One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  ‘This weekend was just what I needed. Quite honestly, I’m feeling so good.’

  ‘There’s a tale behind that smile, I can tell. Hold that thought for another time because I have to get back to work.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ I protest, laughing. ‘I just had a good weekend and came back totally recharged.’

  ‘Something or someone has put a bit of pep in your step. You’ve been playing hide the pickle with some dirty doctor, I’ll bet.’

  ‘Your imagination is a little too wild for my tastes.’

  ‘I want the promise of details—details of this dirty weekend—or I’m uninviting you Friday.’

  My smile falls immediately. ‘I can’t intrude. Not if Kit’s bringing someone. It’ll be a family affair.’

  ‘If I have to, I’ll come and collect you from the hospital myself. And don’t pull that sad face, missy. You just said yourself you’re totally over Jon. Come, please!’ she begs suddenly. ‘Think of the man-on-Kit action you’ll be missing.’

  For the first time since meeting Kit, the thought of him with another man does nothing for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BEA

  Friday rolled around quickly. Much quicker than I’d have liked. I’d mostly maintained my upbeat mood over the week, mainly due to the cessation of calls and texts from Jon and the ordinary treatment I’d received from Fin. She didn’t fuss or buy me ice cream, and she didn’t expect me to break down.

  Business as normal all around.

  As for Jon, I’m pleased he’d taken the hint. Finally.

  And now I must meet the piper for dinner. I expect Kit Tremaine has men and women dancing to his tune all over the place. And he made me no promises; I need to remember that.

  I dress for dinner carefully this time, opting for the classic LBD and nude heels. I tie my hair up again, this time in a ponytail, and I put on a little makeup. The overall effect is one of tasteful elegance. In the mirror, I decide I look very grown up until Fin comes to stand beside me. Our reflections paint our vivid differences. Her look is sharp and sexy—a red lipstick pout, her Bettie Paige fringe, and a vintage silver-grey jumpsuit. Meanwhile, my look is more PTA meeting.

  ‘What are we channelling tonight?’ she asks rhetorically. ‘Personal assistant seeks interview?’

  ‘You don’t like it?’ I ask, looking down at my outfit as though the mirror is missing something.

  ‘Maybe you’re in mourning and you don’t actually know?’ Her reflection creases in a tiny frown. ‘Please tell me I’m wrong.’

  ‘You’re wrong. Definitely.’ We’re both frowning into the mirror now. ‘Not for Jon, anyway.’ But for Kit? ‘Do you think I’m subconsciously trying not to draw attention to myself?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says walking from the room. ‘That outfit makes me want to look at you.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a good thing,’ I call after her.

  Rory arrives shortly afterwards. Fin and I get into the cab, and we arrive at the restaurant before Kit and his “friend”.

  ‘You’re mad, you know,’ Fin says as the waiter retreats with our drinks order. ‘You’re so not inconspicuous.’

  ‘Are you saying I stand out?’ We’re still on the topic of my outfit, it seems.

  ‘I’m trying very hard not to roll my eyes because I don’t think my eyelids would manage to return. These fake lashes are so uncomfortable.’

  ‘Why are you wearing them, then?’ asks Rory. ‘You’ve got lovely . . . ’ His eyes glide over her whole body. Well, what he can see. ‘Everything.’

  ‘You’re so sweet.’ She leans closer to him for a moment, her hand on his cheek. ‘But Natasha asked me to trial them. She sent me a few samples to try before she commits to stocking them at the salon. Could’ve been worse,’ Fin adds. ‘She tried to get me to take some vajazzling sequins.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ comes Rory’s serious response. ‘Eyelashes are bad enough, but that does not need any adorning.’

  ‘Please, don’t hold back on account of my presence,’ I interrupt in a droll tone.

  ‘You’re so funny,’ Fin says, laughing. ‘Anyone would think my vagina belonged to you or something.’

  Rory’s response is to grumble unintelligibly. Strange, but it sounded like it was only fair as Fin owned his balls.

  ‘Beauty is painful.’ I take a sip from my water glass. ‘I should put that on a t-shirt.’

  ‘Beauty comes from the inside, and that shit is effortless.’

