Page 38

She knew that in her own wardrobe, she’d have had a dozen of the perfect outfits.

The problem wasn’t the clothes, though, so much as how to strike the right balance. If she were simply having dinner with Hamish’s parents, she’d have gone for elegance over anything else. She was comfortable with that. But there was Cressida to consider, and for all Hamish seemed wired to want to treat her with kid-gloves, Tia couldn’t forgive Ewan or Cressida for what they’d done to him. That emotion, in the end, overrode anything else, and rather than selecting one of the gowns hanging in the wardrobe, she pulled a black knee-length pencil skirt off a coat hanger—one she’d brought from home—and teamed it with a silky cream-coloured blouse. On its face, the outfit was sedate, but the skirt had a slit up one side, to the top of the thigh, and when the blouse was tucked into the skirt, and the top three buttons undone, it drew attention to both her naturally slim waist and a hint of cleavage. She stepped into a pair of gold heels, added a few fine golden necklaces, then styled her hair into a low ponytail, tousling the ends a little to differentiate this version of herself from her usual work persona.

When she was ready, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the dressing room, and completely forgot about her own considerations regarding clothes. Hamish was across the bedroom, dressed in black suit pants and a crisp white shirt, his hair still damp from the shower, his shoulders broad and confident, his body leanly muscled, and all the air in her lungs disappeared so she felt quite faint suddenly.

But if Tia was having to take a beat to absorb Hamish’s appearance, then the same could apparently be said for him. Midway through lifting a tie over his head, he froze and stared, his lips parting slightly and his chest moving rapidly in reflection of his own breathing issues.

“Need a hand?” she asked, glad she sounded normal, and that she was the first to speak. He was still staring at her, and she wouldn’t have been human if she didn’t enjoy the effect she had on him. Especially when she knew he’d been resisting temptation for so long. Celibate for years, she thought in wonder, as she walked slowly across the carpet, wondering just how mean it was of her to wiggle her hips like she was.

She pulled the tie from between his fingers slowly, the simple feeling of silk somehow so much more sensual than it should have been. And then, she lifted it over his head, pressed it around his thick, strong neck, something buzzing in her fingertips as she brought the ends to the front, near his Adam’s apple. Her eyes flicked to his to find his gaze firmly planted on her mouth, as though he were wondering what it would be like to kiss her. She deliberately wobbled her lower lip between her teeth then let it pout, glistening with moisture, and felt his quick exhalation as warm air against her forehead.

She could tie a tie. She’d learned years ago, and never forgotten. It was muscle memory. But she intentionally slowed herself down. She let her fingers glide over the fabric, her knuckles brushing his chest as she worked, then her fingertips lightly grazing across his jaw as she manoeuvred the knot in place. “Is a normal knot okay, or does it need to be fancier?” Her voice was husky and soft. His eyes were still locked to her lips.

“Fine,” he said, deep and low. “Normal is fine.”

One side of her mouth quirked upwards, her eyes lifting to his. She finished the knot and then turned her attention to the ends of the tie, running her fingers down the hanging fabric, slowly, pressing it against his chest ostensibly to neaten it. His sharp intake of breath made her even more daring, and when she ran out of fabric, she kept her hand there, low on his flat stomach, warm through the starched fabric of his shirt.

“Tia.” It was a growl. She blinked with mock innocence. “Are you planning to give my father a heart attack?”

“That would be one way to promote you through the ranks,” she responded, smiling to show she was joking.

“You look…”

Insecurity flashed inside of her as she briefly wondered if she’d missed the mark with this outfit.

“Incredible,” he finished, closing his eyes as though he needed to blot the image from his mind.

“I get the feeling that’s a problem for you?”

“You always look incredible,” he corrected, staring down at her, not moving away, she noticed. “But this is…”

She waited, then moved ever so slightly closer. “Are you going to be able to form sentences tonight?”

“I’m starting to doubt it,” he responded.

“I’m more than happy to put on something more demure,” she said with a lift of her shoulder, aware that the silk of her blouse shifted over her breasts as she moved. He groaned, dropping his head forward.

“Perhaps I’m the one who’ll have a heart attack,” he muttered, one hand moving to her hip, and she was glad he was touching her back. She’d been craving it, and just that simple contact made her body hum and sing.

“You want me to change?”

“Fuck, no,” he growled again. “You look…like my fantasies come to life,” he muttered.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s a problem?”

Finally his eyes met hers, and there was a mix of pleading and irony in their depths. “Is celibacy your kink, Lady Ashcombe?”

“I’m starting to think it might be.”

“Then this is going to be a very long weekend.”

Chapter Ten

IT WASN’T LIKE HE HADN’T been tempted. Since leaving the UK, he’d met women. Nice women. Smart women. Beautiful women. He’d gone to events, parties, dinners; he’d been asked out, he’d been flirted with, quite obviously propositioned. And sometimes, he’d had a flicker of interest. Attraction. But every road led to the spectacular demise of his relationship with Cressida; the betrayal by the two people he loved most in the world, with each other.

How could he ever trust anyone again, after that?

He had thought he and Cressida would spend the rest of their lives together and instead, she’d fallen in love with his brother. It wasn’t even that she’d fallen in love with Ewan, so much as the fact they carried on behind his back for four goddamn weeks.