Chapter 5

Chapter Five

TOM

I prop my feet up on the sofa, half my attention on the TV, the other half listening out for movement from Bee’s room. The apartment is quiet with everyone still asleep, although I think I can hear Steven’s voice already raised in complaint.

I wish Jack would see the light and dump that wanker. Jack’s always been loyal, but with his lovely loyalty comes the inability to see when someone is being a complete cunt. He’s so used to his parents treating him like shit that he fails to realise he’s suffering the same shittiness in his other relationships.

Bee’s door opens, and I brighten, repressing a smile when he appears. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans that cling to his slim legs and narrow hips and the vintage jumper he bought yesterday. It’s an orange and blue striped cashmere crewneck that clings to the tight muscles of his slender torso and makes his blue eyes very bright. I don’t know why it makes me happy that he’s wearing something we picked out together, but it does. He’s barefoot, which seems to happen as soon as he gets inside. Off come the shoes and jumper, as he seems to run at a different body temperature than everyone else.

He adjusts his black-framed glasses on his nose, and I feel a surge of warmth when his face lights up when he sees me. He smiles, showing off the small gap between his teeth. It gives him a gamine, slightly naughty air which is very attractive.

“Tea?” he asks.

My cock stirs at the morning sleepy roughness in his voice. “Yes, please.”

“White, no sugar, right?”

I nod, pleased he remembers.

He moves around the kitchen and then settles his elbows on the counter, watching the kettle as though he’ll make it boil through sheer willpower. The position pushes his arse out, and I pull the cushion over my lap to hide my response. I don’t know what it is about him that fascinates me. He’s tetchy, quirky, and absentminded—characteristics I’ve never been attracted to before—but he shines so brightly in a room it’s like he has his own spotlight.

Yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had with anyone, and we didn’t do anything apart from shopping for winter clothes and eating food. Nevertheless, I was almost disappointed when the others came back and disturbed our peace, and that’s ridiculous because I love this group of friends and have been looking forward to this holiday for ages.

I’d sat through the meal, trying to pay attention to Georgina and Theo and concealing the fact that most of my attention was on the slight figure at the end of the table. He’d given up on listening to Steven and was writing what looked like equations on a paper napkin. By the time the meal ended, he had a neat stack of about thirty napkins, and Steven looked as if he was about to have a coronary.

Bee breaks my thoughts by putting my tea on the table in front of me. I lift my legs and indicate the end of the sofa. He hesitates, and why shouldn’t he? There’s another sofa and three chairs to sit on. I feel a thrill as he disregards them and settles down in the spot next to me.

He sets his tea on the side table, takes his glasses off, polishes them with his sleeve, and blinks myopically like a cute little mole. “What are you watching?”

“Oh.” I cough, a little embarrassed. “Bob Ross.”

He puts his glasses back on, peers at the screen, and his face lights up. “Oh my god, I love him.”

“Really?” I ask, astonished.

He nods. “Who doesn’t?”

“Probably a few serial killers.”

I hold out my plate of toast and watch with a hidden smile as he absentmindedly takes a slice and begins munching on it as he watches the TV. I’d noticed from the first how skinny he was and heard Ivy chuntering at him on the drive here about how he forgets to eat, so I’ve been putting food in front of him and watching with satisfaction as he eats it. Although his ecstatic face as he ate the pancakes yesterday had given me rather tight jeans.

“I love watching him paint,” I say, shifting on the sofa. I can feel the warmth of him against my sock-clad feet. “I have less artistic ability than a tired toddler, but I do love to see someone create something lovely.”

“Bob Ross calms my mind,” he says, almost embarrassed.

I bet he does need calming on occasion. He positively vibrates with cleverness, like he has his own and twenty other people’s share. It fascinates me. I love people who are good at what they do. Freddy calls it a capability kink, and he’s not far wrong.

He looks at me, and I realise I’ve been staring at him rather than the screen. “My dad used to watch it when we were kids,” I say, breaking into quick speech. “Although he was usually stoned, so there was no need for Bob Ross to calm his mind. It was already as calm as a shallow puddle.”

