Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  But, as Hamish had said, he’d fulfilled his vows. Fiona was gone. And he still had, hopefully, a very long life to lead. He was sure that if he’d never become aware of Donna in any way other than as his housekeeper, he would have kept on pining after Fiona forever. But he had noticed Donna. And now that he had, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Dreaming about her. Longing to touch her. To taste her. To…

  “What is it, Duncan?” The focus of his obsession stepped into the studio.

  Duncan’s hands fell to his sides, and he took a step towards her before stopping himself. Don’t terrify her. Use your charm. The problem was, his charm—if he’d ever actually had any—was seriously rusty.

  He saw her glance at the sofa, and then her cheeks turned pink. A deep regret filled him. He’d never meant to hurt her when she’d been posing for him. He’d just been shocked to hell.

  “I’m sorry about the other day,” he said. “You surprised me.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “I surprised both of us. Now, what did you want?”

  It was now or never. But he couldn’t do it like this. Not with her standing beside the open door, ready to bolt. “Have a seat.” He pointed at the sofa, realised she might not want to sit there again, and lifted the stool instead, positioning it in front of him. He pointed to it. “There.”

  He mentally groaned. Great. That wasn’t weird at all.

  Slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she crossed the room to sit on the stool. “Okay, I’m here now. Do you want to tell me what this is about?” She paled slightly. “You don’t have a brain tumour, do you?”

  “What? No! Why would you think that?”

  “You said please.”

  “And that’s evidence of a brain tumour?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve heard you use the word.”

  He stared at her as his mind chewed on that little snippet. “I’ve never said please?”

  “Not once since I’ve been here.”

  They were getting off track. Duncan put his atrocious manners aside for the moment as he paced again. “I’m fit and healthy. That’s not why I called you in here.”

  “Are you going to fire me?”

  He stopped. “No!”

  “Because after the other day and the inappropriate stripping, you would be totally justified in firing me.”

  “I don’t want to fire you.”

  “Okay, thanks for being so nice about it. But I realise I was out of line, and I’m going to start applying for other jobs. I’ll let you know as soon as I get one I like. I won’t leave you in the lurch.”

  All thoughts of asking her out fled from his mind. “You’re leaving me?” He shook his head. “I mean, you’re leaving the mansion? No. Just no. The stripping didn’t bother me. I mean, it was fine. You looked fine. It was lovely. Damn it, woman, don’t apply for other jobs.”

  “That isn’t your decision.”

  He took a step closer to her. “Is it money? Do you need more? Does one of your sisters need money? I can give you what you want. You don’t need to go looking for another job. Hell, with the money I’ve made from my paintings, I have plenty to dish out.” He glared at her. “But not for people we fire. They don’t get any.”

  “No, I don’t need more money.” She paused and looked away. “I just think that it might be time to move on. When I start doing crazy things like stripping for my boss, then I need to reassess my life. We live together and work together—lines get blurred. It isn’t professional.”

  Lines get blurred? What lines? And why was she so focused on the stripping? It was perfectly normal to take your clothes off in a studio. She’d just surprised him. And then lust had blindsided him and he’d run like a coward. That wasn’t her fault. That was him. He didn’t understand her reasoning at all.

  “Is someone bothering you? Is that what it is? Do I need to fire some staff and hire nicer ones?”

  “It’s not the staff.” She let out a sigh. “I’ve been here two years, and I never even intended to take this job. You don’t need me anymore. You can run the estate by yourself. Maybe it’s time for a change.”

  “I don’t need you? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

  She waved a hand around his studio. “You’re painting again, Duncan.” Her eyes followed her hand, and she seemed to notice for the first time that the paintings were of her. She gasped, and her hand flew to her chest.

  Duncan barely noticed. He was still stuck on the logic that said if he was painting, he didn’t need a housekeeper. Surely, if he was busy, he would need a housekeeper more, not less? Women. If he lived to be a hundred, he still wouldn’t understand them.

  “You can get those daft notions out of your head right now. I am painting again, and it means I’m too busy to run the estate. That’s your job, and you aren’t leaving it.” Was it possible to legally block someone from quitting a job? As soon as this crazy conversation was over, he was calling his lawyer. If there was a way to do it, he wanted it done fast.

  “These paintings are of me,” Donna said in a small, shaky voice.

  His attention zoomed in on her. She seemed shocked, stunned, emotional. He cocked his head and studied her, but he still couldn’t figure out what the reaction meant. Didn’t she like the paintings? He could reassure her on that front. “They aren’t finished yet. They’ll look better when they’re done.”

  “They’re all of me,” she whispered.

  “You’re the one who posed, of course they’re of you.” She wasn’t making any sense.

  Her shoulders slumped, and her face closed up the way it had that day in the kitchen when he’d first asked her to pose. “Of course,” she said evenly.

  His heart raced. Something had gone wrong again, and he wasn’t sure what, but this time he wasn’t letting it go. “What does that mean? That ‘of course’ comment.”

  She shrugged. “Just that it makes sense. I’m the only one here to pose for you.”

  The penny dropped, and it hit him hard, making him think it had been launched from afar. He took a step towards her, closing the distance between them until he could almost touch her.

