Page 56 of Curvy Love

The man sends me an apologetic look, which makes me feel like a harpy. So I wave my hand in his direction.

“Not you, in particular. I’m just muttering. But I mean, really. Both my sisters. Sabrina. Now I’m here and told I can’t even leave. What the actual hell is that even about?”

“Mr. James wants to speak to you.”

Mr. James wants to speak to me? Me?

Oh, crap. This doesn’t bode well. What could he possibly have to speak to me about?

“Awesome.”

The man opens a door and holds it ajar for me to enter. So I just peek my head inside the large room. It’s a standard hotel meeting room with a big conference table and a thousand chairs. Other than that, it’s currently empty. I glance up at the man holding the door. He nods at me.

“Mr. James will be with you shortly.”

“Are you like his bodyguard are something?”

The man’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t actually smile. “No.”

I step into the room and then the man leaves and closes the door behind him.

I should ask Sabrina for a raise or at least an overtime bonus for this because this whole ordeal has been humiliating. Being singled out during the auction and called to the front so thathecould see me. Stare at me. Glare at me. My cheeks heat and I’m sure I’m blushing.

Everything about the experience was disconcerting in ways and for reasons I barely understood. I don’t love being the center of attention under any circumstances, but bidding on Abbott James … that huge, hulking, gorgeous man … bidding on a date with him, and being called to the front of the room so that everyone could see thatIwas the one bidding on him? I felt ridiculous.

Everything about the event was ridiculous, of course. This wasn't the first event like this I’d attended while working as Sabrina’s assistant, but usually, I was at these things with her, as her assistant, and as such could easily blend into the background.

Tonight, I’m here alone, since Sabrina didn’t want anyone to know she was the one bidding on Abbott James. So instead, it seems as I was the one who bid such an extraordinary amount of money on a single date with the Hottie McScottie. Yikes. Way to seem desperate, Willow.

This is stupid. I don’t work for this man and there’s no reason why I have to stay in this room, I start back towards the door just as it opens.

Nothing in my life, up until this point, has prepared me for this moment. You know how some people are said to be “larger than life”? I finally know what that means. The amount of charisma rolls off this man in steamy waves as he saunters into the room.

He’s bigger than he looked up on that stage. Still wearing the kilt, though he’s lost the formal jacket and his white shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing heavily muscled and tattooed forearms. Another tattoo snakes up the left side of his neck. I think he also might be older than I first imagined because up close I can see that he’s got silver mixed with the dark brown of his closely trimmed beard. It also peppers the hair above his ears. It’s incredibly sexy. He’s incredibly sexy.

He moves toward me with purpose and far too much grace for a man as big as he is. There’s a scowl set in his features and as he comes closer, I can clearly see the precise shade of blue in his eyes. They’re cobalt. The exact color of the Blue Grotto in Capri. I only know that because I watched a documentary about it once and the color was mesmerizing.

But yeah, he’s obviously pissed. Clearly, I am not the kind of woman he imagined bidding on him at this event. Given the gossip, maybe he expected Sabrina to show up and bid on him. He probably doesn’t know I’m her assistant. No doubt, that’s why he’s confused. Seriously, famous people and their weird dating customs.

“So listen, I know you’re probably annoyed about all of this, but it was only about optics and the gossip site not being proved accurate or something. I’m not really sure because frankly no one ever cares too much what I do. But the point is that you’re the Scottie hottie McSoccer player."

“Football,” he says. His Scottish brogue curls around the word and I think I just ovulated.

I might have just whimpered or moaned. God, I really hope I’m not drooling. He’s standing so close now. Close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough to inhale his scent; an intoxicating mixture of masculinity, cloves and pheromones that are clearly melting my mental faculties. He’s just too much animal magnetism for me to deal with.

He leans even closer and runs his nose up the side of my throat. Oh my God, did he just lick the skin behind my ear?

“What was I saying?” I ask.

“Something about how hot I am. I think you’re quite bonnie as well.” He growls against my throat. “You smell like black treacle.”

“That’s like molasses, right?” Is this like some kind of weird greeting in Scotland I’ve never heard about? I mean I haven’t really traveled anywhere, but I love travel documentaries and I watch British baking shows religiously and I’ve never seen any of the men lick the women upon meeting them. “I uh, had some gingerbread cookies before I came.”

He leans up and stares down at me. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Old enough.” Then he grabs my neck and lowers his mouth to mine.

---