One More for Christmas(92)

Now the tears had started she couldn’t stop them and with them came sobs, great tearing sobs.

“Hold on—just hold on—” He accelerated, spun the wheels, cursed and slowed down. “Just need to get through the gate, and then no one can see you, or follow us.”

She couldn’t hold on.

She sobbed. She sobbed for her mother. She sobbed for her father. She sobbed for herself—for the person she was, and the person she wished she was.

She choked on her tears, on her feelings, on a flood of remorse and regret.

She had no sense of time passing but was dimly aware that the car had stopped, and then he was unfastening her seat belt and pulling her against him.

He said nothing. Just held her tightly and let her cry.

She cried until she had nothing left, and then gradually the tears slowed and then stopped, and she flopped against him, so depleted of energy that she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here in this warm, safe place.

His arms were locked around her.

His coat scratched her face.

Brodie.

Her head throbbed. She felt terrible, and yet at the same time better for having let all the emotion out.

She forced herself to pull away from him.

She had no idea where they were. How far they’d driven.

“Well.” She dug her hand in her pocket and found a tissue. “That was professional.”

“We’re not in office hours now. You don’t have to live up to those high standards you set for yourself. Here—” He handed her another tissue. “You must have one hell of a headache. I’ve got something for that in the cottage.”

“Cottage?”

“You looked as if you needed privacy. I thought I could drive you somewhere more isolated. Somewhere you can scream without anyone hearing you.”

She blew her nose. “That sounds like a tagline for a horror movie, Brodie.”

He brushed her tears away with his thumb. “I thought I was making you an attractive offer.”

“Is it a line you use often with women?”

“You’re the first. You don’t think I should use it again?”

She took another tissue from the packet. “I think maybe the promise of isolated places and screaming might not have the appeal you think it has.”

“No? Because statistically speaking, the chances of being murdered in a remote Scottish—”

“Enough! When I said I wanted to be kept awake at night, it wasn’t with horror stories.” But he’d lightened the mood, which was no doubt his intention.

“All I’m saying is that you’re more likely to trip and fall into—”

“Brodie!”

“Not helping?” He sat back and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Right. I’ll be quiet. I’ll simply drive you somewhere no one is going to disturb us. Where you can safely be upset without witnesses.”

“I’ve already been upset. You were a witness.”

“I’m not a witness. I’m simply your driver. Your tour guide, on our starlight stroll.”

“Starlight stroll.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to cool her hot face. Her eyes were stinging. “It actually sounds good. I’d book that.”

“Not tonight. Tonight isn’t about what everyone else wants and needs. It’s about you.”

“You think you know what I want and need?”

“Well, I was on the end of a rather revealing phone call. But I promise not to take advantage of that inside knowledge.” He was adorably awkward, but at the same time kind and incredibly decent.

“Brodie—about tonight—I don’t know how to thank you—”

“Nothing to thank me for. If you’re sure you’re all right for a few minutes, I’m going to drive us to the cottage. Just sit tight.”

Sooner or later either her mother or Ella would come looking for her. And she didn’t want to be found. She’d thought she wanted to be on her own, but now she discovered she was perfectly happy being with Brodie.

“The cottage—that’s the cabin you showed me? The place you use as your office?”

“Yes. Five minutes drive from here. Just far enough to stop people disturbing me when I’m working.”

“Is it big?”

“There’s enough space for screaming, if that’s what you’re asking. Damn, my glasses are steaming up.” He hit the brakes and grabbed his glasses and a lens cloth. “Don’t ever ask me to be a getaway driver.”

“Noted.” He hadn’t even asked her why she was crying, and she was grateful for that.

They bumped their way along the track, the lights picking out ruts and heaps of snow.

Her face burned and her eyes felt swollen. “Does the cabin get cut off?”

“In theory, but not in practice because we clear the snow. I work from here. I need access.”

He turned off the main track and headed for the loch.

She could see a soft glow of light in the window of the cottage.

“I can see what you mean about no one hearing you scream.”

“I scream regularly when my code doesn’t behave.”

“It’s gorgeous. Perfect. I can see why you don’t want to rent it out.”