by Anna Durand
"Let me have a look at your ankle," he said. "to make sure I haven't wounded you grievously."
He spoke like no other man I'd met, his words intelligent and precise. Of course, he did occasionally spout a bizarre word unknown to the American lexicon.
"I'm fine, really," I said. Seeing the determined look on his face, and considering he seemed unwilling to budge until I entered the room, I shuffled across the threshold. "See? I can walk all by my itty-bitty self."
"You aren't itty-bitty." He appraised me from head to toe once more, paying special attention to my breasts and my lips before aiming those brilliant eyes at me. "You're a full-grown woman with soft, inviting curves in all the right places."
Wow. This guy knew how to entice a woman. I wanted to jump into his arms and crush my lips to that luscious mouth.
Instead I told him, "Thank you for helping me. And I'm really sorry I thought you were a stripper."
He shrugged. "I suppose it's a compliment. My offer to buy you a drink after the party is still open, even if you want to sip apple juice."
"I'll probably be too tired later, but I appreciate the offer."
"Come find me if you change your mind." He took my hand and kissed it again. "Till we meet again, Calli."
Aidan strode down the hallway and out the swinging doors.
I joined the party, but my thoughts kept wandering back to the man in a kilt.
*****
While the stripper gyrated his hips and the other bridesmaids cheered, I glanced at the clock for the dozenth time. Twenty minutes had elapsed since I left Aidan MacTaggart. Twenty minutes since he'd kissed my hand and bid me farewell like an old-school gentleman. Twenty minutes since I'd resisted, through a Herculean effort of willpower, throwing myself at him in the most literal way. Only a matter of seconds had passed, however, since the last time I wished I hadn't resisted the impulse.
This was crazy. I did not kiss men I'd just met. Maybe the wild vibe of this party had influenced me, or maybe years of not dating had affected me more than I realized. Since I couldn't get involved with anyone, maybe a little dalliance in a club was exactly what I needed.
Oh man. Somewhere between a game of Pin the Junk on the Hunk and running into a hot Scotsman, I'd gone totally insane. Still, it couldn't hurt to check if Aidan was still out there. Just to say good night.
I leaned toward Tara and said, "I need a drink. This is water isn't doing it for me, think I need something stronger. Like Pepsi."
"Don't burp too much." She squinted her hazel eyes at me with knowing suspicion. "You're going out there to find your Scottish dreamboat, aren't you?"
"No." I wriggled in my seat, uncomfortable lying to her. "Maybe."
"Before you go, I need to ask you something." Tara scrunched up the corner of her mouth and bent toward me. A lock of her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulder. In a quieter voice only I could hear, she said, "Am I crazy for doing this? Divorced at twenty-two, walking down the aisle again at twenty-four?"
I clasped her hand, squeezing lightly. "First time didn't count. He wasn't the right one for you."
"You're right." She sat up and squared her shoulders. "Blake is the one for me. I know it."
"He's a great guy, Tara. And he makes you happy, which is all I want for you."
"Knowing you like him makes me feel better." She leaned back in her chair and waved a regally dismissive hand. "Go ahead, abandon me to get your groove on with Kilt Boy."
"Thank you, Tara." I kissed her cheek. "You are my favorite cousin."
"I'm your only cousin."
"Then obviously, you'd be my favorite."
She rolled her eyes. "Go find Kilt Boy. I want you to be happy and that guy lit you up like nothing I've ever seen before."
Lit me up? I hadn't realized anyone else noticed my reaction to him. Ugh. That probably meant he had noticed it.
"You've been hiding in the woods too long," Tara said. "Time to get back out there."
"I've only lived in the woods for a year and a half."
"But you've been hiding for a lot longer and you won't tell me why."
She was right. I couldn't explain, though. Couldn't risk implicating her in my mistake.
I patted her arm and rose, wending my way through the throng of bridesmaids. They ignored me, their attention fixated on the stripper. The guy had gotten down to his G-string, which was stuffed with dollar bills that flapped every time he thrust his hips.
