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“So how did you escape growing up as an unbearable prima donna?”
“I probably was as a kid,” I said honestly. “Fortunately, when I made it to high school, our curriculum included modules of volunteer work in the community. Those classes were a requirement, so my parents couldn’t quibble over it. Seeing how the other half lived shocked me and made me a better person, I hope.”
Finley’s gaze was drowsy, his eyelids heavy. Sexual tension lingered just off stage, but we were both tired. Added to that was the ever-present noise of the storm. “I didn’t expect this,” he said.
I searched his face, confused. “Spending the night here?”
“I didn’t expect you.” The words were flat and not altogether flattering.
My insides curled into a tight wad of hurt. “The rain will be over sometime, Finley. After that you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Why did relationships have to be so messy? Finley’s past was an emotional wreck. Mine was less dramatic but equally disheartening. Wasn’t love supposed to be easy and fun? I knew dozens of girls in college who slept their way through entire rugby teams and never gave it a second thought.
Yet here I was, drawn to a gorgeous, moody, complicated man and quite unable to tell him I wanted a vacation fling.
Maybe that was the problem. I wanted more, and it was hard to lie convincingly even to myself.
I saw his eyes close, so I swallowed my disappointment. It was for the best. This entire situation was artificial. The secluded house. The violent storm. The proximity that neither of us had engineered deliberately. I had belatedly kept to my travel itinerary, and Finley was simply being conscientious about looking out for a friend.
Sighing quietly, I let sleep drag at my limbs. Having Finley nearby, no matter our emotional state, was reassuring on a visceral level. He might inadvertently break my heart, but I would come to no physical harm as long as he was with me.
I dozed after that, fitfully and restlessly. Between those rare moments when I slept deeply, I was aware of Finley rising to add wood to the fire and of him peering out the window by the door, his back to me as he stared out into the black night.
Sometime after four, a thunderous crash jerked us awake. I know I cried out, because I heard the panic in my own voice. Finley touched my hair. “Don’t move. I’ll see what happened.”
He disappeared into the back of the house. Cinnamon roused at the noise, too. She lumbered over to my mattress and lay down between me and where her master had been sleeping. I petted her absently, my ears straining for sounds of Finley.
At last, he returned. “I have to go outside,” he said.
My heart leapt in my chest, every horror story I could imagine springing to life in my sleep-deprived brain. “No,” I cried. “It’s too dangerous. Wait until morning. There’s nothing you can do in the dark.”
He crouched beside me. “I have to see what happened, Duchess. It’s possible we’ll have to leave. There’s water coming into the house under a wall. I can’t take the chance this cottage will collapse on top of us, and I can’t assess the damage from inside. I won’t be long, I swear.”
“Take Cinnamon with you,” I urged.
“I doubt she’ll want to go out in this.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want you out there alone.”
“Fine.” He tugged at the dog’s collar. It took three tries to get her on her feet, almost as if she had understood our entire conversation. Maybe she did.
When the door closed behind them, I got up and paced. Then—my curiosity mushrooming by the minute—I peeked into the empty guest room. As Finley had said, the back wall of the house was wet. Water trickled from the roofline down and also oozed from the base of the wall.
Whatever caused the sound we heard must have compromised the structural integrity of the house. Poor Cedric. Poor me, for that matter.
There was little time to brood. I had no sooner returned to the other room than the door burst open with man and dog giving a repeat performance of their arrival hours ago.
Finley looked rattled and wet, though there were no visible signs of damage to him, thank goodness.
“Well,” I said, kneeling on my mattress, “what was it?”
By the time he climbed back into bed, the dog was already asleep again. “Not a landslide exactly. Some rocks came tumbling down the hill. One of them was big, really big. I think it may have damaged the roof and cracked the wall. I can’t tell until daylight.”
“Is it safe to stay?”
“I think so. If anything, it would be even more dangerous to try the drive back to town right now.”
“I’m sorry you’re in this mess because of me. You should be at home in your lovely house, snug and warm.”
