I could see the headline in the company newsletter now: STRAIT-LACED EMPLOYEE NIC JAMES CAUGHT STUFFING HER BRA AT THE WEDDING OF A FELLOW EMPLOYEE. ALCOHOL CANNOT BE BLAMED. Perfect.
Panting out a little puff of awkwardness—mortification really—I mumbled, “I think it’s probably better if I just ...” before turning away and diving in after the mushroom.
The second I did, I heard the click of fast approaching heels and looming voices.
“This is my daughter’s wedding,” a man’s voice rumbled. “The doctor said I could splurge a little.”
“Yes, by all means, splurge a little. But don’t let me catch you eating the crab dip by the spoonful, Henry.”
I stood, frozen in shock, staring at the archway, knowing they were only steps away from witnessing my embarrassing little search and rescue, and resigned myself to the inevitable.
But then, like a superhero, the stranger with the accent swooped in, wrapping his hand around to settle on my lower back and leaning close, blocking my little project from any and all rubberneckers. He leaned in, let his lips feather over the curl of my ear, and whispered, “Always happy to help.”
I got that this was about chivalry, but it was hard to keep that in mind with him so close, smelling so clean and spicy, a warm glow spreading slowly from the imprint of his hand. The mushroom had slipped almost entirely from my mind, but sadly not my bra.
That moment passed quickly, and in its aftermath I performed the extraction quickly and efficiently. With the mushroom safely contained in the cocktail napkin balled in my fist, the stranger and I pulled slightly apart. But his hand, still settled beneath the pashmina, shifting against the fabric of my dress, stayed. Feeling tense and a tad weirded out, I squeezed the bejesus out of that fungus, wishing for a drink to take the edge off the embarrassment.
As my new friend made polite chitchat with the bride’s parents, I let myself take a good long look. His dark brown hair was cropped close and standing up almost defiantly. His eyebrows were full, slanting over pale blue eyes, edged in sapphire and fringed with those impossibly full, dark, curled lashes that always seem to end up on men. He was clean-shaven, but I imagined the stubble was only hours away, and I had to stop myself from counting his faded freckles. Dressed in clean-lined khakis, a fuchsia oxford, and a navy blue blazer, he was a regular J.Crew poster boy. With a Scottish accent!
And here I was, the mushroom girl.
Eventually the bride’s parents filtered back toward the buffet table, and figuring it was high time, I stepped away from that warm hand and murmured a grateful, rather bemused thank you, with the oddest feeling that the awkwardness was just beginning. Curiosity was eating me alive.
“Who are you?”
“Sean MacInnes, little-known superhero.” He gave me a smile that hinted at something else right behind it and had me thinking of Sean Connery.
“Nicola James, impervious to the male ego.” This triggered a megawatt grin, and it was impossible not to respond with a shyer version of my own.
“How about a drink?”
“I’m driving,” I countered.
“Then how about a dance?”
I let my eyes slide away from him, poised to disengage myself.
“I really don’t think—”
“So don’t.”
That pulled my eyes right back. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t think.”
“If I had a nickel ...” It was said deliberately under my breath, and I didn’t expect him to hear it.
“I’m good for the nickel. And if you dance with me, I won’t picture you with your hand down the front of your—”
“All right!” It came out much too loudly, and I lifted my fingers to my lips to get myself back under control. Goose bumps were rising up, yet I wasn’t the slightest bit chilly. Readjusting my pashmina to hide all signs of my now-infamous bodice, I met his eyes and tilted my head to indicate he had me, but just for the one dance. “Just so you know, I’m not very good.”
He took my hand, threaded his fingers through mine. I stared dumbly at all those tangled digits but didn’t pull away. “A good partner makes all the difference,” he beckoned. “And I’m very good.” He winked, and my eyes strayed to the sexiest little dimple on his left cheek.
I was so out of my element here. He was literally zinging with that Cary Grant brand of charm that makes a girl feel not only as if she has a man’s full attention but that she totally deserves it. Trouble was I wasn’t sure I wanted it.
