Page 136 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2
Dougie ran a hand through his brown hair, gaze fixated on me. “Ye really scared me.”
“You said that already,” I reminded him and backed up some more. He was creeping up on me again. Every time I took a step back, he took one forward, until I backed myself right up against the chair. He kept coming.
“Dougie-” The words froze in my throat when he put his hand on my hip and pressed his body flush against mine. The fuck?
“I cannae bear it anymore.” he said, voice taut with frustration. There was something hard pressing over my groin and it wasn’t a damned gun. “Madison,” he moaned my name with a heat that I’d only ever heard from Matt. It unnerved the hell out of me, and I was still frozen.
“What the-mmph-” The pressure of his lips on mine stifled my words. His eyes had closed as he gently sucked on my mouth before running his tongue over the crease, trying to gain entry.
Shocked, stupefied, just plain ole unable to comprehend what was currently taking place; that was how I felt. With a muffled attempt of protestation from my mouth, Dougie seized the opportunity and slid his tongue in; groaning against my lips as he immediately tried to engage me in a tongue tango. His hand gripped my hip tightly while he ground his lower body into mine, pressing his ever present arousal intimately into me. Oh no. Matt had been right all along. Ignoring the burst of pain in my shoulder I wrenched my head away.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “You have ruined everything. We’re friends. Why would you-”
“I dinnae just want to be yer friend,” Dougie’s voice was a mix of passion and frustration as he kneaded his fingers over my hip. “I want to bewithye. Since the first time I saw ye, I’ve wanted ye.”
“I’m married, you jerk. Why would you do this? You’re ruining it.” And he was. Dougie was a buffer for me. His friendship a welcomed relief, a reminded that there were people from their social stratosphere who were normal. His friendship meant a lot to me. And now he’d irrevocably ruined it.
“I’m married.” I repeated softly, peering into his hazel eyes, willing him to understand.
“Aye, but I dinnae care, my wee flower. Can ye nae feel it? This thing between us, I do, and I ken ye do too.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I love my husband. Now get off.”
Dougie’s breathing was erratic as his gaze dropped to my lips. “Please, Madi. I cannae stop thinking about ye. The way ye laugh, the way ye smile. Yer lovely brown skin against mine. Och, lass, I have dreams about ye scent! I need ye, no one has to ken. I need to be with ye. To touch ye the way I want to touch ye.” Dougie looked directly into my eyes, his face was raw with honesty. “Ye’ve mademe fall in love with ye.”
“Get. Off.” I kept my voice firm. I would not struggle. Firstly, he was bigger, stronger than me; struggling would be futile. Secondly, struggling would mean I had no control; maintaining control in this situation was a dire necessity. I kept my eyes fixed on his, I let him see on my face that this was unacceptable. And with a cold anger swelling up inside me, I said it once more. “Get. Off. Now.”
“Did you not hear my wife, McGregor?” Matt’s empty voice came from the doorway, startling us both. If there was any pee in me I would’ve wet myself. Oh sweet Jesus! Sweet Jesus, there would be a reckoning tonight.
Dougie stared longingly at me, his hand rose up to tenderly tuck a stray curl behind my ear, before he let out a tired sigh. He stepped away, shoulders tensing and jaw jutting out defiantly as my husband walked into the room. Matt’s features were serene, his eyes though, they were glittering hard icicles. I was praying in my head, praying someone didn’t end up dead. Oh no. All those shotguns. Someone would end up dead tonight…
Matt had finally calmed the knot of fear in his stomach. The memory of Madi on the ground with that gun. Bloody hell. He had never felt so afraid in his life. What on earth went through that head of hers? He muscled his way through the crowd of people, eager to get back to her and away from here. The bruise on her shoulder was horrendous. An ugly purple splotch, marring the rich brown he loved. She could’ve been killed! Or killed someone. Bloody Kinman. The man was a complete fool, putting such a large shotgun in her hands. Was he blind? She was only tiny. A petite woman with delicate hands. Matt was still unable to believe she’d hefted the heavy gun and managed to fire a round. Her poor shoulder. He’d seen the fright in her eyes when she thought she’d done serious damage to her arm. The fear of not being able to dance again. Well, she’d never do anything as stupid as this again.
“Silly woman.” he muttered to himself as he neared the parlour where he’d left her. He would need to call Rachel, order her to get some prescription level painkillers over to the house. Madi would regret her reckless actions in the morning, no doubt.
Matt opened the door and froze, shocked at the scene before him. McGregor was kissing his wife. Kissing his fucking wife as if she was his own! There was a moment of nothingness. He felt nothing, too shocked to process the sight of McGregor’s mouth on his wife. Then a boiling rage erupted from the deepest part of him. The intensity of it caused his hands to shake. Matt took a deep breath, preparing to go over there and rip the man’s head off; but he paused.Was Madi a willing participant?
A burning pain overrode the anger he felt at the thought of his poppet betraying him. He stood frozen in place. When she pulled away from the kiss, visibly upset, the ache in his chest lessened. Matt, still unnoticed by them, stepped past the doorway. He forced himself to remain where he was as they argued. If he took another step he would kill McGregor without a doubt. The press would have a field day, never mind the possible jail sentence.
Matt opened his mouth to draw their attention to him, but failed to speak when McGregor declared his love for Madi. The Scotsman was mad, and suicidal it seemed. Madi told him to get off and McGregor didn’t move. Matt took another step as she told him again.
“Did you not hear my wife, McGregor?” he asked blandly. The look on Madi’s face, if Matt wasn’t enraged it would’ve made him chuckle.
McGregor. Fucking McGregor had the nerve to brush her hair back behind her ear, a decidedly tender gesture that Matt himself did countless times. The Scotsman did have a death wish.
Matt kept his gaze on McGregor as he spoke. “Madison, go wait for me in the foyer.”
She stood rooted to the floor, squeezing the ice-pack and peering at him with wide eyes. Her dark brown irises reflected her current uncertainty.
“Matt,” she began, glancing frantically between him and McGregor.
“Madison.” The warning in his tone had her jerkily moving forward and dropping the ice-pack as she clumsily picked up her purse and his discarded dinner jacket.
“Matt, please,” she called.
He remained silent, gaze locked on McGregor’s defiant pose. Madi gulped, loud enough to be heard, and shuffled towards the door.
