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I hadn’t had the time I’d wanted to put the idea of marrying me to her, and that had all been Valentin’s fault. But I would make time now.
She would come with me, away from the situation in Madrid. Somewhere out of reach of everyone, especially Valentin. Somewhere no one but my most trusted staff knew about, where we would have the peace and quiet I needed to discuss my marriage proposal.
That somewhere was Glen Creag, a bolthole I had in Scotland. A remote estate in the Highlands, where there was nothing but sweeping valleys and mountains and a still, deep loch. There was no internet, no TV. Nothing but the wide-open valley and the sky, and thus no distractions.
The jet I’d put her on earlier had landed about an hour before mine, and my staff had informed me that she was still on board and asleep. I forbade anyone to touch her, and boarded the jet myself to get her.
She was curled up in her seat, fast asleep, her long brown hair coming out of its messy bun and falling down around her shoulders. A curl lay across one soft cheek, and as I bent over her I couldn’t resist the temptation to pull it away.
Her hair had felt like silk against my skin that night, as I’d buried my fingers in it, tilting her head back to take her mouth. Those full lips had been petal-soft and she’d tasted of chocolate... I’d always had a weakness for chocolate.
I didn’t want to wake her. She looked so peaceful curled up in the seat, her hands tucked beneath her cheek like a child. Her long silky lashes fanned out over her cheekbones and didn’t even twitch. The trip to Madrid and then back to England again must have exhausted her. She hadn’t been well back in Madrid either, though she’d regained some colour, which was good.
A good thing, too, that she didn’t know how much it had cost me to keep my distance from her the second I saw her, not to sweep her up into my arms and carry her away, make her mine the way the beast inside me wanted to.
And she would never know.
Distance was the only way to keep her safe, and detachment the only way to control my own urges, so distant and detached I had to remain.
However, if I was going to transfer her to the helicopter that would take us to Glen Creag, the only way I could do so was to carry her. It was a physical distance I didn’t want to close since I couldn’t trust myself—not after that night in the garden—but I didn’t want anyone to touch her either. So I braced myself against the desire she always generated in me and gathered her up in my arms.
She’d no doubt be very unhappy with me taking her to Scotland instead of London, and she’d probably have words to say, but I didn’t want an argument now. She needed her sleep, and I was concerned by how sick she’d been in Madrid. I’d get a doctor to look over her in the morning, but until then she would sleep safe in my arms.
You want her there. You want to keep her there.
Reflexively, I forced the thought away. Regardless of whether I did or not, the need was dangerous and I couldn’t allow it.
I bent and gathered her up gently. She was very soft, and very warm, and when I straightened she made a small sound, curling into me and pressing her cheek against my shoulder.
She trusts you.
There was a hot, tight feeling behind my breastbone, and for a second I found breathing difficult. I wanted to gather her closer and guard her against every bad thing.
But that bad thing was me, which made it difficult—especially when I’d already made one catastrophic mistake with her already.
I would need to be doubly on my guard now.
The leftover anger from earlier in the evening knotted in my gut. Anger at myself and my inability to control my emotions, even after all these years and all the painful lessons my father had taught me. Anger at the mistake I’d made three months earlier that had led to both of us being in this position.
And, unfairly, anger at her for being who she was—the one bright spark in my life. All smiles and joy and a sharp, vital beauty that cut at my soul and tempted me beyond reason. She’d given me her trust and allowed herself to be vulnerable. That way lay only pain as I had good reason to know.
Ignoring the emotion, I carried her out of the jet and down the stairs to the Tarmac. A helicopter, our final mode of transport for the night, waited not far away, the rotors already spinning.
The sound didn’t seem to disturb her. She simply snuggled into my shoulder, turning her face against the wool of my suit jacket as if the runway lights bothered her.
I tightened my grip.
Some of my staff came to assist me into the helicopter, but I refused them. I didn’t want anyone else touching her and nor did I want to release her. It was a possessive urge from my baser self that I tried never to allow, but it was late, and it had already been a hectic night, so I indulged it.
He can’t see you any more. He’s dead.
The thought came out of nowhere, but I ignored that too.
Protecting her—protecting everyone—from my father had become second nature, and apparently it didn’t matter that the bastard was now gone. The reflex was still there.
Eventually we were settled comfortably in the helicopter. I didn’t bother putting a headset on Jenny. If the noise of the machine hadn’t woken her already then nothing would, and putting a headset on her wouldn’t make her lying in my arms very comfortable. I didn’t want anything to disturb that. It wouldn’t be a long flight anyway.
The helicopter lifted off and soon we were flying into the darkness of the Scottish Highlands.
