Chapter 10

10

G ennie leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Nathan clear away their dinner plates. Her mind wandered to their earlier visit to the Blairdrochaid Burger joint.

He’d been relaxed on the hill, had comforted her with an ease that had felt surprisingly right. But as soon as they’d parked the car in town, everything had changed. He’d become tense, constantly looking over his shoulder, keeping a deliberate distance between them. He’d pulled up his hood, his head down. As if he wanted to disappear.

‘Are you a wanted criminal? The prime suspect in a crime documentary?’ she’d quipped. But the death stare he’d given her had quickly put that to rest. He’d eaten little, and the drive back to Glenwood had been in silence. She didn’t mind the quiet, but this had felt suffocating. He’d been grouchier than before, the frown carved deeply into his features.

Well, she’d tolerated his brooding long enough. Time to shake things up.

‘Pray tell,’ she hopped up to sit on the counter, ‘what does his lordship usually do on a Saturday night? Retreat into the smoking room with slippers and a pipe?’

Nathan scoffed. ‘Nothing so exciting. Mostly accounts, keeping up with the bills.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s too early for me to retire to my chambers. Why don’t you…let’s say…give me a gin tasting?’

He rolled his neck from side to side as if to prepare for a fight. ‘Don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Course not. That’s what makes it fun.’ She wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Let’s go, get the booze.’

‘Gennie.’ Her name was a warning on his tongue.

‘Nathan.’ She mimicked his tone and held his gaze in challenge. ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time.’

‘Christ, woman!’ He threw up his hands and stalked out of the kitchen. When she didn’t follow, he turned. ‘Are you coming, or do you need a printed invitation?’

Gennie jumped down. ‘Where are we going?’

‘The bar’s in the lounge. Do keep up, Rivers.’

The lounge of Glenwood Lodge was all rich leather and dark wood. A cosy sofa faced the windows, nestled between two side tables with lamps. A pink stuffed rabbit lay between the cushions, and a set of coloured crayons spilled out of a tin on one of the end tables. Gennie’s gaze landed on a Casio piano. Its polished finish gleamed in the dim light.

‘Do you play?’ She ran her fingers over the lid.

‘Not often.’ He opened a glass-fronted cabinet with a key and retrieved two bottles of gin.

The black cat jumped onto the table.

‘Oh, him again,’ she said. ‘We shared a bed last night, but I still don’t know his name. Rude.’

’That’s Sir Hubert.’

‘Ah, so he’s the true lord of this manor.’

‘He certainly thinks so.’ Nathan took the protesting Sir Hubert down and put two tumblers on the table. ‘Right. Let’s start with something simple. There’s the—‘

‘There’s a better way, MacMillan.’ She perched on the armrest of the couch. ‘Why don’t we play a little game?’

Nathan arched an eyebrow. ‘Because I’m a grown man. The only games I play are with my seven-year-old daughter.’

‘Then you’re missing out.’ Gennie grinned, undeterred. ‘Have you ever heard of Two Truths and a Lie?’

‘Naw. And I’ve no plans to change that.’ He reached for the gin, but she snatched the bottle away.

‘The rules are simple.’ She liked how he narrowed his eyes, how the corners of his mouth twitched. He was getting riled up.

Good .

‘I said I’m not interested. Do you ever listen to what anyone tells you?’

‘Mostly never.’

‘Gennie, I’m not a student at uni. I’m a man. I don’t need to play games when I want a drink.’

‘It’s not about the drink, Your Grumpiness.’ She leaned in and let her voice drop to a whisper. ‘It’s about the secrets.’

‘Aye, I see.’ He studied her with curiosity and annoyance. ‘You want to use gin like tequila. For stupid ideas.’

‘See if you can stop me.’ She opened the bottle and poured the clear liquid into two glasses. ‘We’ll take turns. Each of us has to make three statements. Two are true, one is false. If you guess the lie, I drink. If you’re wrong, you drink. Got it?’

He groaned and sank into the leather chair, keeping his distance. Gennie slid onto the couch, next to a curled-up Sir Hubert. ‘Okay, I’ll start. ‘I’m allergic to peanuts, my full name is Gentlestorm, and I once jumped out of a helicopter onto a moving train.’

