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Halfway through her meal, Donna took her napkin from her lap, dabbed at her mouth, then placed it on the table. She reached over and put her hand on top of his as it curled around his fork.
“This was a bad idea,” she said gently. “Let’s go home.”
The word ‘disaster’ hung in the air between them, but neither of them uttered it. His shoulders slumped, and he put down his cutlery before pushing back his chair. “Give me a minute to settle the bill. Wait here.” He pointed at the table to be clear, noticing the drawing she’d made with the pepper. It looked like an eye, and it was strangely familiar.
She saw where he was looking and blushed as she dusted the pepper away. “Go pay then and make sure you don’t give in to temptation and hit Marcus. Especially on the face. His smile brings in business.”
“I’m not going to hit him.” Although the bastard deserved it. “I’m just going to pay the bill.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him and reached for her wine. “Yeah, right.”
Duncan left her to it as he headed for the bar. It was tempting to blow off the date, the bill, everything, and ask the bartender to hand him a bottle of top-shelf whisky. But he couldn’t do that to Donna. He’d already messed up enough for one evening. She was right. This had been a bad idea. He’d been feral so long he had no idea how to be civilised. If Fiona had been there, she would have been disgusted with him. Thank the Lord she wasn’t.
He froze.
Thank the Lord she wasn’t.
The bartender asked him something, but Duncan didn’t hear it. He was too busy waiting for the guilt and recriminations to slam into him after thinking something so abominable about his wife.
But...they didn’t.
Instead, he felt a lightness inside as he realised that he wasn’t the man he’d once been. He wasn’t the man who’d sweet-talked Fiona into sleeping with him a few days after he’d met her, and he wasn’t the man who could entertain a bar full of friends with stories, or debate for hours. That man had died along with his wife. But he no longer mourned who he’d once been either. Instead, he wondered who he’d become and whether Donna liked the man he was now.
“You going to pay or what?” Marcus shoved the bartender aside to glare at Duncan over the bar.
“I am. And you can add two tiramisus to the bill as well. Bag them to go.”
Marcus nodded to the hovering waitress, who scurried off, and then he reached for Duncan’s credit card. “You’re an arse. You know that, right?”
“Aye.” He glared at the man. “But I’m the arse who’s on a date with Donna. How many times has she turned you down?” He knew he’d guessed true when the man winced.
“She didn’t think I was serious.” Marcus handed the card back to Duncan as the waitress came back with a paper bag holding his desserts.
“Well, she’d better not start thinking it now.”
“Or what?” Marcus folded his arms and glared at Duncan. It was no secret in town that he was a champion fighter. It was a secret that Duncan had held his own in the ring right through his twenties.
Without signalling his punch, Duncan shot out his fist and felt the satisfying crunch of Marcus’ nose. He didn’t feel the need to say anything more. He was fairly certain he’d made his point—and he’d managed to leave the man’s business-related smile intact.
As he strode back through the dining room, he noticed that people were no longer staring at him and he found himself grinning. Now, that’s what he called a successful evening out. All he had to do now was salvage his date. The old Duncan would have taken Fiona out for dinner and gently seduced her with intelligent conversation and sophisticated moves. The new Duncan had to find his own way, and he had to do it with a woman who was nothing like his wife. Something that gave him hope. Fiona wouldn’t like the man he’d become, but Donna sure as hell didn’t seem to mind him.
For the first time in years, the thought of his wife didn’t bring him to his knees, all it did was make him pause and feel sadness that he was doing something he’d never thought he would—he was moving on.
Chapter 17
As Duncan drove them back to the mansion, Donna watched the glittering lights over the water off Campbeltown.
“Why does Marcus and his family owe you?”
She stiffened at the question. “I didn’t think you’d heard him.”
“Oh, I heard him all right.” His knuckles tightened on the wheel, and she guessed that meant he’d heard everything. “Why do they think you saved his sister?”
She stared out over the water and hoped he’d let the subject drop. But she’d forgotten just how stubborn he could be.
“Well then?” he pressed.
She let out a sigh. “His sister was sick, and I helped out. That was it.”
