The Wolves of Craigellen: The Complete Highland Shifter Romance Trilogy by Ruby Fielding

The Wolves of Craigellen: The Complete Highland Shifter Romance Trilogy by Ruby FieldingHow much would you be willing to give up for the one you love?

Available in one volume for the first time:
The Wolves of Craigellen: Ruby Fielding’s stunning Highland shifter romance trilogy – murder, intrigue and breathtaking romance in a werewolf series like no other.

“An exciting suspenseful shifter romance… The characters are fantastic… a must read book!” Roxie’s Reviews

“This has been truly an amazing story and I have loved each and every character.” Books of Past, Present, and Future

“Just wow! Snow Wolf is the stunning conclusion of the three-part series… I highly recommend Ruby Fielding’s stories.” Night Owl Reviews’ Top Pick

“No, I’m not scared of a wolf. Believe me: there are far worse things…”

Three full-length novels:

Last Alpha
He never wanted to fall in love. She never planned to let him… Jenny Layne has made a career out of investigating werewolf reports, but every case has only confirmed that shapeshifters are the stuff of legend or madness. Until now. Billy Stewart has traveled the world in pursuit of stories of shapeshifters and other strange phenomena, but the last thing he ever expected to find was love. Billy is not a man who falls easily, but when he does, it’s a force of nature. As love boils over and the dark secrets buried away in the past rise to the surface, a night of murder raises the stakes yet higher. By turns passionate romance and gripping paranormal thriller, Last Alpha tells the story of two people whose paths collide with earth-shattering consequences, and asks can Beauty ever really hope to tame the Beast?

Rogue Male
She’d always known he was a bit of a rogue, but what if it was worse than that? So much worse… Skye Parker wasn’t that girl. The one who chases love. The one who puts romance ahead of everything else. The one who would travel the length of the country in response to a throwaway online comment and a whole lot of wishful thinking. Until now. Iain Logan is most definitely that boy. The wild one. ‘Trouble’ is not so much his middle name as something engraved on his heart. He’s a young man with secrets, too. Secrets that make him hold everything at a distance, even the girl who might just be the love of his life. When he finds wild wolves near his Highlands home after an absence of close to three centuries it’s a chance to prove himself – if only he can get people to believe him. But as old friends rebuff him and the dark truth unfolds, Iain has some tough choices to make. Choices with life-changing consequences. It would be madness for Skye to fall for him. Dangerous. But sometimes madness is the most sensible thing of all.

Snow Wolf
Can you ever be sure of a shifter’s heart? Jenny Layne has her man, but does she really have his heart? Just when Jenny needs him most, Billy Stewart has gone missing. Has she scared him away, is he in danger, or has he succumbed to the call of the wild? As the worst winter in a generation closes in, the search for Billy rapidly becomes a matter of life or death – for him, and for those who seek him. Jenny is the person most likely to find him, so why does she refuse to join the search? What does she fear even more than losing the love of her life?

She knew love could be tough. That it was never a smooth ride. That you had to work at it. She knew all the clichés from friends and books and films.

But nothing had prepared her for this.

For being with a man who could both terrify her and make her melt in a moment.

For that moment when you step back from the relationship and know you should keep on stepping back, turning away, running as far and as fast as you could.

And knowing you never could, never would.



It’s late, it’s dark out here, and she’s tired, but she has no excuses. No reason why she approaches this man who she now knows to be a stranger.

No possible reason to put herself at risk like this when every bone in her body is screaming at her to stop, turn, walk away. Run.

Anything but carry on slowly approaching.

He’s standing on the bridge, leaning on the stone wall as if staring down into the water.

Waiting for her.

Now, he straightens and turns.

She stops walking, and his eyes crawl over her features, taking in the floppy fabric rose in her hair, the leather jacket.

“You must be Skye,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She can’t move.

“I believe you have something I want,” he adds.

Why are her feet so frozen to the spot?

Why can’t she just turn and walk away?

All she has to do is calm herself. Lift her feet. Walk.

She hears a sound, turns her head.

Sees yellow eyes staring at her from the darkness by the bridge wall, the narrow path that leads down to the water.

Hearing a sound from behind this time, she twists at the waist and peers back.

A dark-coated wolf stands there, lips drawn back across its teeth.

“I believe you have information about some mutual friends,” says the man, taking a step towards her. “I want to know where they are.”

