One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  ‘Rooved,’ says a sleep roughened voice, ‘with lost opportunities.’

  Kai lays unmoving, appearance suggesting a lack of consciousness. His breathing is deep and even as my own heart beats like a deafening drum.

  ‘And possibly the overwrought corpses of girls with pretty mouths.’ My body jumps as his pouting and somnolent lips form the words. ‘Penny for them.’ He yawns, rolling onto his back and stretching along the bed, hair deliciously dishevelled, dark lashes spiked by sleep.

  ‘I’d have to give you change,’ I mutter, readjusting the sheets and drawing my legs back under the covers.

  ‘You’re having cheap thoughts? I think I like the sound of that.’ Propping himself up on one arm, his grin becomes a teasing sort of corner-of-the-mouth arrangement.

  ‘As in not worth much,’ I answer stroppily.

  ‘Were you going to leave me a note?’ His voice is low, tone mockingly severe as his fingers pull at the sheet playfully, though I’m guessing he’s also serious about uncovering me. ‘Or just sneak out?’

  ‘I . . . well . . . I . . . ’

  Rolling onto his back, he stretches long and fully, lifting his toned torso from the bed.

  ‘You know I know where you work, right?’

  The words are spoken through gritted teeth and a stifled yawn, but I’m stopped from witty repartee—or a sarcastic comeback—by my stomach growling. Loudly. I could curl into a corner and die.

  ‘Someone worked up an appetite.’ With a smirk, he lifts his phone from the nightstand.

  ‘It rang. Earlier. While you were still sleeping.’ His eyes lift from the screen before sliding back. I’d say sheepishly, but why he’d be self-conscious when it’s my stomach that sounds like a lion that’s just ingested a walrus, I’m not sure. ‘Thanks, so I see. I’ve got to make a couple of calls.’

  Throwing back the sheet, he stands and stretches unhurriedly, leaving me free to perve at the rear view: a graceful and muscular back, highly defined lats leading to a narrow waist and butt cheeks you could bounce pennies on. Freakin’ unreal! Just in time, I pull the edge of the sheet to my chest before it’s wrenched from the bed. ‘No escaping, now.’

  Slipping into his discarded pants, he saunters from the room, phone in hand, his voice murmuring then falling away. I take this as my cue, almost jumping from the bed and making a nudie dash toward the bathroom, slamming the door with a click of the lock to follow.

  In the vanity mirror, a stranger stares back through bright, wild eyes. My cheeks look almost wind burned and I definitely don’t have that sexy bed-head-hair going on, because my hair is just . . . fucked. I look like I’ve been getting it on in a wind tunnel. Grinning like the five year old that’s just discovered the keys to the lolly shop, I fan my hands across my cheeks and resist the urge to an undignified squee!

  Could this be a sudden onset of bipolar?

  Kai-polar, more like?

  ‘Don’t think much of your hair,’ I say, running a hand through the tangled mess. ‘The new me is supposed to be fabulous, didn’t you hear?’

  The new me is fabulously sore. And I mean that, fabbbbulously sore, my body aching in a way that only great sex can provide—like the best massage or workout that pours satisfaction into the very centre of your bones. With a smile wider than I’ve any right to, I stretch my arms above my head as I turn, startled by the dark bruise against my shoulder. I’ve been bitten before, though maybe it’s more the case that I’ve had a hickey or two. But this isn’t some half-hearted suck and more like an autograph bitten into my skin. I run my fingers over the minute depressions, aftershocks of pleasure shooting through my limbs.

  My reflected smile falters a little. I’m not going to over analyse these feelings. I’ll just . . . revel in them for a little bit.

  As I step into the cavernous shower, the heat of the water bites at my skin, my muscles unlocking and relaxing. And the water isn’t the only thing that flows, as my mind fills with X-rated images of all the dirty things you can do while keeping clean.

  Pink from the heat of the water, mostly, I wrap myself in a large, white towel, feeling reinvigorated, but for my mouth, which feels like something has crawled in overnight and died. There’s nothing for it. I’ll have to brush my teeth with the only toothbrush available: his. I suppose I’ll just have to trust his oral hygiene, though there is something undeniably intimate about the sharing of a toothbrush. It’s ironic, I think as I pause with the brush in my hand, that I’d feel so circumspect, given the intimacies—not to mention fluids—we shared last night.

