The shakespeare sisters.., p.74
The Shakespeare Sisters--The Complete Box Set, page 74
Why couldn’t everything be normal?
This was why she should never have gone to Glencarraig with him. It made things murky, made her question herself when she should be on top of her game. She’d played with fire and it had burned her, and she should learn a lesson from it.
Sighing, she clicked on the forward button, quickly tapping out a note asking Lachlan for his orders. Dammit, she meant instructions. She highlighted the word, replacing it, feeling the relief washing through her as she clicked the send button.
Just the thought of him giving her orders was enough to set her whole body on fire. She dropped her head into her hands, squeezing her eyes shut. If she was this affected by the thought of him, what would she be like when they were face to face again? He only had to look at her and she’d go weak at the knees.
Lifting her head up, she looked through the glass wall of her office, and across to the partners’ rooms on the other side. The thought of Malcolm finding out what she’d done in Glencarraig made her feel sick. Everything she’d worked for would be ruined.
And yet she still couldn’t get Lachlan out of her mind.
The rest of the afternoon was a write-off. Letters that would usually take her minutes to deal with lay unread on her desk. She asked Lynn to hold her phone calls – half afraid he’d try to circumvent her mobile phone and call the office instead. She left her coffee undrunk in her mug, a thin film covering the top of the liquid as it cooled.
Thank God it was almost the weekend. Her father was safely settled in to his home, her sisters were fine in their lives across the world. She could afford to hole up in her apartment, to actually get the work done that she should have finished this week, and by Monday everything would be back to normal.
It would be calm, quiet and completely under control.
Just the way she liked it.
When Lucy’s email flashed up on his screen on Friday afternoon, Lachlan was sitting in the library at Glencarraig, his laptop resting on the polished oak table as he took part in a videoconference with his directors in New York. It was early morning in Manhattan, and spring sunshine shone through the window behind Marcus, his finance director, making the laptop screen work overtime to adjust to the light.
‘Cash flow is good. We have a few overdue items, but nothing to get twisted about,’ Marcus was saying. Lachlan leaned back on his leather chair, flicking at the report in front of him as Marcus continued to speak. His eyes were drawn to his phone, his fingers twitched as he reached for it.
‘When are you coming back to the office?’ Marcus asked. ‘There are a couple of things I need to take you through in person.’
Lachlan put the phone down and concentrated on the screen. ‘I’ll be back on Monday afternoon. Ask Grant to slot you in for an hour, I should be at the office by one.’
The meeting was winding down. He could hear Sean, his marketing director, murmuring about leaving at lunchtime to head to the Hamptons. From what Lachlan could see it was a fine spring day in New York, with temperatures almost in the seventies, according to his weather app. A contrast to the cold front that had followed him up to Glencarraig, and the biting wind that was howling around the windows of the lodge.
‘How about you, are you staying in Scotland until Monday?’ Marcus asked.
‘No’ That was one thing Lachlan was certain of. He wanted a distraction, a way to quell his thoughts. His body still thrummed with the memory of her touch, giving him an ache that he couldn’t quite shake off.
He’d tried, God knows he had. And yet he still felt this discomfort, this unbearable itch that he couldn’t quite reach. It was aggravating.
‘But you’re not back in town until Monday?’ Sean said. ‘Are you heading somewhere else for the weekend?’
‘I might head to the mainland,’ Lachlan said quietly. Surely somewhere in Europe could provide him with a distraction.
The videoconference had barely ended before he grabbed his phone, impatiently unlocking it and pulling up his emails. There was her name, right at the top of the list. He stared at it for a moment, trying to work out if he was angry or relieved.
Maybe a little of both.
* * *
We’ve had another offer in from your brother’s solicitors (see below). Nothing unexpected. Please let me know how you’d like me to proceed. Kind regards, Lucy.
