Unwrapping the Best Man

by Rachael Stewart

  ‘If we do this...it’s for tonight only, Cait. There can be no repeats, no playing around when we go back to our lives in London.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing, Cait, this is it.’

  ‘If you just let me finish, I never said I wanted more...’ I say it confidently, more confidently than I feel because hell, I know I’m going to want more. I’ve wanted him for six years; returning to London won’t suddenly change that. Neither will one roll in the bedsheets—or the heather even. ‘Did I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This is just sex, Jackson,’ I say, forking my fingers through his hair. ‘You know, that thing people do in your club to let off steam? I’m sure we can manage it here without any strings.’

  ‘I’m sure we can manage a great many things.’

  I laugh softly. ‘Anything in particular spring to mind?’

  I feel the tension in his body start to ease, feel the battle continue in my favour.

  ‘Too many.’ It’s so gruff, so husky, so fucking sexy. ‘The things I’ve wanted...the things I’ve fantasised about doing...’

  Whoa, whoa, whoa.

  ‘Rewind!’ I press my palm into his chest. ‘You’ve fantasised about me?’

  His swallow is confession enough, the tension returning to his body, cording his neck, creating lines either side of his mouth.

  ‘And you’re only just admitting it to me now?’ A spark of anger hits. ‘Do you know how I’ve driven myself crazy fantasising about you? But no, you have to stick to your no-shagging-the-clients rule.’

  ‘You’re angry?’

  ‘Hell, yeah!’ I shove against him, forcing him back a step. ‘We could have had this done and dusted years ago and had it put to bed.’

  His eyes flash. ‘In the literal sense?’

  ‘Fuck, Jackson! Is this some weird game you’re playing?’

  ‘No.’

  And I believe him. That one simple word is so raw, and I know he means everything he has said.

  ‘So why now? What’s changed?’

  ‘I’m listening to you and you can be very persuasive when you want to be.’

  ‘But I’m still a member of your club?’

  He rakes his hand through his hair, breathes in deeply and looks to the heavens before looking back to me.

  ‘Hell, Cait, the club is so far from my mind right now.’ He palms the trunk above my head, leans over me. ‘But it’s true—you shouldn’t shit where you eat.’

  I choke out a laugh. ‘Shit? Really?’

  There’s a spark of humour in his eyes, a glimmer of the Jackson I’m used to. Fun, teasing, easy-going. ‘Sorry PR lady, would you prefer I said you shouldn’t dip your pen in the company ink?’

  Another laugh. ‘Better.’

  His eyes scan my face, softening and serious all at once.

  ‘But it’s more than that with you...’ His hand falls to my cheek as he cups my jaw, the delicate touch stalling my breath. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘You won’t,’ I manage to whisper.

  ‘You can’t know that.’

  ‘I do.’ I nod in his hold, fighting the urge to kiss his palm—too sentimental. ‘I trust you, Jackson. I trust you enough for this one night, or...’

  My brain is racing ahead. We’re here for three days. There are activities planned. A timetable with various gaps, night-time hours. ‘Why not make it three?’

  I watch his jaw pulse. ‘Three?’

  ‘We’re here for a few more days.’ I shrug with the nonchalance I know I need to convey. ‘Why not make it a holiday fling?’

  I look down at his sporran and toy with its flap. I seriously do have the hots for his attire. I wonder if I can get someone to wear something similar down south when the mood suits.

  Yeah, right. I shoot the idea down. It leaves me cold. Not even the Groom himself—the tall, dark and ruggedly handsome Ash—can beat the appeal that is all Jackson.

  And again, I’m back to the same conclusion. It’s him. Not wedding fever, not his clothing, not his no-sex-with-clients rule that I’d love to flout, but him. Purely him.

  The tiny sense of foreboding that has threatened to creep in since I started this merry dance perks up, but I refuse to listen. I fill my mind with the various ‘things’ he has hinted at and let the heat take over.

  ‘A holiday fling?’ he repeats back at me.

