by Donna Alam
‘The man is about as attractive as a scrotum, you have to admit.’
‘Oh, my God.’ She covers her mouth with her fingers, her eyes sparkling above nude-coloured nails. I get a flash of something tugging in my gut—the image of me pushing my fingers between her raspberry-coloured lips. One hand between her legs as her nails bite into my shoulder, the fingers of my other hand feeding her tongue her own taste.
‘So you think wealth makes a man attractive?’
‘Wealth makes anyone attractive, to some.’ Reason number twenty-two on my list of Why I don’t Date.
‘No need to ask which side of the fence you’re seeing this from,’ she says, using her words as an excuse to blatantly check me out. ‘But what about you? Do you think your wealth makes you attractive?’
‘You think you can tell what I’m worth by my clothes?’ I glance down at my bespoke outfit. ‘This might be a rental.’ I tug on the front of my vest, having discarded the jacket to a chair once the ceremony was over; my shirt now rolled at the sleeves and open at the neck.
‘That outfit isn’t off the rack,’ she says, eyeing me again. Turning to face me, her fingertips brush the fabric covering my thigh. I swallow deeply, the tiniest of touches dialling my senses up to a nine.
Flirting. We’re definitely flirting—and she’s just upped the ante by touching my thigh. The sad truth is this is the most exciting sexual thing that’s happened to me in a long while.
Christ, I need to get out more, I think as the words of Will’s earlier texts come floating back to me.
Remember, weddings are excellent for hookups.
I hope you’ve remembered clean underwear.
And that you’ve taken your testicles out of the sock drawer.
And unwrapped them from the cellophane.
They need an airing. In some lovely, willing girl’s mouth.
So some of the texts weren’t exactly sane. But it’s easy for him to make me the butt of his jokes because he hasn’t suffered the turmoil of divorce. Or been forced to raise his child alone. And that’s why I shouldn’t be standing here, swaying closer to this gorgeous creature and effectively leading her on.
Because this is going nowhere beyond a little flirting.
When was the last time you got your dick wet?
Even in his texts, Will has no fucking boundaries.
‘What kind of fabric or material is this?’ she asks softly, examining the kilt at my thigh.
‘I can tell you what it’s not.’ My voice strains from her fingers being so close to my dick. It could be my words or my tone that causes her to raise her head to stare up at me from beneath her endlessly long blue-black lashes.
My heart beats bah-dum, bah-dum because flirting or not, I can’t not be straight or honest. It’s just who I am.
‘That material isn’t the boyfriend kind.’
She nods her understanding, and I feel the loss of her fingers almost immediately; though as she stares up at me, my head is filled with a million things.
Is she trembling?
Can she tell I am?
Her hair would be soft in my hand.
I bet she’d taste as good as she looks.
‘Are you staying in the hotel tonight?’ Her long, black lashes blink up at me.
Christ. In suggesting my kilt isn’t boyfriend material, I’ve somehow managed to imply I’m down to fuck. But that doesn’t answer why my heart is beating out of my chest. Or why I want more than anything else to say yes.
Chapter 6
PAISLEY
I might have been avoiding Robin’s gaze since my interaction with Keir began, but currently, he couldn’t be further from my mind as I nervously chew on the inside of my mouth, willing him to reply. Am I reading him wrong? Wishful thinking? Drunk on half a bottle of champagne?
Would you like to come up to my room? I may as well have said. Or more truthful still would be, Do you like me enough to fuck me?
It’s almost like actual question is hanging in the air between us. And it’s been like eleven million minutes since I’d asked it. If he doesn’t speak soon, I’m going to start babbling. Or bawling. Or both.
‘Seriously, though? What is this material?’
I go to touch his kilt again—the man is wearing an honest to goodness kilt in a look that’s sort of rugged and manly. That’s not to say he didn’t look good in the coffee shop—because he did. But that was a more handsomely urbane look. Like David Gandy in Dolce Gabbana. But how he looks tonight? Off the charts hot.
