Storm the Castle

Book 1: Marry the Scot

by Jolie Vines

Genres: Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

"Come, lass. Get on a plane with me."

Mathilda:

A Highlander walks into a bar...

My father's conference, to be exact. The Scot is huge, overbearing, and his gaze sets me on fire. He wants to take me home to see his mighty tower.

I'm tempted. I really am.

Except I just had a proposal from someone else. One that could give me everything I wanted.

Apart from love.

But when did I ever have a need for that?

 

Callum:

I know what I want when I see it, and I'd move mountains for the lass with a whip-smart mind and killer legs.

But I came here to reclaim a debt. The man who screwed me over put my castle on the line. My ancestral home where I raised three brothers. I cannae let that lie.

If it means storming his party, then so be it.

 

Storm the Castle is the first in a major new contemporary romance series. Set in the gorgeous Scottish Highlands, this story of big love brings Highlander romance into the modern day.

Be swept away by this steamy romantic standalone tale and start this series now.

Release date: March 14, 2019

Print pages: 322

Sample

 

Chapter One – A Wall of Man

 

Mathilda

As a little girl, I’d dreamt of hearing the words ‘Marry me’. Soft music playing in the background and a ring offered from my lover’s eager hands. This, of course, was before my closest example of marriage became a warning rather than an inspiration.

My childish, rose-tinted vision had never involved me standing in the corner of a glittering conference, freaking out over the proposal I’d just received.

Dominic Hanswick, my father’s business partner, had watched Dad leave then taken me to one side. He’d been polite and concise as he’d laid out his terms. “Marry me, Mathilda. Save my reputation. Save your sister in the process. Think about it. I’m sure you’ll find it a reasonable idea.” He’d offered it so easily then he’d smiled and moved away through the tables, murmuring pleasantries to colleagues.

A business deal, he’d called it.

Who said things like that?

My head already ached like I’d been in a hit-and-run, the dreadful lunch I’d had at my parents’ home still forefront in my mind. Scarlet’s behaviour was the only reason I wasn’t laughing this off.

Shocked, I’d barely asked Dominic any questions, but now dozens came to mind. God, he wouldn’t expect me to sleep with him, would he?

I needed answers, and standing around in my flat sandals wasn’t getting me anywhere. My job for the evening was done—I was only at the event as a favour to Dad, meaning I could leave and return to my hotel, but this had thrown me for a loop. With a calming breath, I left the safety of my alcove and crossed the hall.

“Mr Hanswick?” I tapped the shoulder of his smart suit, and the man turned. My would-be fiancé was a businessman, a senior partner with Storm Enterprises, the conglomerate my father ran. He was smart, had the stout figure of a man used to finer things, and at forty-two, seventeen years my senior.

Overall, Dominic was not what I had in mind when I’d envisaged my groom.

“If you have a moment, I need to ask a quick question.” A vast understatement. I backed away from the group, smiling at people important to my dad. The model of a dutiful daughter.

Dominic excused himself and followed. His brow crinkled. “You have my business card. Set up a meeting, and we can talk through the finer details.”

Right. And yet, “You said you wanted a marriage of convenience. In name only.”

He glanced around, presumably to make sure we were out of earshot. “Naturally.”

“What happens if I want to date someone?” Why was that so important? I hadn’t dated anyone in months.

He sighed. “The point of selecting you, Mathilda, is that you’re young, single, and practical. My home is big enough for us to live separate lives: you with your sister on one side, me on the other. This arrangement works for all involved. As for other…needs you might have, sleep with whomever you choose, but I’d recommend you stick to one-night stands. At least until we near the end of the five years. And for Heaven’s sake, be discreet. I’ve had enough scandal to last a lifetime, and a cheating wife would set me back to square one.”

“I see.” I nodded along like this was anything other than insane. I knew Dominic had been the subject of press attention. He’d had an affair with a high-profile, married politician, and the newspapers had made a meal over it. Dad had ranted about the effect it had on Storm Enterprise’s shareholders, so I knew Dominic was losing money fast.