  ‘I should put that on a t-shirt, too.’

  ‘Just so long as you credit it to me,’ says Fin. ‘The point I was trying to make is that it doesn’t matter what you wear, it doesn’t detract from you. You’re lovely in your pyjamas, scrubs, anything.’

  ‘She’s right,’ rumbles a deep voice from behind me as a warm finger brushes the back of my neck. ‘Diamonds don’t ask for permission to shine, they just do.’

  And then he’s there, in front of me, bending and kissing Fin on both cheeks before bestowing a hand to his brother’s shoulder. And then it’s my turn, though I turn my head and offer him just one side of my face because all I can think is, what if it’s not a man he’s here with? A man is bad enough, but what if he brought a woman?

  I’ll have to feign an emergency. I’ll have to leave.

  Only, he doesn’t introduce anyone else; he just sits in the chair next to me.

  ‘Dr Honey.’ He’s all bright, knowing eyes and warm smiles, and I suddenly want to cry from relief.

  ‘Dr Honey?’ Rory repeats with a frown. ‘That’s a bit forward, arsewipe.’

  ‘Well, it’s all your fault,’ Fin interjects, turning to him. ‘You were the one who started the whole bee conversation in the first place.’

  ‘Plus, I don’t know her real name yet.’ No one could miss the way Kit’s voice purrs, his gaze lingering on my lips. ‘But I will.’

  The threat and the promise seem to escape no one, save maybe Rory, who apparently can’t see the wood for the trees. Even if one particular tree is hitting on me. I can feel Fin’s gaze burning questions into the side of my head. I know at some point she’ll try to force a conversation, but for now, I’ll just bluster my way through dinner, avoiding trips to the bathroom so she can’t corner me.

  ‘Where’s this bloke?’ This from Rory. ‘Is he gonna be late?’

  ‘I never said I was bringing someone; I just said I was interested in somebody.’ Kit’s arm is somehow resting across the back of my chair, and I almost jump as his fingers begin caressing the back of my neck. ‘Very interested, actually.’

  ‘Suppose that’s something,’ Rory replies, flipping open his menu. ‘It also means we don’t have to wait. Whatcha havin’, titch?’

  Titch doesn’t answer as she looks across the table at Kit and me.

  Very suspiciously.

  Great.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  KIT

  There’s dancing again, though this time it isn’t at a club. The restaurant I’d suggested to Rory has an in-house singer—a real songbird. Slow, bluesy ballads that seduce diners to dance and do to other stuff later on, no doubt.

  I have hope.

  Not that we’re dancing ourselves. Bea refused my first invitation, and we’re currently watching my brother come as close to sex as humanly possible while remaining fully clothed as he twirls his fiancée around and around on the dance floor.

  Lucky bastard.

  Was the food good? I can’t say. I doubt Bea would be able to answer, either. Though she did seem quite fascinated by the pattern on her plate. The conversation has been carried mostly by Rory and Fin, though the chill seems to be thawing a little now. That’s not right. She’s not frosty. She seems more concerned.

  ‘She’s so happy.’ Bea’s soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. ‘And Rory’s kind of a fabulous dancer.’ In an unconscious moment, she leans closer, allowing her voice to carry over the music, bringing with her the scent of her perfume and her win
e wet lips. I nod a little, knocked off my stride, my feelings and base reactions tied so tightly together it fucking hurts.

  I’ve never gone slowly. Never dated, unless you count some teenage dalliances. I doubt pizza and a quick grope at the cinema are quite what’s needed here. I don’t want to be her rebound—because, hallelujah, she’s confirmed to all concerned that she’s dumped her cheating prick of a boyfriend—and I don’t want to be just some random fuck.

  I’m also not entirely clear what that leaves.

  ‘Not that I’m not certain you can bust some shapes, too.’

  Her eyes sparkle, and I attempt a smile, my own gaze drawing off to Fin and Rory on the dance floor. This is why I rarely socialise outside the club. People in the outside world have expectations, and I don’t do well with those. But, fuck, I’m trying.

  Trying hard to keep my hands to myself. Trying hard to make her see there’s more to us than some public fingering and sex.

  Why is she so lovely?

