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"I forgive you."
Sleep pulls me down into that mire again without giving my mind a chance to grasp the meaning of what I heard. When I finally wake up, I discover I'm lying in bed alone. Erica still can't forgive me. That's why she skulked out while I was asleep. No, I heard her say, "I forgive you." Didn't I? Maybe I'd imagined it because I want her to say those words more than I've ever wanted anything.
Sliding my legs off the bed, I stand up to yawn and stretch. My gaze lands on an object that lies on the bedside table. It's a folded piece of paper. I snatch up the sheet and unfold it.
I'm going home, the note says.I'm fine. Need time to think, that's all, so please just wait for me to contact you. She signed the note with only her first name. Had I expected her to sign it "love, Erica"? Since I'm a bloody stupid ersehole, I sort of did expect, or at least hope, she might end her note with a more personal sign-off.
I'm to wait for her to contact me. Pushing a hand through my hair, I sit down on the bed again. Waiting is torture, but for Erica, I will do anything. She needs time, so I will give it to her. All the plans I've made mean nothing unless Erica comes back to me.
The next day, I get my answer when she texts me with an invitation.
"Meet me at Dance Ardor," her message says. "Tonight, eight o'clock. I've made my decision, Lachlan."
"Cannae ye tell me now?" I type. I feel nauseous just hearing that she's decided my fate, and waiting one second more to find out what it is feels like torture.
"Please wait until tonight. You'll find me at the bar."
That's all she says. But I'd told her before that I would do anything for her.
And so, I wait.
Chapter Thirty-One
At seven fifty-nine, I walk into Dance Ardor, heading down the darkened entryway into the club proper. Erica told me she'd be at the bar, and I spot a woman seated there. Though she's facing away from me, I know it's Erica. Her chestnut hair falls over her shoulders in lush waves, and the emerald dress I'd bought her months ago highlights every dip and swell on her sensual body. The stiletto heels of her shoes are hooked over the rungs of her stool. As I watch, the bartender brings her a glass of clear liquid. I wonder why she doesn't drink brandy like she had on the night we met.
I suddenly realize I've stopped moving. Why? The woman I love is right over there waiting for me, so I should be running to her. Instead, I'm standing here like a ruddy statue, gazing at the backside of Erica Teague, wondering what her decision will be.
Should I take it as a good sign that she wanted to see me at the site of our first meeting? It must mean something that she chose this venue. Aye, it probably means she'll tell me to sod off and find another woman in the crowd of people on the dance floor.
But she's wearing the dress I bought for her.
While I stand frozen, a bloke dressed in an expensive suit without the jacket sits down on the stool beside Erica. He skims his gaze over her body, his face lighting up when his attention lands on her breasts.
I inch closer to them, but stop again when I hear the man speak.
Thecacan's mouth curves into a lascivious smile as he strokes his shadow beard, still focused on Erica's bosom. "Hey, beautiful. Can I buy you a real drink?"
Real drink? I'd said the same thing to Erica on the night we met. Will she accept the smooth-talker's invitation? She let me buy her a glass of whisky, but she won't fall for the slimycacan's line. Will she?
"Well?" the bastard says, finally raising his focus to her face.
"Thank you," she says, "but I'm not drinking alcohol these days."
Not drinking? Erica never does drink much, but I can't help wondering why she's not having a cocktail tonight. The clear liquid in her glass must be water. Sparkling water, I'd wager.
Thecacanlooks surprised and mildly disappointed. "What, are you Mormon or something?"
"No." She hesitates, wriggling on her stool. "I'm a health nut. My body is a temple."
The sedate music that had been playing fades away, replaced by loud electronic music with a bass beat that pulsates through the club. Erica swallows the rest of her sparkling water, gesturing to the bartender for more.
No more procrastinating, ye numpty. Go and get her.
I saunter up behind her, slightly to the side, so she can see me if she turns this way. "May I worship at your temple,gràidh?"
Erica spins around on her stool, her dress snagging on it and riding up her thigh. Her mouth drops open, but her lips kink up in a surprised smile.
I grin like an eejit while she rakes her gaze over me from head to toe. Well, I am wearing my kilt and the same black T-shirt I'd worn on the night we met, along with the same black boots.