  Orally acceptable, and reasonably presentable, I open the door to find Kai’s body filling the entire doorframe. I inhale sharply, having almost walked into his bare chest.

  ‘Damn, I was going to join you.’

  His words are delivered with a soft pout, I find, as my gaze makes a slow path from his ribcage to his face. And while I manage to hang onto some brain function, my body has other plans, his proximity causing a chemical reaction to fizz under my skin. I can almost as if I can hear the endorphins.

  A perfect specimen! Hump, spread those genes! Procreate that motherfucker!

  Or maybe procreate that fucker . . . potential . . . mother?

  Shaking off the primal urge to push him backwards toward the bed, I manage to stutter, ‘I—I’ve got to go soon.’ Because I’ve remembered I do. ‘I’m meeting Niamh for lunch today.’

  His low chuckle brushes my skin, his expression one of doubt.

  His eyes flick over me, my skin tingling further in response. ‘Not a very imaginative escape plan.’

  ‘But true,’ I protest. ‘Anyway, I can hardly lie around in bed all day, even if there isn’t a check-out time.’

  ‘I wouldn’t complain.’ His tone is honeyed and smooth. ‘In fact, I’d offer an incentive.’

  My wits—currently rolling around somewhere in my non-existent knickers—gather together like iron filings drawn by a magnet, effectively cooling my dander. And by that, I mean cooch. ‘Not a workplace incentive,’ I say in warning, ‘because you said—’

  ‘It was a joke.’ With a sigh, he steps back to allow me to pass. ‘Let me shower and I’ll take you to meet your friend.’

  Keen to leave my bewildered self behind, I decide to head into the living room to look for my dress. A dress, of which, there is no sign. A frantic few minutes follow as I move cushions from sofas and look under chairs. Why wouldn’t my dress be where I left it, lying in a heap along with my resolve?

  My nose is flat to the floor and I’m almost under the sofa, rapidly losing my shit.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck!’ Sitting on my heels, I chuck a pillow across the room.

  ‘And here I was admiring your mouth.’

  My heart skips a beat as I peek over my shoulder to where Kai stands behind me, freshly showered and exquisitely dressed, one nonchalant shoulder leaning against the wall.

  ‘You have such an interesting turn of phrase. Is there a problem?’ All charm and innocence, he crosses his arms.

  I keep my back to him, embarrassed I’ve been caught swearing so obviously. It’s a reflexive reaction, my mother’s words echoing in my ears. Nice girls don’t swear, Katherine. Only those with a limited vocabulary resort to profanity.

  Vocabulary aside, I don’t think my mother understands the catharsis of a good fuck.

  ‘I can’t find my clothes,’ I mumble, castigating myself silently as I continue my search, hyper-conscious of his eyes. Probably on my arse.

  Nice girls don’t fucking swear or fucking fuck.

  ‘I think you’d have more success in the bedroom.’

  ‘You would.’

  He laughs quite suddenly and holds out his hand. ‘I’m serious; come.’

  ‘Don’t think I could manage it again,’ I mumble, placing my hand in his to stand.

  Laughing still, he pulls me into his arms.

  In the bedroom, he points to a monogrammed laundry bag draped over the arm of a very boudoir chair. ‘Laundere
d, with the exception of your underwear, which they seem to have misplaced somehow, hence . . .’ He indicates the small bag lying hooked around the hanger, discretely branded Bordelle.

  ‘New undies?’ Expensive ones, too, by the looks of things as I open the bag, and heaps above my usual fare of K-Mart undies. Strange, I didn’t see a lingerie shop in the hotel. I think I saw a Louis Vuitton. ‘You didn’t have to.’ But I’m pleased he did.

  He shrugs lightly. ‘You didn’t strike me as the type to go without.’ And that’s why. ‘Now, get dressed before you force me to break all the rules.’

  ‘You threatening to break out those ‘cuffs again?’ I reply deadpan.

  ‘Hmm, they do them to match this set.’

  Ignoring my fish impersonation, Kai sits on the edge of the bed somehow managing to make it look like an invitation. I remind myself my loyalty is to Niamh today, mantra-like, over again and again in my head. But I’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to be tempted, and I suppose that’s what got me here in the first place.

