“I’d dance with ye,” he said teasingly, “but I likely need to go attend to Alanna.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Bridgette, making her blush from moments ago resurface and Rory Mac hoot with laughter. He slapped Lachlan on the back. “Lachlan, take pity on sweet Bridgette and dance with her.”
Bridgette gasped. “Nay. I kinnae leave Graham,” she rushed out, grasping the first excuse that popped into her mind. When Graham’s eyes turned flinty, she knew her choice of words had been wrong.
“I insist,” he said in a stiff tone. “I’ll nae let my injuries deprive ye of some merriment.”
“I dunnae feel like dancing,” she said, looking from Graham to Lachlan and remembering the time Lachlan had told her that he did not dance. He had either lied or learned since.
As stark relief crossed Lachlan’s face, she frowned. The man didn’t have to be so obvious that he did not wish to dance with her. He could at least have feigned a slight interest. He cleared his throat. “If ye wish to dance,” he said, sounding strained, “then I’ll oblige ye.”
If her blush of mortification were any hotter, she was positive she’d expire. “Nay, I—
“Dunnae be silly,” Graham said in a steely tone she’d never heard him use before. “Ye were tapping yer foot as ye watched the dancers.”
Had she been? She couldn’t recall anything beyond her jealousy. If her foot had been tapping, it had done so without her even thinking upon it. “That does nae mean I wish to dance.”
“Then do so for me,” Graham said, surprising her by grasping her hand, bringing it to his lips, and kissing her fingertips. “I kinnae dance, but watching ye do so will bring me great joy and pleasure. And who better to watch over ye than my own brother?” Graham’s gaze moved swiftly from Bridgette to Lachlan. “Just dunnae fall under her spell.” His expression was serious, but then he winked. “She’s an enchantress.”
Bridgette felt her mouth part in shock at Graham’s words, even as her eyes went to Lachlan to see what he’d say.
His face gave not a hint of what he was feeling. He smiled, but it did not touch his beautiful eyes. “If I feel myself weakening,” he finally replied, “I’ll call for help.”
The exchange was too much like what she had long hoped would happen—Lachlan succumbing to her charms. She was suddenly very uncomfortable and wanted simply to get away, even if it meant torturing herself in Lachlan’s arms. “Come,” she fairly ordered. “Ye can see how enchanting I am when I trod all over yer toes. I’m much more graceful when trying to kill something.” She thrust her hand toward him and arched her eyebrows.
Lachlan burst out laughing and clasped her hand. His touch lit a fire at the point of contact, and it raced from her fingertips, up her arm, and to her chest. Then the heat washed over her entire body, making her want to gasp and snatch her hand away. Instead, she inhaled a long, slow breath and concentrated on trying to calm herself as she followed him into the middle of the floor.
Just when she thought she might be succeeding, his fingers curled tightly around hers, he stepped nearer, and slid his hand to the small of her back to guide her through the gathering dancers. “Are ye ready, lass?” he asked in a deep, sensual voice.
She could do no more than nod and felt lucky she had even managed that.