Once the door clicked shut behind me, and the pounding beat of the stripper music was muted, I suddenly found myself unable to move any farther. What was I doing? Chasing after a strange man. So what if he was hotter than the pavement on a summer's afternoon. So what if I had felt lit up inside when he smiled at me. So what if —
I gave myself a mental slap and a command to stop dillydallying. I didn't have to do anything other than talk to him and maybe dance with him.
Straightening, rolling my shoulders back, I marched through the double doors into the club. The lights pulsated all around me in sync with the throbbing beat of the music, a slow and steamy tune that inspired every couple to cling to each other as they shared glossy-eyed looks. I glanced around, not really expecting to find the Scot.
My gaze landed on Aidan MacTaggart.
He stood at the bar, an empty glass beside him, frowning at the scene around him. When his gaze intersected with mine, his mouth curved into the most brilliant smile I'd ever seen.
And I lit up again. Damn.
Warmth flowed through me, softening everything inside my body, as an electric tingle swept over my skin. I watched Aidan saunter toward me, his kilt shifting with each swing of his powerful hips. He approached like a Celtic god risen from the earth itself, imbued with the innate sensuality of a sex deity, his lips kinked in a closed-mouth smile that made me dissolve in the most wonderful ways.
He stopped so close to me I swore I could feel his body heat and slanted his head down toward mine. "This is a lovely surprise. Thought I wouldn't see you again."
"Here I am." Why was I here? Why was I gazing into his blue eyes, longing to drown in them?
"Aye," he said, and settled his hands on my upper arms, sliding them down to my elbows. "I'd love to spend more time with you."
"I'd like that too."
"What about a private booth?" He pointed down the short hallway that led to curtained booths. "I promise to take no liberties without your express consent. Will you come with me?"
Take no liberties? There he went again, talking like a man unaffected by trends, like a man who cared about treating a woman like a lady. Standing there, so close to his muscular body and those enormous biceps, I could do nothing except nod.
He took my hand and guided me down the hallway, toward a booth with its curtains open, revealing no one inside. He ushered me into the empty booth, pulling the curtains shut behind us. The lush, purple velvet billowed.
I stared at the semicircular table, at the plum-colored velvet of the curved sofa behind it and at the plum tabletop with a thick, flickering candle at its center. Wax gathered within the candle's concave top, forming a lava-like pool in its center and dribbling down the sides. On the ledge that backed the sofa, I noticed a small bowl, deep purple in color and filled with… I blinked. Filled with condom packets.
Aidan placed a hand on the small of my back. "Have a seat."
When I didn't move, he seemed to track my gaze to the bowl. Wincing, he said, "Didn't know about those. I swear, I didn't."
"I believe you." And I did, because I got the feeling he'd never been to this club before. "First time at Dance Ardor?"
"Yes. Have you been before?"
"No. Came for my cousin's bachelorette party."
Lowering onto the sofa, I shimmied sideways until I was behind the table with the bowl of rubbers behind me. At least then I didn't have to see them. To realize the true purpose of these booths.
Which didn't matter to me. I'd found Aidan so I could wish him farewell. Again.
He slid in beside me, draping an arm across the sofa's back behind my shoulders. The scent of him, a mix of sweat and spicy cologne and pure maleness, enveloped me. His body surrounded me. The purple shades of everything in this booth surrounded me too, somehow more decadent than the condoms in a bowl behind me.
Smoothing out my dress, I cleared my throat. "Sorry I shoved you into that room with all those ravening bridesmaids. They're actually nice ladies, but they've had a little too much champagne tonight."
"Have you been drinking?"
"No. Told you I don't drink."
"Thought maybe you were desperate enough to try it after being in the room with those bampots. Are you the one chosen to drive everyone home?"
"I'm not the designated driver," I said, squirming a little with him so near me. "We came in a van with a professional driver."
"Hope he's not in this club getting jaked." I must've looked confused, because he explained, "Getting drunk."
"No, she is waiting in the van watching TV on her phone."
"Ah." He glanced down toward my feet. "How's the ankle?"
"Okay. Hurts a little when I walk, especially in these heels."
"May I have a look? I'm no doctor, but I've had my share of injuries."
