His eyes twinkled. “The need will almost definitely…arise.”
Our eyes locked and for a moment, I didn’t breathe. That had been a double entendre if I’d ever heard one, and it left me wondering what he was thinking. And if he would do anything about it. Because I was definitely thinking what he was thinking. At least, I thought so.
6
Dax
“Do you think I could kiss you, Isla?” I couldn’t remember the last time I asked a woman if I could kiss her, but it somehow felt right, considering the circumstances. And I suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving mine.
I slanted my head slightly, leaning in a fraction of an inch at a time, painstakingly slowly, until her mouth was a whisper away from mine. Then I grazed her jaw with mine, eyes still locked, and finally—finally—our lips made contact. They were soft, just as I’d imagined they would be, and I took my time exploring them without even attempting to add tongue to the equation. I’d waited a fuck of a long time to do this and I wanted to savor it. Her sweetness, the way she moved closer to me even as we sat on a blanket on the ground.
Something cold and wet dropped onto my head and I reluctantly pulled away, looking up at the sky.
“It’s about to rain,” I said needlessly, just as the skies opened up and the rain came down like someone had dropped a bucketful on us.
“We can go inside!” she said, jumping to her feet and gathering up the wine and some of the food.
I grabbed the rest, wrapping it in the blanket we’d been sitting on, and we raced toward the cottage. She punched a few numbers into a keypad hidden behind a nameplate that said “Campbell – 1377.” The lock disengaged and we went inside, both of us already drenched.
“Will the horses be okay?” I asked her.
She nodded. “As long as there’s no hail or lightning, they’ll be fine. They’re used to the rain.”
I put everything down and looked around. It was dark and sparsely decorated, from what I could see, but the basics were there. A couch, a couple of chairs, a small but functional kitchen off to the side, and doors that I assumed led to either bedrooms, bathrooms or both.
“Let me get us towels,” Isla said, walking through one of the doors and coming back out with towels. She handed me one and took a moment to dry herself off before smiling at me.
“You’ve got to love the weather in Scotland.”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly, rubbing the towel over my hair. “This isn’t so bad. You and me, alone in a romantic little cottage—we could be back at the house with your grandfather playing chaperone.”
She laughed. “I suppose you’re right. What could we possibly do to pass the time here in this romantic little cottage?”
I reached for her hand. “We could talk. And maybe kiss some more.”
“Sounds lovely.”
I tugged her over to the couch and we settled in next to each other, the sides of our legs touching. “Since I don’t want to talk about my uncertain future anymore, tell me what you think the underlying reasons are for your grandfather trying to marry you off.”
She squinted slightly. “I think it has to do with my father dying, as if the job of raising us has somehow now passed to him.”
“Raising you? You’re an adult and you were an adult when your dad died… It’s been, what? Four years? Five?”
She nodded. “Five. But I think Granddad feels guilty, as if it was his fault.”
“Why would it be his fault?”
“Dad had a heart attack around ten o’clock in the evening, but he and Granddad had quarreled about the firm earlier in the day. And about Ian.”
“About Ian?” This was news to me.
“You probably know that Ian made a deal with Granddad that he would play hockey for five years and then become in-house counsel for our family’s financial firm. That’s why he had to finish college and law school before he started playing professionally. But Dad knew he didn’t want that, so he was angry when he found out Granddad made Ian make that promise. Several hours later, Dad had his heart attack and died.”
“Does Ian know?”
“That they quarreled? No. I’m not even supposed to know but I heard Mum and Granddad arguing about it the day of the funeral. It was a very emotional time. But even if the fight was the straw that broke the camel’s back, it wasn’t Granddad’s fault. Dad was overweight, continued to smoke even though the doctor kept warning him to stop, and of course, he drank. His heart attack was inevitable, but Granddad still feels guilty. So his way of making up for that is to smother us children with his version of love. What he doesn’t understand is that we’re fine. We know he loves us, and none of us blame him. Technically, none of us even know he blames himself.”
“Guilt is a tricky emotion. It doesn’t make sense, though. He knows you don’t want to date these guys he keeps setting you up with, so is his goal to make you miserable? Would your father have wanted that?”
“Definitely not. I was Daddy’s little girl.” She smiled. “But in my case, I think it’s the patriarchy at work. He’s the patriarch of our family, and a titled duke, so from his perspective, what else would I want to do with my life other than get married and have babies? He can’t fathom that I love my work, that I’m happy doing what I’m doing.”
“But are you happy? Is your work enough?”
“It is and it isn’t,” she admitted softly. “I love my research, and I actually enjoy teaching, but the introductory class I teach, it’s not fulfilling. I’d like to teach something a bit more advanced, something that the students are truly interested in, not just a freshman-level