Getting married would fix his reputation and save his bank balance.

None of this was my problem.

Scarlet’s emotional health, on the other hand, was. Her chance at having a good future.

As if sensing my reticence, the man leaned in. Even though I was in my flats, my six-foot height meant I was looking down on him. “Your sister is off the rails. You can help her. Why wouldn’t you do that? Your father will let you take her in if you’re married, am I correct?”

How on Earth did he know that? I gave a slow nod. From behind me came the clamour of raised voices. Dominic’s attention shifted to the source of the commotion, and his eyes widened as if in recognition. He gave me a short bow. “I have to leave. Call my assistant to set up that meeting, and we can finalise the arrangements. Just don’t take a time over it. It serves us both to arrange this as soon as possible.”

Then he was gone.

Rotating, I spied a vacant table in a dark corner. On the way, I grabbed a glass of water from a waiter then found a chair and laid my head back. My sister, Scarlet, nearly arrested again last week, worried me to death, and clearly Dominic knew enough about the situation to determine which buttons to push. It was the solitary reason I’d have to say yes, saving her skin and, separately, his, and why I hadn’t yet laughed him out of town.

Not that I would do anything quite so unladylike.

A surge of frustration filled me from even entertaining the idea. I didn’t want Dominic. He’d called me practical, and I was, but what about chemistry and heat and passion? I wanted more than the lacklustre relationships I’d so far suffered in my twenty-five years on the planet. Beth, my best friend, made a robot-Mathilda voice when I was being ultra-efficient, but inside I was like everyone else: desiring that overwhelming romance. The breathless appetite-quenching satisfaction that came from sex with someone I loved.

The love stories I devoured couldn’t all be wrong.

If I took the marriage deal, on whatever terms, I wouldn’t have the chance to find out. Then again, who’s to say I’d ever find this relationship utopia. My last boyfriend had cheated, after all. Maybe a sham marriage and one-night stands could work. Passion based on the purely physical was better than nothing.

At the entranceway, a distance across the open hall, two men emerged through the crush. Both tall, the men carried a watchful air as the event’s patrons left a moat around them, and my interested gaze skipped over each as they shook off the security staff.

The dark-haired younger man had the kind of looks you could stare at for an hour and praise God for pretty people. But it was the man beside him who caught my attention. And held it. Because holy hell.

Not only because of his size—he was one of the tallest men I’d ever seen—but for the way people orbited around him, and how he held his powerful, large body with ease as he reached out a long arm to take a glass of what appeared to be water. He gave the waiter a polite nod, and I warmed inside.

Lifting my drink, I tried not to stare. “Good luck with that.” I imagined my friend’s stage-whisper. If only Beth could be here to ogle alongside me. She’d nab a cocktail, rest her chin on her hands, and goggle freely.

The room lights flickered over the doorway, as if showing off for the big man, and a lick of interest curled in my belly.

Power impressed me. I couldn’t help the fact.

Then, like I’d switched on a neon light that said “Look over here, big guy!” the man’s gaze swept over the busy space and locked onto mine. I started, but he didn’t move on as would be proper. Instead, he angled his head and ran an attentive glance over me. A fair eyebrow raised, appreciation lightening his serious expression.

The babbling noise of the room ramped up, and I dragged in a breath. Heat snaked under my high-necked dress, maybe from the intensity or maybe from the humidity, and I tore my gaze away, fidgeting on the chair. Wow.

If I was to ever try a one-night stand, he’d be top of my list.

Then my head panged again, and I winced. My cue to leave. From my bag, I extracted my phone to book an Uber, and on the screen, a message already waited. Beth.

Testing testing, are you still alive? Did your dad make you do a speech?

I tapped out a reply.

Luckily, no. But he did tell a bunch of his colleagues that I’d be working for him soon. I should’ve just come home after lunch.

I’d journeyed to London this morning to see my family, and I could’ve been on the first train home to the house I shared with Beth. Instead, I’d gritted my teeth through an awful lunch, politely kissed my mother goodbye, booked into a hotel, then attended Dad’s product launch. They thought I was getting the late train, though I hated travelling at night, otherwise I’d be forced to stay at my family’s home. The mere thought had me shuddering.

