The Worst of Me by Hobman Lisa J

Author:Hobman, Lisa J [Hobman, Lisa J]
Language: eng
Format: azw
Publisher: Lisa J Hobman
Published: 2016-04-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Nick

Sunday already.

He hadn’t seen Cat since Friday morning and he was desperate to know that she was okay. He’d spotted her from a distance on the beach with JD and a tall blonde woman he hadn’t seen before but hadn’t found the courage to approach her and apologise. Idiot. He’d metaphorically kicked himself over and over for the way he’d let her walk out without telling her she was beautiful ... or at least something good. Instead he’d given a lame excuse about not being good enough for her. And okay, that was actually true. But he allowed her to leave thinking that she was somehow inadequate compared to the women he usually slept with. That she somehow wasn’t setting his pulse racing when in truth she had turned him on so much he’d had to take a cold shower when she left.

Friday night had been plagued with dreams about soft alabaster skin, auburn waves, ruby red lips and sensual curves. He’d contemplated walking down to the pub at three in the morning to finish what he’d started when she was standing before him but had talked himself out of the ridiculous idea. Instead he had thought of her whilst he took himself in hand. The relief was welcome but it did nothing to stop the erotic dreams about the feisty Scots lass.

His phone had been filled with text messages from Chris, Den, Si and Chris again. And each time it pinged to alert him of a new message he grabbed it with eagerness in the hope that maybe Cat had forgiven him.

No such luck.

So after breakfast he showered and dressed, pulled on his boots and coat and set off for his daily walk. There was something so refreshing about the bitterly cold air whipping his hair around his face. He felt alive, filled with vitality. The scenery surrounding Gairloch was the stuff of dreams and he’d begun to venture farther on his walks. Only the day before he had stumbled upon a huge mansion house with wrought iron gates at the end of a private road. The sign informed him that Rockhill House was strictly private and accepted no cold callers. Visitation was by appointment only.

The architecture of the house was typical Edwardian from what he could remember of history lessons at school, and comprised of a vast estate with a tree lined road leading up to the curved stone frontage and carved decorative balustrade. How had he not known the place was there? How come no one had mentioned it?

He arrived at the pub without really intending to make it his destination when he heard the almost melodic sound of music coming from a back room. Intrigued at what clearly had the potential to be quite good, he opened the side gate and made his way towards the noise. A door lay wide open and the distinct sound of teenage laughter reverberated from within.

It’s the kids. The kids who want to start a band. So Cat agreed to them using the place .

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