He chuckles. “He likes a toke, then?”

“Oh yeah. Him and my mum.”

“Really?” His eyes widen.

“It’s not surprising. When they met, he was a rocker, and she was a Hot Gossip dancer.”

“Hot Gossip? What was that?”

I shrug. “Some sort of dance troupe. Fuck knows. It seemed like a load of women dancing around in their leotards to me, but I’m sure there was a lot of artistic genius in there, too.”

“Your childhood sounds nice,” he says almost wistfully.

I wonder at his. He seems to love his dad, but there doesn’t seem to be the loving, interfering closeness that I grew up with.

“Do you have any sisters or brothers?” I ask.

He laughs. “No. God, no, which is good because my dad barely coped with me. If I’d had a sibling, he’d have probably lost it down the back of the sofa or something.”

I chuckle. “God, I’d have loved to have done that with Arlo or Sal. Once, Sal and I locked Arlo in the boot of my dad’s MGB.”

“Oh my god.”

“We let him out before my parents got back,” I say quickly in case he thinks I’m a brother-torturing maniac. If he knew Arlo, he’d be a lot more sympathetic towards me and Sal. “He’d gone to sleep in there and was really cross that we woke him up.”

He starts to laugh, but that wistfulness is there again, making my stomach clench. Then he shifts awkwardly, so confidence time is obviously over.

I look back at the TV and change the subject. “There’s always a point where I think Bob’s fucked it up,” I say conversationally.

He stares at me as if surprised. “Oh, me too. It can get a bit tense.” He hesitates and then says in a rush, “I like that if you screw up, you can change it easily.”

I wonder why that idea has such resonance with him. “Well, not much in life can’t be changed by painting over our mistakes.”

He absentmindedly takes another piece of toast, his clever brain running busily. “But what if it makes it worse?” He points at the screen where Bob is busy. “What if that flower hadn’t worked, and everyone who looked at the painting saw that red flower and knew it should have been a barn?”

“Or they looked at it and thought how great it was that something so pretty was in the picture?” I say gently. “Mistakes are part of life, aren’t they? And art is just life.”

Silence falls for a second, then his eyes light up as if I’ve solved the most complex mathematical question in the world for him. It makes me feel funny to see admiration in the eyes of such a clever man. Like I could hold up the world.

He turns back to the screen. “He makes me think I could paint. That’s his genius.”

I shrug. “I don’t think he’d manage with me. If Bob Ross sellotaped himself to me, I couldn’t paint that picture.”

“That’s a fairly disturbing image,” he says faintly. We look at each other and break into laughter.

When we sober, he looks at me contemplatively, and I see the exact moment he decides to push me away, keep me at a distance. “I expect you have other talents,” he says throatily. He gives me a sultry glance, his dark eyelashes fanning his cheeks. He wields that potent charm like a fucking sword, and I’m sure he’s slayed many men.

It’s amazing what you can learn when you’re interested in a bloke, and he’s sitting in the back seat of your car talking to his best friend while pretending you don’t exist. I’d learnt a lot about Bee Bannister on the drive here, beginning with how he doesn’t like any form of commitment and gets antsy if his partners haven’t left his bed by the time clean-up is finished.

I know if I cocked my head towards the bedroom, we’d be in there and fucking within minutes. I could be in that tight, lithe body, burying myself in his heat. But then this fascinating man would move on without a backward glance.

I don’t judge him for that at all. I’ve had my share of meaningless sex with men and women. If I’m honest, I’ve probably had three people’s share. But I also like relationships. I like knowing someone for longer than twenty minutes. And I like this man. I want to learn more about him. Unpeeling his layers is proving to be a surprisingly entertaining exercise, and since I’d like to keep doing it, I’m not going to let him use sex to keep my interest at bay.

He’s watching me, his clever eyes busy behind those sexy frames. Even though I want him fiercely, and even now my cock is twitching and filling, I give him a sunny smile and offer him my plate. “More toast?” I say like the vicar at a tea party.

