My heart sinks. I don’t get to have thoughts like that about her anymore. It’s over. Done.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself. You don’t clean up half bad, London.”
I can’t take my eyes off her. I wish more than my eyes were on her.Stop it, I tell myself, but I can’t.
“I could say the same for you.” Her blue eyes sparkle as she drinks me in. I’m not above a little vanity sometimes; it feels good to see the way they linger. “You look stunning. Wait, can a man look stunning? Er, I mean, you look handsome. Very… civilised.”
“My eyes are up here,” I tease.
“Right.”
When her eyes flick up to mine again, sparks shoot between us. My hands twitches. I want to hold her, touch her, dig my fingers into her soft hips, spin her around, and slide that tight little dress out of the way so I can feel the heat of her.
I can’t. She isn’t mine.
“Where’s Ethan?” I ask her instead.
She frowns, her brows and the top of her nose crinkling sweetly. A hint of sadness enters her eyes, then clears as she smiles. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Back to London, I assume.”
“And you’re…” I don’t know how to say it. “You didn’t go with him?”
Rowan frowns again. “Why would I…? Oh. Oh! You think— Really? That I would— After everything he…”
“London.” I grind the word out. I can’t take it. My arms long to hold her. My lips to kiss her. “Full sentences, if you wouldn’t mind.”
She takes a deep breath. Her breasts rise and fall under the thin fabric. My hands twitch. “No, Angus. I am not going with Ethan. We are not getting back together. He’s gone home. Alone.” Rowan takes a slow step towards me. “I like your kilt, by the way. Is it true what they say about Scottish men and their underwear?”
I step back. Clear my throat. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not if you like that dress in one piece.”
Rowan inches forward again with a dangerous smile. “Are you saying you can’t resist me?”
“I’m saying that if you keep looking at me like that, that pretty pink lipstick won’t be there very much longer.”
She stops, bare inches from my chest. “I’m single. You’re single,” she says huskily. “What’s stopping you?”
Fuck, this woman is testing my self-control. The conversations I’ve had, the promises I’ve made, they’re all rapidly flying out of the window. I want to flip her around, bend her over and brace her hands on the trestle table, and take her where she stands, feel the warm wetness of her as I sink into her, hear her moan as I stroke her to ecstasy.
“Don’t you have bridesmaid-ly duties to be doing?” I ask instead.
Don’t fuck it up, Jonathan’s voice whispers to me.
“I’m not a bridesmaid anymore. That honour has been passed to someone else in light of my dereliction of duty.” She says it flippantly, but she won’t meet my eye. “But, yeah. Mum asked me to check on the flowers. Once she’d reassured herself that I was alive and not about to jump off any bridges, I think she wants me out of Sophie’s way.”
Again, that flicker of sadness, the hint of a frown despite her upbeat tone.
I wonder how often Rowan pretends to be sunny, when it’s raining inside.
“So no, right now, there is nothing for me to do.” She looks up at me under lowered lashes. “Unless…”
“This is a bad idea.” But somehow my hand is on her waist, stroking her skin through the fabric.
“You’re right. We shouldn’t.” She bites her lip. “Not right now.”
