by H G Lynch
A half hour into the movie, three of the teen cast members were dead, and I’d already worked out who the killer was. I was half-asleep, curled up on the sofa, no longer really watching the movie when a loud knock on the front door made me jump out of my skin. I was wide-awake in an instant, my heart pounding. Who the hell would be at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night, on the night of the dance? Nobody I could think of. Ash and Angus were both at the dance.
It occurred to me then that I made a great target for a murderer. A young woman, home alone on the night all her friends were out having fun? Yeah, perfect horror movie scenario. And having just watched what happened to girls on TV, I did not want to have my head chopped off with an axe.
Hunched on the sofa, I stared toward the front door, and considered running upstairs and locking my bedroom door behind me. Better yet, grabbing a knife from the kitchen—something that every horror movie chick I’d ever seen was, for some obscure reason, too stupid to do. Maybe if I had a weapon, at least I wouldn’t end up like all those girls—tied up in a lunatic’s basement and cut up into tiny pieces.
I was about to bolt for the kitchen when my mobile phone buzzed on the coffee table, making a rattling noise that made me flinch. I leaned over to look at the phone, and saw I had a text from a number I didn’t recognise. “Oh God,” I breathed. It was probably a message from the killer standing on my front porch, and the second I read the text, which probably said something like, YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE, he would break down the door and kill me.
But my curiosity was at least as great as my fear, and I did what every soon-to-be dead horror movie heroine did—I picked up the phone. My hand trembled as I hit the button to open the message and read it.
ANSWER THE DOOR. RU.
I heaved a sigh of relief, my heart rate slowing, and then picking up the pace again for an entirely different reason. I grinned and read the text again. Ruairidh. I’d forgotten he’d put his number in my phone. I glanced at the front door again, this time with hope instead of fear.
No. Way, I thought. He couldn’t be . . .
I ran to the front door, skidding to a halt as it crossed my mind that it could be a trick by the killer. Then decided it was unlikely. But I peered through the peephole first anyway. The porch was dark and the light had burned out, so all I could see was the bulky outline of a man.
I decided to risk it. But if I did get killed, I was blaming Ruairidh and coming back to haunt his fine ass.
Unlocking the door, I inched it open, and peeked out. “Ruairidh?”
The mysterious man turned around and sighed. “No, I’m the satellite repair guy,” he muttered sarcastically.
I grinned. It was definitely him.
“Yes, it’s me. Who else?”
I threw the door open and lunged at him, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his cool leather jacket. “You gave me a heart attack! I thought you were a murderer!”
He laughed, patting me on the back. “Only on Tuesdays, babe. And I really hope you don’t hug murderers when they show up at your front door.”
Suddenly aware I was clinging to him like a mollusc, and that the night air was making goosebumps pop up along my mostly-bare legs, I cleared my throat and stepped back inside. In the wedge of light spilling out from the open door, I noticed the collar of a white shirt peeking out above his leather jacket, and there was something in his hand. Also, it looked as if he might have even combed his hair.
I frowned. “Not that I’m not glad to see you or anything, but . . . what are you doing here?”
He smiled crookedly, his lip-ring glinting in the light, and held out whatever he was holding in his hand. It was a small bundle of tiny flowers attached to a silver ribbon—a corsage. Shrugging one shoulder, he said, “I figured since you couldn’t go to dance, I would bring the dance to you.”
I put a hand to my mouth, completely floored by how incredibly sweet he was. “Oh my God, Ruairidh . . .” I didn’t even know what to say. I was on the verge of bursting into tears and throwing myself in his arms again. Oh God, he was so amazing.
He grinned at my reaction. “Here, hold out your hand, and I’ll put it on.”
I stretched out my right arm, and he slid the corsage onto my wrist. Up close, I could see it was made of baby’s breath and bluebells. It was gorgeous, and it would have matched my dress perfectly. I looked up at him. “It’s perfect. How did you know . . . ?”