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’ Her expression is earnest, and if I’m honest, it seems a little anxious.

  ‘I’m fine . . . Barbara.’ It’s becoming a little ridiculous, my obsession to find out her name.

  She laughs softly. ‘Well, now you’re just grasping at straws.’

  ‘Yes, when what I’d like to grasp are your hips. I’d like to take the glass from your hand and bend you over this table. I’d push your palms flat and curl your fingers around the warm wood. I’d tell you to hang the fuck on then lick you from arse to clit.’

  So much for going slow.

  ‘Y-you can’t say those kinds of things.’ Shocked. Stunned. Turned on, if I’m reading her expression right. And I think I am.

  ‘Pretty sure I just did. And what’s more, I’m pretty sure you liked it.’ Like an owl, she blinks back at me, and just like that, I’m lost in her dark honey gaze. ‘I want to do lots of things to you, taking my time to learn all the ways that make you come.’ I clamp my jaw shut before I say anymore. There are other things I want to say. Romantic things. Things to make her swoon. But what the fuck are they?

  Bea’s eyes go wide as saucers, and my chest expands. Why is it that any kind of reaction from her just makes me feel good? From turning her on to pissing her off by pulling on her metaphoric ponytail. I like them all.

  ‘You . . . I have no words.’

  ‘Good job you don’t need them. Though yes works. And harder. More.’

  ‘So you’re saying you’re not interested in what I have to say?’

  ‘I’m very interested. I’m just saying you don’t have to speak. Your body’s doing plenty of talking for you.’ I keep my eyes on her face and away from her chest, folding my arms and aiming for serious. It’s hard to do when her nipples are looking at me like that.

  ‘Y-you’re seriously cut,’ she says, her eyes sort of glazed. ‘So . . . big.’ Then she purses her lips as though she regrets the words.

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’ I try not to smile. I know I’m big. It’s what devotion to exercise brings. It has other perks, like the way she’s looking at me . . . or maybe not.

  ‘Well, don’t kill yourself with return compliments or anything,’ she huffs.

  ‘I can compliment.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ she responds, picking up her wine glass again.

  ‘I seem to remember telling you your pussy tasted good.’

  It’s unfortunate that she inhales her wine. It’s not the reaction I’d hoped for.

  I pat her back and make the appropriate enquiries. Does she need help? A fresh glass of water? Would it help if I took her somewhere quiet and ate her out?

  ‘Stop. Just stop with the whole wooing thing.’ Her voice is hoarse, and her eyes are still watering.

  ‘Thank fuck,’ I respond. ‘I thought my aim was way off my mark.’

  Eyes out on stalks, her response is a, ‘You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not wooed!’

  ‘Turned on?’ It’s a decent second best. ‘I’m just not very good at this sort of stuff.’

  ‘I disagree,’ she says with a huffy laugh. ‘I let you finger me in a nightclub and took off my panties in a hotel elevator—with a security camera. And take that dangerous smile someplace else.’

  ‘Dangerous,’ I purr. ‘How so?’

  ‘Sexy and smirky. And irritating.’

  I ignore the last bit. ‘But that’s sex. I can do that without thinking. Look,’ I say, inhaling one deep breath before expelling words. ‘I don’t date, and I’m rarely interested in a fucking one person at a time.’

  ‘You slept with me?’

  ‘I did say rarely. And I prefer fucked.’

  ‘Wow, you’re such a sweet talker,’ she deadpans.

  ‘Agreed. I’m crap at this, but I want you to know I’d give it all up. For you.’

  ‘Give what up, exactly?’

  ‘The club, everything.’

  Her reaction comes as a surprise. It’s not what I want or expect. She looks horrified.

  ‘No! Absolutely not!’

  ‘Why? You’re attracted to me, and more than you want me to know. We’re compatible in so many ways, and I’m just asking you to think about it. To try.’

  ‘Try to do what?’ Am I so bad at this she doesn’t understand? ‘Why me? What did I do?’

  ‘Fuck. Come on; I’m hardly the booby prize.’ I hold my arms out wide, trying to sell the idea of me as a boyfriend. ‘As for why, I’ve no idea. I’ve been trying to fight this off, but these feelings? It’s like a cold that just won’t bloody well let go.’

