Page 39 of The Highland Fling

“Where did the name Grace come from?” he asks.

“Mum already had the name David picked out, but she wasn’t sure about a girl’s name. I suppose you could say she had a favourite before we were even born.” I offer a wry smile. “Anyway, on the way to the hospital, the Judy Collins version of ‘Amazing Grace’ played on the radio, so I became Grace.”

“Nice, a great song, and you know what? I think you win over David there—your name has more of a story to it.”

I finish my bowl, and Aidan collects it, immediately starting on the dishes. He’s not even a slob—that would have been something. But no, he knows how to keep a clean house.

“I spoke to Maw and Iona, by the way. They were excited to hear it’s a girl. Maw actually got pretty teary.”

“Your mother is sweet. I called Emily and David and filled them in. Emily’s scan is in a week, so she’ll find out what she’s having soon. And David was over the moon, but . . . yet again, he begged me to tell Mum.”

Aidan lifts his soap-sud-covered hands in a gesture of impartiality. “I’m saying nothing! You’ve already warned me not to overstep the mark, so I’ll keep my thoughts on that matter to myself.”

“Probably wise, but . . . you think I should tell her, right?”

“Oh, absolutely I do.”

“Humph! So much for keeping your thoughts to yourself.”

For a moment, he goes wide-eyed, like he’s worried I’m about to rip him a new one.

I smirk. “I can tease too, you know.”

“Oh . . . aye, you can. Kind of.” He gives me an amused sidelong glance. “With a bit of practice, you’ll get there.”

“Well, what do you think?” Aidan emerges from the bathroom and models his charcoal-grey pyjama trousers with a matching long-sleeved top. He even does a spin.

To be fair to him, the set leaves very little skin on display, and yet . . . he still looks good in it. He’d look good in anything.

“Hmm.” I turn back to my book.

“Ouch! And here was me thinking this was my colour.” He climbs into bed beside me and gets comfortable under the duvet, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring at the ceiling with a contented smile.

Ugh! If you compliment him, he smiles. If you criticise him, he smiles. If you ignore him, he smiles. It’s maddening.

I can’t cope with the sight of his perpetual grin, so I close my book mid-chapter, which is a rare thing for me. “All right, lights out.” I flick the switch, and his features disappear, replaced only by a silhouette.

“Night!” he says cheerily.

I hold back a sigh. “Night.”

He shifts onto his side, facing me. For a moment, I wonder if something more is coming, if he might challenge rule three—not to make a move—but . . . no. He’s just a side sleeper, like me.

I roll onto my side too, my back to him. Aidan has done a good job of obeying the rules I set, so . . . why am I disappointed?

Could it be it’s not a case of chivalry or respecting my wishes? What if the plain and simple fact is he no longer finds me attractive? My body has changed these last few weeks, and yes, my boobs have got bigger—something he’s definitely noticed—but so has the rest of me. And I’m only going to keep growing, unlike him, who’ll remain flawless, as always.

Then again, there have been times I’ve caught his eyes roving over me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Occasionally, even when I’m looking right at him, there’s something in his blue-eyed gaze . . .

But he’s a player. He knows how to make a woman feel “bonny”. He’d probably stare at anyone like that.

The fact is, around me, he’s not living up to his reputation. Apparently, it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to lie next to me in a bed. Yesterday, when he climbed in, he was asleep within minutes. Chances are, he’ll nod off again just as quickly tonight.

I set the rules because they’re what’s best for the child we’re having together. It’s not as if I’m not tempted by Aidan. I am! So how come he’s not tempted by me? How come it’s so damn easy for him to fall asleep while lying next to me?

An idea comes to me, and although it’s probably the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, in a fit of pique, I decide to act on it before I can talk myself out of it.

“I’m cold,” I whisper. “This doesn’t mean anything, okay? It’s just for warmth.”