  “I didn’t ask you to pose because you were the only person here. If I wanted to, I could pick up the phone and have my choice of models here in a day or two. I asked you to pose because I wanted, no—I needed—to paint you.”

  A flicker of something that looked like hope sprang into those wide green eyes of hers before it disappeared again. “That’s really sweet of you, Duncan.”

  It was clear she didn’t believe him. His mind raced over the conversation they’d had that day in the kitchen. His words came back to him in a rush: Because you’re here and Fiona isn’t. I need a subject if I’m going to paint again.

  He was an idiot.

  “Donna,” he said softly, “listen to what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t paint just anyone. I never have. The model has to call to me. A unique call, one that’s all them and no one else. And when I want to paint that person, no other will do. My models aren’t interchangeable. They never have been. What I said in the kitchen that day was stupid and untrue. I didn’t ask you to pose because I needed a model and anyone would do. I asked because I’d been lying awake nights imagining what you would look like on my canvas.”

  She sucked in a breath. Her eyes became pools of sea green water that would drown a man, and her cheeks coloured with the softest pink. He dreamed about that colour.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  It felt like the surrounding air had become charged. The hairs on his skin stood to attention, and he felt the ache of awareness. Her cheeks were darker now, perfectly matching the colour of her lips.

  “Duncan?” she whispered, her eyes searching his.

  He was vaguely aware that his nerves from earlier had disappeared. Everything had disappeared. The world had reduced to the woman in front of him. The soft, delicate woman who was looking up at him with such vulnerability in her eyes.

  “I have something I wan
ted to ask you,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  Man, she was beautiful. Inside and out. He felt like he was falling into those pale green eyes of hers. A strange feeling of peace, of floating, surrounded him, and the anxiety and guilt that had wracked him disappeared. There was only Donna, nothing else, and the question he’d been practising and worrying over, dissolved in his mind. To be replaced by one that was much more important. It slipped out of his mouth before he could censor it—not that he wanted to.

  “Can I kiss you, Donna?” he whispered. “I hear tell a man must ask first these days, and I would dearly like to taste you.”

  “Oh.” The word was barely a breath, but it wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.

  “Tell me I can kiss you,” he said as he lowered his head towards her, his eyes holding fast to hers. “Let me hear the word.”

  For an endless moment, it felt like the world stood still and waited for her answer.

  When it came, it almost took him to his knees.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Chapter 13

  Duncan’s hands were steady as he cupped her face, never taking his gaze from hers. Her emotions flitted across her face—trepidation, caring, desire, anxiety. It was all there, laid out for him to see. That she wanted his touch as much as he wanted hers was reassuring, her nervousness wasn’t.

  With a barely there touch, he stroked the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, feeling the warmth of her breath on his skin.

  “Alizarin Crimson,” he whispered. “With highlights of Rose Madder, Jaune Brilliant and white.”

  She swallowed. Her eyes darkening until the iris turned a Phthalo green. “How do you know the colours? You’ve barely glanced at my lips.”

  If he hadn’t been standing a hairsbreadth from her, he wouldn’t have heard the question or seen the yearning vulnerability in her eyes.

  It was the vulnerability that made him give her the truth. “I have your lips memorised. I could paint them with my eyes closed.” He inclined his head towards her, closing the scant distance until his words brushed over her mouth. “I paint them in my sleep and wake wondering if the colour will taste as fresh as it looks. Will they taste of peaches? Like the highlights. Or will they taste like ripe raspberries? Like the darker hues. What do you think, Donna?”

  She didn’t answer, but he felt the pulse under his fingertips speed up.

  “Let’s find out.” His lips brushed hers with each word as he held her eyes captive with his.

  Soft. Her lips were softer than rose petals but plump and full like a ripe plum. He pressed a gentle, chaste kiss against them and heard her breath hitch.

  “More?” he whispered.

  She nodded as her fingers curled into his shirt.

  “Aye. More.” He angled her head to tease her lips with his, tugging at that full bottom lip until she opened her mouth for him.

  With a needy groan, he stepped closer until he was standing between her knees, and he could feel the heat of her body against his. Her eyes lost focus, and her eyelids closed slowly as though they’d become weighted. Dark, black lashes formed a crescent across her pale skin as a rose stain bloomed on the apple of her cheek.

  His tongue licked out across her bottom lips. Peaches. Damn. He loved peaches. Slowly, with care and longing, he traced the shape of her lips with his tongue. Perfect. He needed more. So much more.

  His hands moved, one to clasp the back of her head, his fingers threading through that thick, luscious hair of hers, the other to span the small of her back. He pulled her up and into him as he deepened the kiss.

  Their tongues tangled as he chased her taste. That sweet, elusive peach flavour that he knew he was already addicted to. Tentatively, her tongue chased his into his mouth, and Duncan caught it, sucking on it hard. A desperate moan escaped Donna, and her arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.

  A heady feeling of power, lust and need rushed through him as he realised what her hold meant. She wanted him to fly away with her. She was clinging on for the ride, expecting him to keep her safe while he made her soar.