He studied her with those storm-tossed irises and scrubbed his chin. ‘The name. That’s the lie.’

‘Nope.’ She grinned and handed him a glass. ‘Drink up, MacMillan.’

He did, the strong liquid no doubt burning his throat. ‘You’re telling me your name is Gentlestorm?’

‘Yes.’ She rolled her eyes. She always felt the need to explain or apologise for her name. That’s why she went by Gennie. Easier and a lot less embarrassing.

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Gentlestorm? One word?’

‘One word. I told you, my mum is a hippie.’

’What does that even mean?’

‘She washed up in L.A. from Montana in the nineties with a head full of dreams and a guitar. At eighteen, she was knocked up and alone. She called me Gentlestorm in a haze of New Age philosophy. That’s about it.’ The corner of her mouth quirked up in a wry smile. ‘Your turn.’

Nathan pursed his lips as if considering how much he could or couldn’t tell her about himself. ‘I had a crush on Lara Croft, I once got into a bar fight with a member of the royal family, and the smell of lavender makes me barf.’

Gennie narrowed her eyes. ‘The bar fight. I call bullshit.’

His lips quirked. ‘Wrong. I love lavender. Drink, Gentlestorm .’ Her name rolled off his lips. Teasingly, but for once, she didn’t mind hearing it.

‘You seriously wrestled a royal?’

‘Was at a gala ages ago and no, I won’t tell you his name.’

She drew a slow smile. ‘I bet it was Harry. Or the other one, the paedo.’

‘No comment.’

The gin was smooth and cool, the juniper bright on her tongue. She set her glass down, contemplated her next move, and straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m afraid of thunderstorms, I can juggle, and I once did a cartwheel on the Eiffel Tower.’

He raked a hand through his hair. The strands gleamed like burnished gold in the low light.

Does he even know how hot he is?

‘Eiffel Tower, clear as day.’ He tapped his temple.

‘Damn, that was too easy.’

Nathan let out a laugh, the sound so unexpected it startled her. It changed his face and erased the hard lines, carving dimples into his cheeks.

‘Why are you laughing?’ She tried to look stern. ‘It’s not that funny.’

‘You’re telling me that throwing yourself out of a helicopter onto a moving train is nothing, but a few cloud farts freak you out?’

Her fingers tightened around her glass. ‘You never know when and where it’ll hit. Stunts are thoroughly planned. Nature is unpredictable. Scary.’

He shook his head, still smiling. She liked this version of Nathan. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and the rigid set of his jaw softened. More open, playful, relaxed. With an impatient flick, she knocked back the last fiery swallow of her gin.

I could get used to that.

He tilted his glass towards her. ‘Right. I made David Hasselhoff sing, I secretly adore Rick Astley, and I once got lost in the woods for two days.’

‘The woods, that’s the lie,’ she said immediately ‘You’re a wildling. No way you’d get lost out there.’

‘Correct.’ And down went his gin.

‘My turn again.’ The alcohol was buzzing pleasantly through her veins. ‘I can play piano, I went out with Leonardo DiCaprio, and I had a pet rat when I was ten.’

He narrowed his eyes, studying her face for clues. In vain. She’d gone to drama school for a reason.

‘The rat,’ he stated. ‘You didn’t have a rat.’

‘Wrong. I did. His name was Rat Damon.’ She wagged her head. ‘You think I went out with Leo? I’m too old for him. And I have standards.’

He drank again, the smooth column of his throat working. She tried not to stare. Her fingers itched to trace the strong line of his jaw.

Get a grip , she chastised herself as a different warmth fizzed through her veins that had nada to do with the booze.

His eyes locked with hers, his voice was low and hoarse. ‘Prove it.’

‘What?’

‘Prove you can play the piano.’ He leaned back, arms crossed behind his head in a lazy sprawl. Those flinty eyes narrowed, a spark glinting in their depths.

Heat unfurled from the base of her spine, and a blush bit into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t say I played well. I took piano lessons for about two years, and I sucked.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he said. ‘Play for me, Gennie.’

‘Okay. But remember, you brought this on yourself.’ She sauntered over and sat down on the cushioned bench. Carefully, she opened the lid and her fingers hovered over the keys. ‘Here goes nothing.’