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

  Her smile was tremulous. “It was the first time you’ve spoken about Fiona like it was normal, like you weren’t in pain.”

  Duncan jerked back and went over his words. He hadn’t even noticed what he’d said. He’d been more concerned about Donna’s comfort than the fact Fiona was gone. At first, he didn’t know what to say, and then he just went for brutal honesty. “She was taller than you are. I got used to her matching me stride for stride. But I wasn’t comparing you. It was a comment on the differences and a reminder that I need to be more aware of how I treat you.”

  “I know.” She bit her lip and looked up at him. “I know I can’t compare to Fiona, and I’m not trying to. I’ve seen the photos, and we’re nothing alike. She was beautiful. Like a model on a runway.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Hence the height. I know I’m not her, and I’m not trying to replace her. This is just one date. It’s that, I’ve never heard you talk like that before. It was obvious you cared deeply for her, but you didn’t sound broken. If you know what I mean.”

  “Aye, I think I do.” But it was something else she’d said that bothered him more. He reached out and cupped her cheek, feeling the satin-soft smoothness of the skin beneath the roughness of his palm. “She was beautiful, Angel, but you’re beautiful too. There’s no comparing you, because you’re both unique.”

  She looked away, embarrassed. “You don’t have to say that. I understand.”

  He frowned as he gently turned her face back to him. “I don’t think you do. Do you know why I call you angel?”

  “Because slave sounds wrong?” she quipped.

  “No, it’s because that’s what you look like to me.” She shook her head, and he stopped her. “Listen. There’s been many a time you’ve stepped into a sunbeam, and your hair has shone around your head like a halo. No, I’m saying this wrong, it was more like the otherworldly glow that the Pre-Raphaelite painters used on their models. Your skin sparkles in the light and your hair fills with a million colours that blend and shimmer. The sight brings a grown man to his knees.” He scoffed at himself. “I should know. It’s done it to me often enough.”

  “Duncan, it’s okay—”

  “Shh, let me tell you how I see you.” He stroked her silken hair. “You’re all curves and softness. The kindness in your heart just radiates from you and pulls everyone around you in closer. I dream about your skin—its colour, its softness. I wonder if the colour of your lips appears anywhere else on your body, and I itch to find out.”

  She blushed, and it made him groan.

  “And that blush, Angel. I want to fill a canvas with the colour, but only after I’ve stripped you naked to lie on the couch in my living room, with the warm evening sun bathing your mouth-watering curves and making your hair dance with a million colours.”

  Wide, green eyes looked up at him, holding such vulnerability, it ripped him in two.

  “You’re not Fiona,” he told her. “And I don’t want you to be. You are perfect just as you are. Beautiful. Unique. Just. As. You. Are.”

  He closed the distance between them, sipping at her lips as though she held the most precious of nectars. The wild side of him that Fiona’s death had freed wanted to take over, to press her back against the wall, flip up her dress, and plunge into her warm, welcoming depths. But he was strong enough to keep the instinct caged because he wanted her to know how beautiful she was and what she did to him. He didn’t want there to be any doubt. Taking her in a fury of desire would make her think that this was only about his needs, and he wouldn’t do that to her.

  With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he broke their gentle kiss. “Come on, let’s go eat this tiramisu before it goes off.”

  Looking dazed, Donna grasped his hand, and he led her to the orangery. This time, he remembered to shorten his stride.

  Chapter 18

  Donna had been in the orangery many times—after all, she’d been the one to oversee its renovations—but the beauty of the room still took her breath away. The large solarium, or conservatory, on the south side of the house, had once been used to grow exotic fruit, such as oranges. Hence the name of the building.

  The builder had told her that the wall between the house and the orangery was three times thicker than in the rest of the house, to insulate the room from the cold northerly winds. The rest of the room was built with stone and metal, rising up to the second floor of the mansion, to give enough height for the trees. Long glass windows filled the southern wall, to maximise the sun, and the roof was made of smaller glass panels, fitted into the domed shapes that formed the apex of the room. She knew it had been one of the first buildings to design an orangery with a glass roof, and it was one of the things that made the mansion special.

