Follow the rational route.
But there was a man inside that ballroom whose sweet skin smelled like oaked whisky barrels and whose laughter rumbled right into her heart, making her feel like she was the centre of his universe.
Poker hadn’t given her anything resembling that in a long time.
There was no competition.
As Cherry stepped back into the ballroom, she stared at Sean unfiltered. He was gesticulating expressively whilst chatting to someone. But, as if he sensed she were there, he turned. His smile lit the way back to him. Cherry tried to keep her cool, but it was impossible. She gave a little wave and strode over.
To her future husband.
Don’t be daft.
But he’d said it.‘You can marry the love of your life.’
Something in her gut wanted to marry him. Maybe it was the champagne.Or the promise of happiness after so long without it. To have this feeling for the rest of her life.
‘Hey, would you like a whisky?’ Sean held up a tumbler of amber liquid, the ballroom lights dancing over the surface like the sparkle in his eyes.
Cherry took the glass and sipped. ‘Mmm, Butler’s.’
‘Okay, my family name coming out of your mouth like that might be a little arousing.’
She laughed. ‘I know quality when I taste it.’
‘I’m impressed.’ Sean stepped closer, his sensual, woody scent clouding her mind. ‘Tell me, are you an instinctive poker player or one who does all the maths in your head?’
Cherry swilled the whisky.‘Oh, I never decide in poker on instinct. I consider all the evidence, all the possibilities, read the other players. There’s too much at stake to wing it.’
‘And does that carry into the rest of your life?’
‘Hmm, mostly. Although, tonight, I kind of sailed in here on a vibe. Something was calling me. Someone maybe.’
Sean nodded an understanding, took the whisky from her hand, placed it on the table and led her onto the dance floor again. She wouldn’t fight being close to him. She might be addicted already.
‘You smell delicious,’ he burred in his rich Scottish accent. ‘Like honeysuckle.’
‘How does an adult man who isn’t a gardener know what honeysuckle smells like?’
‘We used to have it in the garden growing up. I’ll never forget that smell, and now I certainly won’t. You, Cherry Paradise, smell as good as you look, and you look incredible.’
‘The feeling is mutual, Sean Butler.’ She was transfixed. ‘I don’t know whether to look at your legs or your kilt or your face.’
‘Why not all three? You’ve got all night.’
As they danced to another slow song, Sean’s gaze dipped to the oval-shaped golden pendant around Cherry’s neck.‘What’s in there?’
Unclasping the vintage locket she always wore, Cherry lifted it for him to see. ‘It’s a tiny photo, but that’s me andmy dad at my third birthday party. My mum’s the blur with the cake in the background.’
Sean rested the locket on two of his fingers and examined the picture, the warmth from his hands radiating to her heart.
‘Your dad… He looks like an American soap star; that’s some ’tache. Was he an actor?’
Cherry laughed. ‘No, he was a police officer, but he retired early after being injured in the line of duty. And he’d have loved the actor comparison.’
‘He’s not around anymore?
‘No. He died when I was thirteen. Massive heart attack.’