He cocks his head to one side, his eyes alight with curiosity. Then he adjusts his frames, and we go back to watching Bob Ross paint another masterpiece.

BEE

It’s lovely to sit with Tom in the quiet, sunlit apartment, but the others have begun moving around in their rooms, getting ready to interrupt us. I twiddle a lock of my hair, feeling unaccountably nervous. Tom’s eyes are bright when I meet his gaze, and he gives me a crooked smile that charms me—so much that when Jack and Steven’s door opens, I’m prepared to shove them back into their bedroom.

Instead, I smile. “Morning. Sleep well?”

This holiday is turning me into something from a Barbara Taylor Bradford novel.

Steven huffs. “Apart from Jack’s insistence on sleeping with the window open, I suppose it was fine.”

“Was he hoping you’d fall out?” Tom asks sweetly.

Steven rolls his eyes and shoots him the middle finger.

Jack falls into the chair opposite us. He looks knackered already. “What do you fancy doing today?” he asks with his usual sweet smile.

Tom eyes him for a few seconds, obviously cataloguing how Jack’s feeling. Tom, Jack, and Freddy are very close. Like me and Ivy, they finish each other’s sentences and look out for each other fiercely.

“Earth to Tom,” Jack says drily.

“Oh,” Tom says, straightening. “The others want to go to the castle.”

“Oh, that’s good,” I say, leaning forward.

Tom eyes me. “Is it?”

I nod. “Oh yes. It’s a very interesting place. There was originally an Iron Age fort on the site, and the castle has been a royal residence and a prison. What a combination.” I lever my hips up and pull out my piece of paper from the back pocket of my jeans. Looking over, I find Tom watching me, his eyes dark. “Hmm,” I say, adjusting my glasses. “If we were to go to the castle, that would take most of the morning because there’s so much to see. Then there’s the National Museum of Scotland, the National Gallery, and the Museum of Childhood.”

Tom’s eyes widen. “All that on one day ?”

I wave my paper at him. “I have plans for other days, too.”

“It’s like being on holiday with Napoleon,” he says.

I roll my eyes as Jack laughs. “That’s just me,” I say. “I like to get the most out of my holidays. I don’t get away much with my DPhil and everything. What do you all want to do?”

“Oh, I’ll do all that,” Tom says quickly. “It sounds fab.”

Jack coughs, but when I look over, he’s sitting quietly, his expression serene apart from one side of his mouth, which is twitching with humour. Tom reaches out and kicks Jack’s knee with his sock-clad foot, making him jerk. “Fab,” he echoes dutifully.

“What is fab?” Steven says, coming back into the room with his coat and scarf. “Don’t forget we still have to get your parents a Christmas present, Jack.”

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?” I ask.

“Nothing was quite right,” Jack says with a slightly weary air.

“What do you get the people who have everything?” Tom says, lounging back on the sofa and closing his eyes. “What about a whip for Barbara? She looks like she’d enjoy using it on Derek.”

Steven tuts despite Jack laughing, and Tom lifts his long legs and lays them across my lap. I blink as he settles in, lying happily in a patch of sun like a big cat. I consider him for a second, then rest my paper on his legs and go back to consulting my itinerary.

Steven shoots us a cool look. He’s chilled towards me since Tom and I started getting along. He tells Jack, “They’re going to be very hurt that we’re not going to them for Christmas.”

“You still can if you want,” Jack says. “I’m with Tom’s family this year.”

That must be nice, I think wistfully. It seems strange to think of everyone returning to their lives after the holiday.

Steven huffs. “No, I’m not doing that. I’ll go home instead. You don’t seem bothered at all by the fact that I’m going to be working in Switzerland for six months after Christmas, Jack.”

Tom opens one eye, obviously dying to respond to that comment. He restrains the impulse and says, “You’re at our house for Christmas, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Great. You can sit next to Arlo, then.”

“No need to punish him,” Steven says.

Jack slants a disappointed glance at him.