Beth shot back an answer as Uber gave me a twelve-minute wait time.

Ugh, I’m sorry, honey. Want me to come get you tonight?

It was a generous offer, and a long drive, but I was too rattled by Dominic’s offer and by no means ready to talk about it. Beth would expect me to be miserable as each visit to see my family took me a week to get over. But this… I needed to sleep on it.

Readying to leave, I let my gaze seek out the big man one last time. From first appearance, he wasn’t the type of guy I’d usually find interesting. Rougher, less refined than a standard city-dweller. At a black-tie event, he was wearing jeans, so I guessed he was in the wrong room at the conference centre. He was a tourist, maybe. Though the way he and his friend had entered the place felt more purposeful than happy holidaymakers.

A mountain man, I mused, sliding my phone into its pocket in my bag. Used to harder living and working with his hands. Maybe he had a shack somewhere he emerged from each morning to cut wood and fetch water from a stream. He’d go swimming in a river some days.

Naked, obviously.

I grinned at my own fantasy, the levity of it the most exciting part of my evening. But my search of the event space was fruitless. The shy-looking model-type stood with his back to the wall. The interesting one had vanished.

More disappointed than I reasonably should be, I took a final sip from my water then eased myself up from the table. But as I stood, the strap of my sandal snapped, and I stumbled. My purse swung in a wide arc, knocking straight into my glass.

Down the glass fell, cracking on the seat. It shattered and rained razor-edged pieces over my feet. “Shit!” I squawked. And there was me, proud of how little I swore.

I danced away, but in the process, wedged my ankle against the chair leg, trapping a piece of glass. It stung. With a wince, I fell back onto the seat and clutched at my foot, losing my shoe. A sliver of glass stuck out from my skin. I touched the edge and nearly fainted.

Blood welled, and my head swam.

“What’s happened here?” a deep voice sounded beside me.

I peeked up. And up.

It was the man. A wall of man, looking down at me. Sweet Jesus, he had to be close to seven feet tall. The top of my head wouldn’t even reach his chin.

I opened my mouth and managed, “Be careful, there’s glass. My drink fell.”

Then, with the worst timing, a flood of emotion came over me. My evening had turned absurd. My tiny, stinging injury was nothing compared to the impossible offer my father’s colleague had made me. Worse, I couldn’t think of another way to help my sister than to accept him.

Marry someone I didn’t care for.

Add to that the embarrassment of being a klutz in front of the most impressive man I’d ever seen, my horrible headache, and nausea from my lack of food, I wanted to curl up in a ball.

That was it. My head reeled double-time, my foot panged, and my brain checked out.

Like in an old-style romance novel, I swooned, and everything went black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two – In Stature and in First Impressions

 

Mathilda

My mortifying blackout lifted as my forehead tapped my knee. If it wasn’t for the warm hand on my shoulder, I would have toppled from my seat.

“Hey! Whoa, I’ve got ye. Keep your head down, lass. Like that. Lean on me.”

I kept my eyes closed for a glorious second, letting the stranger support me. Then I cleared my throat and sat up, forcing a smile, though blood trickled out of the wound on my leg. I needed to get back to my hotel.

If only the room would stay still.

“It’s just…it’s a tiny cut. It’s nothing. I’m just a little dizzy.”

“Nothing? You’re bleeding, and it scared you. That must hurt,” the man decided as he knelt at my feet, ignoring the glass under the knees of his jeans. His accent was Scottish. A Highlander. “Christ, there’s a wee piece of glass stuck in there. Will you let me take a look?”

Sarah, the floor manager Dad often employed for such events, emerged from behind the tall man, a brush tucked discretely at her side.

She gasped, taking me in. “Mathilda! Oh, blood!”

The big man huffed. “Aye. She’s cut. Will ye fetch a first-aid kit?”

Sarah eyed me again then darted off, barking into her headset. The man indicated his blond head to my ankle, seeking permission to touch me. This time I nodded, relaxing a degree while he applied pressure to the cut, his thumb and fingers closing on my skin. I barely felt him whip the glass out.

