Page 36 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

This isn’t a date, this isn’t a date, this isn’t a date.

Freya kept having to repeat the mantra over and over in her head, because it certainly felt like it.

Here she was, in the most glorious of settings, about to eat a fantastic meal, sitting opposite a simply gorgeous man – tonight was the most date-like non-date she’d ever experienced.

Mack had also made an effort with his appearance.

No shorts and no T-shirt. Instead, he was wearing a navy suit with a navy shirt.

The shirt had a tiny pattern of white leaves, almost too small to see.

His golden hair was tied neatly into a bun and he’d trimmed his beard.

He was a cross between a surfer-dude and James Bond.

The delicious smells emanating from the hotel’s kitchen weren’t the only thing making her drool. Mack had taken her hand when they’d entered the bar, and his touch had sent her into a tailspin.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, as they sipped their drinks.

His was non-alcoholic, which she felt bad about.

He’d insisted on driving this evening, despite her argument that since she was taking him to dinner, she should drive so he’d be able to enjoy a couple of glasses of wine or whatever he fancied.

Mack Burns could be as stubborn as her dad when he wanted to be, she was discovering.

‘I love the dress,’ he added.

She’d found it in a second-hand shop, the last place she’d tried before she’d been about to give up and return to the cafe and her patient dad.

Her dress-buying mood had evaporated after meeting Mrs Henderson.

Freya would have given anything to have had her mother go shopping with her and help her pick out a dress for this evening.

She was reminded yet again that her mum hadn’t been there to witness many other milestones in her life – her twenty-first birthday, graduation, first job, attaining her PhD…

And she wouldn’t be there if she ever got married or had children.

Freya hoped Alice Henderson knew how lucky she was.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ Mack asked.

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

‘Have I? Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

He reached for her hand again. ‘Would you like to go somewhere else? We could go to Portree.’

‘The castle is fine.’

He glanced around the room. ‘No, it’s not, if it reminds you of Hadrian.’

Surprised, she said, ‘Actually, it doesn’t. I wasn’t thinking about him. I was thinking about when I went into Portree. Dad came with me and had a cup of tea in a cafe while I had a mooch around the shops, and while we were there, we bumped into Mrs Henderson, Alice’s mother.’

‘Oh, right. Has she moved back to Skye?’ He let go of her hand and reached for his drink.

‘Only for a few days; she’s here for a visit.

She said she hadn’t seen me since Mum’s funeral.

’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry.

I don’t know why I’m like this. You’d think that after all these years…

’ She blinked furiously, looking at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry.

‘I’m not like this normally. In London I—’ She stopped, swallowed and tried again.

‘That’s why I had to escape – to get away from everyone’s pity, from Dad’s grief. From me. ’

‘So you went where no one knew you and you could reinvent yourself?’

‘I suppose.’

‘You’ve done a damned fine job of it. Alice always said you had the talent, the vision and the drive.’

‘Alice?’

‘We dated for a while, before she moved away.’

There was something about the way he said it – regret, maybe? A little spike of jealousy prodded her in the stomach.

She said, ‘Mrs Henderson reckons I’m the spit of my mother, but I don’t think I look like her at all.’ Freya certainly didn’t see any resemblance when she looked in the mirror. ‘She was so pretty.’

‘So are you.’

‘Huh! I’ve got red hair and freckles, and I usually smell of clay and paint.’

Mack leant close and sniffed. ‘So you do.’

‘Oi! I’ll have you know I’m wearing Paco Rabanne.’

‘I like the smell of clay and paint.’

‘You like the smell of diesel and engine oil, with a hint of fish thrown in,’ she shot back.

‘True.’ He paused. ‘We can leave, if you want.’

‘Oh, hell, I’ve really killed the mood, haven’t I?

This is supposed to be a thank-you dinner, and it’s turning into a Freya pity-party.

I’m fine, honestly. Bumping into Mrs Henderson just brought it all back for a moment: Mum being ill, and then dying.

I…’ She shrugged, unable to put her feelings into words.

‘It can’t have been easy for you.’ His face was full of sympathy and understanding, and Freya felt comforted.

She liked that Mack had understood why she’d felt the need to run away and not come back, without her having to spell it out to him.

She couldn’t imagine ever having this conversation with Hadrian.

In hindsight, she realised she’d never entrusted her ex with her innermost thoughts or feelings.

Mack, she felt, she could trust with her life. But probably not her heart.

Freya pulled her shoulders back and gave herself a mental shake – enough of this wallowing. ‘Shall we go eat? My stomach thinks my throat has been cut.’ She was telling a little white lie, since she wasn’t in the least bit hungry, but she hoped her appetite would return when she saw the menu.

‘That dress is lovely on you, by the way,’ Mack reiterated, as they rose to go to the dining room. ‘It brings out the colour of your eyes.’

‘Muddy brown?’ Was he flirting?

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you fishing for compliments, Ms Sinclair?’

‘Absolutely!’

‘They aren’t muddy brown. They’re hazel with flecks of amber and gold.’

‘Poetic.’

‘I’m not just brawn and muscle. I have a touch of the Rabbie Burns about me – he’s a direct ancestor, you know.’

