Page 57 of Scot on the Run
Bella had never actually been afflicted with a hangover. Nor was she now. But she hadn’t slept worth a damn. She rolled over to sit up on the side of the bed and whimpered when the jackhammer inside her head picked up speed. “Oh, dear heaven.”
She remembered the night before. Unfortunately. The wonderful bits were pretty damned wonderful. But the embarrassing denouement…
Bloody hell, as Ian would say when pushed to the edge. He had definitely been pushed to the edge last night. The more she thought about what happened, the less it made sense. The whole purpose behind Ian’s bringing her with him to Edinburgh was to convince the paparazzi that he was no longer eligible for the much-touted bachelor list. She was supposed to pose as his fiancée so the piranhas would circle back and attack some other poor man.
The moment had finally come, but Ian had bolted, dragging her along behind him like a rag doll. Hotel security halted the photographers at the door, leaving them frustrated and belligerent. Ian, on the other hand, lost all reason. Instead of the romantic evening she could have sworn they were headed for, he took her to her room, opened her door, and shoved her inside with nothing more than a muttered good night.
She had tossed and turned for hours, finally falling asleep around three a.m. Likely, she’d be asleep still if an annoying shaft of sunlight hadn’t peeked through the crack in the drapes this morning and stabbed her skull.
After stumbling to the bathroom like an old woman, she rummaged in her toiletry case and found the ibuprofen. She opened her mouth and washed down three tablets with tap water.
Her reflection was almost as bad as her headache. She found two very distinct hickeys at the base of her throat. Her mascara was smudged into panda eyes, and her hair had tripled in size during the night.
Dear Lord, please let me die now.
She couldn’t face Ian. It was as simple as that. If the two of them went out together, they would be pinned down again. The prospect galvanized her into action. The original plan for today was a hike up Arthur’s Seat. She still wanted to go, but without Bachelor #2. All she had to do was wear a baseball cap and sneak out the back of the hotel.
Leaving Ian to his fate seemed cold, but she had to think of the big picture. Tonight’s ceremony was non-negotiable. She was going to have to wear the beautiful new dress, smile her ass off, and pretend that everything was all right. Until then, Ian was on his own.
After the fastest shower on record, she put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a navy jersey pullover. Definitely touristy. With a huge pair of sunglasses, no one would suspect her of being connected to the high-profile bachelor.
She stuffed some pound notes into her pocket, grabbed her phone, and headed down a back staircase. The kitchen manager looked at her oddly when she made her way around three cartons of lettuce and asked for the exit, but he directed her anyway.
Moments later, she slowed her mad dash to a stroll and tried to look inconspicuous. Her strategy worked. No one even glanced her way as she eased around the corner of the hotel and headed down the hill. She walked toward Old Town at a brisk pace, despite her aching head.
She was headed for Holyrood and beyond to the park. The castle was open to tourists the majority of the year, though not when the queen was in residence, which meant not today. It was an odd feeling to know that in a few short hours, Bella would be entering those imposing gates with Ian.
The park was a popular spot, but not everyone attempted the climb to the top. Bella’s headache finally eased off. She relished the exertion of tackling the famous hill. There were no trees near the top, nothing like a park back home, but yellow gorse bloomed in profusion everywhere. First the road, and then a narrow path led in circles up and up.
At the end, stone steps with no handrail accessed the final ascent. She was forced to pay attention to where she placed her feet or risk a nasty fall. Huffing and puffing a bit more than usual, she finally made it all the way to the top. Edinburgh sprawled at her feet with the castle and the palace easily recognizable in the distance. From this vantage point, the Royal Mile was even more impressive. To have stood the test of time and the ravages of war was no small feat.
A geological marker at her feet gave the elevation in meters. She was too tired to care about the conversion. She perched on a convenient rock and tried to catch her breath.
Slowly, the breeze and the sunshine restored her equilibrium. She tried her best not to think about the more titillating portions of last night, but it was impossible. Even now, she could feel Ian’s lips on hers, the slight rasp of his chin scraping her tender skin when he nibbled his way down her neck.
If the paparazzi hadn’t shown up, would she even now be in Ian’s bed?
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that their romantic night had ended in ruins. The angel on her shoulder said things had worked out for the best. The less benign alter ego pointed out that she had been seconds away from throwing all her good sense to the four winds.
Wryly, she considered the fact that Ian Larrimore had—in fact—made her beg. Perhaps the knowledge should have been humiliating, but it wasn’t. He had needed her as much or more, and hadn’t bothered to hide his arousal and his desperation. Her knees pressed together instinctively.
She wanted him. Badly.
As if her heated thoughts had conjured him up out of thin air, Ian’s head popped up over the crest of the hill. “Hey, there,” he said. “I thought I might find you here.” He had accessed the top from the opposite side.
He sat down beside her and kissed the top of her head. “I feel like hell,” he said, his tone conversational.
“Me, too. How did you get out of the hotel?”
“I bribed a deliveryman to hide me in his truck and give me a ride to the bottom of the hill.”
“Ingenious.”
“Thanks. I thought so.”
“I take it the reporters were still out front.”
He nodded glumly. “Oh, yes.”