Two more steps, so that now he looms over her.

“I want you to come with me, Miss Parker. I want to know all that you know about our friends. And then either I will go and find them, or they will come looking for you. I’ve yet to decide which of these two alternatives is more to my liking. What do you think?”

The wolf down in the shadows by the bridge has edged forward. Now she can see that its fur is a dark silvery-gray.

How many are there?

She glances back, and the dark wolf has edged closer. Much more and she’ll be able to feel its hot breath on her back.

The other wolf is up on the road now, its body held low to the ground.

And the dark wolf: closer still.

Involuntarily, she takes a step away from them.

She would never have believed that terror could be so intense. She feels sick with the fear.

She doesn’t even need to look. She can feel the wolves closing in.

Herding her like nightmare sheepdogs.

What’s the advice to kidnap victims? Leave evidence. If you’re in his car you should pull your hair and leave it behind. Rub your skin raw on the seat so there’s DNA left on the upholstery. Scratch him to get evidence lodged under your fingernails… for when they find your body.

She isn’t in his car, though. She’s still out in the street.

She should scream.

She knows that.

But she has no voice. No control.

She should drop her purse.

Pull that ridiculous big flower from her hair and make sure she leaves it behind – everyone would recognize that.


Anything but give herself up to this man…


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New: Snow Wolf – a Highland shifter romance by Ruby Fielding

Snow Wolf: a Highland shifter romance by Ruby FieldingCan you ever be sure of a shifter’s heart?

Jenny Layne has her man, but does she really have his heart?

Just when Jenny needs him most, Billy Stewart has gone missing. Has she scared him away, is he in danger, or has he succumbed to the call of the wild? As the worst winter in a generation closes in, the search for Billy rapidly becomes a matter of life or death – for him, and for those who seek him.

Jenny is the person most likely to find him, so why does she refuse to shift into wolf-form and join the search? What does she fear even more than losing the love of her life?

In the third and final part of her acclaimed Highland shifter series, Ruby Fielding asks just how much would you be willing to give up for the one you love?




The wolf cuts across the flank of the hill, body held low, ears pricked, nostrils flared, alert to everything.

A big male, his silver-blond coat forms the perfect camouflage in the early morning light, almost ivory against the whites and grays of the first real cold snap of winter. The hill here is a mosaic of frosted heather and bracken, and herringbone drifts of frost-crisped snow against the bases of plants and rocks.

The wolf pauses, and instantly blends with this backdrop.

The sun is just brimming over the white-capped mountains to the east, painting its thin golden colors across the glen.

He hears the distant whirring sound of a covey of grouse taking flight, the mournful cry of a curlew.

Picks up the scent of deer and mountain hare, and the distant, astringent whiff of combustion engines from the road.

And something else.

A rich, complex layering of scent that paints a picture more vivid than any he can see.

Another has passed this way.

A wolf.

He feels the first rush in his veins, the thumping of his heart.

He squats and marks a nearby rock with a spray of urine, owning this place. Owning this other wolf.

He starts to trot again, following the scent, savoring that rush of adrenalin as pursuit kicks in.

The morning is crisp and his senses are alive. His breath spreads in plumes of white on the chill morning air.

He is in pursuit, and starts to run fast and low, the chase instinct taking over.


The other wolf is smaller, darker, in thick winter coat but the fur still smoother, sleeker than his. Narrower muzzle and head, the neck thinner, legs shorter, the whole body is less bulky, less stolidly muscular.

A female.

He’d tasted that already, of course, the pheromones heavy on the winter air.

A female, and oblivious.

Inexperienced. Not alert to the sounds of her pursuer. No scent would have carried to her, of course, as he had been careful to circle round higher up the flank of the hill so the wind would bring her scent up to him and not the other way round.

He lowers himself, the thick fur of his belly pressing down into the snow.

She looks up and he freezes, holding the air in until his lungs ache and burn.

She turns away, scratches at a clump of heather, dislodging its cap of snow. Starts to move away.

A moment later she stops abruptly, ears pricking.

He hasn’t moved, has made no sound, but something has alerted her. A trace of scent, drifting across from where he had looped up the hill?

She moves again, faster than a normal trot. Alert. Aware.

Not quite running away, but enough to feed his pursuit instinct.

He takes a step, still holding himself low, his belly dragging through the snow.