Tom opens his eyes fully, and half sits up. “Are you suggesting it would be punishment to put Jack with my brother?” he says in a deceptively even voice. “In my family home where you’ve always been treated well?”

Steven rolls his eyes. “It was just a joke .” Nobody says anything and Jack continues to give him a cool look.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Steven says. “It’s just Arlo. You take the piss out of him all the time, Tom.”

“That’s because he’s my brother,” Tom says in a duh voice. “I’m allowed.”

“I will never understand your family dynamics.”

“Don’t try.”

“Morning, people,” Freddy says, and we all jerk our heads toward him. He blinks and checks himself over. “No, my flies are closed,” he says conversationally. “Shirt all buttoned, and no nipple action engaged.” He looks up. “So why is everyone staring at me?” He catches sight of Steven. “So, what the fuck are we all fucking doing today?”

I bite my lip to hold in a smile.

Steven huffs. “Bad language is the first resort of the brain dead.”

“So is violence,” Freddy says.

A silence falls. “Hmm,” I say meditatively, feeling Tom vibrate with humour next to me.

Luckily, there’s a knock on the door, and when Freddy opens it, the others flood in.

Ivy wanders over, observing me and Tom with a knowing eye. I frown repressively at her, but she just settles on the arm of the sofa. “Ready for some culture?”

“I certainly am.” I sit up straight, dislodging Tom’s legs.

He pouts but gets up to stretch. I hear his spine pop, but I’m glued to the sight of his tight abs and the shadow of his V displayed nicely by the old jeans hanging from his narrow hips.

Ivy nudges me and I startle. Tom winks at me and then wanders off. I’m pretty sure he puts extra sway in his hips.

I look at Ivy and groan. “ Don’t .”

She sits down next to me. “Don’t what?” she asks low so no one can hear us.

“Don’t start about me and Tom.”

“Oh, you’re joined together now, then,” she says innocently, spoiling the effect by winking rather lasciviously. “Shagged him yet?”

“ No ,” I say, aggrieved. “I’m sure he’s interested though.”

“I don’t know what on earth gave you that idea.”

I poke her. “But for some reason, he’s resisting all my come-ons.” I turn to her. “Am I losing it? Tell me honestly. I can take it.” She opens her mouth, and I grimace. “Actually, I can’t. Lie to me and make it pretty.”

She eyes me solemnly and then shakes her head. “You’re still the most beautiful boy around, but I can say no more.”

“Please do.”

Her reply is thankfully lost as we gather our coats and hats.

I’m glad of them when we get outside. “It’s freezing,” I say, seeing my breath white in the air.

Tom is standing near me, pulling on his gloves. “Lovely,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I like it when it’s like this.”

“You like the cold?”

“Hardly surprising considering the way I grew up. My parents were allergic to putting the heating on.”

Jack laughs. “Their house is the only place I’ve stayed where it actually felt warm when you walked outside.”

Tom snorts and looks up at the sky. “It’s going to snow soon.”

“I hope so,” I say. “I love snow. Looking at it, though. Not being outside in it,” I add quickly to head off any ideas he might get about sledging or something else appallingly energetic.

His lip twitches.

“Ready, people?” Sal asks. Undertaking tour guide status, she leads us out of the courtyard and onto the street. The Royal Mile is already busy with people, and we’re caught up in the surge of the crowd. A street entertainer juggles while reciting rude limericks, and nearby, a mime artist poses chillily.

I fall into step next to Ivy and follow the others, keeping my eyes wide for new sights in a new city. I rub my hands in glee. I can’t wait for today’s itinerary. I spare a grateful glance at Tom for the fact that I’m warm and my feet don’t hurt. As if sensing my gaze, he looks back from where he’s talking to Jack and Freddy. Freddy’s arm is slung around Tom’s neck, and he’s intent on their conversation, but Tom still gives me a warm smile before he turns away.

We pass a poster for the Writer’s Museum, and I make a mental note to add that to my wish list. I need to ring my dad. He’ll appreciate that addition, as well as the lists themselves. We’d always made them together whenever we went somewhere.

