Chapter 5

Before long, it was the day of the dance and despite being in town a lot beforehand, Rose hadn’t run into Rob Munro again. Seeing him again, dressed in black tie and in his own opulent setting made Rose shiver in anticipation; a dread overtaking her already stretched nerves. He would be on his home turf surrounded by his own friends and belongings and she’d be like a fish out of water. Facing him again wasn’t really something she was looking forward to. He had a knack for making her feel awkward and out of her depth, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she even liked him.

Abby had promised to meet her by the front entrance at 8.00 p.m. so they could walk in together. At least that way she didn’t have to look around nervously trying to find a friendly face. She could walk confidently with her friend’s arm and smile and look radiant instead.

Rose had woken that morning with a strange churning feeling that followed her throughout the day. Excitement and dread at the same time. She was looking forward to a proper night of wine, dancing, and good music, but her heart was thumping every time she thought about that handsome face and his cold steel-grey glare that did crazy things to her insides.

Now she’d made more friends in the town and had Abby, she felt more confident about going, but that feeling of nervous anticipation in the back of her mind followed her. She was so restless she could barely concentrate on anything.

She tried to sketch some ideas in her art room, tried walking Muffin to town and back to get rid of some of the pent-up energy but only felt more restless. She took a bath at lunch and slathered herself in every expensive product she owned. Shaving and moisturising, pruning, and preening and throwing on a light sundress to go sit in the garden. She felt like her nerves were on edge and kept checking her watch every five minutes. Listlessly aware that she was counting the minutes until the ball began.

She’d cooked a full breakfast and lunch, trying to kill time through the morning, but only picked at both, her appetite had deserted her. She had the cottage looking spotless and neat and nothing on TV held any interest for her.

Abby was helping with the big house today, so no morning visit from her either.

Maybe that’s why she felt so agitated?

Perhaps she needed some company that wasn’t furry with four legs – some human interaction to distract her, so she jumped in her car for the second trip to town that day. Poor Muffin was exhausted from their walk, so she left him asleep on the rug in the living room, snoring and dreaming of chasing some poor cat. His little legs twitching as he lay stretched on his side and small whimpers and growls as he snorted through a closed mouth.

The short car journey was pleasant as the sun still shone brightly in the sky, the weather had been glorious these past few weeks and had given her such a deep tan and healthy colour in her face.

She spent half an hour in Bella’s bakery and finally reunited with the woman after all these years when she popped in to check on things. There were lots of laughs and cuddles and reminiscing. The large round woman was exactly as she remembered, only with a few more grey hairs and laughter lines. The conversation pulled towards Olivia and Bella gave her many condolences and a bag of cream confectioneries.

From there she found the church was having an outdoor stall in the town centre and selling jumble and books. That killed a lot of time and lots of small talk with the knitting club who loved nothing more than to shower Rose in affection. They called her their ‘adopted grandchild.’ They gave her a free crocheted mug mat for her desk and a bag of dog cookies for the now famous Muffin.

Everyone in town loved Muffin, her small furry friend. Always happy to see him and shower him with smooches and hugs, and treats under the table. They liked to think Rose couldn’t see, but she chose to turn a blind eye. Although of late his little pot belly was starting to become obvious and she’d soon have to curb all these extra treats.

Rose wandered around for a bit, window shopping, and killing time. Lost in her own thoughts. Not really paying attention but trying to stretch out her day a little longer rather than going back to clock watching at home and pacing her rugs until they were threadbare.

She was carrying a large beach bag with a rainbow stripe print, which held all her purchases and gifts; her long lemon sundress touched the ground as she walked, flowing loosely around her legs. It had a fitted strappy bodice showing off her tanned shoulders and arms and her slim figure well. It was doing a great job of making her feel cool in the baking heat too. Her long brown hair hung around her shoulders in soft gentle waves, thanks to her new curling iron and her face, as usual, with minimal makeup and her favourite cherry lip balm which stained her full pout with a slight rosy tint.

She looked at her reflection in a boutique mirror and admired the change in her since coming here. It wasn’t just the tan. It was her whole being. She looked happier, healthier, more relaxed; she fitted with this country living more than she ever fitted with the busy city streets and clogged air. Her mood had generally been lighter and more carefree. The smog free air making her feel like she could really breathe living here.

She was unaware of how carefree and elegant she looked as she wandered about, unaware that eyes had been watching her from afar and as she drew ever closer to them, they didn’t dare to interrupt her. She looked so lost in thought and stunningly beautiful.