“I may have talked to Ashley. She told me what colour your dress was, and she said you liked bluebells, so . . . I had my Mum make this for you.” He seemed a little embarrassed, and he glanced at me from under his lashes, green eyes bright. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? I love it. Ruairidh, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.” Oh no, I was choking up already. I was a hopeless bundle of hormones and emotions right now. Looking away, I blinked back the tears and murmured, “Sorry. I’m just a little overwhelmed. I never expected . . . .”
“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you’re happy. But if we could move this party inside before one of your neighbours calls the cops on the scary-looking guy standing on your front porch, I’d be really grateful.”
I shook my head and stepped back. “Of course. Come in. Peter’s asleep, and my dad’s not home yet, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.” And wow, if that didn’t make the butterflies in my stomach excited.
Ruairidh stepped inside and took off his leather jacket as I closed and re-locked the door—just in case. Underneath, he was wearing a crisp white shirt with black jeans, and his boots. Not exactly a tux, but then, it wasn’t as if I’d have expected him to wear a suit anyway. This look was much more him and really hot. He turned around to hang up his jacket by the door, and I saw that he had indeed combed his unruly hair to one side so I could see his green eyes perfectly. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, no tie. So, so sexy.
“Well,” he said, giving me an expectant look. “What are you waiting for?”
I blinked, confused. “Huh?”
He raised his eyebrows. “As good as you look in those shorts, I thought you’d want to wear your dress for our dance. Go on. Go and put it on.”
He shooed me toward the stairs, and I grinned as I raced up them.
I dove into my room and pulled the dress out of my wardrobe, taking a second to admire it breathlessly and amazed I was getting the chance to wear it after all, even if Ruairidh was the only one who would see it. In fact, there was something intimate about only Ruairidh seeing it that made me blush.
Closing my bedroom door, just in case he decided to come and take a peek, I stripped off my pyjamas and my bra—the dress was strapless and had padding support anyway. I slipped into the sheath of silvery satin and went to stand in front of my full-length mirror. The dress was gorgeous, and it fitted me perfectly, clinging to my hips and pushing up my breasts. I was showing a lot of cleavage, and I imagined the look on Ruairidh’s face when he saw me. That made me smile even more.
I strapped on my silver heels, and quickly applied some silver eye shadow, touched up my lips with pale rose lipstick, and brushed my hair into a simple but sophisticated loose side-ponytail. Voila! I looked pretty good, even if I did say so myself.
Leaving my room, I went down the hall to check on Peter. He was sound asleep in his cot, clearly worn out since he hadn’t slept much the night before, and I hoped he would stay asleep until Ruairidh left. I didn’t want any interruptions.
After tucking Peter’s blanket around him to make sure he didn’t get cold, I closed the bedroom door on my way out and headed down the stairs. I stepped into the living room, a little nervous about what Ruairidh would say, and gasped as I looked around.
While I’d been upstairs, Ruairidh had dimmed the lights and set up flickering candles along the mantelpiece and the windowsill. He’d moved the sofa and coffee table to the edge of the room, and the stereo was playing some soft music. The floor was covered with white rose petal
s, and I wondered where the hell he’d gotten the stuff.
He emerged from the kitchen holding two wine glasses full of pale, sparkling liquid, and came to a dead halt when he saw me. His eyes raked over me from head to toe and back again, until I was sure he was undressing me with his eyes, and I blushed.
He blinked hard. “Holy Mother of God,” he breathed. “You look stunning.”
I smiled at the floor, tucking a loose lock of hair back behind my ear. I saw I was standing on some of the rose petals, and looked up again to ask, “Where did you get all this?”
He smiled secretively. “I have my ways.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“I hid the bag of stuff in the garden before I knocked on the door.”
I laughed, and he smirked, clearly proud of himself. I looked around at the candles and everything again, and shook my head.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredible?” I whispered.
Ruairidh tilted his head. “Usually only after sex,” he smirked.
I rolled my eyes, and his expression turned serious.
“But honestly, no. Generally, when people describe me, the words they use are less . . . flattering.”