‘No, he’s not!’

‘OK, he isn’t. But he could be. We’ve got the same surname.’

Freya rolled her eyes as he pulled out a chair for her. She shook out the linen napkin and draped it over her lap. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re daft?’

‘Many times. I try not to take any notice.’

‘My dad thinks you’re fab,’ she blurted, her eyes on the menu.

Mack smirked and said, ‘That’s because I am.’ Then he grew serious. ‘I’ve got a lot of time for Vinnie. Would you mind if I took him out in the boat again?’

‘I wouldn’t mind in the slightest, and I know he’d love it.

He really misses being at sea. When he sold the trawler, I thought he would have bought himself a RIB just to keep his hand in and potter around on the loch, but he lost all interest. Going out on the Sea Serpent may spark his interest again, although if he did decide to buy a small boat now, I’d be worried sick – he’s getting too old to go out on his own.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Loch Duncoorie was a freshwater loch, but with the currents and tides… ’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him for you after you leave, and if he shows any sign of buying a boat, I’ll let you know.’

She smiled. ‘You’re a good friend, Mackenzie.’

‘Och, don’t call me that! Only my mum calls me Mackenzie and even then, only if I’ve annoyed her.’

Freya held back a sigh. From his reaction, it was clear Mack thought of her as just a friend. He hadn’t been flirting, and he’d held her hand in the lounge for no other reason than he thought she might have been fretting about the last time she’d been there, when she’d broken up with Hadrian.

She told herself once more that it was for the best that he didn’t want to take their friendship to another level.

The kiss had been an anomaly, her fault for having started it.

But she hadn’t been able to resist, clasped in his arms, his heart beating against hers.

Thank goodness he’d seen sense, otherwise she would have had her wicked way with him and would be in even deeper trouble than she already was.

Mack couldn’t blame the alcohol this time, because he was stone-cold sober and fully in charge of his actions. It was his thoughts and feelings that he was having trouble keeping in line.

All through the meal (which was delicious), he’d wanted nothing more than to tell her how he felt. He kept having to bite his tongue and avert his eyes, because he was scared she would see the longing in them and guess how he felt about her.

But when it came to the end of the evening, he blew it.

‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ he said, as the truck coasted to a stop outside her house.

‘Me too, right up until I asked for the bill and found you’d already paid it.’

‘My bad.’ He smirked.

‘This was supposed to be my treat.’

He turned his head away to stare out of the side window. ‘I’m not listening.’

Freya scooted to the edge of the seat, grabbed hold of his beard and gave it a tug.

‘Ow!’

‘That’ll teach you not to listen. If you think you’ve got away with it, you haven’t. We’ll go out for another meal and this time I’ll pay.’

‘I’ll tell Mhairi to say no.’

‘I’m not going to ask Mhairi. She’s as sneaky as you. I’ll book somewhere else.’

‘I’ll refuse to go.’

‘Will you now? In that case, I’ll order the biggest take-away ever and have it delivered to your house. You’ll be eating Chinese food for a week.’

‘You don’t take no for an answer, do you?’

She smiled sweetly at him and pulled his beard again. ‘Say yes.’

He gritted his teeth. Not because she was yanking on his beard, but because her smile melted his heart. It did some other stuff to him as well, but he was trying not to think about that too closely.

‘Yes. Happy?’

‘Blissfully.’

‘You can stop trying to tear my beard off now. Or have you got any other demands?’

Her grip loosened and she stroked his cheek instead. Her face was too close for comfort and he swallowed hard, averting his gaze. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Or move.

‘Thank you, Mack, for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

‘You’d have managed.’ His voice sounded strangled.

She didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘Pick a day.’

‘I’ll have to check my diary.’

‘Mack…’ she warned.

‘Saturday?’ It was only two days away. He could last until then without seeing her. Couldn’t he?

Her hand continued to rest on his cheek, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t think he could take much more. Her touch inflamed him, but despite wanting her to stop, he put his hand over hers, holding it in place.

Then he lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm. And when she didn’t snatch her hand away, he risked looking at her.

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted just enough to show a glimpse of teeth.

It was his undoing.

His arm snapped around her, pulling her to him, and his mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply as she melted into him, exploring her with his tongue, tasting the wine she had drunk.

Mack lost himself in her, was aware of her and nothing but her. His world shrunk to this one exquisite moment, where nothing else mattered but the way he felt about her, and the way she made him feel.

And he suddenly realised he was in love, totally and utterly. It was both beautiful and devastating.

He would have happily kissed her until his heart gave out, and when she gently pulled away, he was desolate.

‘You said this wasn’t wise,’ she murmured. Her lips were swollen, her eyes a dark Highland pool.

‘It’s not.’ He hid his pain well. There was no hint of it in his voice.

‘I’d better go.’ She reached for the door handle.

‘Yes.’

‘See you Saturday.’

He nodded. He didn’t want to see her Saturday. He didn’t want to see her at all. It would hurt too much. But he would keep up the pretence of being friends who happened to fancy each other, because that was what she expected, how she herself felt.

It would kill him, but he’d do it – because not seeing her would kill him even more.