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Erica hops off her stool.
The dress flounces around her thighs, kissing the tops of her knees. I've never paid much mind to a woman's knees, but hers are…enchanting.
I reach her just as she totters on her impossibly tall heels. With both hands, I grasp her upper arms. The feel of her soft, warm skin has me swallowing hard. The scent of her envelops me, evocative of roses and sweet soap and woman.
"Easy there," I say, steadying her.
She angles her head back, stretching her neck to aim her shimmering hazel eyes at me. The green flecks in them sparkle in the muted white lights at the bar, and even when the strobes splash over her, they can't diminish the striking beauty of her eyes. Her chestnut hair flows down to her shoulders, tumbling over them just far enough to trigger an urge to run my tongue over every millimeter of skin her hair touches.
Erica rakes her gaze over me from head to toe. The pink tip of her tongue pokes out between her lips, moistening them with a quick sweep.
"It's you, Erica," I say like a bloody moron.
Her lips pucker briefly. "And it's you."
She sounds uncertain. Had she seen me watching her yesterday through the living-room window in Gil's house?
Erica brings out a mobile phone and tilts it toward me, tapping one of her wee fingers on the screen. "It's eight thirty-nine."
"Quite the timekeeper, eh?" Maybe she has a fetish about always knowing the time, though Gil hadn't mentioned anything of the sort.
Erica shimmies her shoulders to push my hands off her arms. "I've been here for thirty-nine minutes. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
Has my luck not changed at all? I find a woman who stirs my desires, but she turns out to be a nutter. A beautiful, disarmingly quirky nutter.
She's staring at me, mouth tight, waiting for my response.
What had she said? Something about the time and didn't I care about it.
"Not really," I say, allowing myself to revel in the vision of her one more time. "Except your bum's oot the windae."
Her mouth falls open. Her hands rise, then fall to her sides again.
"Buckled, are you?" I ask. Drunkenness might explain her odd behavior. But I want her to be sane, so I can quench this lust without feeling I've taken advantage of a slightly deranged woman.
Aidan would love this. He enjoys calling me uptight, though I know it's teasing, not a criticism. Among the MacTaggarts, brothers and sisters and cousins alike, Rory is the most uptight by far. Still, the idea of me, the oldest and most serious, drowning in my lust for a woman I've just met would give Aidan a smug satisfaction.
Younger brothers are a trial, for certain.
Erica, the disarming bampot, spreads her arms wide. "Do you see any buckles or belts on this dress?"
I chuckle in spite of myself. "I meant are you drunk, lass?"
"Me?" She snorts, and even that sound makes me hunger to kiss her. She waves a hand, dismissing my question. "No. Never."
My hope for inebriation as the stimulus for her behavior evaporates. Maybe I should double-check.
I slant toward her, and the feminine scent of her envelops me again. My God, this woman is the embodiment of everything I'd wanted in a lover for the night.Stay with me tonight, I want to say.Share my bed, Erica, let me crawl over your body to lick and suckle and nibble your sweet flesh.
"Your eyes look all right," I tell her.
Despite my every impulse compelling me to do the opposite, I pull away from her.
"What?" she says, her forehead crinkling.
"Pupils get dilated when a person's drunk. Yours look normal, and your breath is fine, so I'm assuming you aren't buckled after all."
"Gee, thanks. Why—"
