He shifted an almost imperceptible space closer. But suddenly it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the tiny vestibule. “Do you need any assistance?”
Her entire body went on red alert. Had he really just asked her that? Really? Or had she just hallucinated what she wanted him to say?
Either way, she was in deep trouble.
Chapter 3
Dear Lord. Had he really just said that? Was he insane? Damn Brodie for provoking him, for putting thoughts of Daisy into his head that…well, okay, to be honest they had already long since taken up residence there. He’d spent the past fortnight trying to get them out, with a complete lack of success.
Now she was staring at him and he was wondering how to make her understand exactly what he’d been offering. Which he would, just as soon as he decided for himself. “Your dress…is soaked down the back.” Something his entire body was quite well aware of at this point. Trailing behind her a few steps out of the bar had been pure torture. He told himself he was just blocking her rear view from the gawkers inside the pub, but that hadn’t exactly kept him from gawking at the view himself, now had it?
The way the thin, wet fabric clung to her curves had already made him wish he hadn’t been sipping an ale for the past half-hour before she’d arrived. He didn’t need any less control than he already appeared to have. Seeing that dress all wet and plastered to every inch of her tight bum was like adding fuel to an already banked fire. One he was having an increasingly hard time putting out.Hard being the key term there.
“I thought you might need help, you see, with the buttons up the back—” He stopped short and raised a hand between them to stall her response. “Right. Completely inappropriate. I didn’t mean anything untoward.” Which wasn’t entirely true, as it happened.
Brodie’s earlier ribbing at the pub echoed through his mind. Reese wasn’t a social outcast, as his brother proclaimed; he was simply focused on getting his job done. So he was a wee bit overly work-oriented. He’d had to be for so long, back during those first years right after Finney died, maybe he’d forgotten how not to be. Brodie had pointedly asked him when was the last time he’d even thought about going out on a date, much less actually gone on one.
Reese had taken so long to think about it, his younger brother had laughed at him outright. Point to Brodie.
“I just thought,” he said absently, his mind still going in circles, “with it being wet like that, it might be tricky…” He trailed off again, realizing he was only making it worse. “I’ll wait in the shop.”
He’d glanced down, not at all used to feeling quite so utterly foolish. When he glanced back up, however, it was to find Daisy smiling at him.
“No offense taken. I know you were just trying to be a gentleman.”
She’d said it so matter-of-factly. As if never in a million years could she fathom someone like him making an advance. It pricked at him, made him want to prove her wrong. A reaction that, in and of itself, should have been a glaring warning sign. Maybe it was the ale lowering his defenses, but he doubted it. He’d grown up helping his grandfather run the distillery and he’d sampled more than his fair share of Glenbuie over the years, and knew his limits well. It would take more than a few sips of ale to cloud his judgment. What was it, then, that so provoked him when it came to one Daisy MacDonnell? Certainly not Brodie’s pointed jibes—they were a common staple among all four Chisholm brothers, of one form or another. Well, three of them, anyway. No one teased Dylan overly much these days.
He’d only agreed to see her because he knew she’d persist in disrupting his carefully maintained schedule if he didn’t settle her business proposition once and for all. And again, he knew he was lying to himself almost the instant he finished thinking it. He’d wanted to see her again from the very moment she’d exited his office.
“Would you…why don’t you come up,” she said. “I should have offered before. Excuse my poor manners, please.” She smiled. “You’ve been nothing but kind, and I—I shouldn’t make you stand around down here.”
For some reason, this only served to irritate Reese further. Why in the world he wanted her to see him as some sort of dangerous threat he had no idea. It made absolutely no sense. And yet her sudden willingness to invite him up, clearly believing herself to be perfectly safe in his presence, made him feel somehow less than himself. Not that he wanted her to feel there was any danger to her physical well-being…but he couldn’t help but wish she felt at least a tiny bit threatened by the more visceral reaction he seemed to have in her presence.
Before he could formulate a response of any kind, whether it be a tight refusal…or backing her up against the vestibule wall and seeing if she thought he was quite as harmless when every hard inch of him was pressed between those lovely legs of hers, she was unlocking the door leading up the stairs and beckoning him to follow.
“I can’t vouch for the state you’ll find it in,” she said lightly, not a care in the world, followed by that musical laugh of hers. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
He could vouch for the statehe was in, he thought, somewhat morosely as he trudged silently up the stairs behind her, watching her hips sway right in front of his eyes, unable not to, and finding himself not really caring at this point how rude it might be. He had no idea what was coming over him or why it was happening, but he decided right then he wasn’t going to thwart it or shove it aside. Best to tackle it as he did any challenge when presented to him: head-on.
