Chapter 37: Taming Mr. Walker: Chapter 37

Charlie

He sits still as though someone has turned him into stone, his expression unreadable.

Beside him, Edme shrieks. “Darling, it’s Charlie!”

“Hi Danny, Edme,” I say shakily into the microphone.

“Danny,” I hiss at the bartender, and he shrugs his shoulders. “Not Tammy. Is Tammy even a name?”

As I wrap the guitar strap around my shoulders, my head yanks back. My hair is tangled in the strap. I fumble with it for a painful amount of time and hear people getting restless.

I can’t look up again. If I look into his eyes and see horror, pity or embarrassment, I’ll never be able to deliver this song.

“I, uh,” my voice breaks, and I clear my throat. “I wrote this song to explain how I feel about a recent romance.”

There are a few murmurs around the pub. They aren’t bothered. Can’t blame them really.

“This is called ‘You’re gone,’” I rasp out. It was written in the dark in my New York apartment over the past few months.

My version of a diary.

No one has ever heard it. I’ve never played it outside the apartment.

No one was ever meant to hear it.

Not OpenMic.

Not Julie, Cat, Stevie, Suze.

Especially not Danny.

Yet here I am.

Singing my lowest moments to a group of sheep farmers, the love of my life, and his eccentric granny.

I burst out into the first verse, and it’s raw, so raw, I feel like I’m standing in front of them, naked and crying.

My bittersweet lyrics loaded with heartbroken emotion surge through the bar. My voice is loud and fierce, demanding to be listened to.

All eyes are fixed on me and my pain.

Including his.

The chorus is high pitched, even for me, but every time it comes around, I hold the note for so long, there are gasps and whoops throughout the pub.

With every breath I expel, every note I hold on to, I let out more pain.

Then I’m done. I have no more air left in my lungs.

Nothing more to say.

There’s a high-pitched whoop from the bar stools. Edme jumps up and down excitedly, trying to put her fingers in her mouth to whistle.

“Wow.” Barman’s eyes are wide. “Got a real Amy Winehouse thing going on there, haven’t you?”

I don’t wait around to see his reaction. I just can’t. I grab my guitar and leg it out of the bar through the front door.

“Your luggage!” Barman shouts after me.

The cold air bites into my lungs, and I walk out onto the street.

“Where the fuck are you going?” the low husky voice demands behind me.

I turn to meet the dark eyes that have haunted my nightmares and dreams for weeks.

We stand frozen, two metres apart. I don’t trust myself to move towards him.

“I’m sorry,” the words stumble out of my mouth. “It was a stupid, crazy idea. I must still be drunk from my leaving party. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I—”

“Shush.” He strides towards me, closing the gap between us. His body overshadows mine as those startling brown eyes stare right into me, demanding my full attention.

I had forgotten how nervous he made me.

“No more games, Charlie. This thing between us has been full of incorrect assumptions, jealousy, stubbornness. You thought I was the father of Jackie’s baby, for fuck’s sake. Karl told me yesterday. Is that what you think of me?”

My stomach sinks as I hear the evident fury in his words. He’s pissed.

“I understand,” I whisper, studying my feet. “I get it. I’m sorry for assuming you impregnated the receptionist. I’m an ass.”

“No, you don’t get it,” he growls, putting his hand under my chin. “Look at me.”

His eyes lock on mine, his demanding gaze softening slightly. “I’m wiping the slate clean. I love you, Charlie. I’ve never loved anyone like this before. I want you to be my girlfriend; I want you to be my last girlfriend. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I’ve wanted you for ten years. I’m forty-one. Someday in the not-too-distant future, I want us to live together. I want you to be my wife and the mother of my children someday.”

He draws breath.

“So there it is. I’m not expecting you to want all these things right now, but I’m hoping since you travelled halfway around the world that you want something too. All my cards are on the table.” His voice breaks low and gruff. “You have my heart. Do with it what you want.”

He stares at me, waiting, his arms slightly open.

Every neuron in my head fires at once.

“Danny.” I choke back tears and rise on my tiptoes to meet him. “I love you too. I love you so much.”

As his arms enclose my hips, he pulls me flush into his warm body. The arctic Shetland conditions have suddenly disappeared. His mouth comes down onto mine and he kisses me like a man who hasn’t been kissed in years. Desperate. Tender. Urgent. Like two people who might die if their bodies don’t touch.

All the pain, all the ups, and all the downs were worth it. For this. For now.

He pulls back to meet my eyes, smiling softly. “Good, that makes life easier for both of us.”

I bury my head in his chest where I belong.

“I’m sorry I stink,” I mumble from his chest. “Can I go have a shower now, please?”

Danny

Christmas Day

“I know what I’m fucking doing, Danny. Stop treating me like an imbecile.” Tristan’s eyes blaze as he blocks my right of passage.

Anger bubbles through me. “Are you joking?” I sneer. “Natalia does everything for you, including wiping your ass. If you think I’m letting you manage this operation, you have another thing coming.”

He shoves me a little as he moves to open the oven door.

I inhale sharply. This guy is fucking infuriating.

“Daniel, this is what is called peacocking,” says a sarcastic voice from the doorway.

My jaw tightens as we both turn to glare at her.

From the kitchen doorway, four women watch us nervously. Christmas jumpers and tinsel wrapped around their heads make them look ridiculous.

