I didn’t know why I was pushing her. After all, I was the one being cowardly about my feelings for Bryce.
At last, she half-turned to face me and lowered her voice. “I feel disloyal,” she muttered.
“It’s been three years,” I said gently. “That’s a long time to be alone.”
Her eyes glistened with sudden tears. “I adored my husband.”
“Of course you did. But you weren’t buried with him. Surely he wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “The dear man would scold me six ways to Sunday if he knew I’ve hidden away for so long. He always lived life as if there was no tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a fun way to approach things.” What did I know about it?
The woman who had become very special to me during my short tenure in Scotland got a mischievous look in her eyes. “Here’s the deal, Willow. The band will be shifting now to the slower, more romantic numbers. What you in America might call slow dancing.”
I nodded. “Yes. I know what you mean.”
“Well then, lassie…Here’s my dare. I’ll ask Roger to dance with me if you’ll do the same with Bryce.”
She had neatly boxed me into a corner. Knowing full well that I thought she should spread her wings, she had offered to do just that. But only if I approached the Laird of Dunvarstone and followed her example.
I set my glass on a tray and nodded jerkily. “But what if he’s still in the midst of his courtesy dances, as you call them?”
“He’s not,” she said. “He’s standing across the room watching to make sure I don’t pass you off to one of your many admirers.”
“You’re joking.”
“See for yourself.”
It was true. Bryce was in the midst of a group of people, but his laser-gaze pinned me from a distance. The knowledge that he wanted to make love to me lent wings to my feet. As though hovering above the dance floor watching someone who was not at all me, I made my way in and around the milling guests until I stood at Bryce’s elbow. “Hi,” I said breathlessly, the word barely a whisper. “Would you care to dance?”
He tucked my arm in his, casually holding me close as he finished whatever conversational topic required his input. Then he smiled at the small group. “If you all will excuse me, I’d like to dance with this pretty lady. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, abashed. “I shouldn’t have interrupted.” Abigail had kept her part of the bargain and was already dancing with Roger.
Bryce nuzzled the top of my head. “I’m glad you did. They were beating an old drum.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s not important. I want to concentrate on you.” He swept me onto the dance floor with one hand at my waist, and the other on my back. Against my bare skin, his fingers were warm and firm.
Suddenly, I recognized the tempo. A waltz. “I don’t know how to waltz,” I muttered. “Let me take a rain check on this number.”
“No. Sorry. All you have to do is follow my lead. I promise not to step on your toes.”
Waltzing with a handsome man while wearing a barely-there dress does things to a woman’s equilibrium. I had read somewhere that when the waltz was first introduced in England years ago, it was considered scandalous. Young debutantes were not even allowed to participate.
Now I understood why. It was like making love standing up. My partner’s leg moved between mine as we whirled and spun and followed the music. Light and sound and color surrounded us in dizzying circles.
Bryce’s firm hand on my bare back held me close to his chest. I felt light and graceful in his arms. The gangly giraffe transformed by the handsome prince. “You do this very well,” I said breathlessly.
He grinned, his gaze on my mouth as if he were going to kiss me right there in front of God and everyone he knew. “My parents loved to entertain. From the time I was a child of six or seven, my father taught me how to be a gentleman, as he called it.”
“You must miss them very much.”
“Aye. But they visit twice a year. And Abigail and I go there. My mother has issues with her lungs, issues that were being exacerbated by the Scottish climate. Since she has family in Italy, it seemed like the perfect solution when she and my father decided they needed to move.”
I lapsed into silence, content to live in the moment. Bryce and I danced as one, despite my lack of experience. In his arms, I was able to put aside what had happened back home. The only thing that existed was the music and the two of us.
At last, like all good things, the song came to an end. Bryce steered me toward the drink table. Handing me a cup of punch, he drained his and asked for another. The twenty-something server pouring the drinks seemed dazzled by Bryce’s charisma. Poor girl. I knew how she felt.