“Here we are,” she said, pushing open the door at the top of the stairs. It was painted a shade of periwinkle blue that contrasted with her auburn hair perfectly as she leaned back against it to politely allow him entry in front of her.
It was all he could do to keep himself from pausing in the narrow doorway, his body filling almost the entire space remaining there. How easy it would be, he thought, to turn to her, press her up against that door, and—“Please don’t let me keep you,” he heard himself say, his tone so perfectly modulated when he felt anything but, he had no idea how he managed it. “I’m sure you must be uncomfortable.” Lord knewhe was. He shifted past her, part of him hoping she didn’t notice the state he was in…and another tiny part of him wishing she would. What would she do if she knew the effect she was having on him? How would she react if she had so much as an inkling as to the thoughts that were running through his supposed you’ve-been-nothing-but-kind mind?
She smiled, her laugh self-deprecating this time and every bit as endearing. “Yes, there is a bit of a chill.”
Maybe for her, he thought, feeling increasingly reckless, torn between being the gentleman he’d been born and bred to be…and the man who found his gaze drawn immediately to the front of her sundress, wanting to know just how chilled she was and uncaring what she thought of his less-than-polite perusal. He was leaning dangerously toward being the man who, when discovering her nipples were pressed hard against the thin cotton of her sundress, wanted to take them in his mouth and make sure their erect, tightly budded tips remained that way because of him, and not some aftereffect of spilled ale.
Why there was this need to claim her in some way, to make his mark on her, to feel this need to possess—Christ. He abruptly swung around and pretended to look around her second-floor flat. It was much smaller than Brodie’s, whose flat took up the entire second floor over the far more spacious pub. Having never been up here during the time Maude had owned the shop, Reese had no idea if Daisy had made her own imprint on it or kept it the way it had been decorated before. He didn’t know her well enough to have any sense of what her style might be, or if the somewhat overdone theme of morning glories and lavender truly suited her. Somehow he didn’t think so. “How are you faring here?” he asked, striving almost desperately for byplay that felt even close to normal. “You feel settled yet?”
“Mostly,” she said, clearly no longer standing right behind him.
He turned to find her crossing the narrow living room area, which butted up with the
kitchen nook that faced the rear of the building, heading to the only other door. Presumably that led to her bedroom. He resolutely refused to let himself imagine what it looked like. Hopefully like something an old maiden aunt would sleep in, if there was any mercy in the world. And yet, unbidden came the images of him tossing her straight on her back amidst chenille morning glories and lavender-scented pillows…and he was having no problem whatsoever being exceedingly turned on by the prospect. Maiden aunt be damned.
“I’ve spent most of my time focusing on learning how Maude handled the shop and deciding how best to start up my own business ideas. But eventually I’ll work on making this my space up here. It’s homey enough, but…” She let her words trail off as she opened the door.
Reese had a quick glimpse beyond, enough to note the walls were a pale lemon yellow, but couldn’t see the bed or the spread across it. Not that his imagination required such actual facts.
“I’ll be out in a moment.” She waved a hand toward the settee and the one overstuffed chair and ottoman that comprised the living room arrangement. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
He was nodding agreeably, intending to do as asked, and yet his mouth opened and out came, “Are you sure you don’t need a hand?”
This time she didn’t brush off the offer with an innocent smile and a wave. Maybe because this time his offer hadn’t sounded so innocent. But she didn’t look annoyed—or worse, alarmed, either. She looked…well, confused, actually. Her gaze remained on his for a long, silent moment, as if she was trying to decide exactly what he was offering. And then she’d be annoyed or alarmed, most likely.
He should just brush it off, as he’d done before. She looked at him as a potential client, nothing more. Which was exactly when he realized what he wanted. He wanted her to look at him as if he had the potential to be more than a harmless business contact. He wanted her to look at him with the same intent and interest he was fairly certain she saw on his face this very moment.
“I…” She started, stopped. And the disconcertment on her face shifted a little as he continued to hold her gaze.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked her, unaware the question was coming until he’d given voice to it.
She went more still, if that was possible, but she’d yet to look alarmed in any way. “Okay.”
“It’s rather awkward, but I’d appreciate a straightforward response. And this is an aside to any business talk we have. I’m—there’s just something I’m curious about, man to woman.”
She frowned now, wary but clearly curious. “Okay,” she said again.
“Before, down in the foyer, when you invited me up, you made it clear I don’t make you feel threatened in any way.” He quickly lifted a hand. “Which is good. I don’t want you to ever feel alarmed in my presence, as you have no reason to be.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, then followed with, “but?”