“Done.” He continued his ministrations, checking my skin. “Mathilda, then? I’m Callum McRae. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I managed. “Thank you. I’m not afraid of blood. I didn’t eat much today, that’s all.” I hadn’t taken a bite at lunch with my parents. Not that either of them noticed. And this evening, since Dominic’s bombshell, I’d been in a state.

The man made a noise of disapproval and, not wanting to look at the cut in case my brain flipped again, I watched him.

His hair was pale blond, curled into small whorls on top like he’d run his fingers through it over and over. It appeared rough-textured, as befitted the mountain man my imagination had made him into. The squareness of his jaw could be used as a model for angled tools.

Was he pretty? No. But the utter manly ruggedness of him was deeply attractive, and his kindness was soothing in the way of an old friend.

A thought entered my mind that I really should enjoy this if I could. Maybe try to smell his aftershave. Notice more than the bare rudiments of his features. But inwardly I’d flushed cold, picturing Sarah scandalising the staff with my mini accident. The boss’s precious daughter being hurt on their watch. The drama.

I was one phone call away from Dad showing up.

The last thing I needed was to stay in my family’s house overnight, which he would insist on if he knew I was still in the capital. Tomorrow, I’d journey the hundred and twenty miles back to Bristol, to my home, and if I could get away without seeing either of my parents again for a month or two, my stress levels would thank me.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself together. Time to go.

“Mr McRae. Could you help me up?” I extracted a pack of tissues from my bag to mop up the blood. “I’ve ordered an Uber. It’ll be outside soon.”

“It’s Callum. And your cab will wait and so will you. We’ll stop the bleeding first. Patch you up. Keep to your seat until you’re steady again.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the stranger gave me a stern look and, sheesh, it stirred something deep in some recess of my brain. A sensation that took away the insult of being ordered around, and instead spoke of protection and care. Of doing what he said because he had my best interests at heart. My blood on his hands and him not caring because he only wanted to fix me.

It made me want to bat my damn eyelashes.

As if he could read my mind, a small smile pulled at Callum’s lips, and he tutted and shook his head. Then he took my packet of tissues and began carefully cleaning my injury. I sighed, my skin tingling everywhere he touched. A knight in shining armour. Where was he when I was free and single? Well, I still was. I hadn’t officially accepted, but what choice did I have? At least Dominic hadn’t reappeared.

The Highlander’s touch was gentle.

Warm. He was very warm.

“Here!” Sarah returned with a white box, a red cross emblazoned on it. With one hand, my hero took it—as, somehow, he’d gained complete control—and in a minute had me cleaned and bandaged up. I rotated my freshly wrapped ankle on his instruction.

Callum worked his jaw as he regarded his efforts. “I dinna think it needs to be stitched, but you should get it checked all the same. Glass can stay in the skin. I’ll take you on to a hospital, if you care to go.”

“I…no. Thank you,” was all I could say, my mouth too stupid to produce better words.

Sarah had finished sweeping up the glass, and she turned back to me with wide eyes. A spark of panic lit her eyes. “Hospital? I really think I should call your—”

“No!” My brain reengaged, and I cut her off. “It’s not necessary. My ride’s here.” I waved my phone in a desperate attempt to convince her not to contact my dad. As if to prove how taken care of I was, I placed my hand on the big guy’s arm and turned my attention to him. “Mr McRae? I’d really appreciate your assistance a moment longer.”

Two strong hands landed on me as I wobbled to my feet, my sandal now acting as a slip-on, though I hadn’t yet forgiven it for causing the debacle. Of all the footwear I could have worn, the elegant and slender-heeled sky-scraper beauties I coveted, bought, but hardly ever wore, an almost flat pair were the ones to fail me.

The man took my elbow and laid his other hand on my hip, while my forehead landed on a solid shoulder. I righted myself, my cheeks burning.

Well, damn.

“Come on, woman,” he murmured and then led me away.

