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‘Getting stuck in a snowstorm? I know I’m a powerful man, Luce, but the weather’s up there with the rail network on the list of things I can’t control.’
‘That’s why we came this way. You knew the snow would be bad, so you planned to kidnap me and take me to your cottage. You’re still mad I wouldn’t sleep with you last night.’
Was the woman actually insane?
‘Trust me—sleeping with you is the last thing on my mind right now. I’m more concerned with us—oh, I don’t know—not dying.’
‘I should have taken the train.’ The words were muffled as Luce buried her mouth into the long fluffy scarf wrapped around her neck.
‘Next time I’ll let you,’ Ben promised, relief seeping through him as he made out enough letters on the next road sign to reassure him they were nearly at the village nearest his cottage. Two more turns and they’d be there. Once they got onto the last rocky upward track. ‘Hold on,’ he warned her. Then he took a breath and turned the wheel.
* * *
Luce had never liked rollercoasters. Or fairground rides. Or ferries, actually. And the journey through the hills with Ben had felt far too much like all three for her liking. Rising and falling, rocking, swaying in the wind... She could feel breakfast threatening to rise up in her throat as they bumped over the rocky track Ben had just violently swerved up.
All she wanted was to be at home. Warm, safe and merrily lost in the Middle Ages. Was that so much to ask?
But instead she was...where, exactly? Somewhere in the Brecon Beacons, she supposed. Risking her life on an unsafe track to get to Ben’s love-nest in the hills. Somewhere to wait out the storm and focus very hard on reasons not to indulge in a one-night stand with Ben.
Suddenly Cardiff felt a very long way away.
The car jerked to a halt and Luce rubbed at her collarbone where the seatbelt dug in.
‘We’re here.’ Ben threw open the door and jumped out into the snow, as if any amount of cold were better than being stuck in the car with her.
He was still mad about her suspicions, then. And, yes, okay—rationally she knew he probably hadn’t intended this to happen and couldn’t actually control the snow.
But it was still all a little too convenient and willpower-testing for her liking.
Unfastening her seatbelt, Luce followed, stepping gingerly into the soft piles of snow and wishing she’d packed more practical boots. Peering through the snow, she followed Ben’s tracks up what she presumed must be a path under all the white and saw, at last, Ben’s cottage.
Luce wasn’t sure what she’d expected, exactly. Maybe a collection of holiday chalets attached to a hotel. Or an ostentatious, look-how-rich-I-am manor house sort of thing that could only be called a cottage ironically. Whatever it was, it wasn’t this. An actual, honest-to-God stone cottage in the hills.
It was perfect.
‘Come on,’ Ben said, and she realised the front door was open. ‘If you freeze to death you’ll never forgive me.’
‘True,’ Luce said, and hurried in after him.
With the door closed fast behind them, the wild winds and swirling snow seemed suddenly miles away. It wasn’t hot in the cottage, by any means, but it was warm at least. Ben turned his attention immediately to the stone fireplace that dominated the lounge, stacking sticks and paper with practised ease.
Luce stared around her, taking in the unexpected surroundings. It certainly wasn’t the sort of space she’d imagined Ben feeling comfortable in. Yes, it had a modern open-plan layout, but there were none of the bright white surfaces and stainless-steel accessories she’d expected, even after seeing the rustic outlook of the place. Instead the large main room was decorated in earthy colours—warming, welcoming reds and browns and greens. The battered leather sofas had tawny throw blankets and cushions on them—perfect for curling up in front of the fire. And the sheepskin rug before the fireplace made even the grey stone floor more warming.
Not Ben. Not at all.
‘When did you buy this place?’ she asked, stripping off her coat and scarf and hanging them over the back of a kitchen chair before removing her boots.
‘A couple of years ago. I wanted somewhere separate. Somewhere that was mine.’
Luce thought she could understand that. Of course she encouraged her family to treat her house as theirs, but technically it belonged to her. That mattered.
‘Did you get someone in to decorate?’ Because this was the perfect rustic-cottage look. The sort of thing that either happened naturally or cost thousands via an interior designer. She didn’t see Ben as the naturally rustic type.