* * *
That was it. No friendly note, no hint of flirting, just pure professionalism. It was as though their trip to Glencarraig had never even happened. His lip curled down as he read her words again, then closed the email as quickly as he’d opened it.
He needed to go somewhere that didn’t hold memories of her smile. Somewhere that he wouldn’t spend the whole time thinking about how she felt as he moved inside her.
Paris. He’d go to Paris.
Anywhere was better than here.
It was eight o’clock on Friday evening. Lucy was curled up on her sofa, mindlessly flicking through the television channels, finding nothing worth stopping to watch. The rain was pattering on her window, a not-so-welcome change from the snow she’d seen in Glencarraig earlier that week, and she’d cranked the heating up even though it was April, and it really shouldn’t be needed.
An hour ago she’d called Juliet, wanting to check on her sister, but she’d been diverted to voicemail. Then she’d called Kitty, and got her voicemail too. She hadn’t bothered calling Cesca – not wanting to hear a recorded voice for the third time. Even her furry house-invader had better things to do – she hadn’t seen the neighbours’ cat since she got back from Glencarraig. It was as though she was the only one without plans, and Lucy couldn’t help but feel lonely.
After another half-hour of reality shows that managed to kill off more than a few of her brain cells, she turned the television off, and carried her half-eaten meal for one over to the kitchen, scraping the remnants into the bin and sliding the plate into her dishwasher. She’d just closed it when her phone started to ring – the loud beeps making Lucy almost run to answer the call. A chat with one of her sisters was just what she needed to get herself back on track, to remind herself who she was.
And then she saw the name on the display and everything turned upside down.
She hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the call button the same way her fist had hovered near his door that night. Watching, waiting, debating.
She hadn’t spoken to him since she’d left him in Glencarraig On Thursday morning. He hadn’t responded to the email she’d sent, either. Was he angry at her, or was he as regretful as she was? Lucy wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.
Her phone rang for the seventh time and she knew it was now or never. One more beep and it would go to her voicemail, and any courage she had might disappear for ever. Taking a deep breath, she finally pressed accept and slowly lifted the phone to her ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’
He hadn’t expected to feel the relief he did when she answered the phone. His whole body relaxed into his chair, the tightness in his shoulders dissolving into the quilted fabric. Crazy how just one word made all the tension disappear.
He’d been in Paris for three hours. In spite of his best intentions, the city had done nothing to stop him thinking about her, and nothing to stop him wanting her. Instead, it had just made him obsess about her even more. As the taxi had weaved its way through the pretty Parisian streets, he’d found himself wanting to point things out to her. Wanting to show her the way the Eiffel Tower lit up at twilight, the way the bars in the side streets had spindly metallic tables that people spilled out onto. The way everybody smoked here like it was still 1989, the blue plumes twisting up into the cool night air.
‘Lucy, it’s Lachlan.’
She didn’t answer. He leaned forward, picking up the whisky he’d ordered half an hour ago. The ice had melted, but the drink was still strong as it hit the back of his throat.
‘What are you doing right now?’ he asked her.
Another pause. Jesus, this was such a bad idea. But then she answered and he immediately felt better.
‘I’m thinking about going to bed.’
‘And what are you doing tomorrow?’
‘Working. I’ve got lots of emails to catch up on, plus one of my clients is in court next week. I need to make sure everything’s ready.’
He took another mouthful of whisky, letting it warm his tongue the same way her voice warmed his soul. ‘Come to Paris.’
‘What?’ The shock in her voice reverberated down the phone line.
‘You’ve never been here, right? So come over and join me, come and see some sights. Tick another thing off your bucket list.’
‘You’re in Paris?’ She sounded confused. ‘I thought you were in Glencarraig?’
‘I had some air miles to use up.’ He smiled. Edinburgh to Paris would barely make a dent in his air miles.
‘What are you doing there?’
‘Right now? I’m sitting in a bar on the Rive Gauche, watching the world go by. And I’m thinking how much better it would be if you were with me.’