I frowned at him. How could anyone not see how sweet and damaged he was? Was it because they could only see skin-deep, or because he was usually so good at hiding it? If it was the latter, then I had to wonder why he’d chosen to reveal his vulnerabilities to me of all people. But it didn’t matter why. It mattered that he had, and I knew it must’ve taken some courage to open himself up as much as he had. I felt as if he ought to be rewarded for that, and for everything else he’d done for me.
So I reached up and cupped his stubbled jaw in my hands, watching his eyes widen in surprise at my boldness. I smiled, no longer quite so nervous. In my heels, I was almost eye-to-eye with him, and I could see the wariness and the longing in his gaze. Touching his lip-ring with my thumb, I whispered, “Well, now I’m telling you. You’re incredible, Ruairidh.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, as if I’d shocked him, and I leaned forward to close the space between us. He met me halfway, and his lips brushed against mine tentatively. Nothing like the confident, controlled kiss we’d shared in the bathroom. It felt more fragile, like the beginning of a fine silk web of emotions that could be torn apart by the slightest breeze.
Ruairidh pulled away first, his eyes shining with awe, and I felt a thrill of joy that I’d been the one to put that look on his face. Then he took a step back and held out one of the wine glasses to me. I took it warily.
“I shouldn’t drink. I’m meant to be looking after Peter. If my dad comes home . . . .”
“Don’t worry. It’s not alcoholic. It’s apple Shloer.”
I took a sip and tasted crisp, sparkling apple juice. I smiled. He’d really thought of everything, hadn’t he? I felt a little guilty for being so surprised.
“So, are we going to stand here all evening, or are we going to dance?” Ruairidh reached out and took my glass from me, setting both glasses down on the coffee table. Then he held out one hand in an elegant request. “May I have this dance?”
“You may.” I slid my hand into his, and he bent low to kiss my knuckles like a proper Victorian gentleman. I giggled as he straightened.
He flashed his cocky grin, and pulled on my hand, yanking me forward, so I stumbled against his chest. “Much better,” he purred, circling his arms around my waist.
Breathless, I splayed my hands on his chest and slid them to his shoulders, so my body was pressed down the length of his. His forest-green eyes burned into mine, so close that they were all I could see. The music was smooth and slow, and I was surprised when Ruairidh began to move to the rhythm, his steps careful and familiar.
“You can waltz?” I asked, startled that this rough-edged man could dance so beautifully.
He winked. “I have many hidden talents.”
I laughed, letting him lead me around the living room, my body flowing with his as if we’d practised together. I only knew how to dance because we’d had to take classes at secondary school a couple of times, and I was a little rusty, but Ruairidh made dancing seem as easy and natural as breathing.
By the time the song ended, I was out of breath and dizzy, and I leaned my head against his chest, trying to catch my breath. Ruairidh chuckled and stroked his hand down my spine, his touch hot through the thin liquid fabric of my dress. It made me shiver delightfully.
Ruairidh murmured in my ear, “Are you cold?”
I lifted my head to look him in the eyes and whispered, “Not at all.”
Ruairidh’s hooded eyes smouldered at me, and I slid my palms to the back of his neck, clasping my fingers together as I rose up to meet his mouth. This time, his mouth was eager, his lips claiming mine with a hunger that made me gasp. His hands slid down my sides, skimming my body and setting it ablaze under my dress.
His teeth grazed my lower lip, and I opened my mouth further to him, melting against his hard chest. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, and my heart skittered out of control as he gripped my waist and slipped his tongue into my mouth. I clutched the back of his shirt, forgetting to breathe as his tongue teased mine in an intimate dance that I didn’t know the steps to. It didn’t matter. Just as with the waltzing, he led me, his mouth showing mine what to do, and soon we were lost in the rhythm of lips, teeth, and tongues, the music of our bodies singing to one another.
“Maybe . . . we should . . . sit down,” Ruairidh murmured, barely taking his lips off mine.