“If I hold you close enough, no one will notice any missteps—you’ll move with me, and we’ll be in perfect sync.”
He whispered the playful suggestion disturbingly close to my ear just before shifting his hand to the small of my back and nudging me onto the spiral staircase ahead of him. I could feel the imprint of every finger all over again, and the spark of adrenaline had me shooting up the stairs ahead of him. Knowing his head was on level with my ass all the way up had me quickening further still.
6
In which “enchanted” gets upgraded to “full-out captivated”
Large round tables were packed efficiently into the tight space, and just past the shiny square of dance floor, the band was playing a slightly modern version of “The Way You Look Tonight” to an appreciative couples crowd. Within seconds, Sean had my hand tucked fittingly in his and a spot for us among the dancers. A tiny spot, just big enough for one person to stand comfortably—he was very close. Body parts were getting acquainted.
“You’re not here with someone, are you?” Before I could answer him firmly in the negative, he was tightening his grip on my waist and leaning down to speak close in my ear. “Could get a tad awkward, explaining just how we met ...”
As he pulled back, his eyes darting sideways to meet mine, I finally found my voice.
“No. I’m here by myself, and I thought that subject was officially closed.” I lifted a single eyebrow, both in question and warning.
“You’re right. No more talk of escapee fungus. A fellow proponent of the ‘less talk, more action’ philosophy. Excellent.”
Oh. My. God. My synapses were slogging along here, unable to keep up with this man and his wealth of innuendo. Generally speaking I knew how to deal with men—I’d had plenty of practice walking the tightrope between “just friends” and the uncomfortable beyond. But this was definitely falling.
I was aware of every little brush of his body against mine—solid male against cowardly custard. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, calming breath and smelled peppermint, laundry soap, and spicy aftershave. It had been a long time since I’d been this close to a man. My grip tightened reflexively on his shoulder as I realized I’d really like to hang on to him for a little while.
My eyes were drifting closed in contentment when I noticed the little pewter pin flush against his collar. I inched closer, up on my toes now, to get a better look. It was an archer’s arm encircled with some sort of belt and words that weren’t English. I let go of him long enough to run my finger curiously over the pin’s surface. His fingers tightened at my waist, and his head tipped down to watch me. Self-conscious, I licked my lips, suddenly struck by an almost irresistible urge to lick his too, to just do it.
Skank Alert!
The little angel and I were tight, but I wasn’t used to having a devil on my other shoulder, throwing a kink in the works. What was I doing? Seriously thinking about licking this stranger’s lips? That even sounded slutty. I let my eyes flicker over them one more time, testing myself. Okay, no good. Now I wanted to nibble.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to regroup. The man was a stranger, for God’s sake. The last thing I needed was to be fantasizing about his lips. Never mind that I’d been doing it with a vengeance ever since he’d whispered in my ear and they’d skimmed hot on my skin. It didn’t matter—I planned to adopt the Las Vegas slogan for the entire evening: What happened at the wedding, stayed at the wedding.
That solution sounded stellar until the little d
evil spoke up again, reminding me that we were still at the wedding, and there were opportunities for the taking.
“What does it say?” I asked, glancing again at the little pewter pin and hoping to distract myself from further absurdity.
“Ghift Dhe Agus An Righ.” My knees buckled just slightly, hearing the lovely, lilting words spoken in his deep, dark voice. “It means ‘By the grace of God and King.’ It’s the MacInnes clan motto.”
The man spoke Gaelic—at least a little. As sexy goes, it was a major draw.
“Do you wear it all the time?”
“Not when I’m naked.”
My entire body went on full alert as I began to picture this eventuality, and there was suddenly a free-for-all in my head, with loud and urgent voices spouting off all kinds of inappropriate suggestions. “Can I arrange a viewing?” was my personal favorite.
“With Sean meanin’ ‘God’s gift’ and MacInnes ‘Unique One,’ it’s a lot to live up to.” It was impossible to tell from his grin whether he was teasing or serious.
