Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2)

Indignation riled me. “What do I need? What the fuck do you mean, what do I need? You’re the one who hauled me from my room to meet me for some mysterious reason.”

Her brows almost met she frowned so hard. “Why on earth would I ask a club member to meet me at midnight?”

A bang filled the room, and we both jumped, startled. Aria whirled around as I gaped at the now closed library door. The snick of a lock turning echoed through the room.

“Allegra?” Aria squeaked.

Then she was running across the room with hilarious difficulty in her tight skirt. She turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge. She pulled harder. Then she slammed her palm against the wood. “Allegra Howard, you open this door right now.”

What the actual fuck?

“No!” Allegra called back. “You’re both going to stay in there until you work out your shit.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Aria yelled.

“Clearly,” I huffed behind her.

She shot me a dark look before turning back to the door. “Allegra, there’s no way out of this library. That’s not safe.”

“I know you’re in there. And I’ll let you out once you two have made nice.”

“What do you mean, there’s no way out?” I strode toward the windows. The estate grounds were lit up outside so I could only make out my reflection in them. They were tall and narrow, and I couldn’t see a latch anywhere. Surely that was illegal?

“Most of the windows are just one long sheet of glass. There’s a second smaller pane at the top. It has the latch on it,” Aria explained behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to find her standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. “You’re shitting me?”

“Oh, how I wish I were.”

Craning my neck, I looked up at the out-of-reach latches. “Please tell me there’s a ladder hidden somewhere in here.”

“Only the ones on the bookshelf rails, and they’re not tall enough. Even if they were, you’d break something jumping out at that height.”

“I’m going to kill your sister,” I announced as I spun to face Aria.

“You’ll have to get in line.”

“See, you’re agreeing already!” Allegra called out.

Aria’s expression darkened as she half turned to speak to her. “You have no idea how much I’m going to make you pay for this, darling sister.”

“I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.” At that, we heard footsteps moving away.

“Is this actually happening?”

At my question, Aria growled and stormed across the room to the only desk. “Is there a phone in here? Please say there’s a phone.”

My eyes swept the desk and then the walls, just in case. “No phone. And I didn’t bring my mobile. Did you?”

She shook her head in exasperation. “I left it in my office.”

“Can I ask why this is happening?”

“Because of your attitude toward me, that’s why.” Aria ran a hand over her head, smoothing her ponytail, the delicate gold rings she wore on every finger glinting in the low light. Even with a scowl on her face, she was fucking gorgeous.

Damn her.

“My attitude? Sweetheart, I’ve been nothing but polite to you since we met.”

She faced me fully. “Uh, I beg to differ. Or do you not remembering getting junk-punched for your behavior?”

“I was drunk, and you quite rightly punched me in the balls for the transgression. And yet still, I’m treated to your contempt and suspicion.” I lowered my gaze from hers, afraid I’d say something I regretted if I let my anger boil over. “Fuck. Please tell me there’s at least some alcohol in here.”

Aria shifted ever so slightly, and my hyperawareness of her pissed me off even more. My attention moved to her against my will. She sighed and pointed to a cabinet to my left. “In there. Whisky. The good stuff.”

Thank God for small mercies. I crossed the room and lowered to my haunches to open the expensive walnut cabinet. Inside, I found five bottles, including an eighteen-year-old Macallan. “You sure? This is expensive stuff.”

“Yup. And pour me a drink. A big one.”

I grinned where she couldn’t see and reached in for the bottle and two crystal glasses.





Eight


ARIA





Eventually, the words I’m going to kill my sister stopped running through my head as we finished the entire bottle of Macallan. Allegra did not return after an hour, so that one glass I’d had to calm my nerves had turned into several.

Despite the alcohol, tension stretched between me and North like a guitar string. One pull too many and it would snap.

“So …” North’s deep voice cut through the room after what felt like hours of strained silence. “It doesn’t look like your sister’s coming back. How long have you known she was a psychopath?”

Maybe it was the whisky warming my belly, or maybe I was bordering on hysterical from exhaustion and the pending need to pee, but laughter burst from my lips.

“Fuck, are you drunk?”

At North’s disbelief, I turned to look at him from my place on the chesterfield sofa. He slouched in a library chair, his long legs sprawled up on the large reading desk. “I’m buzzed,” I admitted. “And trying not to think about peeing.”

“Right?” North threw his legs off the desk and stood. “I’ve been trying not to think about it since that she-devil locked us in here. Where is she?”

“The little brat probably fell asleep.” I threw back the last of my whisky and got up to pour the remaining Macallan. I gestured toward the drink cabinet. “You can open another if you want. I’ll replace them using my sister’s trust fund.”

North smirked before he crossed the room to lower in front of the cabinet. His T-shirt stretched across his muscular back as he leaned in. He wasn’t a beefy guy, but he had deceptively broad shoulders.

The whisky was working its magic because rather than the usual stiffness that seemed to take over my body in his presence, I felt warm and languid. Relaxing my ass against the desk, I sipped at the drink that had long ago lost its burn and watched as North opened the 1995 Lagavulin.

“So how does one come by a name like North?” I asked, swirling the liquid in my glass.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I felt a whoosh of butterflies in my belly as I took in his handsome face. What he saw in my expression made him turn around and lean against the drinks cabinet, his gaze assessing.

Finally, just as I squirmed, regretting asking a personal question, he answered, “My dad was a professor of astronomy at Edinburgh Uni. My mum had been one of his students.”

I raised an eyebrow, and he grinned ruefully. “I didn’t know that until a few years ago when I went digging into their past. She fell pregnant with me, and he married her. I was … I was only seven years old when they died, but I remember a lot and how they loved each other. I remember them dancing in the kitchen while they cooked. Always kissing and cuddling.”