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His lips quirked, and his eyes sparkled. “No, I don’t imagine it would.”
They held each other’s gaze for what seemed like hours as the air between them became charged with desire. At some point, Duncan had taken off his jacket, and the material of his white shirt pulled across his chest. She licked her lips as her eyes hungrily ate up the contours of the muscles she’d felt every time she’d touched him. Underneath that shirt were six-pack abs that would turn any woman into a blubbering mess.
Every move he made oozed strength and confidence. He had the air of a marauder. A pirate. A Viking. Sexy, dangerous, completely in charge. She placed a shaky hand over her heart as she felt it race out of control. Images she’d never dared to let into her mind, flooded in from every quarter, but one in particular rose to the fore.
Duncan behind her, bending her over the daybed behind her.
“Put your forearms on the cushions,” he’d order. “Don’t move.”
Slowly, he’d inch her dress up her thighs, until it was over her hips. He’d groan at the sight of the thong she’d dared to buy after Mairi had goaded her. It was pink and matched the balconette bra that made her feel sexy and wanton.
“Spread those legs for me, Angel.”
She’d inch them apart, aware that the heels she wore pushed her backside higher. The cool glow of the moon above them would bathe them in light. The sound of the fountain would become sensual background music, as the humidity inside the glasshouse coated her sensitive skin, and the cool night air soothed in its wake.
“I have your permission to do as I please?” her Neanderthal would say.
“Yes.”
His hands would squeeze the globes of her behind. “Anything I please?”
“Yes.” The word would tremble out of her.
“Donna?” A very real voice broke into her dream.
Donna shot to her feet. “I need to go.” And then she ran.
The last thing she saw was Duncan standing at the table, staring after her, a frown on his face.
Chapter 19
It was mid-morning, the day after Donna had run out on her date. The ball was in three short days. Duncan was holed up in his office, preparing for the lecture he was to give at Glasgow School of Art. Not that she’d spoken to him. This information came from the cook. The Women’s Institute committee members were sneaking in and out to make arrangements under Grace’s watchful eye. The renovation of the carriage house was coming to an end.
And Donna had fallen in love with her boss.
She let out a strangled scream as she lay on her floor in the middle of her living room and stared up at the ceiling.
“I’m such an idiot,” she said, and for the first time in years, no imaginary characters answered.
Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her, and she picked it up to read the screen. On our way to the mansion, Agnes had written.
Donna didn’t move. Her sisters would come looking for her anyway, and she didn’t particularly care if they found her having a breakdown in the middle of her floor. She’d found them in worse positions more than once.
A few minutes later, a key scraped in the door before it opened wide. Agnes and Mairi looked down at her.
“What happened?” Agnes said. “Who do I have to hurt?”
“Don’t get up,” Mairi said. “I need to take a picture for Isobel.” She lifted her phone.
Donna was past caring. Her life had imploded. She stared at the ceiling some more as she heard the door click shut. Agnes sat on the edge of the sofa beside her.
“Did he hurt you?” she demanded.
“No, of course not. Why is that always the first conclusion you jump to?”
“The man is unstable. Sue me for expecting him to blow and take us all out with him when he does.”
“FYI,” Mairi said. “I’m recording this for Izzy.” She kept her camera trained on them.
