“Excuse me, everyone, I’m gonna steal her for a bit,” Arric said, and pulled me away.
I heard my mother announce hor d’oeurves were being served in the music room as Arric slid his arm around my waist and guided me into the library, closing the large doors behind us.
“Thank you,” I breathed out, relishing the quiet.
“You need to go and change,” he growled.
“What?”
“You need to put something else on.”
“And you need to take a long walk off a short pier.”
He scowled. “Isla, you’re showing way too much.”
“I’m no’ showing anything, you bampot.” I scowled at him. “And here I thought you were being sweet, pulling me away from the craziness so I could catch my breath.”
“I was.”
“Liar,” I snapped.
He dragged his hands down his face and paced the room.
What the fuck am I doing here dressed in a goddamn skirt watching the most beautiful woman on the fucking planet giving every man in the room an eyeful?
“It’s a kilt, not a skirt and you’re showing way more skin that I am.”
He looked down at his exposed legs. “Wait, how—?”
“Those are the colors of my ancestors, please show a little respect.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “I’m going to go back to the party.”
“Wait,” he rasped.
I crossed my arms and faced him but didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“What?” I asked, cupping my ear.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t hear that,” I lied. “Can you repeat it?”
“No.”
I nodded. “Enjoy the party.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, a little louder.
“For…?” I prompted.
“Jesus.”
I reached for the door again.
“You look beautiful, Isla,” he said. “I’m sorry if I made you feel any other way.”
“Thank you.” I took him in. Lord, he was gorgeous. “Is that one of my father’s kilts?”