He could hear her take in a deep breath of air. ‘I’m your solicitor, Lachlan. What we did at Glencarraig … it should never have happened. We should pretend it never did. Just go back to being client and attorney.’ She sounded as unconvinced as he felt.
‘I know we should. But it’s Friday night. You’re not an attorney right now, and I’m not a client. We’re just a man and a woman without anything better to do. So why not throw caution to the wind and get on a plane? Spend the weekend with me, and then we’ll pretend that none of this ever happened.’ He hadn’t realised how much he needed this until he heard her voice. Now his whole body was tense again, as he bit down on his jaw, waiting for her response.
‘It’s nine o’clock at night,’ she said. He could almost picture her shaking her head. ‘I wouldn’t be able to get a flight until tomorrow, and that wouldn’t leave us any time.’
‘There’s a flight leaving Edinburgh in an hour and a half,’ he told her. ‘And if you look outside your window, you’ll see a car there. I’ve told him to wait for twenty minutes, long enough for you to pack a bag and get in. He’ll drive you to the airport.’
He heard the pad of footsteps as she was walking across the room, then the swish of curtain as she pulled it back. He was on tenterhooks, waiting for her response, desperate for her to say yes.
‘Oh my God, there is a bloody car there.’ She laughed, and it made him smile. ‘You really are crazy, do you know that?’
Yes, he did. But she was the one driving him crazy. ‘I’ll have another car pick you up as soon as you land. You can be here in a couple of hours.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ In spite of her words, she didn’t sound annoyed. More intrigued than anything else. ‘So I fly out, we spend the weekend together, and then we go back to being professional?’
‘I just want to show a beautiful girl a beautiful city. So what do you say?’
Another swish as she closed the curtains, then the knock of her feet as she walked somewhere in her apartment. Lachlan found himself holding his breath, waiting for her answer, desperate for it to be the right one.
‘Okay,’ she finally said, her voice soft. ‘I’ll get on a plane and I’ll meet you. But you’d better have a big glass of French wine waiting for me.’
‘It’s a deal,’ he said, ending the call, a huge grin breaking out on his face. As far as he was concerned he’d buy her every damned bottle in France if she wanted it.
17
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it were made for kissing, lady – Richard III
Lucy looked up at the hotel in front of her, the white brick façade looming high above the street, illuminated by the bright Paris moon. Before she could even walk towards the entrance a doorman had appeared, taking her suitcase from her and ushering her into the entrance hall. ‘Mademoiselle Shakespeare?’ he asked, rolling the ‘r’ of her name. ‘Monsieur MacLeish is waiting for you in the lounge.’
Lucy followed the direction of the doorman’s arm, past the elegant chairs in the lobby, and towards the old paintings that adorned the walls. Past them was a door, the word ‘Salon’ painted in gold above it.
‘I’ll have the bellhop take your case to your room,’ the doorman told her.
Lucy nodded, thanking him in her terrible French, and then breathed in sharply. It wasn’t just this beautiful entranceway that felt foreign to her, it was everything she was doing right then. She wasn’t the sort of woman who flew to Paris at a whim, and she definitely wasn’t the type who agreed to spend the weekend with a man she hardly knew. And yet here she was, her heart cantering in her chest like a thoroughbred, her feet propelling her towards the room where he was waiting for her.
The salon was as eye-catching as the entranceway had been, its tall windows framed by expensive draped curtains, the walls dominated by dark tapestries that spanned from floor to ceiling. But it wasn’t the décor that she was staring at, it was the man sitting in a chair on the far side of the room, his white shirt open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up. He was lifting a glass of amber fluid to his lips. But then their gazes met and they both froze.
Just one look and it felt as if her whole body was catching fire. She tried to take a breath, but her throat was too tight. Then he was standing, putting his glass down and walking towards her.
‘You came.’
