“Did ye jist come here tae leer at me?” He slurred his words, his eyes low-lidded as he watched me like I was prey. His accent was so thick, I could barely understand him. But I understood enough.
The smell of stale beer and sweat filtered into my nostrils, and I grimaced. “I came here to ask you to vacate the room so we can clean it.”
North scoffed. “Dae ye no mean so the wee maids can get in tae clean it? Ah doubt ye even wipe yer ain arse.”
“Housekeepers, not maids,” I answered stiffly, not responding to his last comment. Striding past the bed toward the window, I could feel him watching me as I reached for the curtains and drew them open in jerky, annoyed movements.
“Fuck!” he snarled, and I turned to see he’d dropped the beer bottle, which was thankfully empty. North covered his eyes. “Get oot ma room, ye she-divil!”
I smirked, taking malicious pleasure in his discomfort. “You are incredibly Scottish when you’re drunk. Did you know that?”
He blinked rapidly, somehow scowling at the same time. “Ah’ll gee ye incredibly fuckin’ Scottish, ye pain in the utter arsehole. Gee a man some warnin’ before ye burn his fuckin’ retinas aff.”
“It’s called daylight.” I swiped up clothes as I wandered around the musty space. “You should try walking around in it. Sober. But first, take a shower. You smell as bad as the room.” Dumping his clothes at the door for housekeeping to collect, I said, “We’ll wash and dry-clean these for you. Do you have anything to wear in the meantime?”
“Who needs clothes?”
I glanced back at the sullen purr in his voice. It wasn’t anger in his eyes but something else. Tension stiffened my spine. “This isn’t a nudist resort, Mr. Hunter. Clothes are a requirement.”
“C’mon.” He winked at me as he patted his abs. “Ah saw ye lookin’。 Ye prefer me naked. Admit it.”
Oh, dear God. “I’d shut up before you say something you regret.”
“Maybe Ah’ll shut up if ye shut up with me. If ye get ma drift.” He winked.
“I’m going to pretend I don’t.”
“Because ye think am beneath ye?”
Surprised by the bitterness in his tone, I huffed. “Absolutely not. But I do think right now you’re acting like a self-indulgent playboy wallowing in self-pity. Take a shower, get dressed, and go for a walk.” I turned to stride toward his door but was startled at the sound of hard footsteps behind me. As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw North was almost upon me, and I spun to face him, eyebrows raised. Nervousness skittered down my spine, but I lifted my chin, not letting him think for one second he intimidated me.
Beer reeked from his pores, and I wrinkled my nose. Just how drunk was he?
North leaned into me, his face almost touching mine as he whispered harshly, “Huv ye always been sae coldhearted? Whit’s the problem? Whit wid it take tae melt yer frigid fuckin’ heart?”
Refusing to let him see his words hurt, I said sternly, “You stepping back might be a good place to start.”
“Why? Afraid ye’d like whit ah could might make ye feel?”
A shiver cascaded around the curve of my breasts and between my legs. Furious that even when he was drunk I could be attracted to this asshole, I was rendered momentarily speechless. He seemed to understand my silence.
North cupped my hip, drawing me against him as he murmured silkily in my ear, “Ye wouldnae let me near ye wi’ a barge pole, wid ye? Aria Howard, ice queen. Dae ye even like men?”
Angry with him, with myself, I stepped back, curled my hand into a fist, and punched it between his legs with as much force as I had in me.
North’s knees buckled and his lips parted in an O of pained shock seconds before his eyes widened and he fell to the floor, holding himself. His expression turned mottled with agony as he nodded frantically, fell onto his back, and gasped, “Aye. Ah deserved that. Ah deserved it.”
With one last look of disgust, I marched out of the room and walked straight into Theodore Cavendish.
“Mr. Cavendish.” I nodded and moved to step aside.
Theo gestured to the now closed door. “Has he finally arisen?” he drawled in his incredibly posh British accent. Theo was an English screenwriter and director. He wrote and directed the TV show King’s Valley that had launched North into superstardom. They’d both won awards for the show. Theo was also the second son of a viscount. Good-looking and urbane, I gathered most people found Cavendish charming. But there was an underlying hardness and superiority about him that made me wary. Very few people intimidated me, but Theo Cavendish was one of them. Not that I’d ever let it show. His friendship with North surprised me. They were from completely different backgrounds.
“Right now, he’s on the floor clutching his balls.” It was unprofessional of me, but I had no doubt North would tell Theo about the encounter, anyway. “Maybe you can get him to shower, sober up, and stop being such a cliché. I’m sending in housekeeping to clean his room in two hours, and if I have to, I’ll send security with them.”
Theo smirked but nodded.
“Oh … and tell your friend that if he ever insults me again, I’ll make sure his career isn’t the only thing that’s canceled this year.” I swiped the door lock with my spare key card to let him into North’s room.
Theo bit back a bark of laughter and tapped two fingers off his head in a salute before he pushed inside. Before the door closed, I heard him say, “Look at you, old boy. This is the most animated I’ve seen you in weeks.”
“Ah think she broke ma fuckin’ balls.”
“Well, to be fair, you haven’t been using them much lately.” The door closed behind Theo just as an unexpected burst of laughter swelled in my throat.
Realizing I was struggling with a complex mix of pity, concern, annoyance, satisfaction, and amusement, I shrugged my shoulders, trying to shake it off. North’s emotional state was none of my business, and beyond doing my job, I didn’t want his world to affect mine.
Three
NORTH
Let it blow over.
That’s what my agent suggested.
To give it some time, stay at Ardnoch for a while, and let it blow over.
Yet it had been two months since the tabloids leaked that dreaded fucking story and it felt like at least a year. Why did it have to be that story? The one that raised ghosts and the guilt I had to work every day of my life to compartmentalize. I hadn’t been doing a very good job with compartmentalizing lately. Instead, I’d drowned myself in alcohol.
Shame prickled my cheeks as freezing cold air surrounded me. It was a calm winter’s day, the water lapping rhythmically at the shore as I stared out at the gray expanse of the North Sea. The sound slowly soothed my frayed nerves.
After Theo helped me off the floor of my room, I was so fucking ashamed of myself that I didn’t dare go against Aria’s orders. The things I’d said to the woman made my fists clench at my sides. It had taken ages for the throbbing to dissipate after her triumphant punch, but I welcomed the ache. I deserved it.
Theo had forced copious amounts of water down my throat, and then I showered. When I emerged, he’d laid out clothes for me, followed by a sandwich he goaded me to eat. Afterward, he slapped me on the back and said, “Go take a bracing walk, old boy. Let the staff in to clean this midden.”