In the weirdest twist of my fun-filled evening, I, self-contained and independent Mathilda, would have followed him anywhere.

***

Outside, the damp and chilly February night licked my shins. With Callum’s assistance, I made my way over the road to where my Uber idled. No pain affected my ankle, but I liked his help and wanted to cling on to it for a few moments more.

Men like him didn’t come around very often, and I’d never see him again.

“Thank you,” I said as he leaned in to open the door for me. “This was a strange evening, but you made it better.”

Under the bright city streetlights, Callum’s eyes shone blue. Pale, like his hair, and like his Celtic skin tone, but there was nothing weak in their intensity. He didn’t speak.

“Do you often save damsels in distress?” I was flirting. Why was I flirting?

“If only I had the time. I made an exception for your grave injury,” his low tones teased back, and I liked it. A lot. “Mathilda what?” he asked after a beat.

Ah, my surname. I had a standard response I gave to strangers—my mother’s maiden name. My actual name, Dad’s name, was too recognisable. Instinctively, I replied, “Mathilda Jones.”

My mouth felt full of cotton wool, like the version of me I presented in order to protect myself had turned into an untruth. I didn’t want to lie to this man.

“Bonnie name.” His lips quirked in a half-smile.

We stood together. His broad body blocked the cold wind. The sheer warmth coming off him, rolling waves of heat, wrapped around my skin as he inched forward. For some reason I couldn’t drag my gaze from his lips.

The idea of a one-night stand crossed my mind again. No, I wasn’t that bold.

Then Callum’s brow creased. “If I was staying longer in England, I’d ask for your number, Mathilda Jones.”

I clutched my arms against my silky jacket. “If I was available, I’d give it.”

Understanding settled between us, a cooling that had nothing to do with the weather. He inclined his head to the venue’s entrance. “The man you were with—I saw someone walk away from you when I came in. It’s none of my business, but what kind of man leaves his woman to go home alone? Does he even know you were hurt?”

His almost prim tone had me chuckling. “So you weren’t just passing by when I cut myself?”

Callum huffed. “Are you asking if I worried when I saw you being abandoned? Aye. You went to sit down alone and you rubbed your head. You looked vulnerable, and that was all wrong. Did I also plan on talking to you because you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? True. I did.”

Mmph. Sold, ladies.

I had a real problem with the whole hero complex, and of being the heroine wanting to be saved. So much so I needed to stamp it down and contain it as a fantasy. Ever since I was a girl, I’d dreamt of a man sweeping me off my feet and stealing me away to his stronghold. Protecting me from my father and taking my new baby sister with us. It was so anti-feminist, so backward in every way, I needed to make my life move forward. And yet here, standing in front of me, was the kind of guy who fit that image to a T, and I’d never been more interested.

Callum blew out a cloud of frosted breath. “Sorry for the flattery when you dinna need it. I dislike false pretences and can be overly honest. Sometimes brutal.”

“I like brutal honesty.” This stranger had my senses piqued, and now I wanted to stall. To talk more. “The guy… My life is complicated in a number of ways.” I stopped myself, because I was in danger of spilling the whole story and I’d barely got my head around the offer. I was desperate to share it with someone. But Beth would rightfully lock horns with me, and my dad would blow his top. No one else knew me well enough to help.

“Complicated,” he repeated. “Aye, I know that feeling well. I’ve enough to manage until I’m a hundred.”

“Yet you helped me.”

“How could I not?”

Easily, for most people. But not this man. I wondered… No, I had no right to wonder a solitary thing. Wondering only led to finding answers, and I needed ignorance.

Walk away, Mathilda. This hero isn’t for you.

“Goodnight, Callum McRae. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

He watched me for a long second, the look on his face one I couldn’t read. Then he handed me into the car, and my driver sped us away into the winter’s night. Out of the rear window, I watched the biggest man I’d ever met—both in stature and in first impressions—disappear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three – Fire

 

Mathilda

The ear-splitting sound of a horn fractured my dream. I bolted up in bed, clasping the blanket to my chest. Then I clutched my hands to my ears instead because oh God that was loud. The fire alarm?