  ‘Well?’ he questions, with what I’m becoming to think of as his trademark quirked brow.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘You’ll need to.’ His hand moves in a small, dismissing motion, golden bedroom eyes suggesting something entirely else. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind because if you stand there much longer looking at me like that . . .’

  The implication hangs in the air as heavy as the weight of his gaze. I drag my eyes from his to the contents of the lingerie bag. The delicate scraps of cream lace are pretty, and sort of exclusive looking, the bra barely a demi-cup and the knickers smaller still.

  Is there an attractive way of stepping into your undies, rather than staggering around the room with them hooked around one leg? If there is, I think I must’ve missed that class.

  God, how am I going to do this with him looking at me like that?

  Taking a deep breath to suck in my stomach, I decide it’s nothing he hasn’t seen over the past few hours—and probably from less flattering angles—so I allow the towel to slip to the floor. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, a smile curling on his gorgeous mouth.

  But there’s something about being naked before him which makes me very aware of my skin. It almost pulls at my frame. My carriage is definitely altered, my movements slow and sinuous with a definite absence of klutz. Stepping into the knickers and leisurely drawing the fabric up my legs, each movement is deliberate and unhurried and absolutely for show. For an encore, I run my index fingers across the elastic at my hipbones, making it snap softly against my skin.

  Despite my cool outward appearance, I feel lightheaded and breathless as his eyes brand every inch of me, forcing me to turn from his gaze. I slip my arms into the straps of the bra and reach behind to fasten the clasp. Liquid heat races through my veins as he moves almost silently to stand behind, just a whisper of air separating us. His finger slips under the strap at my shoulder, so intimate, yet barely a touch, and I tremble as his soft breath brushes my skin. He kisses my shoulder, just once, before moving away.

  As the door to the room closes behind him, I’m left shivering from both relief and regret.

  Chapter Twelve

  I feel mildly giddy, in a silly schoolgirl-crush kind of way as Kai reaches for my hand in the corridor. A gorgeous boy wants to hold my hand! Unfortunately, the thrill doesn’t detract from my now pinching shoes as I transfer my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the elevator to descend. I probably look like I need to pee.

  ‘Stop fidgeting.’ Kai’s hand tugs my own. ‘I’d ask if you have ants in your pants if I didn’t know any better.’ He smiles, white teeth showing and I notice his incisors are a little pointed. It’s a small imperfection, but it suits him. He is sort of wickedly beautiful.

  ‘Very funny. Not.’ I make an effort to curtail my returning smile and glance down. ‘I was just wishing I’d packed thongs.’

  Laughter bounces off the walls as he reaches a long arm around my waist. ‘Is that so?’ Pulling me to his chest, he kisses the top of my head, his hand briefly brushing across my butt. ‘I see no problem here.’

  ‘What?’ I angle my head in question. ‘I usually have some in the bottom of my purse for after nights out. Blisters are no laughing matter.’

  ‘What kind of emergencies are we talking here? Blisters and spare underwear?’

  ‘Underw—not bum-floss! Thongs as in shoes, you know, flip-flop thingies for your feet? Not thongs as in underwear, G-string thingies for your . . . your . . . well, you know.’

  His eyes shine with amusement, but I can’t tell whether he’s being serious or having fun at my expense.

  ‘That makes much more sense.’ He pulls my body against his again. ‘My mind was drawn to much more lewd conclusions, somehow.’

  ‘Honestly, talk about being divided by a common language.’

  At the hotel’s grand entrance, Kai’s car pulls up: the behemoth black SUV from last night. Was it really just a few hours ago? Stepping into the brilliant sunshine, I wince and shield my eyes as Kai, the consummate gentleman, opens the passenger door.

  ‘Where to?’ he asks, manoeuvring into the busy road.

  ‘Mall of the Emirates.’

  ‘Main entrance okay?’

  ‘Sweet,’ I answer, trying not to watch his profile and failing badly.

  Turning to the side window, I allow a curtain of hair to shield my face. If last night wasn’t enough in the fantasy stakes, this morning feels almost as surreal. I bet the price tag on this car would buy a large chunk of a small house, at least.

  ‘You’re pretty delicious yourself.’ His gaze slides my way, one brow cocked.

