Her Highland Fling (15 page)
Read Her Highland Fling Online
Authors: Jennifer McQuiston
Worse, however, was the noise. All around him nonsensical conversations swirled like eddies of dust caught in the wind. This blond-haired chit felt another’s gown was a simply
awful
shade of puce. That one shuddered to hear such a third-rate cellist sawing on the strings. One graying matron loudly bemoaned the fact the heads had been left on the prawns, no doubt to mock those guests possessed of more delicate sensibilities.
Though on the surface everyone was smiling, the undercurrent of female malcontent caught him by surprise. He could not help but feel there was something unhealthy about smiling to one’s hostess in one moment and disparaging her in the next. Hadn’t they come here tonight to honor the dowager countess, who, in her day, had been a widely admired figure? Though he knew she preferred to keep the details of her diagnosis private, anyone with a pair of functioning eyes could see the signs of the countess’s declining health and realize this was Lady Austerley’s last annual ball.
He wedged himself against a wall and scowled out at the crowd. Though it was difficult to credit the emotion, given that he was at a bloody ball, boredom began to creep in. Lady Austerley, bless her bones, was holding her own from her chair near the entrance to the ballroom, and looked to require no immediate assistance. He had no desire to dance, and refused to consider the horrors of puce or prawns, one way or the other.
Indeed, he had no desire to sample any of the diversions on offer here tonight.
Step, thump. Step, thump
.
A sound cut through the drivel of small talk, and Daniel turned his head to search for its source. In the midst of such glitter and polish, that incongruous sound seemed his greatest hope to encounter something more thought-provoking tonight than third-rate cellists. He suffered an almost irrational disappointment to see nothing more interesting than a young lady approaching. A brunette, slim, and exceptionally attractive young lady, to be sure, but really no different than any of the other tittering flora and fauna on display tonight.
Step, thump. Step, thump
.
Well, except for
that
.
His clinical skills flared to life. A few inches over five feet, but probably less than seven stone. She was within a year or two of twenty, though on which side she fell was little more than an educated guess. He had always been an ardent student of the human form, favoring symmetry over chaos, and his eye was drawn as much to the finely wrought curve of this girl’s bones as the rich brown hair piled on top of her head. Her neck alone was an anatomist’s dream, long and elegant, drawing the eye to the prominent line of her shoulders.
She flashed a half smile at someone who passed and he caught a glimpse of not-quite-perfect teeth, though the minor misalignment of her left cuspid did little to lessen the impression of general loveliness. If anything, it heightened his sense that she was real, rather than a porcelain doll waiting to be broken.
His eyes lingered a moment on the stark prominence of her clavicles, there above her neckline. She could stand to gain a few pounds, he supposed.
Then again, couldn’t they all?
Step, thump. Step, thump
.
That part was deucedly odd. She didn’t appear outwardly lame, though her shuffling gait lacked the smooth refinement he expected in young ladies of the fashionable set. She settled herself into an empty seat along the wall and carefully arranged her skirts, but not before he caught the edge of one hideously ugly shoe peeking out from beneath the hem of her gown.
Now that she was sitting still, her symptoms told him a far different story than the one delivered by her fixed half smile. Her gloved hands sat on her lap, the picture of feminine innocence, but as he watched, they knotted and unknotted in the shimmering green of her skirts, seeking traction against some unseen force. Her forehead was creased in concentration, and beads of perspiration had formed above her upper lip.
He well knew the signs. Either the chit was constipated or in severe pain.
He was betting on the latter.
And just like that, the evening’s entertainment shifted toward something far more promising than Lady Austerley’s staunch refusal to faint.
Or even, God help him, the corpse.
A veterinarian and infectious disease researcher by training,
JENNIFER MCQUISTON
has always preferred reading romance to scientific textbooks. She resides in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, their two girls, and an odd assortment of pets, including the pony she promised her children if Mommy ever got a book deal. Jennifer can be reached via her website at www.jenmcquiston.com or followed on Twitter @jenmcqwrites.
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Diary of an Accidental Wallflower
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Read on for a sneak peek at seven brand-new
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L
OVE AND
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OOTBA
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OVELLA
By Julie Brannagh
A
B
ACHE
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IREMEN
N
OVELLA
By Jennifer Bernard
ONCE UPON A HIGHLAND CHRISTMAS
By Lecia Cornwall
A
B
AD
B
OYS
U
NDER
COVER
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OVELLA
By HelenKay Dimon
A
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LLIONAIRES AND
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IKER
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By Cynthia Sax
A
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INCLAIR
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By Karen Ranney
By Codi Gary
An Excerpt from
A Love and Football Novella
by Julie Brannagh
Holly Reynolds has a secret. Make that two. The first involves upholding her grandmother’s hobby of answering Dear Santa letters from dozens of local schoolchildren. The second . . . well, he just came strolling in the door.
