Page 7 of 40 and Flashing (the Scotsman)
Linc’s glare got harsher. “I know you, Gavin. You’ll flirt with anything in a skirt. Or not. Speaking of which, how about I introduce you to our local postmistress.”
Turned out the postmistress was the lady with the cat. Snookums. All Gavin could do was shake his head at that. He wasn’t sure how successful he was at hiding his surprise from the old dear.
Dinner was excellent, though he’d expected nothing less. Linc gave his best man speech, complete with just the right touch of humor. Claire, as maid of honor, seemed much less polished at speaking in front of a crowd, but no less sincere. It touched Gavin to see how the friendships between his friends had flourished for the past thirty years. Carter, Lincoln, and JD had met their first year at Columbia. Gavin had shared a class with Carter their junior year and became friends with the men immediately. He and Carter had worked together at an international finance corporation for years before deciding to go out on their own. It was the best decision he’d ever made, businesswise, and his friendship with Carter, Linc, and JD had only grown from there. And now, all these years later, JD was getting married. Gavin had a feeling Lincoln and Carter were not far behind.
His gaze settled on Scarlett, seated next to one of the women he been introduced to earlier—Iris, he believed, the local librarian—and any feelings of loneliness at being surrounded by his attached friends dissipated beneath his attraction to her. The woman made him curious, and curiosity about a woman was definitely something he enjoyed. He simply had to keep it under control. He was here for a week, and he would enjoy spending that week with Scarlett. As long as he took it no further than that, everything would be fine.
All the single ladies had had their dance with Beyoncé by the time Gavin approached Scarlett on the dance floor. Holding out his hand, he said, “This dance is promised to me, I believe.”
Cheeks flushed with exertion, Scarlett flushed even deeper, glancing around at her gaping girlfriends before tentatively giving him her hand. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”
“I never forget a promise,” he said, winking over Scarlett’s shoulder as her friends giggled. A slow song filtered through the speakers. Anticipation thrummed in his veins as he led Scarlett to an isolated spot on the dance floor and took her into his arms.
She fit perfectly. Somehow he’d known she would despite her five-foot-five-inches or so height. At a couple inches above six feet, he enjoyed a bit of height on a woman, but in her heeled boots, Scarlett was just right.
Hoping to catch her off guard, he led with, “Now what did ya say yer pen name was?”
Scarlett shook her head, tossing him an amused look. “That’s not going to work.”
“It’s not? Damn.” He grinned down at her. “Why won’t ya tell me? I do want to read one of yer books.”
She stared up at him for a few measures, then surprised him by turning serious. “You really want to know?”
He matched her tone. “I really do.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath, which pressed her ample breasts into his chest in a way he couldn’t ignore. “The truth is, if I wrote mysteries or literature”—she made air quotes with the hand on his arm—“or even horror, I wouldn’t hesitate. But men get… strange…when they find out women write romance, particularly open-door romance.”
“Open-door?”
“Open bedroom door,” she clarified, and when he continued to frown at her, “Explicit.”
His cock tightened. He willed it to behave. “Why did they get strange about that? I presume these men are adults who’ve experienced sex, so…” He arched a brow.
“So they start asking awkward personal questions, like do I practice what I write. Or even worse, assume I do and that makes me available for whatever they want. They don’t read my books. They don’t appreciate my work. It’s just a sex thing to them, and I’m an object, not a human with a brain.”
Those men must be twats. If the books contained sex that came from a mind like Scarlett’s, he sure as hell wanted to read them. But he wouldn’t read only for the sex. “Completin’ a book with the intricacies and details to make it popular is beyond my comprehension, Scarlett, so I know for certain ya have a brain, and a damn fine one.” He tucked her closer for a turn. “And I don’ need to read sex scenes to be interested in ya.”
He knew the minute she recognized his hard length against her soft belly—her eyes went wide, dropping from his, and her blush returned. He was becoming fascinated with that pretty pink color.
“Um…thank you?”
He chuckled. “Ye’re more than welcome, lass. Now, what was that pen name?”
ChapterFour
Scarlett dreamed about that dance with Gavin and woke hot and bothered in a way she hadn’t in years. The dream had progressed from dancing at the Carousel to dancing in other ways, and…
The Scotsman was going to be a problem, wasn’t he?
She channeled the energy into her latest sex scene for the book she was writing. Part of a duet, the second installment was the conclusion to a cliffhanger her readers were clamoring for her to finish. Just a few more chapters and she would be done. And in February everyone could stop sending her messages asking what was going to happen. Even her beta readers didn’t know.
Thinking about the whole thing made an evil laugh bubble up. Authors didn’t talk about it, but most of them enjoyed torturing their readers a little bit. Or a lot. It depended on how sadistic the author was. But all of them had that tendency.
She definitely tended toward the “a lot” end of the spectrum.
She finished her morning writing session around noon and was headed to fix some lunch when a hard knock sounded on her door. Thinking it must be one of her friends with a wedding task they needed help with, she hurried over and opened without checking first.
Gavin stood on the threshold. And from the look on his face, he wasn’t happy.