My dad’s a gentle man with a distracted air and steel grey hair that’s always a bit too long. He wasn’t the most attentive father, but I had everything I needed, and our house was always full of books and people coming around to discuss the books. I loved to sit in a corner tucked behind the faded curtains in my dad’s study, listening while they discussed Beowulf or the poetry of John Donne.

Despite being distant in many conventional ways, we were always bonded by our love for museums and books, so by the time I was ten, I could direct you around the Bodleian Library if I was blindfolded.

We come to a stop, and I look up to find we’re standing outside a shop filled with tartan. “I think we’ll get something for Jack’s dad,” Steven announces. “He has his own tartan.”

“Are there ball gags on it?” Freddy asks Jack seriously, and Jack starts to laugh.

He follows Steven into the shop, and the girls decide to go in too. Sal grabs Freddy’s arm and he follows her in, directing help-me glances at Tom.

Tom waves him off and then comes over to me. My heart rate picks up, and I pat my pocket for my inhaler despite knowing I don’t need it. This is all Tom.

“Come and look at this,” he says, taking my arm. “I’ve got something that’ll interest you.”

“Is it your penis?” I say without thinking. I blanch but then relax as he starts to laugh. It’s loud and merry in the cold air, and a group of girls turn to watch him as they walk past. I don’t blame them. He’s a pretty sight in those old jeans that cling to his long legs and a black roll-neck jumper.

“Many men and women have told me that my cock is actually very interesting,” he muses, steering us across the road.

“Really?” I put on a judgemental air. “But can it recite The Iliad while downing a brandy?”

“No, but after coming it can stay hard for a while if I think really good thoughts.”

I start to laugh and then dig my heels in. “Where are we going? I do have an itinerary, you know.”

“I certainly do. I saw the A4 sheet of paper it was written on.” He points to the grey-gold bulk of the cathedral that towers over the busy streets. “St Giles Cathedral.”

“You said that yesterday. I think this is where John Knox used to preach,” I say, distracted, fumbling in my coat pocket.

“What are you looking for?”

“My guide. I was so busy with work before I left that I haven’t managed to read it thoroughly, but I’m sure I can find the relevant information.”

“I’m equally positive you can,” he says gravely. “But there’s no need. You’re right. He did preach here.”

He marches us past a statue of a man on horseback. The horse looks like the sculptor caught him mid-prance. “Charles the Second,” he says.

I follow him, glancing back at the statue. A pigeon is perched on the king’s head like a rather exotic headdress.

Tom comes to a stop. “Ta-da,” he says.

I bite my lip, looking at the cars in front of us. “It’s a car park,” I say uncertainly. “It’s very nice,” I say quickly, in case he thinks I’m being rude. “It has quite the nicest view from any car park I’ve ever seen,” I add for good measure.

His lip twitches. “We aren’t here to look at the cars.” He pauses. “Or the lovely view.” He laughs as I shove him and then takes my arm. His hand is warm against my wrist, and his fingertips have intriguing calluses. “It’s around here somewhere,” he mutters, pulling me along. Then he exclaims as he comes to a parking bay. A car is just pulling out of it, and we wait until it’s come out. The bay is marked with the number twenty-three, and Tom looks at me triumphantly. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I blink. “Is that a plaque on the floor of the bay?”

He nods. “Look a little closer.”

I step over to the plaque and read the words. I gape at Tom. “This is John Knox’s grave ?”

“Well, it’s hereabouts. They reckon it was to the west of Charles the Second. This used to be a graveyard.”

“John Knox, the author of The History of the Reformation in Scotland ?”

He nods. “Yep. I bet you’ve read that, too.”

“It was part of my dad’s book club.”

For some reason, that seems to amuse him, so I leave him laughing and examine the plaque, feeling excitement run through me. “This is amazing ,” I say, shaking my head in bewilderment. “How did you know?”

His smile widens. “Ah, you see, I do read guidebooks.”

“Really?”

He winks. “Nah. I came across it when I parked here last year. It’s quite strange, isn’t it?”

