by Kate Hardy
Alistair turned out to be as terrible a dancer as he’d told her he was, but Georgie and Parminder helped him as much as they could. And at least dancing with Alistair stopped her making a fool of herself by falling at Ryan’s feet, she thought. She danced with all the men from their ward; she danced with what felt like everyone in the whole room for the next few sets of reels; and the only person she hadn’t danced with properly was Ryan.
Was he avoiding her?
But then the band left the stage and the caller went back to playing recorded music, this time slowing things down. Couples took to the floor, dancing cheek to cheek, and loneliness flowed over Georgie like a wave.
She’d loved dancing with Charlie.
But Charlie wasn’t here any more. Even if he hadn’t been killed by the landslide, he probably wouldn’t have been with her. He would’ve been with his new family—the family he hadn’t wanted to have with her.
She was lost in thought when Ryan walked over to her.
‘May I?’
Her head was suddenly too jumbled to find words, so she nodded.
He drew her into his arms and held her close, dancing cheek to cheek with her. Just as they’d been that night under the stars, watching the Northern Lights. Georgie thought of the way he’d kissed her then and it felt as if all the air had hissed out of her lungs.
This was just a dance. Just a dance. If she told herself that often enough, she’d believe it.
Yet he seemed to be drawing her closer still, and her arms were tightly wrapped round him.
Everything around them vanished; all she was aware of was Ryan, the warmth and tautness of his body and his clean masculine scent.
She wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but then his lips were brushing against hers, light as a butterfly’s wing and sensitising every nerve-ending. And she was kissing him back, tiny nibbles that segued into something deeper, more sensual.
When he broke the kiss, his grey eyes were almost black in the low light. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ His voice was husky, almost rusty, with desire.
They were by the door. Nobody would notice them leave; nobody would gossip. Their colleagues would assume they’d gone back early to check on Truffle. ‘Yes,’ she said.
To her relief, they didn’t bump into anyone from the department when they collected their coats. And Ryan didn’t chat to her as they headed back to his car; though he held her hand all the way, and every so often he stopped to kiss her beneath a lamp-post. And he held her hand all the way back to the cottage, only breaking contact when he needed to change gear.
By the time they were back at the cottage, Georgie was almost quivering in anticipation.
Maybe this was an insane thing to do. Or maybe this was what both of them needed, to help them move on. Maybe actually giving in to the way they reacted to each other physically would sort both their heads out and they’d find this whole thing wasn’t complicated after all.
He shrugged his coat off, then removed hers. ‘Dance with me again?’ he asked.
She nodded, and he found something slow and sweet on his phone before taking her back in his arms.
This time, when he kissed her, she didn’t have to worry about who might see and gossip about it. It was just the two of them in the low light of the single lamp he’d switched on.
This time, when he broke the kiss, his eyes held a challenge. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘My room.’
‘Are you sure?’
Meaning that if she said no, he’d back off. He wouldn’t push her into anything she wasn’t ready to do. ‘Very sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve wanted this since the night you kissed me under the stars.’
He stroked her face. ‘I made a wish on a falling star.’
That this would happen? ‘Good.’ She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him again.
His pupils dilated a fraction further. ‘I want to turn caveman and carry you to bed,’ he said. ‘But a spiral staircase isn’t the best idea and I don’t want to drop you.’
‘I’ve got a better one,’ she said, and kicked off her shoes before taking his hand and leading him up the stairs.
At the doorway to her room, he kissed her again.
‘That dress. Since I first saw you in it, I wanted to do one of those flashy dance moves that makes your skirt twirl out, then spin you back into my arms.’ His breath caught. ‘And I want to take it off you.’
‘That kilt and that jacket,’ she said. ‘It makes you look hot.’ She felt her face grow warm. ‘And your wild hair.’
‘It’s wild because I can’t be bothered to visit the barber every month.’
She stroked his face. ‘It makes you look like a Scottish chieftain.’
‘I’ll run with that,’ he said. ‘Which means I get to do this.’ He slid his hand up her spine, making her arch her back, then slid the zip down very, very slowly. His gaze was intense as it held hers, and he pushed the material gently off her shoulders; her dress slid to the floor in a puddle. Colour slashed across his cheeks and he drew in a sharp breath. ‘Well, now, Dr Jones.’ He scooped her up in his arms, clearly with the intention of carrying her to her bed.
‘Not so fast,’ she said.
‘No?’ He went very still.
‘No. Because you’re wearing too much,’ she said. ‘We need to even that up first.’
Then he smiled. ‘What do you suggest, Dr Jones?’
‘There are two ways we can do this. The first,’ she said, ‘is that you set me back on my feet and let me undress you. The second is that you carry me to my bed and then strip for me.’
His smile grew more sensual. ‘And your preferred course?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I’m greedy. I kind of want both.’
‘Compromise, then.’ He set her back on her feet. ‘Do the jacket.’
