There were no words. All she could do was stare at him as her mouth opened and closed and her body screamed at her to take him up on his offer.
“There you are.” A voice cut into her shock, and she turned to see Flora and Joyce heading straight for them. “Grace said we’d find you here.”
They charged at her, a look of determination in their eyes. From the direction they were approaching, they couldn’t see Duncan, as he sat facing her with his back to them, shielded by the high booth partition. All they could see was Donna and the look of utter panic she knew must have been on her face.
“We need to talk to you about—” Joyce said, slamming her walker down on the floor as she made her way towards them.
“Duncan!” Donna pointed at him.
Joyce missed the gesture, too busy concentrating on her walker. “Not about him. You deal with him. We need to talk about—”
It was Flora who spotted Duncan first, and she put a hand on Joyce’s arm to stop her. “About the chickens,” she said over the top of whatever her partner in crime was about to say.
“Chickens?” Donna’s voice went up an octave and her palms began to sweat. She slid them under the table and tried to wipe them on her jeans without Duncan noticing.
Flora came to a stop beside their table, her back was straight, and she wore a peach coloured twinset over a grey skirt. Her grey hair was perfectly styled and her smooth cheeks were rosy. She looked like she’d walked straight off a Christmas card.
“Hello.” She smiled at Duncan. “You must be Mr Stewart. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a wonderful artist. The community is lucky to have you here.”
She held out a hand to Duncan, and Donna held her breath as she waited to see if he’d shake it. She let out a quiet sigh of relief when he did.
“You look familiar,” he said to Flora.
She patted her hair and gave him a benevolent smile. “You’ve probably seen me around the place. I do a lot of volunteer work. It can take me to the strangest places.”
Duncan studied her, and Donna began to panic. The man’s mind was like a vault. He remembered most things he saw.
“So, ladies,” she said a little too loudly. “What about the chickens?”
Joyce glared at Duncan for a minute before narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m Joyce MacDonald. My husband died ten months ago, and I’m over it already.”
Donna lifted her eyes to heaven. Please just hit me with lightning, she prayed.
Flora elbowed Joyce.
“Elbows!” Joyce snapped as she rubbed her side.
This situation was quickly deteriorating. Donna pushed out of the booth, making the women back up. “Duncan and I were just leaving. What did you need to tell me about the chickens?” She cast a glance at Duncan, who was studying the three of them intently.
“Um.” Flora and Joyce shared a look before Flora turned back to Donna. “Well, you know how we ordered eighty chickens?”
Donna nodded, she well remembered that they’d sworn there would be eighty people maximum coming to the ball. The room would hold seventy comfortably. Eighty was pushing it, but they’d make it work.
“Well,” Flora licked her lips. “It seems there was a mix-up with the order. We have almost one hundred and twenty chickens being delivered this Saturday, and we don’t have the fridge space for them. We need your help to squeeze them in.”
Donna felt the blood rush from her head and had to put a hand on the table to steady herself. One hundred and twenty? She tried to stare holes through the heads of the women who were giving her an ulcer. They didn’t notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. She suspected it was the latter.
“Aye,” Joyce nodded, looking at Duncan. “We’ve started a new charity called Chickens for Old People, and Donna’s been helping us with it.” She looked around, obviously searching for something else to say. “Donna likes chicken,” was what she came up with.
“I thought Donna was a vegetarian,” Duncan drawled.
“She likes live chickens,” Joyce amended. “She pets them.”
“You can’t fit live chickens into your fridges?” Duncan said.
“Don’t be daft,” Joyce snapped. “It would be cruel to put live chickens in a fridge. We’ll kill them first. But don’t worry. Donna won’t be around for that part. She’ll just cuddle them first. Flora catches the chickens and I, you know, dispose of them.” She leaned towards Duncan. “You can’t chase a chicken when you’re using a walker—they’re fast wee buggers.”
“Stop talking,” Flora hissed through a fake smile.
“What?” Joyce demanded. “We ordered live instead of frozen because they’re cheaper that way,” she told Duncan. “A charity has to watch its pennies.”
Donna held up a hand. It took all of her self-control not to slap it over Joyce’s mouth to stop the drivel pouring out.
“A hundred and twenty chickens? Really?” She glared at them. “We talked about this, and we agreed you only needed eighty—at most. We can’t fit any more in the fridges, so you need to cut the numbers.”
“But we can’t.” Flora cast a nervous glance Duncan’s way. “People are expecting their chicken. We can’t disappoint them. We just have to figure out how to get the other forty into the fridges.”
“It isn’t possible,” Donna said through clenched teeth. If they had one hundred and twenty in the ballroom, it wouldn’t be a ball, because there would be no space to dance.
“We have an idea for that,” Flora said, casting a glance at Duncan. “That’s why we were looking for you. To talk about the idea.”
“You didn’t answer your phone,” Joyce reprimanded.
“I was playing pool.”
“Did you win?” Flora said.
Donna just looked at them. She wasn’t going to answer any stupid questions.