The black boots he wears with thick wrinkled socks give his outfit a manly look, the open neck of his shirt revealing a strong, tan cording of muscles on either side of his neck. His shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and muscular arms, a watch with a dark leather strap banded against one strong wrist. He has such big . . . hands. And feet. But I’m not letting my mind connect those things. Big feet really only guarantee one thing.
Big shoes.
But wow, he is handsome. His eyes look dark in this light; his hair cut short. Maybe because it has a tendency to curl. It looks that way. He’s just sort of golden in the candlelight.
‘I’ve always wondered what’s under one of these things.’ Filling the silence, I reach my finger out to brush the soft material again.
‘If you get any closer,’ he says, his right hand catching mine, ‘you’ll find out.’
‘Oh.’
‘Aye, oh indeed.’ He’s smiling. Swallowing. Tightening his fingers on mine. ‘And while it’d be easy to answer yes to your question, I really can’t.’
‘But . . . ’ But I was already imagining it. His hard body against mine, strong arms holding me tight. ‘But I only asked if you were staying in the hotel tonight.’
‘That’s what your mouth said. Your eyes said otherwise.’
My heart sinks like a stone in a jug of cheap bubbly.
I suddenly want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I want to tip my head to the sky and ask the heavens why. What did I do to deserve this kind of shitty evening? Has tonight not been humiliating enough? Have I not been humiliated enough these past months? Instead, I find myself looking at my toes. Briefly anyway, as one of his thick fingers tilts my chin.
‘It’s not because I don’t want to.’ His voice sounds husky. Strained. ‘It’s just not a good idea.’
‘Are you with someone?’ I ask softly. I’d already checked for a ring—and didn’t he start the whole flirting thing? Maybe even back in the coffee shop because what kind of man in a relationship doesn’t correct someone’s pornified mistake? A flirting one!
‘Not that it matters, but no.’
Oh. Well. That still makes no sense. And though his expression is almost regretful, I don’t need his apology, and I sure as heck don’t need his pity.
‘Really, that’s fine.’ I smile—probably grimace—through my humiliation with a sort of half shrug, pulling away from his attention and his fingertip. ‘As it happens, I’m in the market for making mistakes tonight, so I obviously just need to find someone willing.’ I laugh despite myself. ‘Because only I would find the one man at a wedding who didn’t want to fuck.’
‘That’s not it,’ he growls, stepping into me again and taking my face in his hands. ‘I’d like nothing more than to take you upstairs and fuck you so solidly, the whole floor would hear you come.’
My eyes widen with shock, his words like sudden fingers thrust between my legs. In response, my core clenches as my cheeks begin to sting. I force myself to giggle—laugh—only it feels strange, almost as though the sound requires more lung capacity than I currently have. Maybe because all the blood in my body has drained to other places. Places that have no business to be pounding like the beat of a drum.
‘You think that’s funny, do you?’
‘A little.’ And not at all. If anyone is being ridiculous, it’s me. ‘It’s just, I’ve never done this before. Hooked up, I mean.’
‘You’ve never had a one-night stand.’ It’s not so mu
ch a question as an assertion. One that causes me to straighten my shoulders as I shore up my defences against a second attack.
‘No, I haven’t. And that’s why this has just struck me as ridiculous. You don’t know me. How could you? And if you did, you’d know I’m not the kind of girl who screams. Ever.’ I sound snarky. Bitchy, probably.
Keir’s expression clouds as he attempts to process the verbiage I’ve just spewed. Or maybe I’ve needled his manly ego. His me-go. I snigger again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat. ‘I really do need to go.’
But I don’t get very far, my feet faltering at his next words. The presence of his large body suddenly burning me from behind as he grasps my forearm.
‘You know what that tells me? You’ve never been fucked properly.’
‘And that tells me you watch too much porn,’ I retort, turning my head over my shoulder.
His sudden burst of deep laughter is startling.
‘You know, you might be right on that score. But if I bedded you, you’d whimper, scream, and make every noise in between. I guarantee you that.’
‘I guess that’s something we’ll never find out.’
My heart pounds now in several places as I hold my head high and force myself to stride away without looking back.