She’s running now, her movements smooth and athletic.

He starts to run too, no longer caring about concealment.

She still hasn’t seen him.

Snow flies up from his footfalls, and the wind against him is starkly cold.

In full flight now, she has no chance, even though she had a head start.

Every great stride takes him closer and then she is within reach and he leaps.

She senses him at last – his pursuit that good, or her awareness so poor? – and twists, lips drawing back to reveal sharp teeth.

At the last moment, he pulls away, spreading his bulk in mid-air to brake his flight, bringing him down short. He takes a stumbling step, careens into her, and they collide flank to flank.

She tumbles away, onto her side, rolling onto her back with her legs splayed, then flips herself back up onto her feet, squaring up to him.

He’s landed on all four, rump raised, shoulders low, front legs spread, flat to the ground.

He gives a little yap, puppy-like, and pushes himself up, skips ahead and turns to lunge at her once again. The blood roars through his body, heart racing, senses alive to every tiny detail.

The dark female rears, leaps, and in an instant is ahead of him, running flat out.

He turns, starts to run. Paws sting on hard, frost-crusted stone, then they’re in a drift of snow again and each step is a crunch as the paw breaks the crisp surface, the hard squeak of the snow, the pull and kick to get free again.

This is where his greater strength pays and he closes the gap again. Finally close enough, he pushes off, slams into her with front legs spread, chest striking her rear and knocking her fishtailing sideways.

She comes to lie on her side in the snow, panting heavily, a growl rumbling in her throat.

He’s landed beside her on his belly, muzzle driving deep into the snow so that for a moment he’s unable to breathe.

He arches his spine, dragging his head clear, shakes hard and a flurry of snow flies into the air, casting tiny rainbows in the low morning sun.

He turns to her, sees her features starting to melt, to shift, feels that same pull within himself.

Has never felt so alive.


She feels it as a ripping sensation, deep in her core. A zip being pulled. Fabric tearing. Joints popping, one by one.

At first the most satisfying, almost luxuriant thing, the scratching of a deep itch, but then… the sensations transform into something altogether more deeply unpleasant.

The pain, of course. But more than that: shiftings that no body should ever feel.

Her ribs shortening, pulling together. The bones in her pelvis reconfiguring, pulling muscles and ligaments in their wake. Fur retracting… that brief moment when it feels as if there is an entirely new layer just below her bare skin before that, too, contracts, and is gone.

And that pain! Unlike anything she had ever experienced before this, this thing, started to happen.

Pain so intense that she has blacked out before when this has happened.

Pain so bad she swears she must never do this thing again.

Until the next time.

Pain that leaves her gasping for breath, unable to think, unable to do. Just needing to get through.


Jenny Layne lay on her side, knees drawn up to her chest.

Her entire left side was numb from contact with the frozen ground. Snow hard and cold against her. The fierce, almost burning, cold of the rocks beneath the snow. The prickly contact of dry heather. The chill bite of the wind, whistling across the valley and freezing her exposed skin.

She opened her eyes, peering beyond him at first to the mottled white sweep of the hills, the golden light of the rising sun.

She would take every moment like this… keep it, savor it. Another reminder of what an extraordinary place she had come to know as home.

She’d come a long way from small-town Connecticut.

Finally, she let her gaze come to rest on Billy Stewart. Her lover. Her man. Her… something else.

The changes were still sweeping over him, the shifting of bone and muscle, the sucking in of thick winter fur beneath bare, human skin.

As he changed he watched her, his eyes still an amber yellow with tiny dark pupils.

Slowly, a smile crept over his features.

She looked down his body, and he straightened one of the legs that had been drawn up.

He was hard. Ready for her.

Strange how the elements intensified everything.

The senses.

The need.

She reached for him, put a hand to his shoulder. Pushed, so that he turned onto his back. His manhood came to lie hard against his belly.

She gave herself long seconds to take in the scene.

He was part of the landscape. A sculpture. A rock-form.

She pushed herself upright, the pain a distant memory, the absolute cold and the need – just as great – all that occupied her now.

Swinging low over him, her breasts against his thigh, she brought her face close to his torso, breath spilling out in a white mist across his abdomen.

She lowered her head, lips parted, teeth exposed.

The touch of her teeth on his shaft made him flinch, his whole body tensing up. She swept her head slowly upwards, dragging those sharp teeth along his length.