The long, piercing siren wailed from the hall and repeated through the building. Above my hotel room door, the emergency exit poured green light into the dark. Footsteps drummed outside.

Ugh, I was going to have to get up. I’d been having such an interesting dream, too. Of a wonderfully tall man who threw me over his very broad shoulders.

Nng.

Throwing on a long sweater over my sleep shorts and camisole, I jammed my feet into my winter boots, grabbed my key card, and left the room. People in various states of undress tied on white hotel robes or shrugged on coats as they entered the stairwell. I trailed after, debating turning back for a coat. But it was too late, and the flow of the crowd was against me.

Chilled air crept over my bare legs as I descended the internal concrete fire escape. At least if there was a fire, it couldn’t be burning that hard. The emergency exit led me into the bitter winter night, and I shuffled along with the crowd, cursing myself for not grabbing warmer clothes.

Hotel staff ushered us to an open pavilion between tall office buildings. The wind whipped my hair and numbed my legs. I buried my chin in the collar of my sweater and hugged my arms tight around my body, but there was no avoiding that cutting, needle-like wind.

“Mathilda?”

That accent… I looked up to see none other than Callum McRae approaching, his friend at his side. My mouth dropped open. The men were fully dressed but obviously part of the evacuation, Callum’s hair tousled on one side like he’d just leapt from his bed.

My dream loomed large in front of me, and he stared back like I was a mirage. “You. You’re staying here?” I uttered.

“We are. Of all the hotels in the city…” He blew out a breath then twisted around and beckoned forward the dark-haired man. “James, this is Mathilda Jones. Mathilda, my friend James Fitzroy.”

The younger man waved a hand. “I hope your ankle is improved?” he asked. His accent was only faintly Scottish, and well educated. I didn’t know why I expected another Highlander. Maybe I’d heard Callum’s gentle rolling Rs and decided all men should speak that way.

I nodded, still slightly stunned under my layer of cold. A shiver rippled over me. “And you’re staying here,” I stated again to Callum, like I needed it confirmed for the record. The hotel was only a few streets from the venue, but even so.

At the front of the crowd, a hotel staff member made an announcement, though it was impossible to hear over the whine of the wind. I’d seen the panicked-looking night manager hand over her walkie-talkie and disappear down the hotel’s side alley a moment ago, and I gnawed my lip, guessing we might be stuck here a while. Callum’s friend made a gesture then strode over to hear the news, leaving us alone.

Callum moved closer. “When your cab left, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You wanted to see me again?”

“Aye. Regardless of what we said. The alarm woke me from a dream about you.”

Was it as racy as the dream I just had?

This was so strange. We watched each other. I shivered, violently this time, and Callum’s eyes narrowed. In a swift move, he stripped his jacket from his shoulders and swung it around mine.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that,” I squeaked.

He pulled the lapels in then took a step away, his lips pursed. “It’s three in the morning, and you’ve been forced from your bed by some arsehole pushing fire alarm buttons. The cold doesn’t bother me, and you’re half frozen. It’s the least I can do.”

Actually, I could huddle into your huge frame, rub my cheek against your ribbed sweater, and purr like a kitten. That would do nicely.

I snuggled down into the warmth of his coat and breathed in the scent of him. This was better than the dream.

“I don’t like that you’re cold,” I murmured, my rigid muscles loosening as warmth crept in.

Callum blinked, as if surprised someone cared how he felt. “Did you manage to eat?”

“Um…” I wasn’t one for missing meals, but after the event, I’d sat on the bed in my hotel room and, instead of ordering food, called my sister. At the dinner earlier in the evening, she’d been quiet to the point of withdrawn. I knew why, but we hadn’t talked about it around the table.

A few days before, Scarlet had been caught shoplifting from a London boutique. Such an obvious cry for help, because she didn’t want for anything. My parents gave her money, clothes, and whatever she needed.

Except for love.

Luckily, the store attendant knew Mom—a frequent customer—so Scarlet hadn’t gotten into serious trouble.