She became aware of the museum looming above her as she wandered aimlessly about. Raising her eyes up, she took in the large ancient building with its grey stone walls and gothic arched entranceway. The way it stretched above her like a massive foreboding castle, so dark against the bright surroundings.

Huge banners gently flapped in the breeze, announcing the current exhibition and she felt inclined to go in. Something pulling her towards the dark, shadowy entrance. The museum mainly held Scottish artefacts and history, but the side hall changed every few months to bring in new visitors. Today the banner displayed a modern art-themed exhibition from some aspiring artist who had been a local once. The artwork hinted at abstract, but she still felt the intrigue enough to venture on. She hesitated about going in, then took the plunge and walked forward.

‘Penelope.’ The warm tones in his voice had an instant impact, and she stopped. That familiar lurch in her breastbone. Swinging round to see where it came from. He was perched on a stone planter by the door in the shade. She’d not seen him sitting there.

God knows how long he’d been watching her?

He had on another white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves pushed up – exposing his hunky arms – a pair of faded jeans, and white trainers. Practically every time she saw him, he was in varying degrees of formal meets casual, which somehow only added to his charm, and he had on sunglasses shielding those stormy grey eyes from sight. She felt a nudge of disappointment that his best feature was shielded from view. His short black hair was ruffled on top carelessly, casually styled. Unlike those London men with their shiny puffed hairdos and manicured hands. He looked relaxed as he smiled at her. Thousand-watt voltage sprang from that smile and all Rose could do was dive into her bag to fake look for something, aware that it had become difficult to breathe normally.

‘Rob.’ She kept her tone even and eyes down, intent on her hands and their rummaging. Trying to keep herself calm and sane with such a mundane task as sorting through, looking for a plausible item to drag out. ‘And my name is Rose.’ She was keeping the irritation out of her voice. Trying to sound light and nonchalant. Of course, she didn’t want him to know how much he annoyed her using that stupid pet name, hadn’t she already made it clear that it wasn’t her name. Her heart was pounding through her chest, which annoyed her immensely. Stupid reactions to this man.

‘I know.’ A voice deep, smooth, and sexy. She heard him slide off the planter and her heartbeat upped a gear; her fingers began trembling as she sensed him moving closer, aware that she was fumbling.

‘I just think Penelope suits you.’

She ignored him. Well tried to. Cursing inwardly as she still fumbled in her bag. Finally locating her sunglasses, she pulled them out and pushed them on, shielding her eyes and sweeping her hair back from her face in a bid to look relaxed and unaffected. Throwing on a sarcastic smile, she marched away from him into the museum, annoyed with how juvenile he made her feel.

‘Well, have a wonderful day, Mr Munro. Would love to stay and chat but I want to see this exhibit before I need to head home.’ She smiled and made for the museum doors. Unaware that he was grinning at her sudden need for eyewear when entering a building away from the sun. Or the way he was looking her up and down. She heard him call out a goodbye as she practically hoofed away from him and in return threw up a hand in a wave that implied indifference; she’d be damned if she let him see how much he got to her. Her heart rate was competing in the Olympics and she felt slightly faint.

Oh, my God, why did this guy invoke such trauma to her just by being near?

She dashed behind a pillar at the open wooden door and turned to peek out. He was walking away. That manly walk that real guys have when it’s not really a swagger but not really a weak girly trot. Just a typical guy walk, all wide shoulders and strong legs and going about his day, unaware of the crazy woman peeking out at him from the darkness of the building.

What was he doing here, anyway? Did he not have a dance to organise? To oversee? To lord over?

She pulled herself away as he turned out of sight, leaning back against the wall behind her to gather herself and take some deep breaths. Sighing as she tried to push the picture of his tight, jean clad butt out of her mind’s eye. Cursing herself at the lack of ability to do so. The coldness of the stone in this dark corner, tucked behind the pillar, made her feel instantly calmer. Hidden from his view. Somehow sobering and grounding her. She really hated the way he caused her to self-implode like this at every meeting. If he knew how much he affected her, he’d probably enjoy it. He seemed like the kind of guy who would get a kick out of it. She pulled her glasses back off her face and threw them in her bag.

Excellent choice, Rose! Sunglasses in a dark building. Could you be any more obvious?

