Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(4)
A rap at the door diverted my attention. I turned as Iain stepped through a doorway barely accommodating his enormous frame. Even from my five-nine height, the man always appeared huge with his six-foot-five, brawn-built-by-physical-exertion body.
I knew what’d created those bunched muscles. We’d met last summer when I’d been drawn to Highland games festivals with my love for all things Scottish. The ease of his mastery in every event left no member of the audience ignorant of his extraordinary skills. The movie industry had also taken notice. They’d snatched him up long before he’d ever set foot in the States, and his busy film career was the reason he lived in Southern California.
Television coverage of premieres, not to mention the covers of magazines and tabloids, proclaimed his social status: playboy. He rotated starlets and models more often than I grocery shopped to see the printed evidence.
I’d garnered Iain’s attention with my regular attendance at every scheduled festival within driving distance of the greater Los Angeles area while remaining the only single female at the games not to fawn all over him. He’d gained my interest, too, but not in an isn’t-he-dreamy romantic way. My awe bore resemblance to a damn-that-warrior-would’ve-ruled-the-Highlands reaction.
“Well, Isa,” he said in his rich, deep tone, luring me back from my thoughts. “You inviting me in, lass, or am I to continue to decorate your entry?” His thick Scottish brogue rolled off his tongue and danced in my ears.
I’d long ago stopped trying to correct him on my name. After several attempts explaining I preferred my full name, Eeee-sooo-bellll, I’d given up. Now it warmed my heart to hear him call me something no one else in the world ever had.
I walked toward him a few steps, laughing. “Sorry. I’ve been distracted today. Come in.”
He closed the door, and I saw something I’d never seen before—his tight ass in jeans. At the games, he wore the plaid of his ancestral clan which, interestingly, had a one-of-a-kind woven pattern. The way he filled out street clothes made me take notice; broad shoulders pulled his long-sleeved shirt taut, the crisp white setting off tanned skin and chestnut hair. He faced me again, his lips curving into the crooked smile he often wore. He came closer, and the lighting in the room struck his hazel eyes, flecks of burgundy sparkling amid greenish brown.
“Did you have a good trip? You were visiting your grandfather, right?” he asked.
Iain’s eyes searched mine. He tilted his head slightly, holding his arms relaxed at his sides as he took lazy steps forward. He was reaching out to me, showing he cared about my welfare. It was a concept I’d found foreign in my life from everyone except my parents, who’d died years ago, and my seanair, who’d passed before my plane touched down at LAX last week.
Countless thoughts filled my head, from the pain of a precious goodbye I’d held sacred, to the thrilling discovery I’d only shared with Iain in a vague, brief phone conversation. Unaccustomed to men outside of my family showing concern over my well-being, my instincts ran with keeping my barriers up and feelings in.
“Yes. Yes, everything went fine,” I replied. Unprepared for bluffing my way out of a harmless question, coupled with my horrid lying skills, I had little confidence I’d fooled him.
A shadow fell across his face; his brow furrowed and his smile faded into a tight line, which gave me a good indication I hadn’t been convincing. At the very least, I’d disappointed him with my curt reply.
His brown boots clacked softly on the tile as he approached, until he came so close I had to crane my neck back to keep eye contact. For an unknown reason, I stayed rooted to the ground with mere inches between us. He looked at my lips, then into my eyes. The earlier harshness to his features softened as he relaxed his face. I blinked heavily, inhaling his delicious, ever-present scent of the woods and earth.
“What are you doing?” I asked a bit too breathlessly as I stood transfixed, my body overriding the sound reason I’d always had but seemed to have momentarily lost.
“What you want me to be doing.” Mischief flickered in his eyes.
Nervousness settled into my stomach and blood rushed into my brain, allowing thoughts to ping around again. I laughed and pushed my hands into his solid chest which, against his enormous mass, resulted in me falling back a step. I recovered, quickly turned, and walked over to the desk, avoiding the near-combustible collision of our bodies.
“Oh, please. I really have something to show you.”
A low, warm chuckle echoed behind me. “Aye, you do, and I’ve been waiting very patiently.”
I caught his intended meaning, having played his flirting games before, but I was determined not to be distracted. He didn’t make it easy. With the quiet grace of a cat, he came up behind me. His massive thighs hit my ass, pressing my body into the desk. He’d trapped me. His heat burned right through my clothes, clouding my waning judgment. I had two choices: remain standing there, showing him the box from the intimate stance, or demand he back up and get serious. The temperature must have fried my circuitry, because I chose option one.
I leaned over the desk, reaching for the box. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
My bending forward caused our bodies to line up in a perfect sexual position, which I realized one second too late. His hands firmly gripped my hips as he pressed himself further into me. I snapped upright when an ache flashed between my thighs. Our intimate contact sent my pulse racing. As my breaths shortened, I had to concentrate to think straight.