I gnawed my lip, trying to think of a reason to say no when my body wanted me to say yes. Wanted to feel his hands on me. Wanted… "It's not necessary. Really."
"Humor me?" he said. "I won't bite. Unless you want me to."
His grin was devilish and it did things to my body I couldn't explain. Marvelous, stimulating things. I leaned back against the plush cushioning and raised my foot. He clasped it in both hands, bringing my leg up and onto his lap with everything from the knee down in contact with him. Nothing but the kilt separated our skin. The warmth of him suffused me, transmitted through the plaid and from his hands on my naked flesh.
Aidan slipped my shoe off and set it on the table. Though the air chilled the bottom of my foot, the rest of me had grown hot. The roughness of his hands excited my skin more than the softest silk as he ran his hand over my sole and down to my toes. He rubbed the ball of my foot with leisurely strokes, his fingers roaming over my flesh, kneading with a hypnotic rhythm.
"It's my ankle," I said, fighting against the way my voice wanted to go breathless, "not my toes."
He smirked, and somehow, the expression made him even sexier. "Aye, but I thought to check your whole foot to be sure. All right?"
"Okay."
Keeping his hand on my sole, rubbing and rubbing, he placed his other palm on my heel and glided it up to my ankle, his strong fingers fondling my flesh. The combination of massage and exploration had my body tensing, my breath hitching, and a wetness flourishing between my thighs.
"Oh…" I lost my train of thought as those sure, masculine hands mapped out every contour of my ankle and foot.
His hands went still. "Is this uncomfortable?"
"No." Uncomfortable was not the right word for how I felt. Aroused, for sure. But uncomfortable? Far from it.
"I've been looking for a woman like you," he rumbled, his voice too soft and seductive for my sanity. "A woman with substance and heart and sensuality."
"You don't know me. Maybe I'm obsessed with my looks and never pick up a book, except to prop open my bedroom door for the long line of men waiting for their turn."
He chuckled, his fingers plying the sensitive flesh of my sole. "You aren't like that. I can tell."
"Exactly how can you identify my character traits after a few minutes in my presence?"
"The way you talk is one clue." His hand wandered from my sole to the top of my foot, smoothing his finger up my skin from my toes up my ankle and down again, while his other hand continued massaging my ankle in lazy strokes. "The way you carry yourself is another clue. You're a real woman, not a silly girl."
Maybe I should tell him I was a virgin so he'd give up and go away. But then he'd stop touching me. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to give up this lovely feeling quite yet.
He let go of my foot, moving it off his lap, and edged closer until his bare knees brushed my bare knees. My foot had fallen back to the floor, the coolness of it sending a wonderful shiver through me. His kilt tickled my thigh. He braced one hand on the sofa behind my head, the other hand floating down to settle on my thigh. His face hovered inches from mine, his heated breaths whispered over my lips.
Aidan leaned in close, his breaths hot on my ear. "I want to kiss you."
I stopped blinking. Stopped breathing. Tried to avert my eyes, but my gaze remained fastened to his, captured by those crystalline eyes that regarded me with keen interest. He dragged his tongue across his lower lip, his eyes going hooded, as if he were imagining sampling my lips.
He slanted his head, eyes locked on my mouth.
I should've moved. Should've told him to stop. Should've… Thoughts disintegrated when he paused with his lips millimeters from mine, his breaths tickling my skin. His eyes rolled up to meet mine again, the naked hunger in them stealing my breath. This man wanted more than a kiss. If I let him do this, I wasn't at all sure I had the willpower to end it after one touch of his lips.
One of his palms cradled my nape. He tilted my head back a little, enough to raise my mouth to his and expose the tender flesh of my throat.
He pressed his lips to mine, softly, sweetly, brushing them back and forth.
My lips parted on a soft gasp. God, how I craved more.
Aidan withdrew a few inches. "May I kiss you?"
Hadn't be just been doing that? No, not quite. My body confirmed it, the way my lips burned for his and my sex grew wetter every second.
I whispered, "Yes."