  They passed the raised beds, filled with exotic flowers, and rounded the fountain that was not only ornate but gave the air the humidity the plants needed to survive. Tall ferns rose up around them. In the centre, where the roof was highest, were fruit trees and palms.

  Outside, a mixture of grey-hued clouds and sparkling stars filled the sky above them. Donna knew where they were headed. There was a seating area hidden in the middle of the room. It held a small ironwork table and two chairs, and behind it was a rattan daybed, with plump, cream coloured cushions. If you lay on the sofa on a clear night, it felt like you were floating amongst the stars overhead.

  All that could be heard was the running water of the fountain and her heels clacking on the terracotta-tiled path beneath them.

  “I love this room,” Donna said as she breathed the heady, green scent of the plants into her lungs.

  Duncan looked around, as though seeing it for the first time. “It’s the best part of this house.”

  “You don’t like the mansion?”

  “It was never my thing. It was Fiona’s dream, but I don’t mind it.” Now that was interesting.

  “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

  “Glasgow,” he said without hesitation.

  “I’m not talking only in Scotland, I mean in the world.”

  He grinned at her. “The answer’s still Glasgow.”

  “Well, that’s just sad.”

  He burst out laughing as he placed the takeaway bag on the ornate table and pulled a chair out for her, before taking a seat facing her. “Spoken like a person who’s never seen the good parts of the city.”

  “Are there good parts?” She wasn’t convinced.

  “Aye.”

  “Name one.”

  “The art school building. Built by Charles Rennie Mackintosh at the turn of the century—twentieth,” he amended. “It’s the most beautiful building in the world.”

  She was unconvinced. “Better than the Taj Mahal?”

  “Way better. You’ve never been?”

  “No.” Just the thought of setting foot in a building dedicated to serious artists made her break out in hives. If she actually did it, she would spend the rest of her life comparing herself and coming up short as usual.

  “I’ll take you some time.” His face grew wistful. “I still remember the first day I walked into the place. Up those stone steps, the gold brick looming in front of you, with the massive studio windows either side of the entrance. You pushed through the white double doors, making sure you used the one with ‘In’ on it, and into the foyer. There were Art Nouveau details everywhere you looked. From the carved wooden staircase up to the first floor to the emblems high in the walls. But it was the atmosphere that sucked you right in. It smelled of oil paint, turps and creative obsession. There was a buzz about the place. An energy I’ve never come across anywhere else. It was as though you’d stepped into a magical world when you walked through those doors.”

  Her throat felt tight as she swallowed. “You taught there too.”

  “For a time.”

  “You should go back. Take them up on the offer to lecture. It would do you good.” She wanted to see him do something he loved, and for a moment, she forgot that the whole reason she�
��d set it up was to get him out of the way. Shame hit her and made her look away.

  “That part of my life is over,” he told her, but his tone wasn’t harsh.

  “I’ve seen the new paintings. I think you might be wrong.”

  Uncertainty flashed in his eyes before he turned his attention to their dessert. He reached into the bag and came out with two boxes. He placed one in front of her and she opened it to find a perfect piece of tiramisu, a plastic spoon, and a napkin. It wasn’t chocolate cake, but it was still pretty damn good.

  “I’ll get some drinks.” Donna made to stand, but Duncan stopped her.

  “I’ll get them. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “No faith,” she muttered as she eyed her dessert. If she was fast, she could eat hers and get into his before he got back.

  He must have guessed what she was thinking because he swiped up his dessert box. “I’ll just take this with me for safekeeping.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at him, making him chuckle.

  As soon as he disappeared into the foliage, the hordes descended.