  ‘I meant sweet as an affirmation, not sweet as in you,’ I reply.

  As the car slows for a red light, he twists in his seat, my face reflected in his aviator frames.

  ‘You don’t think I’m sweet?’

  He sounds a little hurt, and by his tone alone I might almost believe him. But the fact is, while I could think of lot of words to describe him, sweet wouldn’t be one of my choosing.

  ‘Not so much,’ I answer honestly.

  His hand reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, the back of his hand grazing my jaw. ‘I could make your teeth ache in so many ways.’

  Ho-ly! I believe him; why not? He can make the nerve endings enclosed in my undies dance, make my mouth water, and render me almost mute, just by looking at me like that. The lights change and Kai’s eyes return to the front. Mine don’t budge from the highway for the rest of the way.

  As we pull into the valet parking bay—an idea as absurd as a ski-slope in a mall, as far as I’m concerned—Kai’s hands seem to almost anchor him to the steering wheel.

  ‘May I call you?’

  A mixture of relief at his courtly question catches me off guard, and I actually giggle before examining my hands. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Then I shall. Have a good afternoon.’

  ‘You, too,’ I answer as the attendant opens the door.

  ‘Katherine?’ Kai calls as I step away. ‘I look forward to further thong discourse.’

  I’m left with the impression of his smirk as the valet closes the dark-tinted door.

  Niamh is waiting for me just inside the entrance, which is just as well because the mall appears to be massive. I don’t think a month of Sundays would be time enough for me to find my way around. Maybe that would be a month of Fridays in Dubai? Lounged over the railings and peering at the floor below, my arrival goes unnoticed as she chats on her phone.

  ‘Does it have a happy ending? Loads. I especially like the one where he says, all commanding, like, roll over Arabella, I’m going to come in your bum.’ Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she spots me, wiggling her fingers in a wave. ‘Listen, I’ve gotta go. Talk later, yeah?’

  Open-mouthed, I glance around the not empty mall as she simultaneously slides the phone into her oversized purse and an arm around my s
houlder. ‘You, my girl, are late but being the bestest friend that I am, I’ll still give you the choice: a spot of lunch or shopping first?’

  ‘Am not. And what in the name of arse was that all about?’

  ‘What?’ she asks pulling away. ‘The phone? I was just havin’ a laugh, winding up one of the silly cows from my book club. You wouldn’t believe some people are such prudes. Hypocrites, too. The stink she’s kicked up about our latest read, but you can bet she’s off looking for the dirty pages right now. Not that it’s strictly one-handed reading material, if you know what I mean.’ I frown because I’m not sure I do. ‘You know, Sixty Shags? For feck’s sakes woman, have you been living in a cave?’

  ‘Not really my thing,’ I mumble, recognising the title from its media furore. Mummy porn, wasn’t that what it was dubbed? I like my smut best with a historical slant.

  ‘Sex is everybody’s thing, Kitty. I’ll loan it to you, but it better not come back with stains.’

  ‘Er, thanks?’

  ‘Where to, then?’

  ‘Coffee defo, and a muffin. I overslept and I’m so hungry now that my bum’s eating my knickers.’ With a furtive look over my shoulder, I adjust the elastic creeping across one cheek. ‘Maybe on the way, a shoe shop? I so need to buy thongs.’

  Niamh’s gaze flicks down—she gets it, she knows what I mean—before scanning the rest of my appearance, aching toes up.

  ‘Katherine Louise Saunders,’ she says with a mockingly-stern slow shake of her head. ‘You haven’t been home, have you?’

  ‘Well, no . . .’ I feel my face redden under her scrutiny and come back on the defence. ‘But that’s hardly my fault.’

  ‘You hoower!’ she exclaims, clapping her hands in glee. The round of applause does nothing to ease my embarrassment. Am I being congratulated for being a dirty stop-out?

  ‘A bit louder, yeah? There’s a bloke on the top floor that didn’t quite hear.’

  ‘I want details, dirty great ones. Coffee’s on me!’ With a death-grip on my arm, she pulls me toward an escalator.

  ‘Shoes first,’ I whine, shuffling behind.

  ‘I dare say by the look of you, your feet aren’t the only thing that hurt,’ she trills as we step onto the first tread.