The cold was intense now, seeping through her limbs. Freezing knees and feet numb where they came into contact with the ground. Her bare skin was puckered tightly with goose bumps.

She needed warmth. Body warmth.

She moved to straddle his legs, pressing against him. His hardness found its home between her breasts, her face pressing against his ribcage.

She pushed herself against him, sliding slowly up.

He held himself rigid, letting her push and press in just the right places.

She found his collarbone with her mouth, kissed the cold skin. Found the hollow between shoulder and neck, breathed her warmth against him.

She pressed against him now, soft against hard. She gave a slight roll of the hips and felt a delicious thrill stab through her, an involuntary tightening deep within.

Finally, he moved.

Strong hands found her hips, pressed, steering her against him, triggering that stab of pleasure again as the stiff little stub of her clit rode against his rigid shaft.

He pulled her higher and all of a sudden he was poised, pressing against her opening, that tantalizing moment of almost-but-not-quite…

Held her there as he pushed his hips upwards, parting her and pressing inside.

She’d never made the connection before, but this was the closest thing she knew to those deep inner sensations that came at the start of shifting. That moment of penetration, the sense of things shifting deep within her body. Things over which she had little control.

Something primordial. Something fundamental and raw.

She bore down on him, taking him deep, willing that deep, inner parting.

Arching her back and throwing her head back, exposed to the elements.

She breathed out and a white plume rose skywards.

When she swung her head down again he was pushed up onto his elbows, eyes locked on hers. Something powerful in that look. More animal even than when he had been in his other form.

She lunged forward and kissed him, hungry for him. Teeth, tongues, lips clashed, saliva and blood mixing.

He curled one arm around her waist now, tipped her sideways and then onto her back, holding her hard against him so their union was not disturbed.

The ground! So hard and rough on her back. So cold.

Now her breathing was ragged, her vision blurred, darkening at the edges with the intensity of it all.

He was on her now, her legs pulled up, wrapped around his waist as he thrust long and hard, grinding against her when he was in as deep as he would go, then pulling away and thrusting deep once more.

She felt that tightening again, that inner clenching, and knew he had taken her right to the edge in that one movement of sweeping her into his arms and turning her over onto her back in the snow.

He dipped his head, found a breast, took the nipple between his teeth.

The rough bucking of his body almost tugged the nipple free of his mouth immediately, but he sucked it deep, held himself steady, thrust again.

She drew her legs tight around him, squeezing him, holding him deep as the sensations grew and transformed, as the tightening blossomed in her belly and surged outwards, through her body.

She clung on, legs and arms tight, as she rode her climax, and as she held him deep she felt his own response shifting, pushing harder, deeper, a throbbing, and then that soft grunt, and that widening of the eyes as he drew his head away from her and she felt his wet heat explode deep within.


She slumped. Felt his weight heavy on top of her and pushed, flipping him sideways, trapping one of her legs beneath him.

She started to laugh. An almost manic giggle at the unreal nature of this.

Lying here naked in the snow.

The icy chill.

The breathtaking scenery.

The clumsy tangle of their limbs.

What they had just done.

What they had been.

He kneeled now; rocked back onto his haunches, grinning at her, studying her with those beguiling dark eyes.

He offered her a hand as he stood.

“Come on, will you? You’re going to get frostbite if you stay here like that.”

His eyes… Dark eyes turning pale as she watched, becoming amber. A twitch in his jaw as bones started to realign.

It still made her blood run cold. This thing they shared. This changing.

It defied everything she had ever believed.

But she couldn’t deny that part of her reaction was also the thrill, the excitement.

He let her hand go, as she rose to her feet. Wrapped his arms around himself.

Sure, it was cold, but that reaction was not to the temperature. It was to the onset of a new shifting, deep within. The sense that something was starting to happen, to change.

She stepped towards him then, stretched up and kissed him tenderly on the jawline, even as the bones within were reconforming.

Briefly, she held him, savoring the warmth, the thrill of feeling the bones and muscles shifting.

In all their months together, she had never held him like this, at this point.

He stayed within her embrace for a few more seconds, then pulled away, dropped to a squatting position, one hand on the ground to steady himself.

She turned away from him, breathed the chill air deep. Surveyed the white-frosted hills, the mountains, the dark forest lining the lower slopes and valleys.