“I need a break,” Bryce whispered. “Follow me.”
He surveyed the crowd to make sure no one was headed our way. Then, slowly, he steered me to a corner of the room and out through a doorway that accessed the gardens. We were not the only ones who’d had the idea, but Bryce had the advantage of knowing his way around in the dark.
The area lit with white lights gave way to shadowy corners and wrought iron benches tucked away beneath sheltering trees. My date led me with confidence, my hand tucked firmly in his. The night air felt cool on my overheated skin.
At last, when we were out of earshot of the other partygoers, Bryce pulled me down beside him on a seat under an apple tree. I remembered my grandmother having an old vinyl forty-five of the Andrews sisters’ iconic wartime song. In those lyrics, the lovers were parted by an ocean and a mighty world conflict. Maybe that would end up being my theme song when I got back to Georgia.
Please, Bryce. Don’t sit in the garden with anyone else but me.…
Oddly, he didn’t touch me once we were still. We sat in silence, enjoying the balmy summer evening. I hadn’t brought my shawl with me, but Bryce’s body generated enough heat to keep me warm—that and my nervous energy.
Even out here I caught snatches of melodies the band was playing. As far as romantic ambience went, this particular moment combined all the right ingredients. Handsome, sexy leading man. Romantic isolation. Fragrant garden. And a woman yearning to be kissed.
Still, Bryce sat in silence.
At last, I couldn’t stand it any more. Maybe I should blurt out my confession and see what happened. I love you, Bryce. Or I’m at least seventy percent there. I told myself I hadn’t fallen all the way. That thirty percent was all that stood between me and utter heartbreak.
I bit my lip, feeling sad and a bit homesick despite the amazing evening I was experiencing. “So who were those people you were talking to…right before we danced?” I asked. I needed an icebreaker question. This was as good as any.
He sighed. “’Tis a group of folks who want me to run for public office. They seem to think I could lead the Highlands in a progressive direction without sacrificing all the things we hold dear about the place.”
“I see.” Stunned, I tried to process this new piece of information. Earlier, I had come close to convincing myself that Bryce and I would make a good couple, assuming he felt about me the way I did about him. I’d even decided to confess the truth about my infatuation and ask him if he saw any hope for the two of us to have a permanent relationship.
At the time, it had seemed like the mature, proactive thing to do. Now, I felt foolish. I knew my talents and capabilities. Serving as a political spouse was not one of them. And I seriously doubted whether a man running for public office could afford to nip back and forth across the ocean for booty calls with his American friend.
Besides, Bryce himself had told me as much when I asked him if he might ever visit me in Georgia. He’d said no. He had responsibilities that tied him to Dunvarstone. I understood it, even if I didn’t like it.
He turned to face me. “I don’t know what to do about you, Willow.”
It made me feel better to hear the frustration in his voice. At least I was
n’t the only one with emotional heartburn.
“Here’s a thought,” I said lightly. “Let’s pretend we met for the first time tonight. I’ll be your Cinderella and you can be my handsome prince. Only instead of my carriage turning into a pumpkin at the end of the evening, I’ll end up in the prince’s bed.”
Finally, Bryce smiled, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “I like where this is headed.”
“Unless of course, your guests stay forever. I suppose it would be bad form to kick them out now.”
He chuckled. “I have no problem with turning the lights out at midnight. I think they would get the hint.”
“Bad laird.”
“Horny laird.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth to smother a squeak of laughter. I didn’t want to be discovered.
Bryce put his hands lightly on my shoulders, his thumbs tracing my collarbone. “I’m going to enjoy taking this dress off of you.”
All the air left my lungs in one mighty swoosh. “I thought you liked it,” I croaked.
His hands slid lower, cupping each of my silk-wrapped breasts. My nipples beaded instantly. “I do like it, lass. You’re a dark angel tonight, an incandescent, sexual being drawing men like bees to the hive. But I like knowing I’ll be the only one touching what’s underneath that red gown.”
