Page 99 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“Och, lass.” Ramsay’s eyes heated, and the look that crossed his face was almost feral. “You look incredible.”

“You like it? You made fun of pink tartan the other day.”

“On you? It’s fantastic.” Ramsay circled his finger and I twirled obediently. “Och, it’s going to be impossible to keep from pulling you into a dark corner tonight and having my way with you.”

“Sir,” I said, pretending offense. “Is that how you talk to a lady?”

“That’s how I talk to my lady,” Ramsay said, his hands at my waist, his mouth hot at my ear. “Who I happen to know for a fact would enjoy me having my way with her in a dark corner.”

“I mean, I suppose I wouldn’t object.” My skin heated as he trailed a finger across the silk at the scoopedneckline.

“This silk feels nice,” Ramsay said, brushing his palms across my chest, and I had to clench my thighs together.

“Keep that up, and we’ll never make it to the dance.”

“I’d be okay with that, but I need to show you off in this dress.” Ramsay pulled back, and I laughed as he adjusted his sporran over where it was clear how much he wanted me.

I loved that. Loved knowing I could have that effect on this handsome and powerful man.

“Shall we then? Show me what this cèilidh stuff is all about.”

“I hope you’re ready to dance.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised as we wound our way through the castle. Excitement made me a bit giddy—it was hard not to feel like Cinderella going to the ball with her dashing prince.

“I hope you can dance in those heels,” Ramsay said, as we stepped inside the bustling restaurant that had been transformed into a dance hall for the night. Tables had been pulled to the room’s perimeter, and strands of twinkle lights and colorful streamers ran from one side of the room to the next. Candles were tucked at intervals along the rugged stone walls, and a small bandstand had been set up in the corner where the singer had just started to speak into the microphone.

“Welcome, everyone! We’re Scottish Storm, and I hope you’re ready to dance tonight. We’re kicking off the party with a traditional Gay Gordon’s. Partner up!”

“Oh God, just right in, huh?” I said as Ramsay dragged me into the circle. He came to stand at my side and placed his arm straight across my shoulder.

“Yup. It starts with three steps forward, swivel, then four steps backward.”

“Wait, how many steps?”

“Three forward, turn, four backward.” Ramsay’s eyes twinkled. “He’ll call it out, just listen for the instructions.”

A fiddle struck up, playing a jaunty tune, before the band swung into a rousing song and the singer shouted into the microphone.

“And we’re off. Three steps forward. Turn. Four steps back.”

Ramsay’s arm at my shoulders propelled me forward and I giggled as I missed the turn and bumped into a couple who was already moving backward. Everyone laughed, and the pace picked up as the singer called off the steps.

“Gents, turn your ladies.”

Ramsay surprised me with a quick twirl.

“And once around the room.”

Ramsay grabbed me and ushered me in the circle, everyone following suit. It took about three more tries before I didn’t end up bumping into other couples, but soon I had it down and tossed my hair over my shoulder, my cheeks flushing as I laughed and stomped my way through the dance. It reminded me very much of country line dancing, and it was surprisingly fun. By the time the song ended, my skin had heated, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

“This is fun,” I gasped to Ramsay when he pulled me aside.

“It is. Can I get you a drink or do you want to jump right into the next dance?”

“What’s the next dance? Is it different steps?”

“Aye, lass. They’ll keep changing it up, and then cycle back through the dances later on.”

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