I made a vague sound of agreement. Without breaking the kiss, he guided me backward until my knees hit the edge of the sofa, and I sat down hard, my heart racing. Ruairidh slid onto the sofa next to me, his body curving over mine as he slid an arm around my back and bowed me back until my head rested on the arm of the sofa. I moved my legs to one side, the slit in the skirt of my dress pulling open, and Ruairidh ran his hand up my bare leg.
I tipped my head back, gasping, as he kissed his way down my neck and murmured into my cleavage, “You are trying to kill me with the dress, Islay. You have no idea how badly I want to rip it off you.”
Oh my God. I moaned as he sucked on my collarbone, his mouth hot and damp on my skin, his words ringing all sorts of bells inside my body. Part of me was frightened by his words, but the rest of me was excited, and I remembered wondering if I would lose my virginity the night of the dance. Could I? Would I take that step . . . tonight . . . with Ruairidh?
My body was screaming, Hell yes!
“Ruairidh,” I gasped, eager to tell him what I wanted before I could chicken out.
But, before I could get the words out, I heard a key grinding in the lock of the front door, and Ruairidh’s head snapped up, his eyes wide.
“Shit,” he swore, voicing my exact thoughts.
We heard the door open, and then footsteps. “Islay?” my dad called. “I’m home, sweetie.”
Ruairidh slid off me, quick as a rattlesnake, and I sat up, rearranging my dress so it covered my legs. I smoothed down my hair, ran a thumb under my lower lip to wipe away any smudges from my lipstick, and tried not to look guilty of anything as my dad sauntered into the living room. He looked around in confusion.
“What the . . . Islay?” His eyes fell on me, and then on Ruairidh, and his expression hardened.
Shit, I thought, realising how the whole scene would look to my father.
“Islay, what is going on here?” he asked in a flat, parental voice.
My mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish, but no words would come out. Ruairidh came to the rescue.
He stood up and faced my father. “Look, sir, this isn’t what you think . . . .”
Dad glared at him over the rims of his glasses. “That’s the first defence of every guilty man caught doing something he shouldn’t,” he said.
Ruairidh tensed.
I stood and laid a hand on his arm. “Relax. He’s just joking. Right, Dad?” I smiled
in the hopes of easing his worry, but he just slid his glare to me, clearly not buying it, and I scowled. “What? You need me to say it too?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to believe you more than I believe him?”
My brows drew together. “Well . . . yeah.”
He shook his head and turned his glower back to Ruairidh, who looked confused more than intimidated. “Are you sleeping with my daughter?” Dad asked.
I flushed beet red. “Dad!”
Ruairidh cocked his head. “No, I’m not,” he said evenly, meeting my father’s glare with one of his own.
They stared it out silently for a few moments before my father looked away. While he wasn’t looking, Ruairidh smirked, and I nudged him in the ribs warningly.
Finally, Dad looked at me again and propped his fists on his hips. “Tell me, then, what is going on here?”
Ruairidh answered again, his voice softer now. “Look, Sir . . . Islay was upset about not going to the dance, and I just thought . . . I thought it would cheer her up if we had our own dance here, at your house. We’ve been keeping an eye on Peter, as well, so it’s not like Islay’s been shirking her duties. Anyway, she didn’t know I was coming tonight, so if you’re going to give anyone trouble, let it be me. This was entirely my idea.”
I gaped at him, and thought, Holy hell, where did the real Ruairidh go?
Dad eyed him for a moment, as if gauging whether or not he was lying, and then glanced at me. “Is this true, Islay?”
I nodded, though I didn’t want to pin all the blame on Ruairidh. “Yes, but—”
“But nothing,” Ruairidh said, touching my arm and giving me a meaningful look. “This was my idea. And if your dad wants to punish me, so be it. I’m just glad I got to make you smile tonight.”
I had to look down to make sure my heart wasn’t literally breaking through my chest because it was fluttering so madly. Ruairidh may have looked wild and rough on the outside, but inside, he was pure gold, heart and soul. I knew then that I was falling for him. Fast and hard.