Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2)

A sob burst out of me as I closed the book and pressed it hard to my chest. That emptiness inside was already filling just from his words, from this tangible connection to him. God, I missed him so much.

I stood, staring at the journals. Everything he was, was in here.

Every private thought he’d ever shared with these books.

All here.

And he’d handed them over to me.

Trusted me.

My fingers skimmed over the leather-bound journals that catalogued North’s life for over a decade and a half.

He loved me.

He really did.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Because I believed him.

And I didn’t need to read through all of his thoughts to cement that belief. He could keep some things to himself. Everyone deserved to have thoughts be only theirs. Hands shaking with my decision, I repacked the journals into the box. Now that I thought about it, I was a little angry that he’d taken the risk of sending this when anyone could have broken into the box and sold the contents to the tabloids.

There was no way I was sending them back via courier.

No.

I’d just have to return them myself. Along with the reciprocation of the faith North had placed in me.

Decision made, my first call was to my boss.

My second call was to my dad.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he answered. “It’s good to hear from you. Your mother’s been calling, and she says you keep sending her to voicemail.”

“Dad, I need a favor,” I said, not addressing my mother’s complaint.

“Oh?”

“Can you find out if the film crew for Blake Forster’s current production is still in London?” I could have called Walker to ask, but I didn’t want anyone acquainted with North to know about my plans.

“Uh … sure, I guess. Can I ask why?”

“I need to know ASAP.”

“Okay. Again, why?”

“There’s someone on the crew I need to talk to.”

“I’m going to need more than that, sweetheart.”

I sighed, fearing his judgment, but not enough to not get what I needed from him. “North Hunter is the lead, and I have something of his that I need to return. Immediately.”

“Aria …” My dad’s exhale crackled the line. “Maybe you should steer away from actors for a while.”

“Dad … I won’t explain who North is or what’s between us. I just need your help.”

“If he hurts you—”

“Dad.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But this better not mean we’re losing you to Scotland permanently.”

I smiled, staring out my office window at the castle grounds, but I didn’t answer because I was suddenly excited to discover if that was a promise I couldn’t keep.





Twenty-Seven


NORTH





“Cut!”

I blinked, coming back to myself as Blake Forster stepped into the scene. My head throbbed and the stuntman, Dec, I’d been fighting, pulled me to my feet. “Staircase caught you there.” He looked past the cameras to the crew. “Medic.”

“I’m all right.” I dabbed at the shallow cut I’d sustained when Dec had thrown me against the stair banisters on the set.

Blake took in the minor injury. “We’re switching out with your stunt double, so get that looked at.” Then he grinned as he smacked my arm. “That was perfect. Whatever rage you’re channeling, keep it up.”

My “rage” was actual fear manifesting as fury. As soon as I’d sent Aria my journals, an overwhelming terror of rejection and abandonment flooded me. It didn’t take a fucking psychologist to work out where the fear stemmed from.

The result was that I’d been on edge for the last few days, so I’d poured it all into the movie. There was nothing else for it. As soon as I stepped off camera these days, my gut churned as North. But finally, I had tapped into Daniel, and his gut didn’t churn. It was a nice reprieve.

Walking with the medic, we cleared the cameras and I rested my arse against the buffet table so she could reach me to clean my cut.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” she murmured as she sterilized it.

I nodded, my fingers curling into the table as my gaze drifted over her shoulder toward the scene they were resetting for my stunt double, Mick. White beneath the soundstage lights caught my eye.

Aria.

She stood tall in jeans, a white shirt open loose over a black strappy top that clung to her curves. She wore her hair down.

This was sexy, casual Aria that people didn’t get to see often.

I blinked rapidly, cursing that I was actually starting to hallucinate her. But then she turned as if looking for someone, and I saw the security pass hanging around her neck.

Aria was here.

Anticipation rushed through me. “Excuse me,” I muttered distractedly to the medic, gently extricating myself from her to go to Aria.

My movement drew Aria’s attention, and our eyes met across the room. She was here. She was really fucking here. Hope shortened my breath. By the time I reached her, I was practically bloody panting.

Her gorgeous eyes were bright in the dim light as she searched my face as if cataloguing it. “I—I’m so mad at you for mailing something so private. Anyone could have found those journals.”

What?

Okay.

Disappointment crept in. That wasn’t what I’d expected her first words to be. My throat closed.

“So …” She stepped into my personal space, her perfume filling my senses. “I brought them back, personally.”

What did that mean?

My fingers flexed at my sides with the urge to touch her.

At my continued silence, Aria’s brows drew together as if in pain. “North, I am so sorry for pushing you away. And if you still want me … I want to try something real with you.”

Relief and euphoria flooded me, my grin splitting my cheeks. “Aye? Really?”

Aria smiled big, too, so beautiful she made my chest ache. “Really.”

She’d barely said the word when I’d hooked my hand around her nape to crush her mouth to mine. The feel of her lips, her taste … it was right. No woman’s kiss had ever been more right than Aria Howard’s. I kissed her like we’d spent years apart instead of weeks. I kissed her as if we were the only two people in the room, not giving a shit about the cast and crew around us.

When we finally broke for oxygen, I clasped her precious face in my palms. “Can you stay? If it were up to me, we’d walk out of here right now, but we have a few more hours of filming—”

“I can stay,” she assured me, leaning in to press another kiss to my mouth. “I missed you.”

“You have no idea,” I told her gruffly.

“Actually, I do.”

I laughed with self-deprecation. “The journals. Right.”

“I only read the most recent one. I don’t need to know every thought you’ve ever had, North. Some things should just belong to you. But it meant a lot that you trusted me with those.”

This woman.

I wanted to tell her I loved her right there and then, but not with everyone else around. Pressing my forehead to hers, I whispered, “Thank you.”

“Back at you, babe,” she whispered.