“Of course she won.” Joyce rolled her eyes. “Anyway, we need to talk about the chickens.” She looked at Duncan, then back at Donna. “When’s a good time? And remember, we’re on a tight schedule here. Chicken goes off easily.”
“Live chickens go off?” Duncan said.
“Did I say go off? I meant run off. We need to get them in the fridges before they escape. Isn’t that right, Flora?”
Flora looked at the ceiling. Donna thought she might be praying.
Chapter 22
“You want to tell me what that whole chicken conversation was about?” Duncan said as he drove them back to the house. “Because there’s no way it was about chickens.”
“It was about…none of your business.” She flushed a deep red and looked at him with a mixture of defiance and trepidation that made him feel kind of proud. This new Donna wasn’t a woman you could walk over easily, which meant she’d be much safer around the conmen in town.
“Then do you want to tell me what all that crap about breaking up with me was?”
Her hands trembled as she wedged them between her knees. “You and I are a bad idea.”
“No, we’re an excellent idea.” One he liked better every minute he was around her.
“When it all goes wrong, I’ll be out of a job and a home, and I’ll have to buy a car.”
He shrugged. “That’s assuming it goes wrong. In the meantime, you’re welcome to sign the contract. The whole point of adding all the extra clauses was to stop you from freaking out about the future.”
“What do you mean ‘assuming it goes wrong’? Of course it’s going to go wrong. There’s nowhere else for this to go!”
“And I thought you were the more positive one out of the two of us.”
He turned in to a quiet road that had Donna looking around them. “Where are we going? The mansion’s back that way.”
“I need a break from the mansion. Sometimes I feel more like the crypt keeper than the owner. I thought we’d sit at the viewpoint overlooking the bluff and have this talk.”
That seemed to agitate her. “Aren’t you hungry? It’s nearly dinnertime. We should get back, or whatever cook
is making will spoil.”
“She can hold dinner for an hour.”
Donna sank back into her seat, defeated. The sight tugged at the heart he thought had died along with Fiona.
“You can cope with an hour in my company, can’t you?” To his surprise, he found he was nervous about her answer.
“I suppose,” she huffed out ungraciously, making him grin.
“I love the enthusiasm. Makes me feel warm inside.”
That earned him a glare, which ironically, made him beam at her. She was adorable and sexy as hell. It was an unusual combination, but one that seemed to work for her, and definitely did something for him.
He pulled the car to a stop in the small parking area at the edge of the bluff. There was no one else there, and all that was between them and the Firth of Clyde was a weathered bench.
The sky was cloudy, and the water had turned a murky green. Duncan unfastened his seatbelt. “Come on, let’s sit outside.”
“It’s cold and I don’t have a jacket with me.”
“Don’t worry, Angel, I’ll keep you warm.”
As she reached for her door, he heard her mutter, “That’s what I’m worried about.”
By the time he reached the other side of the car, she was already climbing out to meet him. He took her hand and slowly walked—not dragged—her to the bench.
She sat down facing the water and Duncan straddled the bench beside her. He tugged her into the V of his legs, hooking her legs over one of his, and wrapping his arms around her. “Is that better? You’re no’ too cold?”
“No.” She hesitated for a second before she snuggled into him.
She fit perfectly in his arms. Fiona had been a tall, slender woman, whereas Donna was a tiny, curved bundle. Her size brought out the protective streak in him—that and the way her kind heart made her a target for everyone around her.
Fiona had been totally different in that respect, her big-city upbringing meant she could see through a liar within seconds, and she’d had no problem dealing with them either. She’d toss her hair, look down her nose and shut them down with an icy word or two. And she’d been spectacular when she did it. Donna, on the other hand, needed a keeper, preferably someone who could scare away anyone who’d take advantage of her—and he was just the man for the job.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked as he nuzzled the top of her head with his chin.
She was silent for a while and then said, “No.”
He burst out laughing, his arms tightening around her as she scowled up at him.
“I’ve created a monster,” he said. “One who has no trouble saying no to me.”
Her look of shock was quickly followed by a smug little smile. It warmed his soul to see her so pleased with herself. They sat quietly, watching the waves as the sky darkened with the threat of rain.
“If you’re no’ going to tell me what’s wrong, how about you sing me a song?”
She arched an eyebrow at him as her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m not sure you’re sophisticated enough to appreciate my musical stylings.”
“That can’t be right. I’m a well-respected artist, top of my field. I’ve got culture coming out of my a—” She slapped a hand over his mouth, and he laughed behind it.
“I’ll sing for you, if you’ll do something for me,” she said as she dropped her hand.
“A trade. I can do that. What do you want? Another orgasm? I’d be happy to provide one for you.” He waited for the familiar blush to paint her cheeks pink.
“You’re terrible,” she admonished as her eyelashes lowered, taking her eyes from his.
That was something else that was different from Fiona. His wife had been hard to shock, and she’d had no problem talking about sex. But his Donna was shy.
He kissed her head. “Tell me what you want then.”