She smoothed down her dress and walked back into the light of the room. Acting as though nothing had happened. Hiding in the shadows was completely normal. She looked around the vast hall, deserted on such a sweltering day, and tried to find some poster or sign with information or at least directions to the art exhibit.

When in Rome.

There were large wooden doors to the left and right, but both were firmly shut with No Entry signs screwed in place. She figured she’d kill some time surrounded by art, which always had such a soothing effect, and try to forget what that smooth voice and dazzling smile had done to her. Not that it had been an effect in a good way. Hell no! It rattled her in a really, really bad way. In a ‘he’s so annoying and irritating’ way. Such a jerk.

A jerk with a nice ass in a pair of jeans though.

Damn him.

Her heartbeat was finally trying to regain its previous calm rhythm, but her hands were still trembling. She pushed it away and focused ahead. The large hall echoed as her sandals clip-clopped across to a wall mounted glass case at the far end with huge welcome signs hanging from the ceiling. Inside, all the information she’d been seeking, and an array of small artefacts surrounded the posters and brass etched signs on glass floating shelves. There was a door off to her left with an Office plaque above and a red rope stretched across, preventing her from venturing further. There was a glass sliding window beside the glass case, with a large etched sign reading Admissions above it and a clearly placed bell to ring for assistance. The entry fees were printed on a laminated A4 card, propped up in the sliding window, and a cheery old lady with curly grey hair was sitting inside with her nose stuck in some trashy novel. Rather than ring the bell Rose gently knocked on the glass smiling.

Once she’d purchased her entry ticket, the lady came out and moved the rope for her to pass and pointed her in the direction she’d been seeking. The museum was much like most she’d been in. Large, old-world buildings with polished floors, old wood stairs, and beams, glass cabinets, and that distinct musty smell of old things. Large gothic windows kept the place bright and were draped with heavy red curtains with gold tassels. The windows, however, were frosted so she couldn’t see out into the surroundings. That familiar echoed noise that caused people to whisper as she moved around the polished floors slowly.

The halls she passed through had the odd browsing tourist, peering into the lines of cases and displays. She could hear some sort of documentary film playing somewhere in another room, the noise faintly echoing throughout and the sounds of a battle thrashing to some bagpipe music. Overall the place was deserted.

The art exhibit was in one of the rear halls at the furthest part of the museum, a huge white-walled room with soft music gently pouring over her as she entered. There was a table set up with pictures and information about the artist, and a pile of brochures. She browsed the pamphlet, taking in the man’s mature face and grey hair, his background history, and the basis behind his work before turning and strolling into the room. There were huge abstract paintings on the walls and large sculptures stood on plinths dotted around. Nothing she could identify as a real object just more abstract design made from various mediums in a flowing graduation of colour. It was almost as though someone had melted a wax rainbow and frozen it mid-pour. He seemed to like working through colour graduations, sometimes sticking to one colour and working through tones and sometimes the entire spectrum running from one blended colour to another. She found herself captivated by all the colours and fluidity in his work, like being pulled into a colourful dream in a magical wonderland made of melted things. She could see why a lot of his words related to flowing and freedom in the descriptive plaques. Standing to ponder a large, almost sunset like pieces on a stand in the corner and lost in thought when a voice interrupted her.

‘Afternoon, ma’am, you like that one?’ It was an easy American drawl, southern sounding, and male. She was slightly startled, but smiled, covering her reactions, and keeping her focus on the art piece.

‘Yes, there’s something about it, like you’re standing on a tropical beach watching the sun come up.’ She kept her gaze on the painting as the voice came closer and moved to her side.

He was a very tall, a very muscular blond American. Classically handsome in that chiselled American way, with piercing blue eyes. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and immediately made her think of the movie Thor. She had to admit, he was pretty hot. All women loved a bit of hunky eye candy and this one was appreciated.

‘The artist is my uncle.’ He smiled, showing his pearly whites and a dazzling cheeky smile. She smiled back, blushing slightly. Aware that all good-looking men had the ability to make her feel awkward. Maybe it was the ugly duckling syndrome from being a none too attractive child in puberty.

‘So, is that why you’re here? Are you the muscle to make sure people admire his work?’ She laughed and turned more towards this handsome stranger, feeling truly geeky in mentioning his muscles in such a lame line.

‘Something like that.’ He was standing with his hands behind his back, his chest straining behind a grey T-shirt with a designer logo and a pair of jeans straining at his footballer’s thighs. ‘I came with him for the trip when they asked him to show his work here’

‘He stays in the USA now then?’