He took a step closer without thinking, needing to see her eyes more clearly, and at a closer range. She could say anything, but the eyes always gave a person’s true feelings away. At least he’d found that to be true in business. One assumed it held true in other situations. “I suppose I always fancied the idea—much as any bloke would, I guess—that, given the right circumstances, I could make a woman nervous…in a good way.”
She held her ground. Her expression remained smooth. But her pupils dilated a bit.
Encouraged, he moved closer. “According to my brother, I’m far too much a gentleman, far too much of the time. And he likely has a point. It’s just…I’m rarely provoked to be anything other than one.”
He stopped a foot away from her. Her pupils had all but swallowed up the green of her eyes. And her nipples were still quite pointedly pronounced…whether from still being trapped in a wet dress, or because of his proximity, he had no idea. But he was going with the latter. He needed all the support he could get.
“So, what—” She paused to clear her throat, her voice having gone slightly hoarse. “What, exactly, is your question?”
He’d come this far. No point in sticking to hypotheticals now. “From the moment you walked into my office a fortnight ago, you’ve left me feeling somewhat…provoked.”
Her eyes widened and her throat worked, making him want to press his lips to the side of her neck. He pushed on, knowing he’d never pursue this particular line of questioning with her again, if not now.
“Which I’m certain puts me in rather crowded company, as you’ve managed to turn a number of heads here.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly and he’d thought it impossible for her to be any more beautiful. Or arousing. He’d been wrong.
“But it occurs to me now…that perhaps it wouldn’t matter if I was provoked or not. Maybe women simply don’t see me as anything other than a nice, polite chap who—”
She surprised him—shocked him silent, actually—by bursting out with a shout of laughter, then quickly clamping a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, though it was clear she was anything but. “I wasn’t laughing at you—I was laughing because…are you kidding me?”
Now it was his turn to frown, to be confused. “I assure you, I was quite sincere.”
Which sent her off giggling again. “No, wait, don’t frown like that.” She grabbed his arm when he went to step away. “I’m sorry, really. I just…I can’t believe someone like you, in your position especially, doesn’t have a very clear idea of your impact on the opposite sex. I mean, you can be a little stuffy—”
“Stuffy?”
She blanched. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Maybe not so much stuffy as proper.”
“What’s wrong with being proper?”
“Nothing. It’s just, you do come across as professional and all business, but you definitely—” She broke off, shook her head. “I know you said this is off the record, but I am seeing the cornerstone of my business plan going right down the tubes here. I should stop talking now.”
“No, please don’t.” He covered her hand with his own, keeping its place on his arm. “I definitely what?”
She stilled, and looked down to where they touched. “I, uh…” She trailed off, then looked back at him. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? This isn’t some kind of game?”
“What game would I be about playing? I’m all but surrendering my integrity here. It’s doubtful I’d have anything to gain by asking such potentially ego-crushing questions of you.”
She smiled a little. “It’s the way you phrase things.”
“What way?”
“Very…properly. Polished.”
“I like to make sure my meaning is clear.”
“It’s an interesting mix, is all. That crisp brogue, and your—”
“My what?” he asked when she paused.
“Your intensity.”
“My—you think I have intensity?”
She grinned. “Ah, yeah.” She held her thumb and forefinger close together. “Just a wee bit.”
He felt his body tighten again. There was a definite twinkle in her eye now…and it was most definitely directed at him. And he didn’t think it was remotely business related. “And this intensity…it’s a good thing?”
“You asked about women seeing you as anything other than a proper gentleman. You have this way of focusing on something quite intently. When that something is me—well, a woman,” she amended, “then I think you can safely say she might feel a little…provoked. In a good way.”
“And that’s why you laughed?”
She cocked her head. “You really don’t think you have that kind of magnetism?”
“Honestly, it’s not something I thought much about until…well, until I met you. Brodie poked a bit today, and I suppose it’s made me think. I do have a habit of focusing rather intently on one thing in particular. The distillery. And he suggested maybe I needed to spread my attentions around a bit. Then there you were, being quite provocative, although I’m certain it was innocently played…bu
t you didn’t seem the least bit affected by my reaction.”
“What reaction?”
Had he been the rogue he claimed he wanted to be, he’d have pulled her into his arms and she’d have felt quite clearly the reaction he was having. As it was, he took her hand off his arm and turned her around so her back was to him. “Perhaps we should end this discussion now, before it does intrude on our business dealings with one another.”
Chisholm Brothers 02 On Tap Page 4