I look down at the stone. “Not really. He didn’t like fuss. It seems perfect.” I whirl around and thrust my phone at him. “I need a photo of me with it for my dad.” I frown as a car begins to approach. “Oh no, there’s a car waiting to park.”

He brandishes my phone at the car occupants with a charming smile, and the older couple gestures for us to continue.

He snaps a picture and then takes another two for good measure, and I quickly step away, allowing the couple to park. Tom calls his thanks and hands my phone back.

I stand to one side, typing on my phone, and jump when he comes up behind me, propping his chin on my shoulder. “What are you writing?”

I shudder at the feel of his breath on my neck but continue to type. “‘Lord, give me Scotland or I die!’”

There’s a pause. “Is that on your Christmas present list? It’s nice, if a bit demanding,” he finally says, and I snort and pat his hair. I have time to register how soft and silky the strands are before I pull my hand back.

“It’s a quote. He’ll recognise it.” I tap to send it and grin at him. “There done.”

“You want a bit longer here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do you want to soak up the atmosphere a bit more?”

I don’t think anyone apart from my dad has ever registered that I like to linger. How does this man I’ve only known for a couple of days already know that? It’s very strange, but also sort of nice.

Tom raises an eyebrow, and I hasten into speech. “No, it’s fine.” I smile at him. “Thank you so much.”

He looks startled. “It’s nothing really.”

“It’s a lot to me, so thank you.”

I follow him back through the car park, thinking about his arse. I mean culture . All the culture I’ll be seeing.

“I need a ticket ,” I say in dismay, hearing it echo around the room. I stare at the lady on duty in the kiosk. “I really need a ticket?”

She nods. “All entry to the castle is only through tickets.” She looks entirely too pleased about the fact.

“Okay. Please, can I buy one?”

Her face creases into an expression I’m sure is supposed to look sympathetic. “All tickets for the day are gone, sir.”

I sag in disappointment. “Oh no . I wanted to see the Great Hall and St Margaret’s Chapel.”

She waves a hand. “Oh well, better luck next time, sir.”

“She doesn’t sound like she means it,” I mutter to Ivy as we move out of the way of the queue.

Ivy puts her hands on her hips once we’re outside the kiosk. “I can’t believe you didn’t buy your ticket.”

I double take. “Wait. You mean you’ve got one?”

“Of course. I bought one at the same time that I told you that you can’t get in otherwise.”

“Did you tell me that? When ?”

She rolls her eyes. “I think from now on, whenever we have a conversation while you’re working, I’ll insist that you put your pen down so I can stick a pin in you to guarantee your total attention.”

“That’s a bit harsh.” I look around. Edinburgh Castle is a towering grey bulk with flags fluttering from the turrets. “I can’t believe I can’t get in.”

She pulls out her phone. “Let’s see if you can get a ticket for another day.”

I brighten but then slump after she flicks and clicks and shakes her head. “What? There aren’t any tickets for any day?”

“Nope. Sorry, babe.”

“Why does everyone want to see the castle at this time?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I suppose that’s an explanation.”

The others wander over. “Ready?” Georgina asks.

“Bee hasn’t got a ticket,” Ivy says.

“Didn’t you book one?” She sounds amazed.

“No.” I scuff my feet. I seem to be setting myself aside on this holiday, whether through inappropriate footwear and clothing, or disorganisation. I had a project at uni that needed my constant attention running up to Christmas, so I suppose I’ve let more slip than I thought.

“But I thought getting tickets was one of the subjects of the group chat,” Steven says in a clipped voice, looking at me disapprovingly.

I gape at him. “There was a group chat?”

Ivy groans.

“I forgot,” I mutter.

“Yeah, me too,” comes a familiar voice.

I turn to see Tom walking towards us with Freddy. He’d vanished into the whisky shop while we queued.

“You forgot too?” I say, brightening.

“Yeah, totally.” Everyone looks at him, and he shrugs. “I’ve been busy, you know that.”

Freddy smiles at me. “Do you want my ticket?”