I shivered. My breathing grew shallow. “That sounds very possessive.”
He scraped the sensitive nubs with a fingernail. “Are you complaining?”
“No,” I sighed, collapsing into his embrace. “Not at all.”
Chapter 31
Like a highly calibrated racecar engine, the romantic moment went from soft and romantic to carnal and desperate in seconds. Zero to sixty. The wicked whiplash of desire left me shattered and utterly defenseless.
Bryce bent me over his arm, kissing me like a mad man. The suave, highly sophisticated laird had disappeared. In his place was the man I first met in my bed. The skilled lover. The wily seducer. The deliciously inventive partner in carnal crime.
My dress was not a suit of armor. It was designed for a man to find easy access. In the blink of an eye, Bryce slid the top portion to my waist. He paused to stare at his handiwork, his chest heaving. “You’re exquisite, my Willow.”
The rough timbre of his voice stroked every yearning cell of my body. When he bent his head to taste me, I moaned. I couldn’t help it. No man had ever made me feel so much, so fast. Bryce’s lovemaking showed me a whole new side of myself. I had filled my life with work and more work, never knowing what I was missing.
I needed a man like Bryce to keep me balanced. To remind me that sex and love were not optional add-ons. They were the deepest, most exquisite gifts I had ever been given.
Though I had no clue what time it was, I did understand that Bryce was neglecting his own party. But I honestly didn’t know if I had the strength to share him right now. I wanted to be selfish. I yearned to revel in the feel of his hands and his mouth on my bare skin.
Five more minutes, I told myself. Five more minutes. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. Inside the ballroom, the wine still flowed freely, in addition to the punch, so I knew that many of the guests might scarcely notice their host’s absence. Even so, my guilt increased.
“Are you wearing anything underneath that kilt?” I dared to ask.
“Nay, lass. What about you?”
I thought of the narrow band of silk and lace that masqueraded as my underwear. “Nothing to speak of.”
Abruptly, he set me aside. An impressive, impassioned string of Gaelic curses tumbled from his lips. Though I didn’t know the language, the tone conveyed plenty.
His fists clenched on his bare knees. An unmistakable erection tented the front of his kilt. “God in heaven, Willow. You make me feel like a randy boy with naught on his mind but rutting.”
“Are ye complainin’, my laird?” I asked, feigning a Scottish accent to make him laugh. “We could be quick about it.”
“Damn it, woman. Don’t tempt me.”
I froze, knowing I was being unfair to the both of us. “Go,” I said urgently. “Go back to the party. I’ll follow you in a few minutes.”
“Are ye mad? I can’t waltz in there like this.”
“Oh.” Fair point. “Then it should be me.” I stood up and tugged at my dress until it once again covered me respectably. “How does my hair look?”
“A bit ruffled. But I like it.”
“Men.” I ran my fingers through it. “Maybe I’ll slip up to my room for repairs.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“If ye do that, I’d be bound to follow you.”
My knees wobbled. I sat down hard on the bench. He wasn’t kidding. The image of the two of us moving lazily beneath my sheets while the party went on without us made me breathless.
“Okay,” I whispered. “The party it is.”
I jumped up and fled through the garden, pausing only once when a branch snagged my dress. Fortunately, I was able to free myself without damage. When I came upon the area where the pre-dinner socializing had occurred, I stopped and smoothed my skirts. I was breathing too hard.
After a few moments of visualizing a serene mountain lake, I decided I was calm enough to go back inside. Unfortunately, literally the first person I bumped into was Abigail.
She eyed me with raised brows. “Someone’s been having fun.”
I smoothed my hair self-consciously. “I don’t know what you mean. I was getting too hot, so I went outside for a few minutes.”
“Of course you did.” Her sly smile made me want to squirm, but I wasn’t about to confirm her suspicions.
