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Dark, twisted and fucked up.
Never going to happen.
It’s not just how she looks either. It’s how she feels. Her warmth beneath my palms and the way she curves into me, her thighs, her stomach, her breasts gently touching.
She tilts her head back and I can’t resist a glimpse.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
Her cupid’s bow lips flush their own shade of pink and I see the tiny gap between her two front teeth that I’ve wanted to probe with my tongue for so long. Then there’s the easy smile that lights up her face, the room, me. She gives it to me now as she eases herself up my body.
Her lips brush against my ear again and I have to stiffen to stop the teasing tremor that threatens to run through me. Worse still, I know the only reason she can reach so high is because I’ve bowed my head, my body defying my every intent to resist.
‘Come on, Jackson, live a little.’ Her mouth caresses my ear, her breath sweeps inside—fuck. She may as well have tongued the sensitised flesh for what it does to me and now I’m actually relieved that her body is pressed against me, the sporran too. Anything to stop the way my unrestricted erection is free to set up camp under the kilt.
‘What happens in the Highlands stays in the Highlands,’ she murmurs.
Yes, fuck, yes. Listen to her. Screw your conscience. She wants you. You’ve never been a saint, so why now? Why with her?
But I know why.
I take her hand and fling her out, en
couraging her to twirl beneath our fingers above her head and remember too late my predicament down below. Panic, a surge of colour to my cheeks, and I’m yanking her back just as swiftly. Her length comes up hard against my body, her palms too, as she gives a flirtatious giggle.
‘Miss me?’
‘You could say that,’ I grind out, relieved that my kilt is back in place, not so relieved that she’s overpowering me anew.
Christ, if you do it, maybe you can move on from this impossible attraction.
Hell, maybe she’ll move on and then it will no longer be an issue.
Yes, take her to bed, give her a glimpse of the real you, and it should see her run a mile.
Because if she knew me—the real me—if she knew what had gone before, this wouldn’t be up for debate. Not that I’ll tell her. That’s my cross to bear and mine alone.
But a night, one night so far away from home—
‘Excuse me, Black, may I have this dance?’
I still at the plummy-toned intrusion. It’s Philip. Philip Lauren, Coco’s brother. I flick him a look that takes in his hand on my shoulder and he snaps it back.
‘I think you’ll find it’s the Best Man’s duty, Lauren.’
I struggle to hide the contempt in my voice, but loyalty is everything to me and he has yet to earn any of mine. Coco may have forgiven him. Hell, Ash too. But me... I’m not so easily won around. Not when the guy tried to destroy his own sister’s reputation less than two years ago and managed to tap a hole in the protective shield I have in place over my club, Blacks. He crossed too big a line for me.
I release Caitlin but my arm wraps around her waist—merely a protective gesture, of course, nothing more—and I’m grateful that Philip’s presence works its magic below my waist.
‘Of course.’ Caitlin speaks before I can respond, and I lift my brow as I look down at her. He can’t have won her around too. There’s no way. Caitlin is as fiercely protective of Coco as I am. ‘I was clearly wasting my time here,’ she murmurs, and then a hardness creeps into her gaze. ‘I know when I’m not wanted... Come on, Philip, let’s show them how it’s really done.’
Philip sends me a questioning look, his hesitation clear. He wants to know if he’s stepped in, if I’m real competition.
My lips quirk up. I should make it clear I’m not. But it seems my body’s less eager to let her go and I want to make him nervous. I tower over him three or four inches at least, and I train daily; I know I’d make light work of him. He knows it too, judging by the way he wriggles his cravat and clears his throat. Good.
But then Cait hooks her arm into his and moves out of my hold.
I watch Philip take my place, watch his hands fall to her hips and I clench my jaw tight. I don’t do jealousy, nothing close. It was carved into me from the ripe old age of sixteen not to bother with the idiotic sentiment. But as I burn a hole into the dancefloor beneath their feet, I acknowledge I feel far more than I should. I also know it has nothing to do with Philip’s shady past and everything to do with my feelings for her.
