Chapter 1
Sean
Sean Butler had never met a wedding crasher or a woman who made him want to commit to anything, but right now he got the distinct feeling he was staring at a two-in-one package.
Surely, though, women you could spend forever with didn’t flirt combatively with security before strolling into the glittering New York City ballroom where your eldest brother was getting married, throwing your concentration off course with their sparkling sequinned dress, high-tops and dark-golden mermaid waves, then make a beeline for the vol-au-vents.
Surely forever started differently to this.
There was one way to find out.
Sean excused himself from chatting to the bride’s uncle and strode across the room, the kilt swishing at his knees providing a welcome breeze. Whose idea was it to have a Scottish wedding in New York in July? Even the air con wasn’t providing relief.
And this woman’s presence notched up the mercury one thousand percent. As he approached, their eyes locked,hers flashing with surprise yet holding a playful readiness. Adrenaline he’d never felt before coursed through his veins. Was he ready for this? Whatever ‘this’ was?
‘Evening.’ He met her dead-on. She could be a friend of the bride, Bea, but why not head to your friend rather than the French pastries?
‘Good evening.’ The woman fanned her mouth, now full of food, and he noticed the lack of wedding ring. ‘Catering have done themselves proud here.’
‘Aye, they have.’Nice attempt at deflection, you wee chancer.‘Bea’s over there, if you want to chat to her.’ Sean motioned indiscriminately over his shoulder. It didn’t matter because this woman didn’t know Bea.
‘Ah, great.’ She nodded as if grateful of the direction. ‘I’ll pop over and see her shortly.’
‘I’ll tell her you’re here. Your name is?’
‘Sorry, I’m so rude.’ The interloper held out a perfectly manicured hand. Sean detected a hint of a Scottish accent underneath lacings of American. ‘Cherry. Cherry Paradise.’
He laughed. ‘Aye, right.’ That was the name of a shampoo scent or a tray bake, not a human being. At least not where he came from. In Sean’s part of the world, women were called Elspeth McKay or Fiona Gilmour, not Cherry Paradise.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘That is right. And yours is?’
‘Johnny. Johnny Castle.’ WatchingDirty Dancingon a loop with his sisters had finally borne fruit.
She cocked a brow and almost certainly stifled a smile. ‘I see.’
‘Good. And like my namesake, I like to dance. You coming?’ Sean should have been asking her to leave, but here he was holding out his hand. There were two ways to deal with this situation, and the dancing version was lessdisruptive than eviction. The Butler family had dealt with a lot of pain, since the recent death of Sean’s father after a long-fought battle with Motor Neurone Disease. Cal and Bea’s big day would not be marred by the dramatic ousting of a wedding crasher.
Even one who was hotter than an NYC summer.
Sean hadn’t expected her to agree to dance. The visions he had were of a sparkling figure dashing into the night, handbag full of vol-au-vents, his question still hot in her ears. But after grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server, she downed it in one and followed Sean onto the dance floor.
The music was an eighties’ power ballad,Take it on the Runby REO Speedwagon, made for bouncing off the walls in high-ceilinged spaces like this.
‘May I?’ Sean motioned to Cherry’s hand. She nodded, and he took it in his own, surprised at how small and soft it was – a contrast to her bold presence. The heady scent of honeysuckle drifted into his senses. Heady suited her. She seemed like the kind of woman who took life by the reins, including crashing other people’s weddings.
‘So, Cherry Paradise, I’m pretty sure you don’t know my brother, so how do you know the bride?’ Sean asked as they melded into one another and the music.
‘Oh, I don’t.’ Cherry quirked her head sideways and smiled like she’d won a game Sean didn’t even know they were playing. Did she know that now they were dancing, now that he could smell and feel her up close, kicking her out had become an impossibility because there was something more powerful than a summer cyclone in this tiny space between them?
Some sort of intoxicating chemistry swirling around that made you adjust the way you breathed.
She knew this. It was there in the cobalt sparkle of her eyes, in the soft bounce of her high-tops as she moved her feet in time with his. Cherry Paradise knew that Sean would vouch for her as his plus-one in a second rather than risk her leaving. Because letting her go meant never finding out what the hell this feeling was. Where it could go.
‘As I thought. Do you know anyone here?’
‘I know you. Kinda.’
‘And I’m the person you know the best?’