The partygoers had thinned, though the dance floor was still crowded. Thanks to Abby, I spent the next hour dancing nonstop. One after another, she introduced me to charming men who twirled me and talked to me and paid me outrageous compliments.
Was the male of the species able to pick up on some weird sort of pheromones that let them know a woman was aroused? Not that I gave a fig about any of my dance partners, not in a sexual way. But I certainly was popular all of a sudden.
Of course, that could always be blamed on the alcohol being consumed and the late hour.
I worried about Bryce. It was a good thirty minutes before he made his reappearance in the great hall. After that, my relief was tempered with annoyance as he danced his way through a line-up of beautiful, sexy women, all of whom seemed delighted to spend time with the laird.
Bryce was only playing his role. He was the host…the founder of the feast. But did he have to enjoy himself so damn much? His laugh rang out time and again across the room.
Forcing myself to abandon my covert spy operation, I turned my attention to Abigail, who was out on the floor again. Unless I was mistaken, she had danced with Roger no less than five times. And that was even not counting the fact that I had been out in the garden for an extended period.
At last, the band played the final song of the evening. Bryce announced the total of the monies raised for charity and received a roar of approval in return. The amount made my eyes bug out.
After that, the crowd began to say their goodnights and find their way home.
I yawned without meaning to and glanced around, hoping no one had noticed. With fewer people in the hall, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore Bryce.
He caught my eye time and again, his enigmatic smile making me want to drag him away from his many female admirers. Perhaps I should go upstairs and shower. But on the other hand, I felt sexy and daring in my dress. So I stayed.
Bryce never asked me to dance again. I could have let my feelings be hurt by that omission, but I was pretty sure he was avoiding me for a very good reason.
While Bryce and Abigail were saying goodbye to the last of the guests, I escaped to my room. The nice thing about being a comfortably well-to-do laird was that you didn’t have to clean up after your own party.
My feet hurt. I kicked off my heels
and flexed my toes with a grimace. I couldn’t remember the last time I spent so many consecutive hours in dressy shoes. I was definitely out of practice.
In the bathroom, I examined my reflection in the mirror. Not bad after a marathon party. I spent a few minutes fluffing my hair and making sure my mascara wasn’t smudged.
The waiting was killing me. Never a patient person on the best of days, I found myself getting bent out of shape. I should put a note on my door. Tell Bryce I had gone to bed.
Of course, knowing him, he would knock until I gave up and answered. He might even let himself in. After all, it was his house. The old saying ‘a man’s home is his castle’ took on whole new meaning in Scotland.
Fortunately for my state of mind, a quiet knock sounded at my door a half hour past midnight. I yanked it open only to find Abigail on the other side.
She burst out laughing. Apparently I hadn’t done a very good job masking my dismay.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’ll be up in a minute.”
“Who will?” I asked in a last ditch effort to be discreet.
“Oh, come on, Willow. You don’t have to pretend with me. When you and Bryce were out on the dance floor tonight, the room could have caught on fire and neither of you would have noticed.”
I decided to plead the fifth on that one. “Did you and Roger have a nice time?”
My red herring worked. Her cheeks went pink and her eyes sparkled. “Yes,” she said softly. “He’s invited me out to dinner next weekend.”
I hugged her gently. “That’s wonderful. Take things a day at a time. Life is easier that way.”
Did I have it in me to heed my own advice?
She nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Willow.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly remembering what had bothered her in the weeks past. “Were you able to reconnect with all your friends?”
“Yes. Everyone was very kind. And even though I knew that they knew what happened to me, it was okay.”
“I’m glad.”
She gave me a small wave as she disappeared into her own suite. I closed my door and felt a jolt of pain when I realized that by the time Roger and Abigail’s dinner date rolled around next weekend, I would be long gone. Breathless and sad, I sat on the edge of the bed and buried my face in my hands.
Scot of My Dreams Page 17