I squirmed uncomfortably again because not that long ago, I’d fantasized about Brodan Adair, and now I barely even thought of him. And while the mention of Arran bothered me, I only felt a flicker of annoyance on Brodan’s behalf for being objectified. Not that he’d mind.
“I’d take Thane over the others any day.” Jacinda pointed her fork at us. “Now that is a man.”
Anne-Marie sighed dramatically. “Well, I’d actually take them all. Orgy style.”
“You try one sexual position outside of missionary, and suddenly you’re into orgies,” Michelle teased.
Anne-Marie cackled, and we all laughed with her, but my smile covered the gloom that had fallen over me.
It was a gloom that came for me now and then, and more often lately. While I knew I wasn’t capable of a relationship with someone anymore, I longed to be touched again. I missed kisses and caresses and the feel of a man moving inside me.
I’d never considered casual sex before because I needed to trust the person I was with, and it seemed impossible to find both.
Envy for these women who could reach for sex when they wanted it, could enjoy life to the fullest, scored through me. Arro, Regan, and Robyn might crack jokes about their sex lives, but they didn’t go into detail because of the connections. Regan and Robyn, sisters, were with Arro’s brothers, and Arro was with Robyn’s father. It was too weird for them to chat about, saving me from those conversations.
But I envied them too. They’d all more than insinuated they were delighted with their sex lives.
The Adair men and Mac Galbraith apparently knew how to satisfy their women.
An image of a naked Arran braced over me, his hips thrusting against mine, flashed before my eyes, and heat blazed through me. My fork fell from my fingers, clattering against my plate, drawing the ladies’ attention.
“Are you okay?” Michelle asked, concerned.
“Fine. Just done. Didn’t mean to drop my fork like that.” I laughed softly, trying not to look mortified. I wished them all a great afternoon and took my plate up to empty it before passing it through the kitchen’s wash-up window.
Unfortunately, now that the image of Arran had entered my mind, I couldn’t get it to stop replaying. Over and over and over …
6
ARRAN
“Did you get my email?” My contractor, Bill, approached me as soon as I stepped into the Gloaming.
My mind, as per usual, was preoccupied with Eredine. This morning on our run, she’d been distracted again. She’d barely looked at me. I tried to recall if I’d said or done anything to upset her, but I’d been my usual self.
Frowning, I shook my head. “Problem?”
“Aye, you could say that. Follow me.”
Bill led me past the bar and into the ground-floor great room used for events. This very room had hosted Ardnoch village’s anniversary ceilidh every year for as long as I could remember. The village’s anniversary of becoming a royal burgh was much celebrated, and this year was our 393rd. Scheduled for a few weeks’ time from now, the ceilidh had been relocated to our town hall, just for this year. To say the locals weren’t happy was an understatement. However, they’d show up, even if they whined about the venue change.
Stopping at the entrance to the event room, Bill pointed upward where we’d exposed the building’s structure. “Joints are rotten. It’s a wonder this bloody thing hasn’t collapsed.”
My stomach twisted at the thought. “What does this mean?”
“I had the engineer come out early this morning, and he says it all needs replaced.”
Looking at how spectacular the space looked with the ceiling removed, I frowned as I studied it. “If we’re having to replace these, could we just vault the ceiling? Leave it open.”
“Oh, aye, we could do that. That would look grand.”
“Right. Well, if you can get me the added cost of replacing these, that’d be great. I’ll talk with Lachlan, make sure he’s on board with the vaulting, and then I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect.”
I strode back out into the bar area, untouched for the moment with renovations focused elsewhere, and I pulled out my phone to call Lachlan. The email banner notifications on my screen alerted me to Bill’s email but also to another that froze me on the spot.
Indignation churned in my gut as I tapped on the notification.
The email from [email protected] gmail.com opened up to one line: Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.
Deleting the email, I ground my teeth and took a breath before hitting Lachlan’s number. For a few years now, I’d received these ominous one-line emails that all said roughly the same thing, about not forgetting me or about watching me. Since nothing had come of them, I’d decided it was just some bored crazy on the internet sending random emails.
After everything that happened with my family, however, there was a moment when I paused to think about the emails. One came every few months. But if I mentioned it, my family would overreact, and, quite rightly, considering what they’d been through. I didn’t want to worry them over something I was ninety-nine percent sure was a prank.