That mouth — so hot and sensual, yielding yet demanding — claimed mine in a hard crush of lips against lips. I dissolved into him with a tiny, soft whimper. Damn, was that me making such a pathetic, needy noise? His hand clasped my nape a little firmer as his tongue flicked out to explore the seam of my lips. I grasped the lapels of his shirt, my fingers crooking into the fabric, and opened my mouth to him, all but pleading for him to devour me.
And he did.
In the instant his tongue thrust inside my mouth, his free arm came around my waist to bind me to his rock-hard body. I clung to his shirt, my breasts mounded against him, and surrendered to his swirling, seeking tongue as it urged mine to respond. I coiled my tongue around his, desperate for the flavor of him, for the feel of his slick flesh gliding over mine. His mouth was hot and soft and — Oh God. I moaned as he slid his hand down from my nape, along the bare skin of my back, following my spine to the edge of my dress.
I arched into him as we ravaged each other's mouths with more and more frantic lashes of our tongues. He tasted of liquor and man and sex.
Aidan groaned low in his throat.
My body thrummed with a strange need. My panties had grown damp, plastered to my groin, and my nipples tingled as if yearning for his mouth on them. I wanted him. Christ, I wanted him like I'd never wanted any man. Could I really do this? Lose my virginity in a private booth inside an underground club?
This isn't me, not me at all.
I scrambled off his lap, banged my hip into the table, floundered to get out of the booth. Tripping on my own heels, I grabbed for the purple curtain to stay my fall.
Aidan reached for me, clearly intending to help.
Steadying myself, I shrugged away from his outstretched hand. The last thing I needed was this man laying hands on me. If he did, I might —
"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head, as confused by my behavior as he seemed to be, given his furrowed brow and open mouth. "I can't do this."
Without waiting for his response, I fled the booth.
Chapter Three
I slouched in a chair beside a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows inside the Gingko Room at the Morton Arboretum, gazing out at a glassy pond surrounded by greenery. The wedding had been a fairytale affair set on Thornhill Lawn beneath a clear blue sky, with Tara like
a princess in her flowing gown and Blake the perfect groom in his elegant tux. I'd stood by my cousin, as both maid of honor and best friend. And yep, I cried through the whole thing.
My sentimentality had good reasons behind it. Though only twenty-four, Tara had been married once before. She'd said "I do" to her first husband in college, but he'd turned out to be a manipulative jerk who constantly berated my sweet little cousin for her looks and her brains. I'd wanted to run him over with my car. Luckily, I hadn't needed to resort to violence, because she'd dumped the cretin after fourteen months of marriage.
Now she had Blake. He seemed like a great guy. Kind, considerate, loving, protective without being overbearing. Everything a husband should be. I hoped she really had found the right guy this time.
Across the room, the newlyweds mingled with their guests. The band started to play a slow, romantic tune and Blake took Tara's hand to guide her out onto the dance floor. I watched them gliding across the shiny wood floor, smiling at each other with genuine happiness and love. I sent out a silent prayer that Tara had found her soulmate this time. She deserved a happy ending.
While they danced, the perfect fairytale couple, I sat alone in the corner brooding about last night.
The man in the kilt. Our searing kiss.
My cheeks heated at the memory of how wantonly I'd behaved with him. My encounter with Aidan MacTaggart had knocked me off balance — he'd literally knocked me off my feet — which might explain my lapse in judgment. Make that my string of lapses that culminated in the most outrageous moment of my life. Making out with a strange man inside a velvet-draped booth next to a bowl of condoms.
Oh for heaven's sake, forget about him.
Yes, I had to put that crazy night behind me. Go home, somehow sort out my messed-up life, and move on.
I was staring out the windows again when Tara approached, amid a flurry of swishing satin, and plopped onto the chair beside me.
She pointed at the half-eaten meal on the plate in front of me. "What are you brooding about?"
"I'm not brooding." I fiddled with the waistband of my bridesmaid dress — a long, mint-green chiffon number that draped over one shoulder and featured a side slit that revealed a portion of my thigh. Tara had picked the dress, of course. She had good taste, in everything, and I trusted her judgment more than my own at the moment. I admitted, "I'm distracted. Confused."
