Page 7 of Tempted

My tone is impassive, just to irritate her. “Congratulations to you.” I lick my lips, while watching her eyes dance. She’s loving it way too much that she’s getting under my skin, and I don’t like it. “Is there anything else I can do for you, lass?”

Something in her eyes changes. She licks her lips. When she speaks, I detect the smallest crack in her voice. “No.”

She rises, as though I’ve asked her to leave, and I guess that in a way, I have. The way that she walks to the door is unsettling. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off. I rise with her, but her back is to me. Her shoulders aren’t squared like they normally are. Her gait doesn’t have its usual air of confidence. I’ve knocked her down a peg. I should feel happy. But somehow, I don’t. As she walks into the ladies’ room, I see her hand reach up.

...and I swear that I see her wipe a tear from her eye.

Chapter 3

Steph

The ball in my throat is so big, but I refuse to give in to it. I wanted so badly to break him. To make him feel like absolute shit. To put him in his place. I have no idea why, but I think it’s to do with the fact that I really do like him, and I know that he likes me, but now we’re at this hateful, competitive place, and I want to knock him down for it. It’s his fault that we’re here. He wanted to protect me, and when I refused, he got rattled over it. If he were any other man, I would have fucked him and spit him back out by now, but he’s not. He’s not the same type of ill-bred, co-dependent, insecure asshole that I have known to bed on occasion. Normally those men want nothing to do with me after I fuck them.

But I haven’t fucked Malcolm...yet.

He has the opposite traits of the conquests I seek. Yet, I still want him. And now that he’s acting like he doesn’t want me, for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a challenge in this department. That being said, I feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Especially after having just lost my granny today. Normally, I'm not an emotional person. I hate crying. I hate crying in front of others. And I reallyreallyhate the fact that I start crying mere feet away from Malcolm.

The women's washroom isn't close enough. I duck in there and lock myself into a stall, making like my bladder is going to explode, when really, it's my heart. As I hold my breath, squeezing my eyelids shut tight, I manage to fend off the tears, just in time for someone to join me. Peering through the small gap between the wall and the bathroom stall door, I can see that it's a woman. It's not Malcolm. He's not stupid enough, or brave enough, to follow me.

The woman's presence helps me to stave off the tears. I'd never want word to get back to Malcolm that I cried like a baby in the bathroom, alone. After drawing five or six deep breaths and exhaling, the sting in the backs of my eyes has disappeared, the ball in my throat has dissipated, and the quiver in my chin has vanished. I wait until the woman washes her hands and leaves before I do the same. I've already said goodbye to Colton, so I'm free to leave whenever I choose. And depart is exactly what I do.

The day is gone. And although I've made a promise to Moira to stay with her, after my near embarrassing experience just now, I feel like the best thing for me to do is to go home. As I drive, I don't bother to let Moira know where I'm headed. This is a move that I know I'll soon live to regret, but I figure the time that ittakes me to process the day's events will also give me resolve as to how I'll explain later to her.

Not ignoring the final deadbolt on my door, I latch it shut tight upon arrival into my unit, even though I know full well that if Callum is foolish enough to come after me, that I would take him down in a heartbeat. There is little that I'm afraid of. I've never feared anybody physically before. And I especially don't fear my own cousin, as cowardly and weak as his move was today.

After I warm up some soup that I'd made and left in the freezer, I sit down to eat it, and as I wipe my mouth, having emptied the bowl, I hear a knock at my door. No guests have been announced. Not by me, not by security downstairs, and nobody has called my cell phone. You would think that with this knowledge, that my heart would be jumping out of my chest. But it's not. Call it intuition, call it naivete, call it whatever you want, but as I look through the peephole, I can see Malcolm's face on the other side of the door, and I wonder if I sensed his presence all along.

Expecting to yell at him for following me, I push the door open abruptly, but my face betrays me. One glance at this beautiful man, this beautiful, enigmatic, mysterious, successful man, and that lump that I worked hard to remove earlier, returns. His eyes search mine. They're telling me that he knows. He knows that I broke down this afternoon. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

He takes a tentative step towards me, and I fall into his arms, letting the tears flow. With an effortless lift, my feet are removed from the marble floor, as he steps inside my apartment, closing the door behind him, latching it shut once again. Any other man would carry me to the bedroom, take advantage of my vulnerability, and I let them, too. But Malcolm doesn't do that. Instead, he wraps his large, burly, beefy arms around me, surrounding me in his own personal care.

Instinctively, I nestle my face into his neck, snaking my arms around him, letting myself do the unthinkable, because no other man has ever given me the grace. Never has a man's heartbeat ever brought me so much comfort. It feels like years of pain are released; a floodgate has been opened effortlessly, and while the fear is still present, something in the bottom of my stomach feels safe. We say nothing. As he holds me tight to him, softly rubbing my back, caressing my skin so tenderly, I wonder what I ever did to deserve such a gift, seeing as I've been such a bitch to him.