  I raise my fingers to his cravat and toy with it as I lift my eyes to his and project every carnal thought. ‘While we are here anything goes, and then we go back to life as it was, just friends.’

  ‘Just friends. Agreed. And no one will know, not even Ash, Coco?’

  ‘Well, Coco kind of has a way of—’ I stop talking as he shakes his head.

  ‘Not even Coco, Cait.’

  ‘Okay.’ I look at him and the sense of foreboding swells. Is this about his rules still, or is it something more? And hell, why do I care if it means I can finally have him? Why am I overthinking this?

  I just need to keep in mind it’s just sex. Incredible mind-obliterating sex. Nothing that runs deeper, no feelings, no future...

  But what if this changes things?

  What if we’re putting our friendship at risk?

  Panic clambers up my throat and I swallow it back before he sees it. I can keep this under control. I’ve lived with this dogged attraction for six years; at least now I’ll have the memories when we move on, and he’s agreed the same.

  If he can do it, I sure as hell can.

  ‘Agreed, Cait?’

  I give a harried nod and yank his cravat to bring him closer. ‘Now hurry up and kiss me before I’m forced to climb you.’

  His laugh is so fucking sexy, the flash of desire on his face seconds before he crushes me to the tree and claims my lips sexier still.

  There’s no foreboding now. I feel like I’m dreaming again, and this isn’t a dream I want to wake up from any time soon. Not now.

  Not ever.

  No feelings... Really?

  CHAPTER THREE

  MY CONTROL IS slipping into the moat behind me. All I can hear are her panted breaths, her moans trapped low in her throat, and I want more of them. More of her. But we’re outside, it’s cold, and the goose bumps that I witnessed over her skin the second before covering her in my jacket tell me she feels it.

  I try to tear my mouth away, to usher her inside, but her hands are in my hair, refusing to release me. And then she arches and my jacket opens up around her, her breasts pressing into my chest, and there’s no stopping this now. My hands are there, desperate, hungry, my growl fierce. She’s really not wearing a bra. Their warmth is too acute, their softness too pliable and her nipples—fuck—their pebble-like nubs press into my palm, daring me on.

  I bite at her lip, punishment for teasing me all day, punishment for teasing me all these years—and she moans, claws at my shoulders, giving as good as she gets.

  Fuck, I’m in too deep. I know it, but it’s not enough to stop.

  From the second she fell into my lap six years ago and gave me a glimpse of her every curve, her melodic voice, her easy smile, I’ve dreamed of this. Spent too long conjuring up her sounds, sounds I’ve heard in the club enough times, their effect as visceral as if she’d uttered them, and now she is under my touch, my caress, my attention.

  ‘I want you,’ she says against my lips, lifting her leg and causing the split to part as she wraps it around me, drawing me up against her, only the blasted sporran gets in the way and she laughs as I curse.

  ‘I made a joke about that earlier,’ she pants before tongue-fucking me deeper, distracting me from asking what it was. I’m too busy tasting her, exploring her, feeling her skin prickling beneath my palms—she’s cold, remember.

  ‘We should go inside.’

  ‘This is too much fun.�
��

  ‘You’re cold.’

  She laughs. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  I bow to her neck, taste her skin, her perfume. ‘You have goose bumps.’

  ‘And they’re for you, Jackson, not the chill.’

  I smile into her throat, into her collarbone. I roll my thumbs over each tautened peak and listen to her breath hitch. ‘You like that?’

  Her laugh is trapped in her throat now. ‘Not obvious enough?’

  I capture one nub in my thumb and forefinger and pinch: Dare to mock.

  She bucks against me. It’s another carnal punishment and I have so many more under my belt. So many more that I need to cage. Because this is Caitlin, and I’ll never take her down my twisted path.

  ‘More Jackson, more.’

  I raise my head to look down at her. Even in the moonlight I can see her cheeks are streaked pink, her skin flushed with desire, eyes glassy and wanton. I repeat the move, only harder, and she bites her lip.

  ‘Don’t push me,’ I say.

  A little crease forms between her brows. ‘Why not?’

