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Their meal arrived and, even though Rosie had not sampled pheasant before, she decided she had never tasted such delicious cuisine in her entire life. Every mouthful was accompanied by a slug of neat malt whisky. Even the French bistro Angus hadtaken her to couldn’t compete with this home-made hunter’s fare.
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s the most scrumptious casserole I’ve ever tasted!’
‘Thanks, it’s a family recipe.’
Rosie met Charlie’s eyes in puzzlement. Her brain felt befuddled as the alcohol worked its way through her veins. But her body wasn’t at all confused about what she wanted – a jolt of intense desire chased all immediate questions from her mind when she saw the way Charlie was looking back at her.
The spell was broken when a bunch of rowdy rugby players spilled into the bar, chased by a roaring wind and shower of rain. The volume on the jukebox was unceremoniously turned up and one of the guys grabbed what Rosie hoped was his girlfriend to perform a twirl to Abba’s Dancing Queen whilst their audience sang along at the top of their voices.
Rosie laughed, joining in with the clapping, the whisky obliterating any inhibitions, and she was helpless to refuse when Charlie dragged her from her seat for a noisy version of Waterloo.
As the last bars of the music faded, Charlie pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers, testing for any objection and Rosie loved the surprised look on his face when she dragged the front of his shirt towards her and kissed him as their audience whooped and whistled and called for more. They then staggered back to their table in the corner by the fire and polished off the bottle of whisky.
Chapter Twenty Four
Rosie groaned out loud as she turned over to block out the shafts of pale light filtering through a pair of red velvet curtains that she didn’t recognise. Her head felt like an anvil had taken up pride of place at the Blacksmith of the Year awards. She stretched her toes but was horrified when they met an outstretched leg. She sat bolt upright, grasping at the flower-patterned duvet.
‘Oh my God! Charlie! What’s going on? Why are we here?’
As her eyes landed on his bed-dishevelled hair, her stomach was invaded by a restless colony of butterflies. He truly was gorgeous.
‘Nothing’s going on, and will you stop shrieking like a banshee. You drank a whole bottle of James’ single malt whisky last night, then you forced me to dance to Abba songs with you – in front of an audience of the local rugby team I would add – and then you seduced me!’ He smirked at the look of abject horror his final words had produced.
‘I did not seduce you!’
‘Well, you managed to get me into your bed.’
‘I never seduce people!’
‘I can hardly be described as “people”, Rosie. But don’t worry; I was able to resist your drunken advances. Nothing happened. James and I had to carry you up to bed, you were comatose. Give me some credit for preferring my lovers to be compos mentis.If you don’t believe me – take a look beneath the duvet. You are still fully clothed, Rosie, which means that my reputation is intact.’
She took a peek before expelling a sigh of relief. Swiftly followed by what she was embarrassed to discover was regret. ‘I never do this.’
‘So you said.’
‘Well, I don’t!’
‘Okay. I get the message. You are mortified at sharing your bed with a “person” whom you have known for five months and with whom you spent the whole day yesterday. Nothing happened, Rosie.’
‘Right. Good.’Didn’t he like her?a little voice asked.
‘And I won’t tell Angus you spent the night with me, either. Although James might, they play cricket together. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t recognise him from all the games you’ve been attending, watching his game and cheerleading from the side-lines.’
‘Angus is not my boyfriend, Charlie. He’s just a friend.’
Rosie crushed her rising irritation and threw Charlie a withering glance as she locked herself in the bathroom. She leant her back against the door, her thoughts in turmoil. What had she done! She was returning to a new life in New York and here she was starting to have feelings for Charlie – no, more than that. If she had to be completely honest with herself, she was starting to fall in love with this handsome but snippy guy. He seemed to know everyone, too. And she wouldn’t put it past his friend James to convey the juicy piece of gossip to Angus. But did she care?
She groaned. She really was an idiot.
The journey home to Somersby, after Mike had delivered their mud-splattered transport on the back of his tractor to the Dog & Gun, was one of the most uncomfortable Rosie had ever endured. Her options rotated through her mind until she became so nauseated, she had to ask Charlie to pull over so she could gasp in some fresh air and pull herself together.
‘I was planning on going back to New York in a couple of weeks. But I really do love it here, Charlie. I love the clean, sharp air, the spectacular countryside, even the weather. Most of all I love the lodge. After everything I’ve done to the cottage and in the garden, I feel like it’s part of me. Does that sound stupid?’
‘Not at all. I love my home with a passion that you wouldn’t believe. So what are you going to do?’
‘I really don’t know. The US is my home, where I earn my living, where my family live. I have to go back. I can’t see how I can stay.’
