by Anna Durand
His confusion melted into a bright smile, as if he were a teenager given the keys to the adult bookstore. "Lead on, lass. Lead on."
I hauled him straight to the private room where the bridal party waited. At the door, I released his arm and hesitated, my hand on the knob. "I hope they're not too disappointed you aren't a firefighter."
"Is it really that important to every American woman?"
"Never mind." I couldn't resist taking one last peek — okay, a long and lingering look — at him.
Shoving the thought away, because that always worked with unbidden thoughts, I flung the door open and gestured for him to enter. Feminine whoops exploded out of the room.
"He's here!" someone hollered, and the whoops began anew.
The Scotsman drew back, his eyes widening. I slapped a hand on his back and gave him a little push. He stumbled inside, caught himself, and straightened. The whooping mutated into cheers and catcalls. The Scotsman halted two steps inside the room.
I took a step across the threshold, and from my sidelong vantage, I glimpsed his shocked expression. I tracked his line of sight to the spectacle that had stopped him. Across the room, one of the ladies had just stabbed a paper penis onto the cartoonish image of a naked man. The first round of Pin the Junk on the Hunk had commenced.
The bridesmaid whipped off her blindfold and her attention snapped to the solitary man in the room.
"Wooo!" she hollered, pumping her fists in the air. "Time to get the party started!"
A throng of champagne-addled women surged toward the stripper, whose face went ashen.
"Take it off, baby," Sienna said, her black hair flailing as she jumped up and down. "Show us what you got."
The Scotsman staggered backward, smack into me. My heels tripped me up, sending me tumbling to the floor outside the doorway.
"Shit!" The expletive burst out of me at the same instant the kilted dancer hustled out of the room backward, tripped over my legs, and hopped sideways to avoid crushing me. He threw a hand out to brace himself on the wall, preventing his own fall.
Inside the room, someone shrieked. Tara rushed to the doorway, eyes wide, face blanched. "Calli, are you okay? What happened?"
Pushing up onto my elbows, I blew my hair out of my face. "The exotic dancer trampled me."
The Scotsman stared at me, his jaw dropping.
My elfin cousin offered me a hand. I grasped it, letting her lever me up off the floor. The second my right foot contacted the linoleum, pain scorched through my ankle. I hissed and grabbed the doorjamb for support, frowning at the man in plaid. "What's wrong with you? A stripper ought to be used to being pawed by salivating women."
Tara aimed a chastising look at him and slipped an arm around my waist. Her head barely reached my shoulder. "Yeah. What's your damage, Kilt Boy?"
His palm still flat on the wall, Kilt Boy gaped at us.
"I'm getting a refund," Tara said. "I don't want a nutso stripper, even if he is wicked hot."
"Refund for what?" the Scot asked. He looked first at Tara, then at me, with utter confusion. "Did you call me — You women are cracked. Ahmno a stripper."
Chapter Two
Tara huffed. "Of course you're a stripper. We paid for you."
"Paid?" He moved away from the wall, straightening to his full height. "I donnae take my clothes off for money."
"Who else but a stripper would wear a kilt?"
His jaw tensed, a muscle ticked there. "A man from Scotland would."
I hobbled between my irate cousin and the offended stranger, holding up a hand to each of them. "Let's all calm down. This was obviously a huge misunderstanding, and it's my fault."
Tara pointed at my ankle. "He broke your leg."
"Don't be so melodramatic. I twisted my ankle, that's all."
The Scotsman glanced down at my ankle and grimaced. He rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his eyes up to look at me. "I'm sorry. Didnae mean to hurt you."
"She needs medical attention," Tara pronounced. "I'm calling nine-one-one."
"No," I said. "A twisted ankle is not an emergency. I need to sit down, that's all."
Tara eyed me warily. "Are you sure?"
"It was an accident, and I will be fine." I raised my hand palm out. "I swear it."
The doors to the club proper swung open and a man in a firefighter outfit sauntered down the hallway toward us. He held a boombox on one shoulder. Pouting like a male model, he nodded at me. "Hey babe, where's the bachelorette party?"
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. "In there."
The real stripper pushed past me. I tried to sidle out of the way, but my ankle gave out and I staggered into the Scotsman. He caught me by my shoulders, steadying me against his firm body with both of his big, strong hands. With no conscious thought whatsoever, I turned my gaze up to his.
"Thanks," I whispered.
Whoops and catcalls erupted inside the party room once more. Music started up too, full of pounding bass and electric guitars.
My Scotsman leaned closer to be heard above the din. "You need to rest your ankle. Let me help you find a place to sit."
Tara lingered nearby, but her focus was on the festivities inside the room. She bit her lip, casting me a sideways glance.
I waved the Scot away. "Go on, I'll be fine. I appreciate your concern, but you must want to be out there. Don't let me disrupt your plans." To Tara, I said, "You go on too, get to your party. I'll be right there."
Tara squinted at my new friend, who kept his hands on my upper arms. "I can't leave you alone with a stranger."
"I'm not a stranger," the Scotsman said. He proffered a hand to me. "Aidan MacTaggart. There, now you know me."
I settled my hand in his warm, callused palm. A man who worked with his hands, perhaps? My mind flew to fantasies of his hands on my — Oh no, not going there. I coughed and said, "I'm Calli. Nice to meet you."
"Enchanted to meet you." He lifted my hand to kiss it. "But I feel responsible for your injury. Please let me take care of you."
Warmth shivered through me. "No need. I can get my own butt into a chair."
The corners of his mouth twitched as if he struggled to restrain a smile. "I'm sure you can, but a gentleman offers aid to a lady in distress."
"That's sweet, but —"
"I'll see you to a chair and leave you be." Aidan placed a hand on my back and spread the other arm wide, indicating the doorway to the party room. "After you."
Kicking off my shoes, I started to reach down for them, but he snatched them up and offered me his arm like a Victorian gentleman escorting a lady. I hooked my arm under his, curling my hand around his forearm, letting him guide me toward the doorway. My limping improved with each step.
At the threshold, I released his arm. "Thank you, but my ankle is feeling much better. You can go back out there and find a hot chick in a slinky dress to occupy your time."
His gaze traveled the length of me, down to my toes and back up to my face. "Donnae need to go anywhere to find that. You are exceptionally hot, and your dress is slinky enough to capture any man's interest."
My stomach fluttered, my skin tightened. Men had paid me compliments before but never had anyone described me in such a sensual way.
"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 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 at 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.