“You have to answer whatever question I ask.”
“Okay then.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t you worried what I might ask you?”
“If you didnae blush at the mere thought of sex, then aye, I might be worried, but I think whatever you ask me will probably be tame.”
She smacked him on the chest.
“First you start telling me no, now you’re hitting me. What’s next? Imprisoning me in a tower?”
“You’d deserve it.” She stuck her wee nose in the air. “You’re hell to live with.”
There was no arguing with that. “Where’s my song?”
“Fine.” She let out a sigh and pushed away from him to sit up straight.
He expected her to look around to see if anyone was nearby, but she didn’t. She just opened her mouth and belted out a tune. Well, that’s what he assumed it was supposed to be. It was kind of hard to tell because it was nothing like any other music he’d heard in his lifetime. The notes seemed to be on a sliding scale only Donna understood, and every time she sang the chorus, the tune was different. It was painfully bad. The kind of bad that could be used to torture terrorists into surrendering.
When she’d finished, she looked at him expectantly as he tried to decide whether to react honestly or to go for something vague and neutral that wouldn’t get him killed in his sleep.
“Well?” she demanded. “What did you think?”
“I can honestly say that I’ve never heard anything like that before.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “And is that good, or bad?”
“Well, it was an experience, that’s for sure.” He paused before throwing caution to the wind. “That high note you hit was almost out of human range. I’m fairly certain there are dogs in Campbeltown howling right now, trying to get to you. I especially liked the Middle Eastern, Indian, Martian thing you had going on with the scales. Most people stick to do, ri, me, but you had the guts to try something different, and I applaud it.”
“That is just mean.” She frowned at him, but her eyes were dancing. “I have a good mind to—”
“What? Beat me with your teeny-tiny baby fists?”
“That’s it!”
She shoved him hard, right in the middle of his chest. He presumed she was trying to topple him back off the bench. All she did was make him laugh.
“Stop laughing when I’m attacking you,” she snapped, which made him laugh harder.
Before he realised what she was doing, her fingers latched onto his nipple and she twisted.
“Argh! That hurts. Stop it.” He grabbed her hands.
“How’s that for a wee tiny baby hand?” she said triumphantly.
It was like wrestling with a kitten. “How would you like it if I twisted your nipple?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, they both stilled. Donna’s eyes darkened, and the tip of her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.
“You drive me crazy,” he told her.
He didn’t wait for an answer, he just cupped the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his.
***
Kissing Duncan was even better than eating bacon. Her two vices had a lot in common: they were hard to resist and bad for her heart. Unfortunately, when she was indulging, she found she didn’t care about the consequences. She only cared about how wonderful it felt right then, and she never wanted it to end.
Duncan’s kiss wasn’t timid, and there was no hesitation. He held her firmly, moved her where he needed her to be, and took what he wanted—while giving far more in return. With previous men, there had always been a part of her that she held back, worrying about what she should be doing and if she was doing things right. Not with Duncan. With him, there was no anxiety about the act—he made it very clear what he wanted—and all she had to do was relax and let him take her where he wanted her to go.
It was bliss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his fingers grasped her hair, using it to angle her mouth the way he wanted. She moaned against his lips, deciding confidence was sexier than looks any day of the year. Although, God hadn’t skimped
with looks when it came to Duncan either, which meant she got the best of everything.
“You taste like heaven,” he said against her mouth, before his tongue delved deep—tasting, learning, teasing, dominating.
Her bones turned to jelly in his arms as her mind spiralled in a tornado of desire. She felt light-headed. Her skin ultra-sensitive. The world around them faded until it was just the two of them, locked in a sensual cocoon.
A hand slid under her top and skimmed up her back, sending shivers of sensation in its wake. She moaned and pressed closer to him, feeling the strength of his chest and arms enfold her. Feeling safe and protected. As though he’d made a place for her where she could let go completely, never fearing, because he would be there to watch over her. It was a heady delight that captured her senses.
She felt like she was falling into him, losing herself in him. The mundane details of life that forced her to attend to them, to focus on them, and the things that kept her chained to the world—they all disappeared, leaving only sensation. The sound of their breaths merging, the taste of his lips and tongue, and the rasp of his teeth. The scent of musk, and hunger, and need.
Her skin felt hot. Like she was flying too close to the sun. She was soaring, losing herself in his kiss. In the touch on her back. In the pressure of his hand in her hair. She was losing herself in Duncan.
“If you two don’t stop it, I’m gonna fetch a bucket of water and pour it over you.”
The words jerked Donna out of her daze, and she clung to Duncan. Feeling confused and vulnerable. His arms tightened around her as his body tensed and surrounded her, protecting her from whoever had spoken.
“This is not the place for that sort of thing,” a woman said. “Get yourselves away from here and do that in the privacy of your own bedroom.”
“Aye,” a man snapped. “You’re setting a bad example for the weans.”
“What weans?” Duncan said. “There’s only the two of you standing around gawking at us.”
Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2) Page 19