“I love you,” I’d told her on the phone. She’d still refused to talk about the incident, probably because I wasn’t the one she’d try to make listen. “Everything will be all right.”

“The day I’m old enough, I’m moving in with you.”

How could I answer that? It only made my resolve to help her stronger.

James returned. “A false alarm. They’re waiting on the fire official to approve the stand-down and let us back in.”

Behind him, waiting by the trio of fully lit fire engines, a bulky-suited firefighter tapped a clipboard. My gaze narrowed in. The woman would need to speak to the night manager before we’d be allowed to return to our beds. The night manager who I’d seen vanishing down the side road, heading toward the front of the hotel.

I couldn’t ignore this hotel’s disastrous planning.

“I’ll just be a moment,” I murmured and crossed to where the fire official stood. The hotel receptionist waiting beside her had wide eyes and hopped from foot to foot.

“I really don’t know what to say,” he squeaked.

The fire official huffed. Over my shoulder, I sensed Callum sticking close.

“Excuse me.” I smiled at the receptionist. The man glanced at me, above me, then away, his gaze searching the crowd.

“We can’t let you and your husband back in yet. I apologise for the wait. We’re doing everything we can.”

“I’m not married, but are you looking for your night manager? Presumably, we’re all waiting on her.”

The guy’s attention snapped to me. “Yeah. She’s not answering her radio.”

“One of your colleagues has the radio. Your night manager walked that way a few minutes ago, perhaps to check the front exit.” I pointed in the right direction. “I suggest to speed things up, you could go and retrieve her yourself?”

The man blinked, relief replacing the anxiety on his face. “I’m just going to—” He took off down the side street.

I nodded at the grumpy firefighter—at work, I coordinated with emergency services all the time, so I knew the drill—and turned to Callum. Standing right behind me, as I’d suspected.

“Wouldn’t want you to be cold for longer than necessary,” I murmured.

A smile curled his lips.

See, when I gave up on the notion of being rescued, when that childhood dream was obliterated by real-life experience of how hard the world could be, I learned that every single person has to shift for themselves. Take responsibility for their own success within their individual circumstances.

In my own tragedy, I would be the one to sweep in and slay the dragon, and I didn’t need anyone else’s help.

After a minute, the receptionist returned, the flustered night manager in tow. She babbled about waiting in the wrong place, but the crisis was over. A paper was signed, she waved us forward, and the frozen, miserable crowd moved.

Callum fell in beside me, and we travelled back into the light and relative warmth of the lobby. Inside, I slipped the heavy jacket from my shoulders and returned it to its owner.

“Have breakfast with me.” Callum ran his hands over the collar of the coat as if he’d enjoyed me wearing it, and my stomach gave a pleasant flip.

“I need to leave early. To get home to Bristol.”

“Please, madam, sir, return to your room, we need to keep clear movement through the lobby,” a different receptionist said, making the same assumption that Callum and I were a couple. Perhaps we looked good together.

“I’ll be here until nine. Change your mind.” Urgency crossed Callum’s face, and I liked it, the effect I had on him.

God, I wanted to agree. But I needed to nip this in the bud. No matter how much I liked his manners, his competence, his face, and his damn scent. It had soaked into my clothes, and I smelled of him. Like I’d been marked and claimed. I liked too much too quickly, and it was obviously a stress response. The chemistry he made me feel. The rush in my blood and the ache in my centre.

“Goodnight, again. I’m going to bed.”

“Fine, woman. You do that. Dream of me,” he called in that sexiest of accents. “You can pick up where I left off.”

Well, wouldn’t that thought keep me warm for weeks?

***

The next morning, I stood, poised, in the Continental Hotel’s lobby, the scent of brewing coffee from the breakfast service no distraction from the fresh hell of the digital notice screen’s scrolling message.

No trains.

The derailment of an empty passenger train in the early hours meant all rail services to Bristol had been cancelled, and my rapid check of the coach websites told me their seats were fully booked.

 

I was stuck in London. After my rude awakening in the night, luck was in short supply.