  Didn’t I tell you that this evening was a mistake? Hermione appeared beside the pot-bellied stove that was used to keep the room warm in winter. Just what do you think you’re doing?

  “Having dessert.” She spooned some into her mouth and tried to ignore the figures only she could see. “And wondering if I should see a psychiatrist,” she said around her food.

  Hermione rolled her eyes. You don’t need a psychiatrist. You need to listen to me.

  Really, there was nothing to say to that, so she took another bite of her pudding.

  Mark my words, Gandalf the White boomed, no good will come of this.

  “I miss Gandalf the Grey,” Donna told him. “At least he knew how to have fun.”

  Is that what you’re doing? Hermione said.

  Harry Potter’s mother appeared. Of course she’s having fun. She waved a hand around. Look at this. She has the stars, the moon, a beautiful setting and wonderful food. I hope you enjoy every minute of it, darling.

  He’s going to crush her heart. Katniss Everdeen walked out from amongst the trees to join them. Don’t worry. When he does, I’ll deal with him. She patted her bow.

  Do you really think violence is the answer? Molly Weasley said as she fussed with the stove. What she thought she would make on it, Donna didn’t know.

  Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, twirled through the room. What a magical place! How romantic! This is the perfect place to fall in love.

  Donna glared at her. “Why are you here? I’ve never drawn you.”

  Belle looked sad as she tugged at her voluminous yellow dress. Yes, you have. It was a long time ago. You loved my story. You thought that Beast should have stayed the way he was and never turned back into a prince. She gave Donna a chiding look. Do you have any idea how much hair he shed everywhere? I was so pleased when he lost that look. He’s so handsome. It makes a girl swoon.

  I prefer books to boys. Hermione stuck her nose in the air.

  Belle’s eyes went wide. Have you read Wuthering Heights? I adore that book. What about Pride and Prejudice?

  I love Pride and Prejudice. It’s wonderful to meet another reader.

  Belle hooked her hand through Hermione’s arm. I must show you Beast’s library. Between you and me, it was a big selling point in our relationship.

  They walked off into the trees.

  Are you going to have sex with him? Molly Weasley asked.

  Mum! Ron appeared beside his mother, looking humiliated.

  Hush, she told him. If she’s going to have sex, she needs to make sure it’s safe. Don’t forget about protection. She rooted around in her apron pocket while Ron’s whole head turned red. Here it is. She put a piece of paper on the table in front of Donna. That’s the best protection spell out there. Say that three times before you get busy, and you’ll be fine.

  “I think a condom might be a better idea,” Donna said. “But I have no intention of having sex, so it’s all good.”

  I feel sick, Ron whined.

  Donna, my girl, Gandalf said. Get up to your room now, before you get yourself into trouble you can’t get out of.

  I agree with him, Katniss said. You don’t look like you have any survival skills. It would be better if you ran.

  “That’s it!” Donna shot to her feet and pointed towards the exit. “Everyone, out now. I’ve had it with your interference and advice. Go!”

  “Uh, Donna,” a very real voice came from behind her. “Should I be worried? Maybe call someone? Like a doctor?”

  She groaned as she turned to Duncan who was scanning the room to see who she was talking to.

  “Would you believe me if I said I was talking to the moths?” There were two fluttering around the light overhead.

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She sank back into her seat.

  “Spill,” he ordered, placing a bottle of wine on the table in front of her, along with a glass. He opened a bottle of water for himself and sipped at it. “I won’t give up until you tell me. I can be really tenacious about these things.”

  “No kidding.” She eyed his untouched dessert. “I’ll do it if you share.”

  He chuckled and pushed the food into the middle of the table. When she reached for it, he snatched it back. “Start talking before you take a bite.”

  “No trust.” She sighed. “Okay, this will sound a little nutty.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Remember who you’re talking to, Angel. I’ve been holed up here for over two years, bouncing off the walls.”