Derrick has never met a woman he wanted to bring home to meet his family, mostly because he keeps picking the wrong ones—until he runs into sweet, shy Holly Reynolds. Different from anyone he’s ever known, Derrick realizes she might just be everything he needs.
“D
o you need anything else right now?”
“I’m good,” he said. “Then again, there’s something I forgot.”
“What do you need? Maybe I can help.”
He moved closer to her, and she tipped her head back to look up at him. He reached out to cup one of her cheeks in his big hand. “I had a great time tonight. Thanks for having pizza with me.”
“I had a nice time too. Th-thank you for inviting me,” she stammered. There was so much more she’d like to say, but she was tongue-tied again. He was moving closer to her, and he reached out to put his drinking glass down on the counter.
“Maybe we could try this again when we’re not in the middle of a snowstorm,” he said. “I’d like a second date.”
She started nodding like one of those bobbleheads, and forced herself to stop before he thought she was even more of a dork.
“Yes. I . . . Yes, I would too. I . . . that would be fun.”
He took another half-step toward her. She did her best to pull in a breath.
“Normally, I would have kissed you good night at your front door, but getting us inside before we froze to death seemed like the best thing to do right then,” he said.
“Oh, yes. Absolutely. I—”
He reached out, slid his arms around her waist, and pulled her close. “I don’t want to disrespect your grandma’s wishes,” he softly said. “She said I needed to treat you like a lady.”
Holly almost let out a groan. She loved Grandma, but they needed to have a little chat later. “Sorry,” she whispered.
He grinned at her. “I promise I’ll behave myself, unless you don’t want me to.” She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Plus,” he continued, “she said you have to be up very early in the morning to go to work, so we’ll have to say good night.”
Maybe she didn’t need sleep. One thing’s for sure, she had no interest in stepping away from him right now. He surrounded her, and she wanted to stay in his arms. Her heart was beating double-time, the blood was effervescent in her veins, and she summoned the nerve to move a little closer to him as she let out a happy sigh.
He kissed her cheek, and laid his scratchier one against hers. A few seconds later, she slid her arms around his neck too. “Good night, sweet Holly. Thanks for saving me from the snowstorm.”
She had to laugh a little. “I think you saved
me
.”
“We’ll figure out who saved who later,” he said. She felt his deep voice vibrating through her. She wished he’d kiss her again. Maybe she should kiss
him
.
He must have read her mind. He took her face in both of his hands. “Don’t tell your grandma,” he whispered. His breath was warm on her cheek.
“Tell her what?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Her head was bobbing around as she frantically nodded yes. She probably looked ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to care. Her eyelids fluttered closed as his mouth touched hers, sweet and soft. It wasn’t a long kiss, but she knew she’d never forget it. She felt the zing at his tender touch from the top of her head to her toes.
“A little more?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
His arms wrapped around her again, and he slowly traced her lips with his tongue. It slid into her mouth. He tasted like the peppermints Noel Pizza kept in a jar on the front counter. They explored each other for a while as quietly as possible, but maybe not quietly enough.
“Holly, honey,” her grandma called out from the family room. Holly was
absolutely
going to have a conversation with Grandma when Derrick was out of earshot, and she stifled a groan. All they were doing was a little kissing. He rested one big hand on her butt, which she enjoyed. “Would you please bring me some salad?”
Derrick let out a snort. “I’ll get it for you, Miss Ruth,” he said loudly enough for her grandma to hear.
“She’s onto us,” Holly said softly.
“Damn right.” He grinned at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” His voice dropped. “We’re
definitely
kissing on the second date.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” She tried to pull in a breath. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t have stopped smiling if her life depended on it. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in my room instead? You need a good night’s sleep. Don’t you have to go to practice?”
“I’m sure your room is very comfortable, but I’ll be fine out here. Sweet dreams,” he said.
She felt him kiss the top of her head as he held her. She took a deep breath of his scent: clean skin, a whiff of expensive cologne, and freshly pressed clothes. “You, too,” she whispered. She reached up to kiss his cheek. “Good night.”
An Excerpt from
A Bachelor Firemen Novella
by Jennifer Bernard
Hard-edged fireman Dean Mulligan has never been a big fan of Christmas. Twinkly lights and sparkly tinsel can’t brighten the memories of too many years spent in ramshackle foster homes. When he’s trapped in the burning wreckage of a holiday store, a Christmas angel arrives to open his eyes. But is it too late? This Christmas, it’ll take an angel, a determined woman in love, and the entire Bachelor Firemen crew to make him believe . . . it is indeed a wonderful life.
H
e’d fallen. Memory returned like water seeping into a basement. He’d been on the roof, and then he’d fallen through, and now he was . . . here. His PASS device was sounding in a high-decibel shriek, and its strobe light flashed, giving him quick, garish glimpses of his surroundings.
Mulligan looked around cautiously. The collapse must have put out much of the fire, because he saw only a few remnants of flames flickering listlessly on the far end of the space. Every surface was blackened and charred except for one corner, in which he spotted blurry flashes of gold and red and green.