They were miles from home, from the cottage they shared deep in the woods of the Blackbrigg Estate; from their clothes and the fire they had stoked up before heading out in the early hours.

She was no longer aware of the cold.

Only of that sensation deep within. The pulling. The almost sexual tug deep in her belly. The dagger-sharp rending of bones and flesh as she doubled over, dropped to her hands and knees, was almost sick with the pain.

Only barely aware of the silver-blond wolf bounding away across the snow and then pausing, looking back, watching. Waiting for her to join him.



Jenny sat at the ancient wooden table in the kitchen, a big mug of milky tea steaming, her laptop open. Waiting for email to download.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

This was one of the frustrations of life here at Blackbrigg. The old foresters’ cottage was deep in the woods of the estate, with no landline, no wifi and a weak-to-nonexistent cell-phone signal as their only connection to the outside world. This was connectivity on a good day, her laptop using the cell as an internet hotspot and piggybacking its signal.

It might not matter so much for most people, but this was her work. Their main source of income since Billy had left his position at Jonathan Carr’s Craigellen Estate.

She flipped the laptop closed and took the mug in both hands, making the most of the heat. The cold snap of a few weeks ago had passed and those first snows of the winter had thawed, but still it was cold.

It was easy to allow herself to get distracted by the discomfort and the lack of modern world amenities when things weren’t going so well.

She drained the cup, stood. Went over to the wood-burning stove that was this part of the cottage’s main source of heat.

No regrets.

That was stupid thinking.

She’d made her choices.

She had nothing back home – she still reflexively thought of Brooklyn, and to a lesser extent Connecticut, as home – other than a mother with whom she was only distantly reconciled. And work. But she could do that anywhere, as she kept insisting, as if to convince herself as much as Billy.

She could work anywhere with some kind of connectivity, at least.

Frustrated at the negative spiraling of her thoughts, she started to tidy the kitchen, not that it was in a bad way to begin with. More and more, recently, getting things in order had become important to her. Making this place feel right.

She didn’t know where that had come from. But then she had been through so many changes recently. Literally.

Hard to think that only a few months ago she had been everything the modern young woman. City dweller, rapidly rising star of online journalism with a rapidly growing following for her YouTube channel where she investigated claims of the paranormal and always found them wanting. A woman far more at home with a pair of drop-dead gorgeous shoes and a cocktail than traipsing through some remote Scottish forest.

And now… this.

She found herself standing before a half-emptied cupboard shaking her head like a mad woman.

It really wasn’t that she resented where life had taken her.

It was just…

How do you ever prepare for something like this?

For your whole world to be turned upside down.

To fall head over heels in love with a man who turns out to be possibly the last natural shifter in existence.

And to find yourself… turned.

Not by your shifter-lover, but as part of a scientific project run by Jonathan Carr, self-styled laird of Craigellen Estate.

And sworn enemy of Billy Stewart and all associated with him.


Nothing could ever prepare you for this.

And for all the highs and thrills and for all the absolute certainty that she would not want to be anywhere but here, like this, with Billy, it still took one hell of a lot of adjusting to.


How did he do it?

One look from those dark eyes. A slight raising of an eyebrow.

That was all, and it was like a balloon had been burst.

Two steps across to the doorway and she was in his arms, face buried against his shoulder, the first tears spilling unbidden into his thick woolen coat.

“Hey, hey, lassie,” he said softly in that thick Scottish accent. He wrapped one arm around her waist, the other raised so he could stroke her hair. “It’s all okay, ye hear me?”

“I know,” she said, her words muffled. “It’s just… I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“It’s no’ easy, is it?” He knew. He got it. Probably because they’d had this discussion a hundred times before.

What kind of future did they have? Living in someone else’s tumbledown cottage, relying on favors, eating mostly from the land – at least when they shifted they could hunt…

“What if they shut me down?” she said. “What if they track me down and kick me out?”

Jenny had come to Scotland on a short trip, expecting only to stay for two weeks while she followed up a story about an eccentric Scottish millionaire who was rumored to be doing strange things in his remote laboratory.

Events had taken over and she never did use her return flight. For an anxious few weeks she’d thought that in itself might be the trigger for the authorities to come looking for her. Might that empty seat draw attention to her possible status as an illegal immigrant?

Upon investigation she’d learned that she could stay for six months but after that she would be illegal. So sometime this winter she would become a fugitive. Could they close down her bank accounts in an attempt to flush her out?