  Her question cuts right through me, to my inner battle, my torment, my darkness.

  ‘You might not like what you find.’

  She has the audacity to laugh and I frown. My erection is pressing painfully between us. The heat is too much to bear. And she...she laughs?

  ‘This isn’t funny.’

  She bites her bottom lip, the move so damn seductive I have to run my thumb over the trapped flesh, force her to release it so I can breathe.

  ‘Tell me it’s not funny.’

  Her lustful eyes dance and the crease between her brows deepens.

  ‘Say it, Caitlin.’ I hold her chin steady, my stare hard.

  Her lashes flutter as she breathes in deeply, her eyes searching mine for answers she doesn’t even know the questions to, and then with her outward breath comes her obedience. ‘It’s not funny.’

  My cock pulses, loving her compliance.

  ‘Say it again.’

  The crease eases between her brows as her eyes relax and blaze in one. She’s a swift learner. ‘It’s. Not. Funny.’

  I lift her chin higher. ‘Better. Again.’

  She tilts her head back under her own steam now and says it again, stronger, and my cock bucks beneath the kilt as the power I’m addicted to rushes my veins.

  ‘Again.’

  ‘It’s.’ She drags her hand down my front.

  ‘Not.’ She slips between the sporran and my kilt—you should stop her.

  ‘Funny.’ She takes a hold of me through the fabric and fuck, I squeeze my eyes shut against the intense rush of pleasure, grab her wrist and pull her away.

  ‘No.’ I take up her other wrist, forcing them both above her head. ‘You don’t touch me until I say.’

  I’m the one in charge. I’m the one in control. Always.

  ‘If we do this, there are rules...’ I tower over her, staring into her darkened gaze that reflects the moon back at me, and try to forget that by my own reasoning she is forbidden to me. That we shouldn’t be crossing this line. That she is Caitlin. Fun, flirty, spirited, a candle to my dark. I don’t want to taint her, break her, but I know no other way.

  ‘I thought we’d put those aside, left them at the club door, so to speak.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the club.’ This is about me. My shit. But I can’t say that.

  ‘Oh?’ Her eyes light up. ‘You mean you have rules in the bedroom?’

  She practically purrs it out and I almost grind against her, so desperate am I to take her. Desperate and scared at the same time. It’s a complete headfuck but I can’t go back, not now I’ve tasted her, felt her...but she needs to know what she’s letting herself in for.

  I force a nod. ‘You do as I say at all times.’

  ‘All times?’

  She’s looking up at me, wide-eyed, curious, so fucking turned on.

  ‘If you can’t deal with that, this ends now.’

  She wets her lips, looks to where I have her hands pinned to the tree trunk and nods.

  It’s not enough. I need her verbal affirmation.

  ‘Okay?’ I push, my fingers flexing around her wrists. They’re so small in my grasp, dainty, just like the rest of her. She’s all strawberries and cream, freckles and ivory skin, and me... I couldn’t be more different, inside and out.

  She nods again, her eyes falling to mine.

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘O-okay.’

  I take a ragged breath, pulling on my reserves just to speak; I’ve never needed my control more and the way she’s looking at me, the way she’s captive to my spell...

  ‘Leave your hands above your head until I say otherwise.’

  She nods, the pulse working wildly in her throat as it bobs. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good.’

  I release my hold over her to trail my fingers down her arms, my eyes never once leaving hers. My jacket is wedged between her back and the tree, but it offers her no protection now; it’s fallen away from her shoulders, leaving them bare save for the slender shoestring straps. I run my finger beneath one, aware of her every response, how her breath catches and her lips part.

  ‘Bring this arm down,’ I instruct, continuing to run my finger beneath the strap, and slowly she does as I ask. ‘Good girl.’

  I tease the strap to the side, let it fall in a low loop at her elbow, and even though I know I’m unveiling her as I encourage the cup of her dress away and slip her arm through the strap, I’m still not prepared for the rush that assaults me as her breast is exposed. The milky skin prickles with goose bumps, the tiny rose-tipped nub is small and puckered and so ripe for touching.