At our table at the edge of the room, there’s no sign of Chas or the elderly lady and her even more ancient companion. The band has begun playing, I realise, and Robin is no longer serenading the bride and groom. I slip my purse from the velvet seat of my chair and pull out my phone, trying not to listen to the middle-aged couple arguing nearby. It wouldn’t be a wedding without at least one argument. As for a wedding without hookups, maybe others will have better luck than me tonight.
The balls of my feet are beginning to ache in my glittery Choos, and I can’t wait to pull the pins out of my hair. Strange, but neither of these smart quite as much as Keir’s rebuttal. Or the prospect of watching Robin and Tamara on the dance floor.
All seemed to be going well with your sexy Scot, assuming he isn’t a half-assed crossdresser and your animated conversation the result of your joint love of Sephora.
Lifting my head from my phone, I scan the room for Chastity when my phone pings again.
Rest assured, I fed no tongue to the groom, though I have made accommodations elsewhere. Please let me know when you get this and that all is well.
I jot a quick response back. All good on this end. So I should expect to see you for breakfast?
Yes, unless Operation Hard Man hasn’t happened, she immediately replies. In which case, I’ll be available for room service caviar, champagne, and a pay-per-view movie binge, all on Robin’s tab!
I hadn’t told Chastity that the suite has been paid from the partial refund of my own wedding booking deposit. It seemed a bit sad to mention it.
All is going according to plan, I respond. And it is, only not her original plan. Though her second seems pretty fun. A slumber party at Claridge’s for one! Have fun x
Back at you! comes her final text.
Skirting around the arguing couple and leaving behind my half-drunk glass of lukewarm champagne, I begin to make my way out of the ballroom, then decide to make a detour to the ladies’ room first.
This hotel really is the height of sophistication, I think as my heels sound against the marble flooring of the foyer. I rub my lips together, taking a quick peek at my reflection, marvelling at how well my new lipstick has held up. I’m pondering the prospect of a bubble bath over a shower, oblivious to my surroundings, so it comes as a shock when fingers suddenly grip my arm. Something yanks me fiercely, pulling me sideways so quickly, I feel my ankle twist.
‘What the fuck do you think that was?’ Robin’s blue eyes burn, spittle hitting my face as he drags me into the mirror-lined hallway. The same one leading to the restrooms.
‘What are you doing?’ My voice sounds breathy in my shock. It takes me a moment to register what’s happening, but when I do, I bring my free hand to his chest and push. ‘Get off me!’ I grate out, words spat from behind my clenched teeth.
‘No, you don’t,’ he snarls, releasing my forearm only to grasp one wrist and then quickly follow by grabbing the other. My purse clatters to the ground, my sudden shock all consuming. As he twists both my wrists behind my back, I start to panic and thrash. ‘Stop fucking about, you bitch.’ He shakes me just once, and the back of my head hits the mirror behind me with some force.
Stunned—I fall silent, captive to him and the thundering of my heart as I blink up into his unfamiliar expression. The hate. If it’s possible, the venom in his tone and the look on his face is more shocking than the bump I’ll no doubt have on my head. And I have no words—nothing to say. No retort. Though my gaze slides left, seeking something, someone. Some kind of help.
‘G-get off me,’ I finally gasp, beginning once again to struggle against his hold. It’s the strangest kind of experience. Never in a million years would I have seen Robin as violent, but more importantly, I would never have seen myself as a victim. Yet here I am, my wrists trapped in his hand, my body compliant to his whims as his free hand grabs my jaw in a piercing hold.
‘Did you think you could make me jealous, standing there flirting with that twat in a skirt?’
‘What are you talking about? W-we split up.’ I’m ashamed to say I cry out as his fingers tighten. ‘Please, Robin, you’re hurting me,’ I whine.
‘Do you think I paid for your room tonight so you could fuck someone else in it? Fuck someone in our home?’
Now is maybe not the time to point out the deposit was jointly paid. And honestly? Rationally? Even a little abstract right now? Up until an hour ago, I thought we were still on decent terms. I thought we were dealing with our split like adults. I’d even tried to tell myself he’s a fundamentally nice guy—a nice guy who did something wrong.
