“It’s complicated. But she’s dating this shady character your mom and I don’t approve of, and she won’t listen to us.”
“Is she safe?”
“Yes. For now.”
“Is she happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she doing drugs?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Robbing a bank?”
“Robbie—”
“I’m not in Scotland just twiddling my thumbs, Seth. I’m here to reconnect with my father, and I’m sorry if that isn’t as important as Regan hanging around some guy you don’t approve of, but I’m not dropping my life to hurry back to Boston because you want me to parent your daughter.”
“Shit, Robyn, that’s not fair.”
The truth was my parents weren’t perfect. Whose parents were? Mine were good people who loved me and my sister. But Mom had always mothered and worried about Regan in a way she never had with me, and she’d shown favoritism over the years. She’d continually prioritized Regan’s problems over mine, and in doing so expected me to worry and mother over Regan, too, even if I had my own issues to deal with. When it became apparent I had a much higher success rate in talking my sister around or out of something (e.g., asking her to quit dating a twenty-year-old biker when she was sixteen, suggesting she give up slacker friends who got her into pot when she was seventeen, leaving high school to pursue acting in New York when she’d never shown an interest in the profession her entire life, or dropping out of college before graduation, etc.), my mom and stepdad leaned heavily on me. It was something I’d naturally do as a big sister, but it didn’t mean they were unburdened by the task of parenting her. And I was done.
After discovering those letters, I was so done doing what was best for everyone else but not for me. “I’m not coming home anytime soon. Unless Regan is in danger, abusing substances, or breaking the law, don’t ask again. And tell Mom to stop calling me. We’ll talk when I’m ready to talk.”
“You don’t sound like yourself, Robbie. I’m worried.”
“Why? Because I’m putting myself before everyone else for the first time in my life?”
Seth was silent so long, I thought he’d hung up. Then, “That’s fair. That’s absolutely fair. And I’m sorry. You do what you have to do with Mac. Even though it might not seem like it, I’m glad you’re getting the chance to connect with him. I just don’t want him turning you against us.”
“He’s not. That’s not who he is.”
“No, I guess it’s not.”
I turned left toward the gates of Ardnoch Estate, and the sadness in my stepfather’s voice chipped at my resolve. “Are you okay, Seth?”
“I’m good,” he promised. “Just worried about my girls.”
“Well, don’t worry about me. Trust me, I’m where I’m supposed to be right now.”
“Okay, Robbie. I’ll let you go.”
“Get some sleep. I love you.”
“Love you, too, darlin’.”
Despite my determination to let my parents deal with their own insecurities and worries, I couldn’t help the niggle of guilt in my gut for being so harsh as the security cameras tagged my license plate and the gates swung open a few seconds later.
Fergus wasn’t at the mews, so I left the SUV outside and walked down the gravel drive toward the path through the golf course that led to Eredine’s studio. Two actors and current heartthrobs of our generation appeared out of the main entrance with a golf caddy leading the way. They stopped at the sight of me, and I gestured for them to continue.
One of them, a sexy Michael B. Jordan look-alike, grinned at me. “Never. Ladies first.”
“Thank you, gentlemen.” I nodded with a smile, pleased to discover manners still existed in the world. Unable to resist, I glanced over my shoulder as they walked toward the golf course and the Jordan look-alike stared back with a certain glimmer in his eyes.
It was nice to be admired.
It was also a nice distraction from my guilt.
Almost at the path that led toward Eredine’s studio, I felt a tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Glancing over my shoulder again, this time at the castle, then seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I almost turned around when movement in a large, top-floor window stopped me.
A shiver tickled down my spine when I realized the window had the same aspect as the one from Lachlan’s room.
Was he watching me?
I turned away, walking sightlessly toward the studio as the memory of two nights ago came at me in flashes of heat and musk. The sound of Lachlan’s groan of release, his taste, the tight fullness of him thrusting inside me, the scratch of the wool of his kilt on my thighs—
“Stop it,” I muttered to myself.
He’d insinuated we’d have sex again. He’d wanted to right away. Yet I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. Mac complicated everything. Besides, I’d never been a casual sex kind of girl.
Lucy and Eredine greeted me as I strolled into the studio. They chatted about the ceilidh and things said and done by this person and that (names I didn’t recognize because I still didn’t know everyone all that well), and I laughed here and there, but my mind was elsewhere.
Last time we’d had a session together, I was trying to teach them dirty boxing, a style of fighting for when you were caught in an opponent’s clinch. It was a combination of wrestling and boxing. Somewhat distracted, I decided to show them ground and pound. It was a great technique for a woman against a stronger opponent because it enabled them to grapple their attacker to the ground and then incapacitate with chokeholds and joint locks.
I’d suggested the girls get back into position to try it again, but my mind wandered to the owner of Ardnoch and whether I’d see him today. Or whether he was going to do what he was good at and avoid me.
He was slightly drunk when we had sex.
Did he regret it?
My cheeks flamed as I remembered our quick and furious interlude