‘I said I would.’ It had only been two days since she’d last seen him, but she’d already forgotten how beautiful he was. And there was that horse again, running around inside her chest like it was a racecourse.
His lips slowly curled into an easy smile, one that did nothing to calm her heart. And then she was smiling too, laughter tickling the back of her throat, because this really was so crazy.
A waiter walked into the room, carrying a tray with two glasses on it. ‘Du vin, mademoiselle?’
One of the glasses had white wine, the other red. ‘I didn’t know what to order you,’ Lachlan said, inclining his head at the tray. ‘So I asked them to bring both.’
‘I’ll have white,’ she said, reaching out as the waiter passed her the glass. ‘Merci.’
‘De rien.’ The waiter disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, and it was the two of them again, standing in the empty salon, smiling at each other until their cheeks started to ache.
‘You should drink it before it warms up,’ Lachlan said. ‘Come and sit down.’ He took her hand and led her to the table he’d been sitting at, holding her fingers until she sat on the easy chair. As soon as he let go she missed his touch.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the airport,’ he said, sitting in the chair opposite hers. ‘I had a telecom I couldn’t miss.’
‘It’s fine, I enjoyed the drive through the city.’ She didn’t tell him that she’d stared out of the window like the tourist she was, her mouth wide open as she took in the sights she’d only seen in photographs before. Why had it taken her so long to visit?
She took a sip of her wine – cool, crisp and expensive. Idly she wondered if he’d be charged for both glasses.
‘I always enjoy it too.’ He was smiling at her, as though pleased they had that in common. ‘This place never gets old. I could visit a hundred times and there’d still be more to see.’
‘How often have you been here?’
‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘Ten, fifteen times, maybe? I used to have some investments here, but I sold them.’
‘Did you own this hotel?’ she asked. She wouldn’t put it past him.
He laughed. ‘No, not this one. I’m not sure even I could afford this.’ He put his glass down – empty. Hers was still half full. ‘Do you want to look around?’ he asked. ‘I can take you on a quick tour if you like. There are some amazing paintings here, worth taking a look at.’
She wasn’t sure if she should feel disappointed that he wasn’t jumping on her as soon as she walked through the door. Not that he seemed the type to do that. He was too sophisticated, too urbane. The man knew how to seduce slowly and with intent.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost one a.m. in the UK, which meant it was already two a.m. here in France. No wonder she felt tired. A few hours ago she was contemplating an early night, and now she was in a different country.
‘Can we do the tour tomorrow?’ she asked him. ‘I’d really like to freshen up if I can.’ And then go to bed. But she wasn’t brave enough to say it.
There was a flicker in his eyes that matched the beating of her heart. He watched as she finished her wine, then placed the glass on the polished wooden table between them.
‘Yeah, that sounds perfect to me.’
Lachlan glanced at the bathroom door, watching the steam curl its way through the gap. He could hear a tap running, and the buzz of what sounded like an electric toothbrush. She’d only been in there for ten minutes, and he was already getting antsy.
He caught a glance of himself in the mirror, and stared at it, bemused. A few hours ago he’d been certain that he could keep the layer of professionalism between them; now she was almost certainly naked in his bathroom.
The thought sent a shot of desire through his body.
Lucy opened the door and a wall of steam escaped into the living area. She stopped short as soon as she saw him standing there, pulling her white fluffy bathrobe tightly around herself, her wet hair brushed off her face.
There was that scar again. It reminded him of that night he held her. Below it her skin was pink and clean, the aroma of flowers clinging to her. It drew him in, making him walk towards her, his eyes never leaving hers.
He watched her neck bob as she swallowed, then followed her line of flesh down to her collarbone. God, her whole body was delicate. Like a perfectly crafted work of art. He took another step, reaching his hand out to touch her skin, exposed by the ‘V’ of her robe. His finger traced a line down from the dip at her throat to the top of her cleavage, his touch making her chest lift as she inhaled sharply.