To guard against this, she’d transferred all her savings, such as they were, to Billy, so now she was not only a near-illegal immigrant, but she was also totally reliant on a man. She felt bad resenting that, but while it was something she found difficult to accept on many levels it was also a very practical concern. If something happened to Billy, heavens forbid, she would be totally screwed.

“We’ll deal with that if we have to,” said Billy now. “I’m no’ going to give you up, you hear?”

Billy was strong, passionate, one hundred per cent committed to her, but they both knew his words were platitudes.

In truth, they were keeping their heads down, hoping to fly under the radar, and struggling even to get through their first winter.

She straightened, pushing herself away but that long arm looped around her waist held her firm. For all the stresses and uncertainties of this life, she’d never felt as good as when she was in Billy Stewart’s arms.

“Work going okay?” he said, glancing across at the closed laptop.

She shrugged. “Oh, you know,” she said, and she knew that he did. Another conversation they’d had a hundred times. Not only the practical difficulties of a life online when connectivity is all but nonexistent, but the lack of subject matter.

Her writing had taken off on the back of her blog, and almost without trying she’d found her stories running in high-profile places like the Huffington Post and then syndicated to newspapers and magazines around the world. Quirky, chatty takes on the strange: “City girl throws herself into scary shit and sometimes makes sense of it” was her pitch. In no time at all casual writing had become a career.

The irony now was that she was living in the middle of some seriously scary shit, was perfectly placed to make sense of it, but couldn’t write the truth of her situation. That whole keeping her head down thing. That and the fact that nobody would ever believe it, even if she and Billy wanted to share their story.

That didn’t leave a great deal to write about. She was hardly well placed to go off finding new stories to investigate.

She buried her head against Billy’s shoulder again.

How had she gotten like this? So volatile. So emotional. It just wasn’t like her.

“So what have you been doing?” she asked.

“Och, just off with Iain,” he said. “Checking the perimeter.”

“Any sign?”

He was shaking his head. “No, no,” he said. “No’ a thing.”

That was good at least. No intrusion. No sign of anyone scouting around.

Jonathan Carr and his pack remained at bay for another day, at least.


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New – Last Alpha: a Highland shifter romance

99 cent introductory price / free on Kindle Unlimited

He never wanted to fall in love. She never planned to let him.
Last Alpha: a Highland shifter romance by Ruby Fielding
Jenny Layne has made a career out of investigating werewolf reports, but every case has only confirmed that shapeshifters are the stuff of legend or madness. Until now. Lured to a remote Scottish estate to meet a researcher working on the science behind the werewolf phenomenon, Jenny finds steadily mounting evidence that something strange is running wild in the hills.

Billy Stewart has traveled the world in pursuit of stories of shapeshifters and other strange phenomena, but the last thing he ever expected to find was love. Billy is not a man who falls easily, but when he does, it is a force of nature. When he meets Jenny he knows immediately that she is his soulmate, but Jenny is not so sure. Are his intense feelings for her just some kind of insanity, or is Jenny turning him away because that’s exactly what she always does when a guy gets interested?

By turns passionate romance and gripping paranormal thriller, Last Alpha tells the story of two people whose paths collide with earth-shattering consequences. As love boils over and the dark secrets buried away in Jenny and Billy’s past rise to the surface, a night of murder raises the stakes yet higher.

And as she fights for her own survival, Jenny must face perhaps the biggest question of them all. In matters of life, death and love, can Beauty ever really hope to tame the Beast?


There was a moment.

A split-second, when it seemed he was towering over her, looking down. Those dark eyes smoldering. Soft lips parting. When his physical presence was suddenly a thing, and her breath snatched in her chest, and her heart thumped like a trapped animal.

She’d drunk too much. She would regret this, if this moment turned into a kiss. Even though it suddenly felt so right, she knew it was all wrong.

Did she start to turn away first? Avert her eyes, a slight turn of the head…

Or was it him?

That smile. Amused that she should even be in this position, all of a sudden, out of nowhere.

The moment passed. She didn’t know where it had come from, or where it had gone.

He stepped back, away from her, and then he was in the doorway, reaching for the handle. “I’ll be off,” he said. “I… If you still fancy that tour I’ll be around in the afternoon. Shall we say two?”

And then he was gone.


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