The buttons on his jacket weren’t fastened, so it was easy to remove; but the matching buttons on the waistcoat were incredibly ornate and it took her a while to undo them. His bow tie was next—a proper one, she noticed, not a pre-tied one that clipped on. As she undid the buttons of his shirt, his breathing grew quicker and more shallow. She untucked the shirt from the waistband of his kilt, then slid the material over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
Bare-chested, he was beautiful. There was a light sprinkling of hair on his chest, and his abdomen was flat. But there was no vanity in him: he simply looked after himself properly. ‘Perfect,’ she whispered.
This time, when he scooped her up into his arms, her skin slid against his, and desire flickered low in her belly.
He kissed her again, hard, and laid her down against the pillows.
‘So you wanted me to strip for you.’
‘Partly because I have no idea how a kilt fastens,’ she admitted.
He chuckled. ‘Buckles, Dr Jones. Buckles. And a kilt pin, to preserve your modesty when you sit down.’
Was he telling her that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath the kilt?
She went hot all over.
‘First, the sporran,’ he said.
‘What exactly is a sporran?’ she asked.
‘The word’s Gaelic for “pocket”,’ he said, ‘and that’s exactly what it is. It’s where I keep my keys and my wallet. Putting a pocket in a kilt would spoil the line.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He undid the buckle at the back before dropping it on the floor with his jacket.
‘Then the kilt pin.’
‘Give me a twirl,’ she said.
He grinned, and did so—meaning she got to see the perfect musculature in his back.
‘Then the buckles,’ he whispered. ‘Except I need to do some tidying first.’
‘Tidying?’ She couldn’t think straight. She was still trying to work out what he was wearing under that kilt.
‘Aye. Tidying.’ He picked up her dress and hung it neatly over the back of the chair, hanging his jacket, waistcoat and shirt over the top of it.
Now she understood.
Ryan McGregor was a man who took care of things.
Next, he took off his socks. ‘Because there’s an order to underwear,’ he added.
And a man wearing nothing but socks wasn’t sexy. ‘Excellent idea,’ she said.
He held her gaze, then, and undid first the lower buckle on his right hip and then the upper. He held it with his left hand, while he crossed his left hand over to his right hip to undo the final buckle.
‘And once the buckles are done,’ he said, his voice low and sexy, ‘you take the kilt off.’ He turned away from her, and removed the kilt...
...to reveal soft black jersey shorts that clung to him.
‘So a Scotsman does wear something under his kilt, then,’ she said, her voice shaky.
‘This one does, aye.’ He placed the kilt neatly on the other clothes on the back of the chair, and gave her the most scorching look. ‘But close your eyes and hold that thought.’
He was going shy on her, after looking at her like that?
OK. She’d run with it.
She closed her eyes. But when the bed still didn’t dip under his weight, she opened her eyes.
She was alone in the room.
Clearly he’d changed his mind.
She was about to get up and close the door, when he reappeared. ‘You were supposed to keep your eyes closed and hold that thought,’ he said. ‘Because there’s something important I needed.’
Then she saw the little box in his hand. Condoms. Again, he was being careful with her, and she appreciated it.
‘Since you opened your eyes,’ he said, ‘I think it’s my turn.’
‘Your turn?’
‘For the show. You’re wearing more than me.’
‘Taking off my tights isn’t sexy.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you asking me to do it?’
She sucked in a breath. ‘Yes.’
‘Then your wish is my command,’ he said, giving her a deep bow.
He placed the box of condoms on her bedside table, then sat on the bed next to her and slid his fingers underneath the waistband of her tights before gently drawing them downwards. With one hand, he urged her to lift her bottom from the bed so he could take the nylon down further; and then he peeled the tights off achingly slowly, caressing every bit of skin as he uncovered it.
By the time he’d finished, Georgie was quivering.
She wasn’t sure which of them removed which bit of clothing next, because by then everything was blurred by desperate need; all she was aware of was how badly she wanted him and how her temperature felt as if it had risen a thousand degrees.
Ryan kissed her, his mouth sensual and persuading, until she was a quivering mess; but it still wasn’t enough to sate her desire. She wanted more. So much more.
She must’ve said it out loud, because at last he moved between her thighs.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked.
‘I’m a bit out of practice, but I’m very sure,’ she whispered.
He reached over to take a condom from the box.
She curled her fingers round his. ‘Let me.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and his smile was so sexy that she felt the pulse beating hard between her legs.
The past didn’t matter any more. All that mattered was this man, here and now, and how much she wanted him.
She undid the foil packet and caressed his hard length, making him gasp with pleasure, then rolled the condom on.
‘Now?’ he asked.
‘Now,’ she whispered.
He eased inside her, gaze intense and focused on hers. It should’ve been awkward and faintly embarrassing, the first time, but it just felt so right.
Then he began to move. ‘Keep your eyes open,’ he said.
And she did. Instead of closing her eyes and giving up to the sensations shimmering through her, she watched his eyes, his face. She could see her own desire reflected there, the need.
And then she felt her climax splintering through her, felt his body tighten against hers and heard his answering cry.
