Even as my attention locked onto Taran, who looked at me and quickly glanced away, I asked Cammie, “Where are Mum and Greg?”
Cammie nodded toward Laird. “She offered to babysit Finn and Aird tonight.”
“And Akiva,” Tierney piped in. “Turns out Akiva likes kids.” She leaned into Ramsay, who looked at her with very obvious intention.
My attention turned to Taran again.
She avoided me as conversation bounced across the table and the food quickly disappeared.
When the first chords of the ceilidh music struck, it was the familiar melody of the Gay Gordons. Laird stood and held out his hand to his wife. She beamed, apparently delighted, and he escorted her onto the floor as other couples joined them.
Ramsay grunted at Tierney’s wide-eyed pleading but reluctantly led her onto the dance floor. Before I could convince myself not to, I rounded the table.
Taran narrowed her eyes as I approached, but I kept going until I stood by her chair, holding out my palm. “May I have this dance, Taran?”
“Go on.” Cammie nudged her.
With a sigh of exasperation, she pushed back her chair and stood. I swallowed hard at the sight of her in her dress. The end-of-games ceilidh was always a mix of dressy casual with tartan as a major theme. Taran exuded that in a sleeveless tartan dress. While it had a high round neck, it wasn’t as modest as perhaps she thought it was. It molded to every curve and slope of her gorgeous body.
As I followed her to the dance floor, I muttered a curse under my breath. Her arse was perfection, and the hem ended mid-thigh, so her legs went on for days, even in the low-heeled ankle boots she wore.
It was so Taran to wear a sexy fucking dress like that with what were essentially biker boots.
She’d worn her hair up in a high ponytail and as she took her position on the floor, not looking at me, she appeared so young I was thrown back nineteen years.
Heart in my throat, I stood at her left side and put my right hand over her shoulder as she reached up to take it with her right.
“You look beautiful.”
Those dark eyes flicked to me and heat rolled through my body even at the annoyance in them. “Did it occur to you that maybe I don’t want to dance with you, Quinn?”
My fingers tightened around hers. “You could have said no.”
“And make a scene?” A flush crested high on her cheeks. “Goodness, I don’t even remember how to do the Gay Gordons.”
“It’ll come back to you. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” I reached for her left hand as everyone else got into position. “Three steps forward and then we turn.”
Taran nodded, looking adamantly ahead as we launched into the dance with everyone.
“Back four steps,” I instructed.
She stumbled a bit, but I kept her upright and she threw me a semi-grateful, semi-irritated, tight-lipped smile. When it came time for the spin, it seemed Taran’s memory had kicked in. I spun her and then she hesitated ever so slightly before I took her into ballroom hold. I pulled her a little tighter to my body than necessary, desire quickening my blood at the feel of her curves. The flush on her cheeks deepened as we polka-danced around the hall, our bodies sliding against each other with the skip spinning.
By the time we were back into starting position, Taran was visibly flustered, which was exactly the way I wanted her. On the second polka, I couldn’t help my grin, and she rolled her eyes as if I were a naughty schoolboy.
To my delight, my dance partner was laughing and enjoying herself with the rest of the dancers as the music finally came to an end—partly because her ponytail had smacked me in the face a few times during the movement and she’d found it hilarious.Reluctantly, I released Taran to clap for the band, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off her.
“May I have the next dance?” Some bloke suddenly appeared at our side, attention fixed hotly on Taran.
“Uh …” Taran was surprised, like she didn’t know she was the most beautiful woman in the room.
“I won the caber toss.” The big guy announced with a puff of his chest. “Dylan McCloud.”
“Of course she’ll dance with one of our winners.” Aodhan Macduff appeared out of nowhere like the interfering bastard he was. He gently shoved Taran toward McCloud. “And it’s the St. Bernard’s Waltz next.”
Fuck.
Taran nodded with a pained smile. “Of course.”