I stared up at him, gaping probably, before my mouth eventually curved into the smile I reserved for that irresistible cockiness only certain guys could pull off. At that moment our song ended and was immediately followed by an up-tempo, brassy, big-band number. Giving Sean a sharp little shake of my head to warn that I wasn’t at all up for swing dancing, we stepped off the dance floor, our fingers still entwined.
It felt as if my temporary fantasy was in a fuzzy, in-between, about-to-change-back-to-reality limbo. Instinct had me turning toward the stairs, pulling him along behind me as we spiraled our way back down.
In the darker, quieter calm of downstairs, I turned to face him with a catch in my throat. “Thank you for the dance—and your help with a certain never-to-be-mentioned mushroom incident. Now, when I snap my fingers, you will remember none of this, particularly the search and rescue.” I caught his eye and snapped my fingers.
He let his eyes, twinkling with amusement, roam around the little castle, seemed to be considering, and eventually leaned down toward me.
I skittishly angled my lips away from his, just in case, but the closer he came, the more tingly I felt. And the devil was starting to get very persuasive ... Before I could do anything truly mortifying, his voice settled over me, that lilting, lazy accent skittering up my spine.
“You’ve a bit of a thing for me, don’t you?”
He pulled back just in time to avoid my head whipping around in shock. I stared wide-eyed at those long, long lashes curling around sparkling eyes, taking in his raised eyebrows and quirked lips. I couldn’t answer. Denying it now would come off as childish, cranky, and patently untrue. Much as I hated to admit it, I kinda did have a little thing for him. Some wedding fluke of a thing that shouldn’t even merit a mention. Sensible girls should never tell charming, accented men that they were powerless against them—it tipped the balance of power in precarious ways.
Besides, I was pretty sure it had been a rhetorical question, so I’d match him with one of my own.
“Do you have one for me?” Sooo not what I’d been planning to say ...
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Talk about your awkward situations!
“You don’t even know me.” I’d intended this to come out with just an edge of attitude, but he was so messing with my head that it came off embarrassingly coy. This had to stop.
“True, it’s early going yet, but so far I’m smitten.” Placing his hand on my elbow, he led me toward a private alcove, limned in candlelight.
“So far? You mean after our shared participation in an awkward mushroom incident and one casual dance.”
“I don’t think either of us believes it was casual.”
I shot him a vaguely concerned glance before letting my eyes settle on the pewter pin once more. “What part of Scotland?”
“Near the Isle of Skye, if you know where that is.”
With a soaring, overly optimistic feeling of possibility, I wondered if he could be one of the expatriots who’d come over from Scotland’s Silicon Glen to work in Austin’s semiconductor sprawl. Maybe underneath it all, he was a geek at heart.
Not bloody likely ...
“Why Austin?” I was fishing.
“It’s the Live Music Capital of the World.”
I held my smile in place expectantly, waiting for the rest. But it wasn’t forthcoming.
“What else?” I finally prompted.
“South by Southwest.”
Okaaay.
“Pretty serious music fan, huh?”
“You could say that.”
I felt like I was missing something, so I crinkled my forehead in confusion and stared back at him, waiting.
“I’m with one of the festival’s showcased bands,” he confided, eyebrows raised, waiting for a reaction.
“Oh wow! Really? That’s awesome. I understand there’s some pretty stiff competition.” I shot him a shy smile. “I’ve never actually met someone in a band.” So much for the moratorium on flirting.
“Well, now ye have.”
“What’s the name of your band?”
“Loch’d In, with an ‘h’ instead of a ‘k,’ playing on the whole Scottish thing.” He was adorably disarming.
“Ah, clever. How many band members?”
“Four, including me. Ian on drums, Simon on keyboards, and Connor on bass guitar. They all do backup vocals as well.”
“What, no Scottish beauty with a killer voice?” I teased.
“Well, there is me, luv.” How was it that he was always one step ahead of me, and I was always stumbling to catch up?
“So the band doesn’t interfere with any of your jobs, or lives, or anything?”