I immediately shake my head. “Oh no. That’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t.”

He hesitates. “You sure?”

I nod emphatically. “We’ll just wait for you, shall we?” I look at Tom.

He nods. “Yeah, we’ll wait here.” He tugs me to stand next to him so the group can get through, and then we follow the others as they walk up the incline towards the huge castle to join the queue. We stand next to them until they finally reach the front, and with sympathetic smiles, they vanish into the castle.

I watch them go and then turn sadly to Tom. “So, you forgot too? It’s sad, isn’t it?”

He winks at me. “Nah, I never booked it.”

“ What ?”

He shrugs. “Sal was on one of her cultural overlord trips. I don’t obey her at the best of times, and I’ve already been in here anyway.”

“You have? Oh, is it lovely?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Just stones and grass, really.” He brightens. “Oh, and a dog cemetery.” I stare at him, and he holds out his hand. “I bet I can find more interesting things for you to see outside the castle buildings than inside.”

“What?”

He nods. “Yep. And within the castle boundaries too.” His eyes twinkle. “Are you prepared to bet?”

“What am I betting?” I brighten. “Something sexual?”

He looks at me, running his tongue over his full lower lip, and a wave of heat runs through me. Then he takes a deep breath. “No, if I win, you have to be my partner in games night tonight.”

I stare at him. “Why on earth is that important?”

“Are you kidding ? Steven wins every time, but now I’ve got a ringer.” He nods, looking satisfied.

“And if I win the bet and you end up boring me to death, what do I get?”

He winks. “A kiss.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“That’s up to you. Well?”

I can’t help but smile at him. “Okay, you’re on.” I can’t help thinking I’m prepared to be bored to death if it means a kiss, but I won’t do that. A bet is something honourable. “Entertain me, then.”

“Thank you, Robbie Williams. Okay, first on our itinerary is these two geezers here.”

“Where?”

He points at the two statues flanking the entrance to the castle.

“Who are they?” I peer at them, pushing my glasses up. “Wow. They’re amazing.” I’d missed them while I was focusing on the huge castle. “Well, they must be important in Scotland’s history to be set here, and they’re obviously guardians, so I’m guessing they’re Robert the Bruce and William Wallace.”

His eyes sparkle with approval. “Well done. Which one is which, though?”

My interest sharpens. “You mean there’s a clue to their identities?” He nods, and I examine the statues intently. The two bronze statues in medieval dress stare implacably back at me. Then I exclaim in triumph. “ That one is Robert the Bruce.”

He grins. “How do you know?”

“He’s wearing a crown. They were both leaders, but only Robert the Bruce was a king.”

“Clever old you.”

I’ve heard that said a few times in a derogatory fashion, but Tom looks almost proud of me.

“How did you know this?” I ask. “Did you read a guidebook?”

“Someone has to,” he says mournfully, chuckling as I go to shove him. He takes my hand and tucks it through his arm. “So, how am I doing? Interested yet?”

I seesaw my other hand. “Meh, it’s okay so far.”

“Oh dear, I may have to kiss you after all.”

His words are light, but his eyes are hot.

I swallow hard. “Are you throwing the bet?”

He immediately shakes his head. “A bet is an honourable undertaking. Never bet on anything you’re not prepared to put your back into.”

“I’ve heard less innuendos in the comedy repeats on the Dave channel,” I say tartly.

He laughs and draws me over to a low wall. Edinburgh lies spread out in front of us. The city is brown and grey in the dim light, and in the distance the green hills rise into the darkening sky. Occasional shafts of sunlight light their tops like fairy rays. Heavy clouds scud across the sky, and the wind is fierce, blowing me back a little until he braces me by standing behind me. I swallow hard as he rests his chin on my shoulder and shudder at the feel of his breath on my skin.

“So,” I say hoarsely. “Do you have anything to say?”

He points beyond me at the river glistening in the distance. “That’s the Firth of Forth. Firth means estuary in Scottish. There’s a cannon here called the One O’Clock Gun. It fires six days a week at that time, but it was originally intended to let the ships anchored on the Firth know the time.”