He squinted and blinked his stinging eyes, trying to get them to focus. Finally the glimpse of gold formed itself into a display of dangling ball-shaped ornaments. He gawked at them. What were those things made from? How had they managed to survive the fire? He sought out the red and squinted at it through his face mask. A Santa suit, that’s what it was, with great, blackened holes in the sleeves. It was propped on a rocking chair, which looked quite scorched. Mulligan wondered if a mannequin or something had been wearing the suit. If so, it was long gone. Next to the chair stood half of a plastic Christmas tree. One side had melted into black goo, while the other side looked pretty good.
Where am I?
He formed the words with his mouth, though no sound came out. And it came back to him. Under the Mistletoe. He’d been about to die inside a Christmas store. But he hadn’t. So far.
He tried to sit up, but something was pinning him down. Taking careful inventory, he realized that he lay on his left side, his tank pressing uncomfortably against his back, his left arm immobilized beneath him. What was on top of him? He craned his neck, feeling his face mask press against his chest. A tree. A freaking Christmas tree. Fully decorated and only slightly charred. It was enormous, at least ten feet high, its trunk a good foot in diameter. At its tip, an angel in a gold pleated skirt dangled precariously, as if she wanted to leap to the floor but couldn’t summon the nerve. Steel brackets hung from the tree’s trunk; it must have been mounted somewhere, maybe on a balcony or something. A few twisted ironwork bars confirmed that theory.
How the hell had a Christmas tree survived the inferno in here? It was wood! Granted, it was still a live tree, and its trunk and needles held plenty of sap. And fires were always unpredictable. The one thing you could be sure of was that they’d surprise you. Maybe the balcony had been protected somehow.
He moved his body, trying to shift the tree, but it was extremely heavy and he was pinned so flat he had no leverage. He spotted his radio a few feet away. It must have been knocked out of his pouch. Underneath the horrible, insistent whine of his PASS device, he heard the murmuring chatter of communication on the radio. If he could get a finger on it, he could hit his emergency trigger and switch to Channel 6, the May Day channel. His left arm was useless, but he could try with his right. But when he moved it, pain ripped through his shoulder.
Hell. Well, he could at least shut off the freaking PASS device. If a rapid intervention team made it in here, he’d yell for them. But no way could he stand listening to that sound for the next whatever-amount-of-time it took. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he reached for the device at the front of his turnout, then hit the button. The strobe light stopped and sudden silence descended, though his ears still rang. While he was at it, he checked the gauge that indicated how much air he had left in his tank. Ten minutes. He must have been in here for some time, sucking up air, since it was a thirty-minute tank.
A croak issued from his throat. “I’m in hell. No surprise.”
Water.
He needed water.
“I can’t give you any water,” a bright female voice said. For some reason, he had the impression that the angel on the tip of the Christmas tree had spoken. So he answered her back.
“Of course you can’t. Because I’m in hell. They don’t exactly hand out water bottles in hell.”
“Who said you’re in hell?”
Even though he watched the angel’s lips closely, he didn’t see them move. So it must not be her speaking. Besides, the voice seemed to be coming from behind him. “I figured it out all by myself.”
Amazingly, he had no more trouble with his throat. Maybe he wasn’t really speaking aloud. Maybe he was having this bizarre conversation with his own imagination. That theory was confirmed when a girl’s shapely calves stepped into his field of vision. She wore red silk stockings the exact color of holly berries. She wore nothing else on her feet, which had a very familiar shape.
Lizzie.
His gaze traveled upward, along the swell of her calves. The stockings stopped just above her knees, where they were fastened by a red velvet bow. “Christmas stockings,” he murmured.
“I told you.”
“All right. I was wrong. Maybe it’s heaven after all. Come here.” He wanted to hold her close. His heart wanted to burst with joy that she was here with him, that he wasn’t alone. That he wasn’t going to die without seeing Lizzie again.
“I can’t. There’s a tree on top of you,” she said in a teasing voice. “Either that, or you’re very happy to see me.”
“Oh, you noticed that? You can move it, can’t you? Either you’re an angel and have magical powers, or you’re real and you can push it off me.”
She laughed. A real Lizzie laugh, starting as a giggle and swooping up the register until it became a whoop. “Do you really think an angel would dress like this?”
“Hmm, good point. What are you wearing besides those stockings? I can’t even see. At least step closer so I can see.”
“Fine.” A blur of holly red, and then she perched on the pile of beams and concrete that blocked the east end of his world. In addition to the red stockings, she wore a red velvet teddy and a green peaked hat, which sat at an angle on her flowing dark hair. Talk about a “hot elf” look.
“Whoa. How’d you do that?”
“You did it.”
“I did it?” How could he do it? He was incapacitated. Couldn’t even move a finger. Well, maybe he could move a finger. He gave it a shot, wiggling the fingers on both hands. At least he wasn’t paralyzed.
But he did seem to be mentally unstable. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”
“Bingo.”