‘Leave it.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘I’ll sort it out.’
‘You can’t just put them back anywhere.’
Her eyes were too bright, but her words gave him an excuse to vent his panic and confusion.
‘It’s just a few books, Nia.’ He shook his head. ‘What is it with you and this damn house? Always wanting everything to be perfect.’ And obviously that excluded some nameless nobody like him.
Her face stilled. ‘It’s not just a house. It’s my home.’
Something in her answer, in her voice, made his chest tighten. ‘Nia, I—’
But she stepped past him, moving so swiftly that she was already halfway down the spiral staircase by the time his brain had caught up with his breathing.
He stood for a moment, heard her words echoing around the still, silent room, and then, bending down, he picked up the books and began slowly and carefully putting them back exactly where they belonged.
CHAPTER FOUR
GAZING OUT OF her bedroom room, Nia felt her heart swell. No matter how many times it happened, it was still magical.
It had snowed overnight, transforming the drab, muddy fields and spiky hedges of the Scottish countryside into an endless white wonderland.
There must be six inches, at least. Enough to cover the lawn in a thick blanket and make the philadelphus and camellia bushes buckle.
Not enough to make the world stop turning.
Her throat tightened.
No, only Farlan Wilder had the power to do that.
She glanced across the fields to where Lamington rose, pale and splendid, beneath a pewter-coloured sky. It felt strange, knowing he was there, that he was sleeping in the guest room just yards from where they would have shared a bed together if she hadn’t broken up with him.
Although, judging by yesterday’s performance in the library, they didn’t actually need a bed.
She felt her face heat.
Even now the memory of that kiss stunned her.
It had been such a stupid thing to do, and it should have felt wrong on so many levels.
They had parted on such bad terms, and he didn’t even like her. Yesterday, after the way he had acted, the way he had spoken to her, she hadn’t liked him very much either.
But when her lips had touched his she had more than liked him. She had wanted him with every fibre of her being.
And he had wanted her too. She had felt it in the urgency of his mouth, the press of his fingers against her skin.
She stared blindly through the glass at the glittering white landscape.
Time was like snow. It covered everything so that after a few weeks—days, even—you forgot what lay beneath.
But all it took was a few moments of intense heat and things started to reveal themselves.
Or, in this case, feelings. Feelings she had buried…feelings she’d thought had faded to manageable proportions.
But here, in this small, neat bedroom, with its chintz curtains and low beams, she could admit that even after all this time a part of her still wanted Farlan.
Was that really so surprising?
It was hardly unusual for ex-lovers to feel desire long after affection had faded.