pulled away, then, but his hand curled around her wrist, holding her hostage. As he moved to sit up, her fingers brushed his mouth. A pleasant sound of approval rumbled from his throat at the taste—
At least, she thought it was for the taste until his nose nudged hers: a question, one that had her trying not to gasp.
‘Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,’ she pleaded.
‘Okay.’ He pulled back enough to brush a strand of hair from her face, and she shuddered at the featherlight touch. Nobody had ever been this gentle with her, nor this hungry. ‘Just out of curiosity, why not?’
‘Because,’ she whispered, then stopped when she realised she didn’t have a real answer.
