Page 21 of Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt

With a hand on her elbow, he guided her out onto the dance floor. She settled a palm on his shoulder while he settled one of his hands on the small of her back and clasped her free hand. Hers was so delicate, so soft, so warm. They wandered among the other couples, their gazes intertwined, their bodies separated by millimeters. Out the corners of his eyes, he noticed familiar pairs twirling past them — Lachlan and Erica, Calli and Aidan, Rory and Emery. His sister waved a hand to get his attention, then gave him an encouraging smile. Stupefied by the woman in his arms, he pulled off nothing more than a curt nod to Calli. When Rory and Emery glided past, the architect of this crazy scheme winked at him. Her husband flashed him a glower.

Yeah, he'd make friends with Rory MacTaggart — in the last minute of the last day of never in eternity.

Jamie swept her hand from his shoulder to his neck, tickling him with one fingertip. "You're frowning."

"Am not." He focused on her, on those beautiful eyes and their glittering green flecks. Her skin warmed his palm through the thin fabric of her dress, and the way her breasts kept brushing his chest was about to drive him insane. If he didn't kiss her soon… He bent his head to whisper in her ear. "Can we go somewhere private?"

She turned her face toward his, her lips grazing his cheek. "Aye."

Oh God, she smelled wonderful. No perfume, he knew that. The natural scent of her permeated his senses, drowning him in the essence of her.

Jamie took his hand and led him through the maze of couples spinning around the dance floor, to the far end of the long gallery. They hurried down the short hallway to the closed door of the guest bedroom. She bit her lip, releasing it slowly as she grasped the knob and pushed the door inward.

Darkness blanketed the room, penetrated only by the milky rays of the moon.

She ushered him inside and shut the door.

The thick wood muted the music playing in the gallery until it became a distant reminder of the party going on outside the door. The festivities seemed like a faint transmission from a faraway planet. They existed inside their own little world, here in this room.

Jamie sashayed to the four-poster bed in the center, its headboard pushed against the far wall. She leaned back against one of the posts, stretched her arms above her head, and wound her fingers around the carved wood. Bending her knee, she braced the stiletto heel of one shoe on the lower portion of the post.

"What will you do with me?" she whispered in a smoldering voice. She traced the tip of one finger down the post, across her throat, down her breastbone until her hand hovered between her luscious tits.

Holy hell. She couldn't want him to — not after what he'd done.

"Gavin," she purred, "don't ye want me?"

Yes, yes, and hell yes. But he wouldn't take advantage of her. She must've downed several glasses of booze before walking into the gallery tonight. He could think of no other reason she'd want to have sex with him. Here. Now. In a bedroom of the castle owned by her brother, who hated him, while a party went on mere feet outside the door.

A party attended by all her relatives and his sister.

Gavin gripped the back of his neck and commanded his dick to cool down. His body disobeyed his orders, but he could at least act like a gentleman. "We should talk, right? Let's go downstairs to the kitchen, have a snack, and hash things out."

"The kitchen?" Her sultry smile widened into a wicked grin. "Aye, let's get out the whipped cream and —"

"No. Talk, that's all." Christ, he was trying to be a good guy. Did she have to keep stroking her chest that way? And her voice… That fervid tone threatened to catapult him over the edge.

"I don't want to talk, Gavin."

His name rolled off her tongue like the song of a siren, luring him to his doom.

She crooked a finger, beckoning him.

Every man had his limits. He was dangerously close to slamming into his and shattering right through them.

Jamie, the temptress, pushed away from the post and strolled to the bedside table. She opened a drawer, palmed something, and shut the drawer again. Her red lips kinked up at one corner with the sexiest look of smug satisfaction he'd ever seen. She sashayed back to the post, leaning back to mold her lithe body to the wood. With one hand, she stroked the bumps and dips in the polished surface of the post. With her other hand, she raised a condom packet to her throat and dragged it down her chest.

He choked on a breath.

"Come here," she purred.

And he couldn't resist her. His feet carried him to her, despite his every attempt to stop this. A matter of inches separated their bodies, and his gaze gravitated to the undulating swells of her lush breasts, the condom packet she grazed over her skin in sensual circles, the pink tips of her nipples visible through the almost-sheer fabric. The expanse of one creamy shoulder, bared by the dress, snared his focus.

I love you. That's what he should've said.I'm sorry I hurt you, please forgive me.

No words came out of his mouth.

Helpless to resist the lure of his siren, he pressed his body to hers, pinning her to the post. A tiny gasp escaped her lips. He lashed one arm around the post, around her, encompassing her body. Even in the stilettos, she had to tilt her head back to look at him, and the movement exposed her delicate throat. Her breaths quickened, her breasts bounced on each inhalation. Those lips, the succulent color of ripe strawberries, parted in invitation.

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