With the patience of a saint, he stands there with me, swaying slightly as though soft music plays for us in the background, and it's a mystery to me how this man has such skills. As a woman, I can honestly say that I do not have a maternal bone in my body. Not a cell. I could never even stand to be hugged as a child. I could never comfort anyone, except if it meant helping them in a non-physical way. The connection here trumps any words that he could say to me. And the fact that I do not have to share any, I am truly grateful for.

Finally, I lift my head from his chest, almost lulled to sleep by his tenderness. Yet he still says nothing. I let him scoop me up into his arms and carry me to my bedroom, still cradled against him. Where I would normally expect sex, Malcolm simply lays me on the bed, pulls the covers down, and slides in behind me, spooning me. He expects nothing. Which, for once, is exactly what I need. A strange sense of belonging comes over me. I barely know this man, and yet, I feel in some way like this fits. It’s an odd sensation and one that I’m not used to, but it feels good, and right now I allow myself to feel what I feel, and I don’t let any of the conjecture take over. I just remain in the moment. When I awaken hours later, Malcolm hasn’t moved. He’s still by my side, completely clothed, as am I, but the room is dark and it’s so hot in here I could burst into flames.

Bravely, I undress, leaving just a thin silk nightgown on. He remains asleep while I’m naked for the brief moments as I dress, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see a bead of sweat across his brow. He’s boiling over there. I don’t suppose a Scot would be used to sleeping in anything except the buff. I almost want to wake him, but at the same I don't want to disturb his slumber. He's sleeping so soundly, and if he's anything like me, sleep comes at a premium price. Usually, when I awaken in the night, I think of all the dozens of things that need to be done, and it's rare that I'm able to go back to sleep. But Malcolm looks so peaceful, it looks so welcoming, almost like being starved and then seeing a full cake sitting right there calling your name.

Slithering back under the sheets, Malcolm’s arm wraps around me comfortingly, and it's as if we've been sleeping together for years, the way that he cradles me to his body. I fall asleep in record time, and when I awaken again, this time to my alarm, Malcolm is gone. It's like last night never really happened. At first, I caress the pillow next to me, imagining the pit from his head still there, and I try to talk myself out of the fact that I miss him. I've never missed anyone before. It's a very odd sensation. It makes me uncomfortable. And suddenly I'm angry.

But not just because he's left me. I'm also angry at myself for letting these feelings through. Why I even let that man through the door last night is beyond me. Now I've got all these emotions, and I don't know what to do with them. My mind begins to reel, thinking of all the things that I could have done last night when I couldn't sleep, instead of rejoining him in bed. It's my own fault. I let down my guard for a few hours. What I should have done is go to Declan’s. And that's when I realize the serious folly that I've made.

As I check my phone, I notice that there are no messages, which can only mean one thing: Moira knows that Malcolm stayed here last night. It's the only explanation for why shedidn't call and tear my head off for causing her such worry over not coming back to Declan’s as I had promised. How dare he tell her that he stayed with me last night. I'm sure he embellished. All men are guilty of that. No matter how innocent last night was, Malcolm’s side of the story will be much different than mine, I'm sure.

Instead of letting my thoughts fester, I decide that the only solution to this, is to shower and go to Declan’s house, and set the record straight, once and for all. But when I arrive there, I’m met with a surprise.

...And I hate surprises.

Malcolm

The last thing I wanted was for Steph to wake up and feel like she owed me something. Part of me couldn't trust that I would remain as noble as a monk, as I had been last night. It's one thing to comfort an emotional lass, however, it's another thing entirely to wake up next to a beautiful one, possibly sporting morning wood. It's been long enough since I've been next to a lass, and I feel like I'm finally on Steph’s good side, so I didn't want to do anything to spoil it.

Declan was apt enough to pick up on the fact that Steph hadn't returned to his home like she promised, so he had sent me a text message late last night, that I hadn't received until the wee hours of this morning. I'm not a lying man, so I hopped into my truck, and headed over to Declan's house, to clear the air for myself.I’m at one cousin's house or another usually, for coffee each morning. So, it isn't out of character for me to show up at one of their houses, unannounced. I’ve been known to visit one of my brothers’ places, too. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I had breakfast at my own house, if I’m being honest.

Declan’s place is nice but in terrible need of an update inside. He’s been putting it off for ages and I think that he’s finally met someone that may help twist his arm on renovations, as I see a couple of paint swatches on the counter when I arrive. “Where’s Moira?” I ask.

Declan is flipping eggs in a frying pan. “She’s getting ready to go to the funeral home. She’s a little pissed about Steph not coming back here last night.”

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