Even though her tendons had long given up their tremors, his talented fingers continued their sensual onslaught, as though he had been put on this earth to bring her pleasure.
No touch had ever been so relaxing and so intimate at the same time.
It terrified her.
“Thank you,” she managed. “We should... I should...”
He didn’t let go.
She didn’t pull away.
Thank the Lord there was two feet of solid oak counter between them.
“The food,” she whispered. “It’ll go cold.”
He set down her hand as though it was the most precious thing he had ever held, and then turned toward the parcels.
While he wasn’t looking, she pressed her sensitized palm to her thundering chest. Angelica wondered if she would ever be able to pick up a jeweler’s tool again without thinking of Mr. MacLean and this moment.
She may have sent him on a foolish mission to prove he was a fish out of water, yet it was he who made her feel as though she were coming up for air for the first time.
“Do you want me to leave you to your food?” he asked, his voice gravelly but his blue eyes steady. “I enjoy your company very much, but do not mean to intrude where I’m not wanted.”
“Sit.” Rather than point to the low, plush chairs meant for customers along the other wall, she slid a wooden stool under the counter so that he could share it with her. Her heart pounded. It was the first time she’d invited someone to share her space. She tried not to think about what that might mean. Instead, she turned her back to retrieve plates and cutlery from a shelf. “What did you bring?”
His grin was back, as sudden as lightning and just as devastating.
“I have no idea,” he said cheerfully, and began to unpack the parcels. “At the mention of your name, everyone seems to know exactly what I should take.”
Angelica tensed, expecting a sharp twinge of fear or embarrassment at the knowledge a raffish Scotsman had been out and about, linking his name with hers.
No such twinges occurred. He must have massaged them away.
Mr. MacLean retrieved a bottle of champagne from his satchel. “Shall we?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Champagne is for celebrations.”
“You can use your hand again,” he pointed out. “Huzzah!”
“I’m at work.” She slid a single glass across the counter for him to use.
He shrugged. “Then I’ll drink all of it. I’m on holiday. Veuve Clicquot seems just the thing.”
Blast him. She slid a second glass across the counter. He filled them both.
He waited until she lifted hers before touching the rims of their wine glasses together. “To my favorite jeweler.Slàinte!”
“To hyperbolic strangers,” she countered. “A toast to you.”
He grinned, undaunted, and sipped his champagne.
The bubbles tickled her nose as she swallowed the tart sweetness. It was unfair of him to be so charming. The silver lining was that he would be gone within a fortnight, and she knew it. They could share meals. They could even be friends. But that was all it would be.
Her heart was firmly under lock and key.
“Well then, Miss Parker.” He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “May I call you Angelica?”
“No, Mr. MacLean, you may not.”