“Not so much interfere as dominate.”
And then, like a flash, I got it, and my body began to cringe, curling in on itself, shirking the incompatibility. No wonder I’d felt so utterly out of my element.
“Sorry. I’m slow—you guys are professional musicians, right?” Sean was smiling, clearly amused to see me floundering.
“Pub players,” he finally answered. “And what about you, Ms. James?”
“I’m a product engineer at Integrated Micro.”
“Ah, so you’re one of those geeky girls.” I could tell by his smile that this was good-natured payback. “I suppose I should have pegged you from the start.”
“How could you not, given the circumstances?”
“I saw that mushroom go in, and my mind was wrapped around search and rescue. It’s the curse of the superhero, I’m afraid.”
Breathing deep, relaxing a little despite the dizzying frenzy of emotions ping-ponging inside me, I realized we were engaged in the clichéd wedding chitchat. Which made me wonder ...
“Hold on. You’re not a wedding crasher, are you?”
“Why? Are you?” After all the playfulness, his deadpan response took me a little off guard.
My eyebrow lifted all on its own. “You haven’t picked up on the higher concentration of geekiness in the vicinity? Most of the guys here are engineers at Micro.”
“So I’m sort of the odd man out.”
“Ya think?” I muttered.
“I’m actually backup for the band tonight. One of the guys—an old friend—has a wife who’s ready to have her baby. It’s down to the wire now, and he’s ready to bolt. He’s wearing a pager and two cell phones.”
“You can just step in and take over, just like that?”
“Pretty much.”
This didn’t seem like a big deal to him, but I was very impressed. I had no musical skills whatsoever, hence my “no karaoke” rule.
“What else can you do?” I asked, suddenly fascinated.
He blinked but took the high road. “I play the guitar, I’m decent on keyboards, and I’m told my singing voice is not too shabby.”
“My next-door neighbors could really use you at their Friday night karaoke parties,” I joked.
“So invite me,” he flirte
d, sliding his thumb over the back of my hand.
With no clue how to respond to that, the suggestion ended up dangling awkwardly between us.
“Allow me to demonstrate,” Sean said, clearly amused. “My band is playing Maggie Mae’s Thursday night. Will you come for a listen? I can leave passes for you with the manager.”
With the sconces above us flickering with candlelight, I opened my mouth to decline, but then glanced up at his face, letting that boyish grin melt me just a little. “Sure,” I finally answered, a resigned smile curving my lips. I knew that seeing him again and letting my mind get all tangled up in him was probably not a good idea. And yet, it’d be a shame to miss the chance, because I suspected he had a very talented mouth.
The sound of silver ringing against crystal kept that image from pulling me under, and as conversation gently died down, the announcement followed:
“The bride and groom will now be cutting the cake, if everyone would like to make their way into the foyer.”
My eyes met Sean’s, the question clear: Shall we?
Rather than answer, he settled his hand possessively at the base of my spine, gesturing gallantly for me to proceed him, and we abandoned our alcove to follow the crowd.
Even surrounded by wedding guests, I was aware of only Sean. Standing behind me, he was out of sight, and his hand, tracing shivery circles mere inches away from racy behavior, was driving me out of my mind. My breathing was erratic to say the least, and then he leaned in, his breath skimming my cheek.
“If he knows what he’s doing, he’ll muck it up, miss her mouth completely.”
His lip glided casually across my cheek, and my heart started to pound out a rhythm: Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God ... I didn’t even attempt a response.
“Real men lick the icing,” he teased, his voice as velvety as his lips. “I’ll snag you a piece.”
Then he was pulling away, taking all his warmth and innuendo with him. And cathartic relief was vying with pervasive disappointment. I was just barely recovering when he was back, with one single sliver, which he handed to me.
I awkwardly offered him the first bite. He grinned wolfishly and leaned down to take it. I forked up the second bite and closed my eyes in pleasure as the feather-light cake and decadent cream filling melded on my tongue. Finally ... cake.
Austentatious Page 7