  ‘I say again, wow. Maybe I should take some time to process . . . this woo.’

  ‘I’m screwing this all up. I know it’s fast, but it seems like that’s the way with us—my family, I mean. Look at Rory and Fin—they went from zero to engaged in the blink of an eye! Our own mother did the same . . . but, okay,’ I say hesitantly, realising this might not be the best example. ‘Yeah, so that didn’t work out very well. But our granny? She was married within the month and spent something like forty years with her husband.’

  Why didn’t that help? Why does the lassie look dazed?

  ‘But Kit,’ she responds eventually. And like she’s talking to a mental patient. ‘How am I supposed to believe you’d fight your nature just for a chance to be with me?’

  ‘The club isn’t my nature.’ Of this, I’m adamant. ‘I might be bisexual, but I don’t need the other stuff.’

  ‘Do I even want to know?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you I want to do this. With you. That I want to be with you. Exclusively.’

  ‘You say that now, but it won’t last.’ Her gaze falls away, looking at the dance floor again. ‘I can’t give you what you want, and I’m not cut out for an open relationship. I need someone I can trust, not someone who wants—needs to fuck on the side.’ She makes to stand when I catch her arm.

  ‘Listen to me. I’ve fucked exclusively at the club for some time now—only interested in couples in committed relationships. Do you know why?’

  ‘Yes, because you’re bisexual and greedy?’

  ‘No, because it means no relationship. No ties to anyone. They have each other, and I get what I want. Sex. But now . . . you see where I’m going with this? I want to be tied to you.’

  ‘You mean in a kinky way? With ropes and shit?’

  ‘I want to kiss you.’ My hand slides from where I’d grabbed her, sliding my fingers into hers. ‘I want to walk down the street with you holding your hand. I can take it slow,’ I say with such passion and gravitas; how could she think otherwise? ‘We might have started this at the wrong end, fucking and now we’re fighting, but we can do the conventional from now on. Let me wine and dine you. Get to know you, inside and out.’

  ‘That still sounds like fucking.’

  ‘There will always be fucking.’

  ‘But what happens when I’m not enough?’

  For a moment, I’m confused by her meaning until I see the real edges of her co
ncern. Where she’s going with this. I tighten my hand on hers when what I want to do is take her face in my hands. Kiss her—kiss to compliance. Until she melts into me, forgetting everything else.

  ‘You’re confusing bisexuality with infidelity. They aren’t synonymous.’

  ‘But you like men.’ Her words are quietly spoken, though no less adamant.

  ‘And I like women. And more specifically, you.’

  In essence, bisexuality can be explained as sliding your hands down someone’s pants and being satisfied with whatever’s down there. That’s attraction. What I want with Bea goes way beyond the physical. I want us to be emotionally attached too.

  ‘Of course, there are other ways, if you’re interested. Other parameters to exist within—ones I don’t need but mention because I’ve seen your reaction and heard your hints.’ I shrug a little uncomfortably, running my free hand over my stubbled jaw, hoping to distract her from what I’m about to say. ‘And I might’ve also seen your Rumblr feed.’

  Bea’s mouth falls open. How is it possible she doesn’t know?

  ‘You absolute bastard. You went snooping—you helped yourself to my phone while I was in the bathroom?’

  ‘In the hotel, actually.’ I can’t bring myself to look sorry because I’m not. ‘You’re a really dirty girl. And fuck, if that doesn’t make me hard. I can’t wait to watch your favourite porn. With you, of course.’

  ‘I could scream.’ She looks pissed off but not entirely serious about the shrieking thing.

  ‘Save it for the bedroom, honey bee. And if you don’t want people to see, you should lock that shit down.’

  ‘What, you mean like you have? Kit the vault. Kit the gay. Kit the I-can’t-lie-straight in bed? Why on earth would I want to date you?’ she demands, beginning to count off the reasons using her free hand. ‘You’re bossy; underhanded; you don’t tell anyone the truth—’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘You’ve far too high opinion of yourself, and—’

  Fuck appearances and secrets, and fuck not forcing her to make a decision. Fuck all those things as I take her face in my hands.