Page 99 of One Night in Glasgow
My mouth found the swell of her breast above the lace, and her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me to her. “When you put it that way...”
I smiled against her skin, my hand sliding up to cup her breast through the thin fabric. Her nipple hardened against my palm, and I brushed my thumb across it, relishing her sharpintake of breath. “Have I mentioned how much I love the sounds you make?” I whispered, moving to give the same attention to her other breast.
“Only about a thousand times,” she gasped, her hips lifting to press against mine.
“Make it a thousand and one, then,” I said, reaching behind her to unhook her bra with practiced ease.
Just as I was about to pull the garment away, a sharp knock at the door interrupted us. We both froze, staring at each other with a mixture of frustration and amusement.
“Ignore it,” I suggested, lowering my head to continue my exploration of her perfect body.
The knocking came again, more insistent this time. “Sean! I know you’re in there! Open up, it’s important!”
I groaned, recognizing Danny’s voice. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Beth laughed, adjusting her clothes as I reluctantly rolled off her. “Your timing is impeccable, Beckford!” she called out, her voice laced with good-natured irritation.
I stood, straightening my rumpled shirt. “Why are you not back home making me money?” I called out, striding to the door and yanking it open.
Danny stood there, looking windswept and triumphant, clutching a copy of The Sun like it was a winning lottery ticket. His golden blond hair was disheveled, and his dark eyes were bright with excitement.
“You are not going to believe this,” he announced, pushing past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. He threw the paper down on the bed, narrowly missing Beth’s open suitcase. The headline was massive: “AMERICAN HERO: Motivational Millionaire Risks Prison For His Scottish Lass!” Complete with a dramatic photo of me beingled away in handcuffs and a smaller, flattering picture of Beth.
“What the hell?” I picked up the paper, scanning the article with growing disbelief.
“It’s everywhere,” Danny said, practically vibrating with energy as he paced the room. “The story of the ‘billionaire’s daughter’ and her ‘protective American lover’ taking down a ‘crooked lord’ has exploded. You’re trending on Twitter. You’ve got fan pages popping up on Instagram. People are calling you the ‘Motivational Avenger.’”
Beth moved to my side, reading over my shoulder. “This is... surprisingly accurate,” she said, sounding bemused. “Though they’ve made me sound like some kind of damsel in distress.”
“Who cares?” Danny exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “The point is, Sean is no longer a PR risk. He’s a romantic hero! Marcus Thorne—brilliant man, by the way—used this as leverage. The audiobook publisher, terrified of the bad optics of suing a ‘hero,’ has not only reinstated the multi-year contract but has also renegotiated the advance—upwards.”
I stared at him, trying to process this information. “You flew all the way from the US to tell me this? We could have done a video call, Danny.”
“Oh, that’s not all,” Danny said, his grin widening. “I’ve been fielding calls all week. I’ve booked you for a series of high-profile—and extremely lucrative—speaking engagements and TV appearances across Britain. The BBC wants you for their morning show. Graham Norton’s people called. And the advance offers for your next book? Let’s just say you might want to consider upgrading from millionaire to multi-millionaire status.”
Beth squeezed my hand, her eyes wide with surprise and pride.
“Forget California,” Danny announced, dropping into an armchair with the satisfied air of a man who’s just pulled off a miracle. “For the next few months, you’re the toast of the UK. We’re not going home anytime soon.”
The room fell silent as Beth and I exchanged a look. I could see the question in her eyes: what did this mean for our plans?
“Danny,” I said slowly, “I appreciate all of this. I really do. But Beth and I were planning to fly to California tomorrow. I want her to meet my family.”
Danny waved a dismissive hand. “Bring them here! First-class tickets on me. Well, on your new advance, technically. They can experience your triumphant British tour firsthand.”
I looked over at Beth, who was just shaking her head, a look of pure, unadulterated amusement on her face. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice full of laughter. “My lifetime of causing scandals finally paid off for someone?”
I let out a loud laugh, the tension and worry of the past week finally, completely, dissolving. “It seems so.”
Danny, finally calming down, flopped into an armchair. “Alright, alright. I’m happy for you both. Truly.” He gestured between us. “But this whole lovey-dovey, co-conspirator thing you’ve got going on… it’s great, but I’m now officially the third wheel on this international love tour.” He turned to Beth, a playful, pleading look on his face. “So, you owe me. Big time. You must have one friend in this entire country who is smart, funny, and has reasonably low standards for an American agent who talks too much.”
Beth’s eyes lit up with a mischievous spark that I recognized immediately. It was the same look she’d had right before she’d verbally eviscerated her mother. “As a matter of fact,”she said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face, “I think I know just the person.”
Danny clapped his hands together. “Perfect! Now, we need to talk strategy. I’ve got you booked on?—”
“Danny,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but could you give us a minute? This is a lot to process.”
He blinked, then nodded, glancing between Beth and me with sudden understanding. “Right, of course. I’ll just... go get a coffee. From the lobby. The very distant lobby.” He backed toward the door. “Take your time. But not too much time—we have a phone call with Graham Norton’s producer in two hours.”
