‘I’m hardly likely to walk into my sister’s salon with my dick in my hand.’
‘I don’t know.’ I let my gaze wander over him. ‘You sure don’t look like a deviant, but that little stunt you pulled proves otherwise.’
‘Little? Choose better words, eh?’ He steps towards me, resting his hands on my shoulders, his expression mockingly stern as he stares down. ‘You lot walked in onme. I didn’t know you’d be calling in and if you’re not allowed to masturbate in the peace of your own home, well, that’s a world I don’t want to live in.’
‘My heart’s breaking here, but while I remember, Ivy says you need to do something about the violated couch. And I quote, “you pervert”.’
‘You’re a wee scunner, so you are,’ he says, giving my shoulders a light shake.
‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ I reply, laughing. ‘But June’s a love, so whatever you’ve done to upset her, you’d best fix it.’
‘The old biddy was just embarrassed. I walked into the shop and she was singing—gi’yin it laldy so she was, at the top of her lungs. Probably been on the sherry, if you ask me.’
‘I heard you liked your ladies tipsy. Makes them compliant, so you said.’
‘Wherever did you hear that?’ he asks, his brow furrowing.
‘One from the horse’s mouth. About a decade ago.’
‘I’d like to think my seduction skills no longer rely on how many pints of cider my date has had.’ As he says this, he pulls me into his chest. ‘And Granny June is more of a mare than a filly and just a wee bit north of my preferred age range.’
‘Eww!’ I twist in his arms knowing full well what he’s about to do—the reason he’s pulled me into his chest with that familiar glint in his eye. Confirmation comes as he slides his hand around my waist, securing my back to his front. ‘Get off,’ I say through a laugh, attempting to squirm away and prevent the delivery of a noogie to my head.
‘What’s going on here?’ A deep and familiar voice rings through the room, though his usually easy-going tone is nowhere to be heard.
‘Rory.’ His name sounds a little breathless on my lips, my laughter drifting away.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. I’m... fine.’ I attempt to pull myself from Mac’s arms as they tighten. ‘Cut that out.’ I’m disconcerted to hear the pleading whine in my voice, even though I can’t help but smile.Mainly because I’m hella ticklish.‘I mean it, Mac,’ I say, giggling and wriggling and slapping his arm. ‘Let go.’ The latter comes out stronger, embarrassment now harshening my words.
‘You heard her.’ Rory’s bass tone rings through the space. He doesn’t yell, and it isn’t a growl, but it’s very obvious he’s not happy. Not happy at all.
Mac’s hold loosens, a wry sort of smile now on his face. ‘She doesn’t usually make such a fuss, do you, hen?’
His words and delivery could mean anything, though they make my heart sink to my stomach.
‘Doesn’t the place look great?’ I say, stepping closer to Rory. ‘Mac owns the company who set up the equipment.’
‘Yeah. Great.’ His words hold little conviction, his eyes unmoving from the space behind me; the space containing Mac. I half turn, trying to catch the silent messages flying between the pair. ‘Does the owner of the company always make follow-up calls?’
‘Only for very special customers,’ Mac answers, ignoring Rory’s antagonistic tone. For good measure, he adds a wink in my direction.Hell.
My head swings between the pair, the room suddenly and obviously very still, when my skin becomes aware of the weight of Rory’s gaze as he watches me. Stares. It’s a look of such intensity, though it’s hard to understand the cause. Is it anger? Frustration? Desire? Dislike? Whatever this is, my mind screams with the knowledge of his gaze, my every fibre aware from the ends of my fingers balled into fists, to the tiny hairs prickling against the back of my neck.
I’m being scrutinised.
‘Right, well.’ Rory’s words are expelled with a long exhale, like the phrase is uncomfortable. ‘I’ll let you both get on.’ With one last unreadable look, he walks out the door.
‘What was that?’
I turn to Mac’s amused tone, my hands clasping cheeks which suddenly feel very hot. ‘That was Rory.’
‘I didn’t askwho. I asked what.’ I can feel myself frowning, not sure what to say. ‘Someone’s a bit hot under the collar. A bit red about the face.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, forcing my hands away.
‘Rooree, is it?’ Mac’s tone borders on delight, his accent drawing out the sounds in the name, making it something else completely.