  And he wanted to.

  But he couldn’t.

  Not yet.

  ***

  Slowly, softly, their lips separated. Donna’s eyelids felt heavy, and her brain full of fluff. Her only thought was that she needed more. She leaned into Duncan, but his warmth was suddenly gone. She swayed on the stool and forced her eyes open, to see him pacing. His lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes were dark, and his hair was standing on end. He looked like a wild man.

  “Crap,” he snapped. “This is all wrong.”

  It was a cold bucket of water right over her head. The shock almost threw her heart into arrest. It was wrong? Kissing her was wrong? She blinked hard. Her mind stunned. Her emotions frozen. She was still dazed from a kiss that had rocked her world, and he was saying it was wrong?

  He spun to face her. “Don’t worry. I’m going to sort this. I’ve been reading up on it, and I know what I’m doing. I got carried away in the moment, but I’ll fix it.”

  “What?” She managed to force the word out as her brain reeled. He wasn’t making any sense, but she dreaded that he regretted kissing her because he was still in love with his wife.

  Her eyes sought out the half-finished painting of Fiona, but she couldn’t see it, which confused her further. It was always here. She’d come to think of it as Duncan’s anchor to the past.

  When hands landed on her shoulders, she jumped, and her eyes flew to his.

  He saw her startle and removed his touch. “Damn it. I’m screwing up again.”

  “You aren’t making any sense.”

  It almost seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Eventually, he settled on thrusting them into the pockets of his jeans. His gaze was intense.

  “I’ve been reading up on the ‘me too’ movement,” he said at last.

  “Okaaay.” Donna was still lost, but now there was a flicker of hope that him freaking out wasn’t about his love for Fiona or any deep regret over touching her.

  “There’s a power difference.” He brought out a hand and gestured from her to him. “Between us. I’m your boss, and I own your home. And you’re Donna.” He ran his hand through his hair.

  At last, the daze began to clear. “I swear, if you don’t get to the point soon, I’m going to stab you in the ear with a paintbrush.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s very graphic.” A smile tugged at his lips. “I kind of like it.” He shook his head and became serious again. “I’m your boss.”

  He said it like it was a revelation. “You have been for the past two years.”

  “And you’re Donna.”

  “I have been for the past twenty-eight years. Honestly, Duncan, did you fall and hit your head? Do I need to call a doctor?”

  “What? No! I’m just better at painting than I am at talking about personal stuff. The thing is. You aren’t good at saying no to people.” He raised an eyebrow in challenge, as though she was going to deny what the whole of Scotland already knew. He nodded when she didn’t reply. “Well then, what are the chances you would have said no to me kissing you if you didn’t want to?”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly,” he said when she didn’t say anything more. “I called you in here to ask you out to dinner, but you wouldn’t say no to that either, would you?”

  His words shocked her so much that she almost fell off the stool. “You were going to ask me out to dinner, and you wanted me to say no?”

  He looked at her like she was the slow one, when he was practically talking another language. “No, I don’t want you to say no. I want you to say yes. But I want you to do it because you want to, not because I’m your boss and you feel you have to. I didn’t think this through properly. I don’t want you feeling obligated. Or threatened.” He eyed her carefully. “Do you feel threatened?”

  “Mainly I feel confused.”

  “Good.” He patted her cheek and then pulle
d his hand back as though the touch had burned him. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure this out. I need to call my lawyer.”

  He turned and strode to the door. When he threw it open, he found her sisters standing on the other side of it. They jumped back, and it was clear they’d been listening in. The finks.

  “Don’t go near the ballroom,” Agnes said. “The guy who’s varnishing the floor is here. In fact, it would be best if you avoided that side of the house altogether. I hear the fumes are deadly.”

  Mairi looked behind him and grinned wickedly at Donna before giving Duncan an innocent smile that meant she was up to no good. “Did you kiss my sister? Is that a new part of her job description? Making out with the boss?”

  “See?” Duncan shouted at Donna while he pointed at Mairi. “That’s what I’m talking about. I need to sort this out.” And he stormed past the women. “I’ll be in my office,” he called over his shoulder.

  Donna was left staring after him, and then she caught sight of her sisters. Mairi was grinning wickedly, and Agnes had a look of disapproval on her face.

  “Don’t ask me what just happened.” Donna held up her hands. “I have no idea.”

  “Oh, by the looks of it, and from the stuff we heard through the door,” Mairi said as she came into the room, “kissing happened.”

  “What were you thinking, kissing your boss?” Agnes demanded.

  There was no reply Donna could give that justified her actions. When he’d asked if he could kiss her, she’d wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against hers. She’d wanted, if only for one minute, to feel a little of the devotion he’d felt for Fiona—so she’d stolen a crumb of it, with a kiss. That’s how pathetic she was, she’d stolen a kiss meant for a dead woman.

  From her boss.

  She groaned. “I wasn’t thinking. I should have been thinking.” But once the kissing had started, her ability to think had fled altogether.

  “Holy macaroni, look at her face,” Mairi said. “It was that good? Who would have thought Duncan knew how to put a look like that on a woman’s face? I, for one, am stunned.”