‘Yeah, he moved out there a few years ago, he married my aunt when she came over for a little Scottish holiday and they spent a long time living here before heading back to the states.’ He smiled Rose’s way, his eyes skimming her appreciatively and Rose ignored the slight feeling of uneasiness.

‘I guess you’re close then, seeing as you came with him?’ She tried to ignore the way he was fixated on the tight bodice of her dress and crossed her arms over her waist in a bid to cover up a little.

‘Yeah, we are. He’s a good guy and I needed a break. I have an injury that’s healing.’ He pointed down to his knee and she guessed he got it playing American football.

‘I couldn’t resist a trip to Scotland to see some castles and haggis.’ His winning smile had her smiling too, putting her back at ease and forgiving the way he’d been ogling her; there was something about his easy manner and a quick smile that made Rose feel a little at ease. Maybe it was just a pretty face had the ability to make you relax, although that seemed to be the opposite for Rob Munro, that handsome face most certainly didn’t make her feel at ease.

He walked with her to the next painting, explaining his injury more and his sabbatical. He was from Arizona, hence the southern drawl and was a career sportsman. He seemed to have a celebrity status back home and was enjoying the peace and quiet of being a no one in this country. He also seemed to enjoy talking about himself without coaxing; somehow Rose found it a little arrogant.

They admired the next work of art briefly, pointing out the colours and flow of the piece before moving on, Rose was starting to feel listless again and wanted him to let her browse alone again.

He seemed like a decent guy, if not a bit too self-absorbed. He made all the right noises and acted like an adult, anyway. His name was Matt, and he was twenty-nine, single, and owned his own ranch. Rose couldn’t help but think of a ton of Mills and Boon romance books that reeked of romantic heroes like him, and the very thought made her blush a little more. It was so stupid.

He was hanging out at the museum while his uncle was upstairs in one of the curator’s offices, discussing some details over a painting that had been offered for sale. He was his driver and bodyguard, not that he needed it, but the pretence of his needing his nephew stopped Matt feeling like a third wheel.

Rose was trying to wander off and put space between them unsuccessfully when Matt’s uncle appeared with a tall woman at the door. Rose was captivated by the woman’s tailored perfection, cream and black Chanel suit on her tall supermodel body, her dark red curls falling like a tumbling brook from the top of her head, and her glittering green almond eyes. Black expertly applied winged eyeliner set in a pale flawless skin with peachy tones and a spattering of freckles. Her pouty mouth was stained with dark red lipstick giving her a seductive yet dominating appeal. She was stunning in a magical fairy meets American vogue way, businesswoman of the year. How you would imagine a wood nymph or a sexy pixie to look if she was from New York.

She had on black stiletto heels, peeking under her cream slacks and killer French manicured nails in deadly points, tipped with black. She oozed class and sophistication and immediately drew you under a spell at her presence. She gushed over Matt in an insincere tone, exposing ample cleavage under her suit jacket and a hint of black lace and a satin camisole as she spread her arms to kiss his cheeks in a very French debutante manner; almost enveloping them all in her expensive perfume. Her accent was only subtly Scottish, with an air of upper class and silky smooth like honey. She screamed sex and allure with every word, breath, and movement. It was impossible not to be drawn in by her.

Matt didn’t seem overly susceptible to her charms, wary almost, and kept his distance once she released him from her embrace. He almost seemed hostile towards her.

She introduced herself to Rose as Morag Spencer, the curator of the museum, then dismissed her with a smile before turning her attention to the men. It was obvious Rose was in the way and the patron was sending her every signal that it was time to go.

Maybe not so alluring after all.

Rose excused herself, feeling a wave of unwelcome warmth as Matt placed his large hand on her arm, pulling her over to kiss her cheek rather surprisingly before saying goodbye. It felt strange to have a stranger’s touch on her skin. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She figured back home that was a normal action to part ways, but it had knocked her for six. His aftershave still lingered around her face, slightly catching in her throat as she left the building in a weird mood. Unsure why the handsome man’s brief kiss had unsettled her. It seemed an innocent enough gesture. Common maybe where he was from.

She couldn’t remember finding her car or driving home that afternoon, lost somewhere in daydreams and thoughts of large American men running around the football field, except it wasn’t Matt’s face she was envisioning. Instead, someone with decidedly darker looks and greyer eyes.