Guests busied in and out of the revolving doors, breaking around me in a frothy, frowning tide. No sign of Callum McRae, but that was good.

 

Probably.

 

To avoid being jostled, I stepped aside and perched on a leather chair, resigned to calling a cab though not relishing the exorbitant price they would charge. I’d been raised in the comparative lap of luxury, but I lived on a budget I earned myself and disliked frivolous spending.

As I unlocked my phone’s screen, my device buzzed in my hand. ‘Beth’, the screen read.

“Saw the news. I’m already on my way. Borrowed your car,” my friend chirped after I accepted the call.

A grin crept over my face, and I patted the handle of my wheeled suitcase. It was 7A.M., and Beth’s Friday night job in a fast food restaurant usually kept her out until late. I’d discounted the idea of calling her to come get me as she hardly slept as it was. “Didn’t you work until the early hours?”

“It rained cats and dogs all night. The place was dead by ten, and Kendra sent me home. What a crock, because man do I need the money. Listen, I’ll be an hour and a half, so text me the hotel address and have a luxurious long breakfast until I get there. We can sing songs from musicals all the way home. Even the creepy women-stealing one.”

She meant Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. I loved that movie. It might have had something to do with my obsession with mountain men.

“Wow, you must really have missed me.”

“Or maybe I just want an excuse to drive the Audi? I’m burning up your tyres on the motorway as we speak. You said it was due a new set, right?”

We both snickered, and tension eased from my shoulders as we said our goodbyes, but when I hung up the call, my phone vibrated again, somehow more aggressively this time. ‘Dad’, the screen read.

Oh, boy. The yelling started as soon as I uttered a cautious, “Hi?”

Dad commenced. With hardly a breath drawn, he covered how embarrassed he was to hear about my accident secondhand. Then he got down to business. “Worse, Mathilda, is that you took silly risks! You left with a stranger. Did I raise you this way? You should be looking to settle down and be respectable, not—” He continued on about my mystery man.

That confused me for a second—as much as I loved my dad, he had set ideas on dating which he’d force fed to me since I’d become old enough to notice boys. Then I worked it out. His floor staff would have mentioned me leaving with the big Highlander. Heh, let him chew over that description. No wonder he was rattled, as a matter of principle, Dad always hated men bigger than him.

My father’s words remained distant in my ear while I recalled the acutely pleasant sensations of being taken care of by Callum McRae.

My father finally calmed and asked, “And where are you now?”

“My hotel’s lobby.” I bit my tongue, but it was too late.

“I see. Since you’re still in the city, you will come to my office. Dominic Hanswick is here for a meeting this morning. We’ll be discussing the marketing of the new label, and I want you to be a part of it.”

Storm Force was a new line of spirits Dad had dreamed up. His next big thing. Expensive, top-end single malt whiskies, boutique vodkas; classic tastes, select distilleries, exclusive prices. He wanted me to work on the marketing, but I’d need to leave my current job to have the time. He hadn’t approved of my events coordinator career choice, which I adored. Dad assumed I’d join his company at some point. It was getting harder to say no.

I dreamt of creating my own business, but I needed to keep Dad happy for Scarlet’s sake.

“Storm Force’s portfolio has changed since I told you about it. Dominic has lost investors, following his troubles, so we’ve reduced the expenditure. You’ll find it a challenge, and I know you can help. What time will you be here?”

I opened my mouth, but no excuse was forthcoming. The very last thing I wanted this morning was to sit opposite Dominic, with my father in the room, talking strategy but being secretly cajoled into a marriage by one man and a career I didn’t want by the other.

Dominic’s troubles made me pity him, but I also thought him a fool and a single-minded, selfish man.

Yet I had no reason to refuse Dad. No alternative came to mind.

Then a warm, pleasantly scented breeze hit me, and I raised my head to see the glass door to the gym swing open.

A man emerged—James, the dark-haired man who’d been with Callum last night—then a hot and sweaty Callum oh-would-you-stop-it-with-the-muscles McRae loomed large behind him.

Fate, if I believed in it, was trying to tell me something. This time, I was going to listen.