  “Fine. You know I read a lot.” He nodded. “I tend to read kids’ and teens’ books, and I like fantasy—Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter—that sort of thing. The characters become real to me when I read, and sometimes they pop out of the books and talk to me.”

  “Like Dobby?”

  She beamed at him. “Yes, exactly like Dobby.”

  Duncan looked around. “Was he here just now?”

  “No, it was other characters.” She tugged on the box. “Can I have dessert now?”

  He held it tight. “In a minute. How often do these characters pop up?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “And you know they aren’t real, right?”

  She hoped her look was scathing. “Yes, Duncan. I know that when I talk to Gandalf that he is only in my head and the pages of a Tolkien book.”

  “Okay, then, have at it.” He pushed the tiramisu towards her and sat back in his seat.

  “That’s it? You aren’t worried that you hired a lunatic?”

  “Nope. Everybody talks to themselves. You just prefer it when your inner voice has a fictional face.” His smile was pure sexual invitation, and the temperature in the room suddenly seemed to shoot up. “Want to tell me what they were saying about me?”

  She felt herself flush. “What makes you think they were talking about you?”

  “So that’s how we’re playing it. I’ll make you a deal, you tell me what they were saying, and I’ll…” He searched around for something to offer.

  Donna jumped in when he hesitated. “You’ll give the lecture at Glasgow School of Art, just this once.”

  He frowned at her, and she thought he’d tell her to stop interfering. “Okay, I’ll do it. Just this once. But you have to come with me so that I can show you around.”

  A surge of pure longing made her knees go weak, and she was glad she was already sitting down. “I can’t. It’s Mairi’s birthday that weekend,” she lied, hating herself for it at the same time. She looked up at him through her lashes. “Does that mean the deal’s off?” She tried to sound hopeful so that he would think she wanted to back out.

  “No, the deal’s on. I’ll take you another time.”

  “So, you’re really going to lecture, just to hear what my imaginary friends told me about you?”

  “Aye.” His jaw firmed with determination.

  “I’
ll be mad if I embarrass myself and you back out.”

  “You have my word that I won’t.”

  Donna almost pumped the air in victory. “Fine. Then I’ll tell you. Hermione says I should make my apologies, go to my room and forget all about tonight.”

  “I don’t know who she is, but I don’t like her,” Duncan rumbled. “What about the rest?”

  She swallowed hard and reached for her wine. “Molly Weasley told me to use protection if we sleep together.”

  “Did she now?” He leaned forwards and rested his arms on the table. “What did you tell her?”

  “That I didn’t think the spell she gave me would work.” Her voice had become a husky croak.

  His lips quirked, and his eyes sparkled. “No, I don’t imagine it would.”

  They held each other’s gaze for what seemed like hours as the air between them became charged with desire. At some point, Duncan had taken off his jacket, and the material of his white shirt pulled across his chest. She licked her lips as her eyes hungrily ate up the contours of the muscles she’d felt every time she’d touched him. Underneath that shirt were six-pack abs that would turn any woman into a blubbering mess.

  Every move he made oozed strength and confidence. He had the air of a marauder. A pirate. A Viking. Sexy, dangerous, completely in charge. She placed a shaky hand over her heart as she felt it race out of control. Images she’d never dared to let into her mind, flooded in from every quarter, but one in particular rose to the fore.

  Duncan behind her, bending her over the daybed behind her.

  “Put your forearms on the cushions,” he’d order. “Don’t move.”

  Slowly, he’d inch her dress up her thighs, until it was over her hips. He’d groan at the sight of the thong she’d dared to buy after Mairi had goaded her. It was pink and matched the balconette bra that made her feel sexy and wanton.

  “Spread those legs for me, Angel.”

  She’d inch them apart, aware that the heels she wore pushed her backside higher. The cool glow of the moon above them would bathe them in light. The sound of the fountain would become sensual background music, as the humidity inside the glasshouse coated her sensitive skin, and the cool night air soothed in its wake.