Shockingly, they agreed to the last-minute change of plans to join Charlie and me for Christmas at Sumburgh Hall.

Charlie hugs young Daniel like she’s protecting him from wild beasts. He looks up at her, confused.

“When two turkeys fight over a turkey,” she elaborates. “As demonstrated here.”

She turns her attention back to us, and her jaw slackens. “You know it’s on the grill setting? Has it been like that the whole time?”

What?

My eyes snap back to the oven.

“Fuck!” I yell, shaking my hands at the ceiling, then catch myself and shoot an apologetic glance at Grandma and Mrs. Kane. I’m not exactly covering myself in glory here.

Their faces collectively fall.

“Useless gobshites,” Grandma mutters. “I should have eaten before I came over.”

Charlie’s eyes flit between us. “I guess dinner’s going to be another few hours.”

Behind her, Callie sighs in disgust.

“Move!” Grandma charges ahead with Mrs. Kane hot on her heels. “Out! Out!”

“I think you should do as they say,” Charlie muses.

I look at Tristan, and he exhales in defeat.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes as we are shooed to the other side of the kitchen.

Charlie smirks between both of us. “I’m glad you and Tristan have something else to fight about instead of me.”

“I could have managed the damn turkey,” Tristan grumbles, pouring two glasses of scotch and handing one to me.

I take the peace offering and raise my glass to him. “You’ve never cooked a day in your life, Kane.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t,” he mutters back.

Soft arms curl around my waist, and I grin at Charlie, pressing her closer. I’m head over heels, utterly in love with this woman. There’s no one to hide it from now. There’s no reason for us not to be together, except the talking to I received from my head of HR, Cheryl, of course, but she came around eventually.

“Woah.” Callie giggles. “That’s a hot look.”

I turn to see my brother standing in the doorway with his hand on his hips, basking in attention as the women swoon over his kilt.

Grandma wolf-whistles loudly, and I feel a pathetic pang of jealousy as Charlie blatantly ogles Karl.

“Careful,” I growl, prodding her ribs. “Wrong brother.”

She whips her head around, her bright green eyes flashing up at me. “If you want the same attention you know what to do. Get into your own kilt.”

“Please don’t,” Tristan interjects as my phone beeps loudly in my pocket.

Her forehead creases. “Seriously, today? Christmas day?”

“Just one work call, I promise,” I attempt to appease her, stepping out of her embrace.

If I settle this issue, I can relax for the rest of the day. The company will IPO from private to public in a few days, and the stock market doesn’t wait for Christmas turkey. I need to make sure we have our shit together.

My fingers type back quickly to Martina, my head lawyer, telling her I’ll be calling in two minutes.

She responds immediately, being the same type of workaholic I am.

“Martina?” I say, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Danny. I need you to sign forms for the underwriters,” she says. “I’m emailing them over to you now.” She pauses. “Oh, and happy Christmas.”

I smile at the afterthought. “Happy Christmas, Martina. Send them over. I’ll sign them now.”

“Thanks, boss.”

The phone goes dead, and I flip open my laptop, giving it some power juice.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

I’m unable to hide the goofy smile that plasters my face every time she enters the room, despite being under pressure. “Sweetheart, I have a critical job to do.”

“Yes, you do.”

She walks forward and wraps her legs around me, removing the laptop from my reach before I can protest.

My gaze drops down to her full luscious lips, then lower to those gorgeous breasts being paraded in my face. She knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how to push my buttons.

“Charlie—”

“Just five minutes.” She brushes her lips against mine, and I succumb, widening my mouth to taste her fully.

My hands roam across her buttocks, then forward, finding the hem of her soft yoga pants, and she moans softly like her skin is hypersensitive to my touch. The kiss becomes impatient, more demanding.

I’m a goner.

My cock instantly stands to full attention.

I delve into her soft wet flesh, groaning at how wet she is already. Her body trembles against my touch, driving me so fucking horny, but I know we don’t have time, not with everyone waiting downstairs, not when Martina is having kittens across the Atlantic.

Fuck them all; they can wait. This can’t.

With efficiency, I pull down her yoga leggings and soft lace underwear so that she’s naked from the bottom down and pull down my own trousers with speed. With short moans escaping her, she pushes me down onto the bed, taking my shaft in her fist and pushing herself down onto me.

We both groan in ecstasy as I fill her deep.

Our mouths hang open as she rides me, holding her legs tight so she is entirely in control.

“I love you, sweetheart,” I say in broken chords as she looks down with so much emotion it wipes any remaining breath from my lungs.

My hands tighten around her hips, and I can tell by her face that I’m grinding against her clit with each thrust.

Fuck, she wants it so badly. It makes me want her even more.

I cry out like a schoolboy as I spurt furiously into her for what seems like an eternity.

Pulling away, I attempt to catch my breath. “Now, will you let me finish this critical work that the success of the company hangs off?” I ask, tilting my head back to kiss her.

There’s a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Only if you wear the kilt like a true Scotsman.”

“Not a chance,” I say firmly. “My grandma, your own mother, and your younger sister are downstairs. Underwear stays ON.”

“Three flights I travelled to be here with you, Danny.” She pouts. “That’s what you are worth to me. What am I worth to you?”

This woman will be my undoing.

“Fine.” I exhale. “No underwear.”

I’m suffocated in a massive hug. “This is the best Christmas ever.”