Proof of Their One-Night Passion

She looked up, her stomach swooping downwards in shock. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ he said softly, ‘that I didn’t buy your work out of charity. I came to the gallery in the morning, only you weren’t there and so I had a look around. I wasn’t planning on buying anything, but then I saw these, and the collage, and I changed my mind.’

Lottie stared at him in silence, her mind replaying the events of that day. There had been some kind of signal failure affecting the train on her way in and she hadn’t got to the gallery until mid-morning. And when she’d arrived Jem, the gallery’s co-owner, had been frantic. Georgina had swanned off to meet her latest boyfriend for a champagne brunch and he was supposed to be on the other side of London meeting a client...

As though sensing the route of her thoughts, Ragnar gave her a brief, wintry smile. ‘I called Rowley’s on the way back to the office,’ he continued remorselessly. ‘And then I was in meetings all day until I came back to the gallery in the afternoon.’

He glanced down at where Sóley sat clutching the octopus triumphantly, her mouth clamped around one furry leg, her fists clenching and unclenching with undisguised joy.

‘Not that I expect you to believe me, but I bought your work for two reasons. I think they’re beautiful and, more importantly, I wanted Sóley to have something of you here. I know she probably doesn’t recognise your work now, but I thought that in time she will and it will mean something to her.’

Her face was burning. A hard lump of shame was sitting heavily in her stomach and she felt slightly nauseous. She had been so certain that his motives were self-serving, only now it appeared that the complete opposite was true.

But how was she supposed to guess that he would do something so unselfish? So far their interaction had amounted to one night of feverish passion and several tense stand-offs, and from those encounters she had learned what? That the man standing in front of her was a generous, intuitive lover, but that he also had a resolve as hard and cold as the ice gullies that ran through the granite hills of his homeland.

It was all so contradictory and inconclusive. But either way it didn’t change the facts. She had jumped to conclusions and she’d been wrong.

Taking a breath, she made herself meet his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, and you’re right. I overreacted. It was a kind impulse.’ She cleared her throat. ‘And I’m not deliberately trying to make things difficult between us—ouch!’

Twin hands were gripping her leg and, glancing down, she saw that Sóley had discarded the octopus and was now trying to pull herself upright.

‘Is she walking yet?’

She shook her head, relieved at the sudden change of subject. ‘Nearly. She has a walker at home—you know, with wheels—and if I help her she can push it for a couple of steps.’

As though to prove the point, Sóley lifted up her foot and, holding it aloft, she stood wobbling unsteadily on one leg, before lowering it carefully onto the rug like a pony doing dressage. She tried the other leg but this was less successful, and she slid down onto her bottom, her lower lip crumpling.

‘Come here then.’ Lottie reached down, but her daughter had other ideas, and she watched, her heart bumping against her ribs, as Sóley crawled over to Ragnar and wrapped her arms around his legs.

‘Here, let me,’ she croaked.

‘It’s fine,’ he said softly. ‘May I?’

As he reached down and picked up his daughter she felt a mixture of panic and pride. For a moment Sóley looked uncertainly at Ragnar, and then, reaching forward, she buried her face against his neck, her chubby hands gripping the blond hair that curled down his neck.

Lottie felt a quick head-rush, and then her heart fluttered upwards like a kite caught in a breeze. It was the moment she’d imagined for so long—the father embracing his daughter for the first time—but nothing could have prepared her for the conflicting tangle of emotions inside her chest or the expression of fear and awe and eagerness on Ragnar’s face.

Or the fact that she recognised how completely it mirrored her own reaction that first time she’d held her daughter.

‘Through here is your room.’

She nodded dumbly as Ragnar gestured towards another door.

‘I thought you’d want to be close to her at night.’

‘Thank you.’

She managed to speak with a gratitude she knew she ought to feel—even with the briefest of glances she could see that it was a beautiful, spacious room, with the same jaw-dropping view of the mountains—and yet she was struggling to feel anything except a mounting anxiety.

His eyes were fixed on her face. ‘And I’m only just down there if you need me.’

Her throat tightened and the floor seemed to tilt sharply. But why? It was a point of information, nothing more, and yet there was something in his unwavering gaze that made her pulse accelerate—a few spun-out seconds of shimmering shared memories of a different kind of need.

Terrified what her eyes would betray if she didn’t move, she nodded briskly, her heart leaping with relief as Sóley made a grab for her.

‘That’s good to know,’ she said crisply, and she stepped neatly past him, her body loosening in relief at having temporarily evaded his cool, assessing gaze.

* * *