“That’s a very loud alarm clock.”

“Not to mention, it would have been rather heavy on your bedside table.”

I laugh, and he steps back. I immediately feel cold without his hot body against mine. “How am I doing?” he asks.

“Well, the cannon fact was a belter, I have to say.”

He laughs. “I’m saving the best for last.”

“You are?” I shake my head in amazement. “If I’d got that stupid ticket, I’d never have seen all this.”

“Really?” He looks shyly pleased, and I smile at him.

“Well, maybe if I’d read the guidebook, but I’d probably have been more focused on the big picture.”

“Ah, the small things are just as important. Didn’t Bob Ross teach you that?”

He walks down the incline towards the gift shop on the corner. “Where are we going?” I call. “You said within the castle boundaries. If you’re breaking that, you’re reneging on the bet, and you know what that means.” I stop and pucker my lips dramatically. He laughs but keeps walking.

“Come on,” he calls.

He avoids the crowds surging towards us and edges to the left of the gift shop. He stops and I go to stand beside him, following his gaze and wondering what we’re looking at. It looks like a tiny drinking fountain attached to the wall of the shop with flowers inside the bowl that are bright in the cold gloom. He shoots me a sidelong look and pulls me further into the corner out of the way of a group of tourists. “Well?” he says.

“It’s a drinking fountain?”

“It’s something much more interesting than that,” he says proudly. “It’s the Witches’ Well.”

“What’s that?”

He steps to one side, revealing the sign he’s standing in front of. “This is the spot where witches were executed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The stake was around here, and the well commemorates the poor women’s deaths.” He gestures me over. “Look, you can see the evil eye and healing hands carved here. The spout is under the snake’s head, but you can’t get water anymore.”

I look at the tiny well and then at the crowds surging around us, all intent on getting into the castle. Like me, I suppose. “That’s so sad,” I say slowly. “This horrible thing happened here, and no one notices.”

He touches one of the flower petals, his fingers gentle on the scarlet flower. “Someone does.” He looks up. “You’d be surprised how many people notice things.”

I stare at him for a long second, feeling utterly discomposed. “Well, you won. You definitely beat the castle.” I’m surprised when he makes a moue of sadness instead of looking jubilant. “What’s that face for? You won.”

“ Did I?” he asks, mock seriously. “I mean, I’m sure I saw you hiding a yawn at certain points.”

I bite my lip to hide the smile. “Well, I was brought up to be good-mannered, but it has been tough this morning to conceal my deathly boredom.”

“Poor you,” he says, inching closer.

I nod, trying for seriousness but feeling heat warm me like hot chocolate on a cold day. “I’m just surprised.”

“Why?” He steps closer so I can feel his breath on my face, and I shudder before rallying.

“I’m surprised that I didn’t throw myself off the wall to escape the tedium of your stories.”

His eyes are full of laughter and heat. It’s an extremely sexy combination. “Well, it appears I lost the bet,” he says mournfully.

“Yes.” I stop to clear my throat. “Yes, it seems you did.”

He takes a quick look around us, but we’re tucked in the corner, and nobody is paying any attention to us. “One thing you should know about me is that I always pay my debts,” he whispers, and then his lips are on mine.

They’re full and as soft as they look, and I catch peppermint on his breath before he slides his tongue over my lower lip and sucks on it, and I open my mouth with a gasp, letting his tongue tangle with mine.

Heat sears through me like a flame, and I let out a breathy sigh that echoes in his soft moan. His big hands come up, clutching my head and directing it to the angle he wants. Then he comes away and looks down at me. His eyes are glazed and full of pleased satisfaction.

“I knew it,” he says triumphantly.

“Knew what?” I whisper. Instead of answering, he kisses me again. This time, it’s a hard, closed-mouth kiss. Then he steps back and nods.

“I just knew it,” he says cryptically.

Instead of questioning him, I nod, my usually razor-sharp mind clouded for the first time in my life. “Hmm.” It’s not the most intelligent thing I’ve ever said.