Now I know all that is untrue. Especially about him being a good man.
Yet I still shake my head when he presses me again.
‘Did you?’ He looms over me; his eyes full of anger and frightening ideas.
‘I-I. Let me go, Robin. Please. You don’t want to hurt me.’
‘Don’t I? Can’t you see you have me fucking unhinged?’
‘I can see that you’re angry—’ I don’t get to finish as he shakes me again.
‘It was a mistake—I’m sorry I fucked Tamara. Sorry I hurt you, but you can’t do this to me.’
From the corner of my eye, a figure turns into the hallway. As I raise my head, we lock gazes. A woman—someone I’ve never met. Someone from the wedding . . . someone who looks right through me as she turns back the way she came. Like she hadn’t witnessed anything. How? How can someone ignore violence and abuse? What happened to human decency? Sisterly solidarity? Especially as he begins to shake me violently.
‘You drive me insane with your hot and your cold. When are you going to make up your mind? Fucking give in. Come back to me!’
Is he drunk? Hot and cold what? We’re over. Kaput. Our relationship was dead long before he turned up tonight with Tamara. But I say none of this as his breath blows over my face because it isn’t liquor that has him crazy.
‘I will. I’ll make up my mind’—have made up my mind; you’re a fucking fruitcake—‘just-just let me go.’
‘What the fuck?’ My head whips around at the low masculine growl, my frightened gaze met by a feral one. ‘Get the fuck off her,’ Keir growls, striding closer. ‘Before I tear your bollocks off and make you eat ’em.’
‘This has got nothing to do with you, jock.’
‘Oh, that’s original.’ He looks as agreeable as his sudden tone. Right before he punches Robin in the side of the head.
‘Oh!’ I cry out, stumbling as Robin releases my wrists.
‘I’ve been insulted better by six-year-olds, you fucker,’ Keir grates out, using the tips of his fingers to push Robin farther along the hallway. ‘What sort of a man are you, eh? Laying your hands on a woman.
Didn’t your da ever teach you hitting a woman is the lowest of low?’
‘She was going to be my wife!’
‘I don’t care if she was going to be the fucking queen,’ he growls, though I don’t miss his gaze sliding to mine with a look of abject what the fuck.
‘We s-split up two months ago, and he’s here with the girl he cheated on me with.’ He doesn’t reply but for one sardonic brow twitch, which makes me open my mouth and babble. ‘I wasn’t trying to make him jealous. I swear, it was a serious invitation.’
‘Invitation?’ Robin shouts. ‘What the fuck were you inviting him to?’
‘It was an invitation to separate her from her knickers.’ Keir’s head turns back with precision of a gun turret, pinning the other man with the smuggest look. ‘And when I’ve done that, I’m gonna spend the night making her scream my fucking name.’
Robin makes a noise—not actual words—more like a strangled cry as he launches himself at Keir, whose response isn’t nearly so manic as he coolly steps into Robin. And with an almost beautiful economy of movement, he headbutts him. The sound of cartilage on bone echoes through the space as Robin reels back
‘Argh! You boke my dose!’ he yells. ‘You ducking well boke my dose!’
‘I’ll break more than your nose, pal, if you come at me again.’
‘I’ll ab you! I’ll ducking ab you!’
‘You reckon?’ Keir replies, amused. He turns back to me then, pulling my wrists between our bodies and frowning down at them. ‘Has he done this before?’ His hazel eyes rise to mine, the fierceness in his gaze startling.
‘No,’ I answer quietly, tears beginning to gather at the brim. ‘I had no idea he could be like this.’
‘Ged away brom er!’ Robin steps forward as though to intervene.
‘You want me to leave her alone? What, so you can bash her again?’ I find my wrists in the air, no longer held as Keir begins to move almost as quickly as Robin steps backwards. ‘There’s a special place in hell for men who hit women.’
‘Keir, don’t.’ Not because I don’t want to see him squashed like a bug, but I’d hate for Keir to get into trouble over me. Robin may look like an overgrown student, but he’s backed by a powerful machine. Publicity people, and lawyers up the wazoo.
