Chapter Fifteen
Gretchen
Dear lord, he can't be serious. I'm no stuntwoman.
Jeez, I've only ever been on a roller coaster once because I threw up in my seat.
And that is exactly why I will never, never, never ever do anything as crazy as jumping off a freaking cliff.
"Kirk, I can't dive like that, especially not into ice-cold water.
Not without training. I'm no superwoman. "
He chuckles. "Ahmno a super anything. Just a man who loves adventure and new experiences. And ahm also the sort who'll do almost anything to make an American lass grow so aroused that she'll do whatever I suggest."
Am I that audacious? Not sure.
Kirk lifts his brows in a clear challenge, wrapped up in a dare. "I dinnae want you to dive off a cliff. I have something much more thrilling and erotic in mind for your first stunt."
"What is it?" Not sure I want to know, but what the heck. Life is short, after all. Might as well go nuts.
He beckons me closer. "Have ye ever walked a slackline, Gretchen?"
I feel my brows furrowing as I wait for Kirk's explanation. "Slack...line?"
"Aye, it's a glorified tightrope, strung between two trees," Kirk explains, obviously relishing my confusion. "It's less than a meter off the ground. They use it to train circus clowns and American astronauts in Houston."
"Are you telling me this was all a setup? The death dive was the decoy, and now you're going to make me look like a complete idiot in front of the loch's resident sheep?"
"There'll be no audience but us, I promise."
He wraps his calloused hand around my wrist and tugs me toward a stand of birch trees just off the pebbled beach.
At first, I don't even see the bright blue webbing strung taut between two trunks.
Then I finally notice it, and my blood goes cold.
"That's not regulation, is it? Shouldn't there be a net or something?
Or a safety harness? Or at least a legally binding DNR form I can sign before I break my neck? "
His lips tighten into a closed-mouth smile that's full of smug certainty. "Your dignity is the only thing at risk here, lass. For the moment."
I scowl at him, but I'm not actually mad.
If I'm honest with myself, being with Kirk is the most exciting thing I've ever done, and the idea of failing a Balfour dare is strangely erotic.
The loch below us gleams in the sun, full of promise and peril.
The slackline---which I now see, stretching between two moss-plastered birches---looks as innocent as a strip of licorice.
I approach the slackline with my heart hammering, and I sneak a sideways glance at my self-appointed guru. "If I fall off and tumble down the steep cliff---"
"Trust me, gràidh. I willnae lead ye astray."
I can't believe I'm doing this. The most outrageous thing I've ever done, so far, was to dress up as a cowgirl one Halloween---complete with a leather whip. I was an adult then. What I'm about to do, however, feels way more risqué than any costume. What have I got to lose? Boredom, that's all.
So, I lift my chin. "Okay, I'm in. Slacklining it is."
"Brilliant. But first, a dram for courage." He hands me an emergency flask, the kind that's always cold because it never stays full long enough to warm up.
I tip it back and nearly choke. Holy shit, what is this? Molten tar? I clear my throat and say, "It's, uh...nice."
"You just drank Thane Black Label."
"Am I supposed to know what that means?"
Kirk pats my shoulder. "Sorry, lass. I should have mentioned that my mate Thane Buchanan owns a distillery and makes the best single-malt Scotch in the world. But ye haven't lived until ye've tried Sensual Secret."
"When do I get to try that?"
"Later." He bows with a flourish, then slaps my ass. "Now, it's time for your first lesson in slacklining. "Let's see if you can keep up."
He's already stepping onto the line, barefoot of course, and balancing as if gravity's only a suggestion. "Watch me first, aye?"
"Yeah, okay."
Kirk bends his knees, arms out for balance, and glides across the slackline as if he's been doing this since birth.
For all I know, this is the Scottish version of crawling.
You emerge from the womb, and someone hands you a belt to walk across.
Kirk turns midline, flashes me a cocky smile, and does a showy two-footed stomp with the line barely wiggling beneath him.
"Your turn, Gretchen." He jumps off lightly, offering both his hands to me.
I take them, narrowly avoiding a headbutt, and step up to the slackline. For heaven's sake, it's not even two inches wide, and most of that is air. "You expect me to balance on that?"
The near shriek in my voice is dismaying, but I feel no shame about it.
"Lass, I expect you to destroy the American record for Most Spectacular Slackline Face-Plant." He winks. "Don't worry, I'll catch you."
"You damn well better." I can't even muster an eye roll.
My legs already feel like jelly and my throat is as dry as the Sahara when Kirk steadies me with one palm at my lower back.
The exact spot he palmed last time we were alone and unbuttoned, I get an involuntary shiver that is not, repeat not, because I'm cold.
"Dinnae think, just step," he explains, squeezing my waist a little. "The more ye look down, the more your brain decides to sabotage you. Commit."
I slide my left foot forward, toes curling over the edge of the nylon ribbon.
Immediately, it droops under my weight. The world wobbles and tilts like I've downed five gin and tonics.
My other foot can't even find the surface, and Kirk's arms close around my torso, catching me before gravity gets the chance.
He kisses my forehead. "Told ye I'd catch ye."
"Nice rescue," I mutter, half annoyed by my own clumsiness, but also by the way his chest is pressed flush to my back now.
I can smell faint traces of whisky and his woodsy cologne.
I'm about to make a snarky remark, but he slides his hands even lower, bracing my hips with a grip that's equal parts sensual and supportive.
I shake my head. "You're a real hands-on guy, hmm?"
"And you are bonnie when you're petrified," he replies. "Go again."
Shit. I want to punch him and also kiss him, possibly at the same time.
Kirk holds my hand while his thumb traces lazy circles over my pulse point, which doesn't help at all.
I want to laugh, but my throat is too dry.
My heart pounds like it's running at six times the recommended operating speed.
Still, I step up again, gripping with my toes, and this time I look straight at Kirk's eyes.
Not at the sliver of blue line threatening to kill me. Hallelujah.
I stagger, but this time I do not fall. Maybe because Kirk moves with me, step-for-step, my hands out like a sleepwalker, swaying but not toppling.
He's beside me the entire time, offering the barest touch when I need it, just the pads of his fingers grazing the inside of my elbow, the way a dance partner gives only enough to let you think you're doing the waltz alone.
"I'm doing it!" I whisper. Then I virtually scream, "I'm freaking doing it!"
He flashes that devilish grin. "Aye, lass, ye're a natural."
I make it for all of three steps before the line buckles, my left foot skids off, and the next thing I know I'm airborne, leaping for the nearest solid object---which turns out to be Kirk.
He wraps both arms around me, catching me in a classic damsel save, and I crash into his chest with enough force that our teeth clack together.
Instead of teasing me, he simply holds me, letting his arms act as guardrails. His hands glide up my sides and down again to guide my hips whenever the line quivers dangerously. We're face to face, within kissing distance. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear his pupils have blown wide.
As I gaze into his mesmerizing eyes, every ounce of fear has melted away.
We're only three feet off the ground, yet I feel as if I'm flying above the clouds.
Kirk gave me that feeling. And crazily, I'm getting so turned on that I can feel my panties growing hot and slick.
My clit pulsates faintly too, a sure sign that I'm alarmingly hot for this man.
And I love it.
Kirk hoists me off my feet and into his embrace, hops off the slackline. "What should your next adventure be, lass?"
"Fuck me right here on the grass and---oh God, please---make me scream, Kirk. I need your dick inside me again."
He chuckles in a way that makes my toes curl while I still have my shoes on. "Aye, lass, I mean to fuck ye like nobody has ever fucked ye before. I guarantee it."