Five Days in Skye: A Novel by Carla Laureano Read Free Book Online Page B

involuntary as it was. If she’d been playing poker, she would have just tipped her hand.
    Well done, Andrea. Well done.

Chapter Six
    For someone used to being in charge, Andrea Sullivan blushed more than any woman he’d ever met.
    Not that he minded. There was a fine line between assertive and brash, and so many of the women he’d met took a giant leap over it. James suppressed his smile. Andrea might be opinionated, but there were apparently some things she couldn’t plan or control.
    He slowed as he made the turn onto the road that led down the Sleat peninsula toward Isleornsay. His heart lifted at the familiar stretch of asphalt, bordered by dry grasses and patches of evergreens. He may have lived the last twenty years of his life in London, but Skye would always be home. Even his lingering irritation toward Ian faded as he took in the slant of sunlight through the clouds, the rapidly moving shadows on the rolling hills.
    After a few minutes, he turned onto a pitted road, the Subaru’s spongy suspension magnifying every bump and roll in the macadam surface. He’d have to remember to have the car looked at. Apparently, the previous winter had taken its toll on the vehicle.
    They rounded the bend, and the water stretched out before them, a gleaming, protected bay of blue dotted with tiny islands. A backdrop of mountains framed Isle Ornsay, the larger island in the Sound of Sleat from which the village had drawn its name. The isle’s charming lighthouse stood sentinel in the bay, a slender column rising from the craggy island, a splash of white against the dark scenery. James may have grown up here, but he was struck by the spot’s wild beauty every time he returned.
    “This is the village of Isleornsay,” James said. “Those mountains across the water are the mainland.”
    A surprised smile spread over Andrea’s face. He stole glances at her, gauging her reaction as he navigated the rough road into the gravel lot and pulled up before the main house. “This is the hotel. Welcome to the MacDonald Guest House.”
    Andrea opened her door before he could do it for her and stepped out. James paused in his own open door and folded his arms atop the car’s roof, watching as she took in the hotel and the picturesque bay in the background. The smile hadn’t yet left her face.
    He followed her gaze to the main structure. The lines of the original Hebridean croft house remained, though it had been updated and expanded over the years to a two-story whitewashed stone building with a shingled roof and many tiny, multi-paned windows set into its sides. Several smaller buildings stood nearby and wild grasses and spring flowers spread around it in a riot of early color. Even closed up and in dire need of attention, it still spoke of warmth and welcome. He had missed it.
    “I’ve never seen any place like this,” Andrea murmured.
    “It’s breathtaking,” he agreed. “Even to me. Come, let me show you to your room.”
    He retrieved her bag from the back of the car and led the way toward three small freestanding stone cottages that faced the sound. Built a few decades before, they had been designed to blend with the main house, even though they were more open and expansive than the isle’s traditional cottages. He flipped through the keys on his key ring to find the proper one. “The cottages aren’t quite finished. It may not be what you’re accustomed to, but they’re comfortable enough.”
    He unlocked the red-painted door of the furthest cottage, set Andrea’s suitcase inside the door, and stepped aside for her to enter before him.
    She brushed past him and looked around. “Nice.” She walked slowly through the kitchenette, trailing a finger along the stone countertops, checking the interiors of the hand-finished cabinets. The woman who blushed at the slightest innuendo was gone, the executive in her place. “I assume you’ll be providing dishes and cookware?”
    “Yes. As I said, we’re not quite done