He held her for a few moments longer, then went to deal with the condom.
When he came back, he went to pick up his discarded clothes.
‘Don’t go,’ she said.
She could see the emotions running through his expression—longing, as if he wanted to stay, and regret, as if he thought it’d be a bad idea to let her this close.
‘Just for tonight,’ she said. They could deal with the fallout tomorrow. But she wanted tonight first.
As if he guessed what she was thinking, Ryan nodded and slid into bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. Georgie curled against him, feeling warmer and happier than she had for a very long time, and finally fell asleep.
* * *
The next morning, Ryan was the first to wake.
He didn’t regret last night—he was so glad he’d had that moment of closeness with her, because it had been everything he’d hoped it would be—but this whole thing made him feel seriously antsy. If he got this wrong, they’d both end up hurt.
He shifted so he could see her as she slept. She was so sweet, so gorgeous and so giving.
Maybe he should get out of the bed without waking her, and then they could face this when they were both fully clothed; but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her.
And then her eyes opened.
‘Hello,’ she said, all pink-cheeked and shy and adorable.
He desperately wanted to kiss her, but that would complicate things. ‘Hello,’ he said softly.
His feelings must have shown on his face, because her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You’re not OK with this, are you?’
‘It’s not you. It’s me.’
‘Uh-huh. That’s what men say when they want to make themselves feel less guilty.’
He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not trying to make myself feel less guilty. But I shouldn’t have even kissed you last night. It wasn’t fair to you.’
‘Because you’re still in love with your ex and you’re not ready to move on?’
‘No. I’m not still in love with my ex.’
‘Then why?’
‘Because,’ he said, ‘I’m not good at relationships and I shouldn’t have led you on.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He grimaced. ‘I need to be honest with you. It’s my fault my marriage broke up. I loved Zoe, and she loved me, and I honestly never meant to hurt her.’
‘You cheated on her?’
Why on earth had she assumed that? ‘No. I would never have done that. But I still hurt her. She wanted me to let her close. She wanted to have children. And I couldn’t do either of those things.’
The expression on her face told him she was assuming he meant he was infertile, and she could think of plenty of solutions. He needed to tell her the truth.
‘Not that I couldn’t—I wouldn’t,’ he corrected himself. ‘Since I was six, I’d learned to rely on myself and not let people close. Zoe couldn’t change that. Neither of us wanted children when we got married—we were both focused on our careers. But then things changed. Her biological clock started ticking, and mine didn’t.’ He shrugged. ‘Having children or not having children isn’t something you can compromise on. One of you has to lose. But I never pretended to be someone I wasn’t.’
‘Charlie pretended,’ she said, surprising him.
‘How?’
‘He was seeing someone else,’ she said. ‘Every time he went somewhere to help after a disaster, she was there as well.’
Ryan stared at her, shocked. Now he knew why she’d leapt to that conclusion e
arlier: because it had happened to her before. Her husband had cheated on her. ‘That’s horrible. I’m sorry.’
‘He lied to her, too. He told her he wasn’t married.’
He knew it was rude and intrusive but he couldn’t help asking. ‘How did you find out about it?’
‘Her parents wrote to me at the hospital. He’d told Trish that I was his sister. They wanted to know if they could come to his funeral, or if I wanted to go to Trish’s. They talked about him, said how much Trish had loved him. I hadn’t had a clue.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I think I broke their hearts even further when I called them to explain that Charlie was an only child and I was his wife. And they kind of broke mine a bit more when they told me Trish had been expecting his baby.’
He remembered she’d said something about expecting to be a mum by this point in her life. ‘Had you been...?’
She shook her head. ‘We’d planned to. But then, when we got to the point where we’d planned to start trying, Charlie changed his mind. He kept coming up with reasons why we should wait a bit. So clearly he didn’t want to make a family with me.’
Which had clearly hurt her. He was glad he hadn’t kept Zoe hanging on a string like that.
‘I don’t know whether he even knew she was pregnant. She might not have had a chance to tell him, because they’d only been out there for a couple of days when they were killed, and she might’ve wanted to wait for the right moment before telling him.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘She was four months gone. If they’d lived, the baby would’ve been crawling by now.’
‘That’s tough,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry he cheated on you and I’m sorry you found out that way.’ He paused. ‘How did his parents react?’
‘I didn’t tell them,’ she said. ‘I thought about it. But what was the point? Everyone thought Charlie was a hero. And he was. He was a brilliant emergency doctor, and he went out to help in disaster areas.’
‘And he cheated on you and lied to his mistress,’ Ryan pointed out. In his view, the way Charlie had treated his wife pretty much cancelled his hero status.
‘That wasn’t relevant to anyone else,’ she said. ‘His family, his friends—they were all mourning the man they loved, the man they’d respected. What was the point of making them all feel worse? What would it achieve, telling his parents that their only son had been about to give them a much-wanted grandchild but oh, by the way, said grandchild was killed along with his father?’