  ‘Now this one.’

  She lets me slide the other strap away and I can scarcely breathe for the tension drawing my body tight.

  ‘Raise them again.’

  She does as I ask, her arms forming a diamond above her head, her breasts lifting with the move and offering up her tautened nipples. Sweet Jesus. I drag in a breath, fighting the urge to cup them. They’re perfect, not quite a handful but perfect in their small, sweet roundness, and exactly how I imagined her to be.

  I’ve not let myself catch more than a glimpse of her in the club. Not because I didn’t want to. Christ, how I wanted to; I wanted to see every last inch of her exposed to my gaze.

  And that’s just it—my gaze, nobody else’s.

  I wanted her for me.

  And now I can have her; for a finite time she’s mine and the control that I depend on, the control that I insist on and have done for the last twenty years, is sliding away so swiftly I think I’m falling. Or maybe I already have, and this is my punishment, to have her once—or thrice—and have to walk away?

  It’s why I don’t touch her naked skin, not yet. It’s a test—a test I have to pass.

  I bow my head and seek out her mouth with mine, a single taste—and groan as my body aches for more, as her mouth opens and seeks more too. No. I lift my head just enough to stop her and stroke my fingers up her arms, her soft skin teasing my fingertips, her tiny tremors pleasing, oh, so pleasing.

  ‘I want you to touch yourself,’ I murmur.

  She shivers, her hum a nonsensical response, and I step back, creating enough distance so that I can see all of her. Her skin glows pearlescent in the moonlight; her head is angled back, exposing the delicate arc of her neck, the line of collarbone. Her bare breasts rise and fall with her harried breaths, an eye-catching dance, and then there’s her dress. It’s held up by the tartan sash at her waist and the moonlight creates slashes of green against black that run to the floor, save for where the split parts over her thigh. She has her leg angled just so, a seductive pose. A vision that I want to imprint on my memory and recall over and over again.

  Her thr
oat bobs as she wets her sweet cupid’s bow lips and I recall my instruction that she has yet to follow. ‘Not shy, are you, Cait?’

  She looks it; she suddenly looks coy and all manner of lovely things I want to provoke.

  ‘Here?’

  I nod.

  She glances towards the entrance of the castle, soft strands of escaped hair fluttering over her flushed cheeks. The faint sound of music steadily flows on the breeze towards us, broken up by the odd cheer from the guests, the drunken revelry. She spies a light turning on in a room upstairs and runs her teeth over her lower lip. I know she does this—she’s done it enough times today alone—but it’s a habit. A thing she does when she’s excited, nervous or outright flirting. And being the target of it... I swallow against the surge of lust and address her sudden hesitation.

  ‘They can’t see us from this angle; it’s too dark...’ My voice is so tight I hardly recognise it. ‘But imagine if they could, what a sight you’d make.’

  Her eyes come back to me wide, so full of want, of need. Fuck. What a sight she’s making, right now, for me...

  But then she frowns. ‘Do you truly find me sexy, Jackson?’

  I almost choke on my tongue; it feels too big for my mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve often wondered, often hoped,’ she says softly, ‘but never...you’ve never once hinted...’

  ‘Yes.’ It’s abrupt, definite. Jesus, how could she doubt it? Standing before me, brazen in the semi-clothed state I’ve left her, her arms raised above her head, vulnerable and exposed, because I asked it of her.

  ‘Yes, I find you sexy, Caitlin.’ I let my gaze linger on her exposed skin, feeding the desire that’s burning a path all the way to my groin, testing my control, and the truth is out: ‘I find you sexier than is safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ Her eyes sparkle, amused, curious now. ‘There’s that word again—though I’m not sure whether you mean safe for you, or for me...’

  I can’t answer her, and thank fuck I don’t need to because she’s already moving, her hands trailing down the tree trunk, over her shoulders and down the valley between her breasts. She shudders, her lower lip catching in her teeth, baring that alluring gap as she stares at me all heavy-lidded now.