Page 75 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

Chapter Twenty-Four

I let out an agonised groan.

Where was I?

I pushed myself upright, realising I’d been lying under a thick, black and white stripey duvet.

I swiped at my gritty eyes with the back of my hand. My head felt as though it were stuffed with balls of cotton wool.

It was only when my eyes prised themselves open that I realised I was in a bedroom. There were closed charcoal cotton curtains at the window opposite and a table underneath it stacked with several glossy coffee table books about Scottish mountains. Beside those were a couple of framed dramatic photographs of Lake Windermere and Coniston.

My head unscrambled. The memory of yesterday flooded my brain. Shit! I’d fallen asleep on Mitch’s couch. I must still be in his bothy. Hold on. I peered around again, my red curls exploding out and around my head. This was Mitch’s bedroom.

I stared down at myself, still dressed in my jeans and chunky pink jumper.

There was an armchair in the corner with a pillow and another duvet draped over it. It looked rumpled, as though someone had been sleeping in it.

I pushed off the duvet and crawled to the end of the bed. Bronte was snoozing on a cream rug, but there was no sign of Kane.

I heard noises coming from the kitchen through the slim crack in the bedroom door.

Bronte heard me throw my legs out of the bed and trotted round to see me. Her tail thrashed with delight.

I didn’t remember clambering into bed. In fact, I didn’t remember anything beyond Mitch and I having our heart-to-heart, me telling him all about Joe and then Mitch confiding in me about the young lad’s accident, him harbouring guilt over that and the fallout from it that he experienced, both personally and professionally.

Realising there was a small ensuite bathroom off to the right, I padded through in my socks, with Bronte tapping her way behind me. I slipped in as quietly as I could manage, did a wee, washed my hands, splashed my face with cold water and tidied my curls the best I could.

Coming out of the bathroom, I could hear the muzzy sound of a radio in the kitchen. There was the smoky scent of bacon being cooked and the sizzle of frying eggs. My stomach let out an appreciative groan.

Feeling self-conscious, I edged into the kitchen.

Mitch was standing with his back to me, turning over the bacon in a frying pan.

Kane was lingering nearby for scraps and when he saw me and Bronte, he wagged his tail and ambled over.

Mitch turned around. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’

I clasped and unclasped my hands in front of me in want of something to do. ‘Yes, I did thanks.’ I felt like I was all fingers and thumbs. ‘I bet you didn’t. You slept in that chair all night?’

‘Don’t worry. I’m used to camping and sleeping outside, so that’s a comparative luxury. Hungry?’

I opened and closed my mouth, taken aback by his kindness, not to mention how delectable he looked, even though it was still early in the morning. His dark curls were still glistening with dampness from his shower. ‘Look, I’m really sorry I fell asleep on you like that. Well, when I say fell asleep on you, I don’t mean physically falling asleep on top of you.’

Mitch’s eyes danced. ‘Always a compliment when a woman nods off in your company.’

When I moved to explain, he shook his head. ‘It was the whiskey.’

‘It was,’ I rushed. ‘I hardly ate anything before coming over here and I didn’t sleep much the night before.’ I pushed a hand through my hair. ‘I don’t even remember getting into bed.’

‘That’s because I carried you through to my bedroom.’

Mitch’s gaze locked with mine. My stomach performed a back flip. Jesus. Where was all this coming from? It was like my insides and heart were stirring. The way he’d said it, in that gruff Scottish brogue of his. ‘I was going to leave you to sleep on the couch, but you made a move to get up and almost toppled backwards.’ Mitch’s small, quirky smile made my stomach swoop. ‘But I managed to catch you and stop you from falling. I decided it would be best to pick you up and put you to bed.’ He gave the bacon another prod in the frying pan and then turned back to look at me. ‘I decided to sleep in the chair, just to keep an eye on you. In case you were sick.’

A rush of something almost winded me, as I stood there, looking at this man. ‘Oh. Right. Well, I really do appreciate it. Thank you.’

Mitch was staring at me, an indecipherable look in his eyes. He turned away.

I cleared my throat. ‘Can I help?’