Chapter 25
twenty-five
OWEN
Eilidh’s kitchen smelled like coffee, butter, and the lemon peels I’d curled into perfect twists. I mixed Claire and my chosen cocktails, giving them a test run on the book club.
‘If you don’t pick up the pace, the ladies will be too tipsy on wine to give you any useful feedback on your cocktails.’ Eilidh leant around the door frame, looking rather tipsy herself.
‘What happened to discussing the books?’ I said, dropping a zesty strip into the ginger syrup and whisky mix.
‘Well… this week’s one was dull as dishwater, so we’ve moved into the booze and cake section rather swiftly.’
Eilidh swished back to the group, who filled the sofas by the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
I had the perfect view of Claire. Tight jeans, a slouchy jumper, hair tied in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, wild sections misbehaving and framing her face.
She’d tucked herself next to Lola and Emma, Scruff snoozing on her lap like a tawny cushion.
Her shoulders were loose, and her laughter came easily, bliss filling her perfect face.
Seeing her surrounded by the people I’d known and adored for so long, with them accepting her like one of their own, had my chest vibrating like Meowrse’s most throaty purr.
‘You’re staring,’ Eilidh muttered, bumping my hip as she popped back into the kitchen for a washcloth to fight a wine spill.
‘I can’t help it,’ I said. ‘She’s something else.’
Eilidh’s eyes softened. ‘She sure is. Don’t let her leave.’
‘I’m doing my best to convince her to stay.’
‘Seriously, tie her to your bed if you have to.’ Eilidh gave me a look that had my ears burning.
‘Relax, Becky came in bragging once about what you were into. She soon shut up when I told her I wasn’t a stranger to handcuffs.
And not in the arresting manner. Lighten up, Owen. Half the country are kinky fuckers.’
‘I—’
I’d been dragging around my sexual proclivities like a ball and chain, and people… didn’t care?
‘Now, chop chop with those drinks. The women are definitely ready for a flash of those knees.’ She swished my kilt with one hand and winked.
Well. Shit. She’d known all this time and never once treated me any differently.
I brought out the first tray of drinks to a rapturous applause. Lemon, honey, and ginger swirled through the air, while eyes snagged on my kilted legs.
Claire bit her lip as I passed her a glass, suddenly looking shy amongst the group.
God help me, I wanted her to choose this. Choose me. Choose my daft cat and Isla’s lists and dust old bottles of whisky. To choose a life filled with sea-salted air and kisses that made her whimper.
‘Ladies,’ I said, and the giggles and cackles that filled the air slightly terrified me.
‘Thank God, the totty’s arrived,’ Emma said.
‘And refreshments,’ Lola added, reaching forward to grab a glass.
Claire’s eyes met mine over the rim of her glass, and when the foam caught on her lip, I had to run through a set of unsexy thoughts to avoid my kilt hosting a tentpole.
The cat hacking up a dumpling-sized hairball on the rug.
That time the vicar went true scots at the ceilidh and twirled way too hard, giving us an eyeful of his danglies.
Morag’s underpants flapping on the line.
‘So what do we think?’ I asked, trying to drag my mind away from whisky dripping between Claire’s thighs. Not to mention the other liquids…
‘I think you could serve up anything looking like that and the fair goers will say more please,’ Emma said.
‘What’s in this one?’ Lola rolled her eyes at everyone’s flirting, giving me a tiny reprieve from embarrassment.
‘Sherry-aged Otterliegh Bay finest, lemon, homemade ginger syrup—’
‘Delicious.’ Eilidh sipped and sighed happily.
I ducked back into the kitchen to prepare the next drink and hide from the coven of cackling women. Scruff followed in a show of male solidarity.
‘All right, buddy? Not sure you should be in the kitchen, but I won’t tell if you won’t.’
Book club turned noisy and daft as the evening wore on, and my cocktails whittled down.
I caught flirtatious catcalls that spoke more of easy friendship than actual desire, and Claire took them with easy grace.
When all but Claire and Eilidh had tottered home, I gathered up my girl and Scruff, who seemed to have lost the will to walk.
‘Walk you home?’ I asked.
‘I think you might have to carry Scruff, he seems pooped,’ she said. ‘But I’d love you to walk me home.’
We took a ridiculous route back to Rose Cottage, given that it was only a few minutes across the square.
Down the lane, along the seafront, looping past the school and the road that led to the distillery.
Claire’s shoulder bumped mine now and then, the kind of touch that I no longer shied away from.
‘Thank you for convincing me to go to book club.’ Claire threaded her arm through mine.
‘The rate they go, they should rebrand it booze club.’
‘You’re just jealous the boys don’t have a fun drinking group.’ She bumped me.
‘That’s what the pub is for.’
We neared Rose Cottage, Scruff growing heavy with our detoured walk. I dropped him off, and Morag smiled softly, Alistair waving as he walked into their kitchen.
‘Don’t leave that pretty girl shivering at the gate,’ she admonished softly.
I didn’t.
At Claire’s door, the world stilled to nothing but Claire and the distant crash of the sea.
She looked up with those blue eyes, capturing me in her thrall.
Our kiss started warm and sweet, before it descended into something far filthier.
She made a sound that etched itself in my bones.
I backed her gently against the door until her fingers lost themselves in my hair.
I braced one hand above her head, the other tracing its way over her hip.
‘Stay?’ she breathed..
‘I have to be up at the crack of dawn to up bottling production, and Meowrse will be needing fed. Plus, I love it when you get all desperate and needy. Wait until tomorrow night, and I’ll give you rope and cock at the same time.’
‘You’re a great big tease.’ Claire frowned, her brows knitting.
‘So I’ve been told.’
I kissed her again, branding her sweet mouth with tender strokes of my tongue. I kept going until she grew breathless, panting against me. It took everything to draw myself back and not carry her through the threshold.
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before taking her keys and unlocking the door.
‘Get your cute arse to bed, you wee devil,’ I said, forcing myself to take a step back..
As I left her gate, cursing myself every step further from her, I grinned over the mix of her and whisky on my lips. Outside the Tipsy Otter, under the orange glow of a streetlight, Marty stood against the wall, glowering. He lifted two fingers in a salute, a dickish smirk on his face.
With both Marty and Becky circling like vultures, the idyllic village grew more uncomfortable by the day. The closeness of everyone was often a plus, but it also gave me fewer and fewer opportunities to avoid them all.
Before I could let myself get enraged over him, a warm body encircled me from behind. Turning, a tumble of red hair met me.
‘This isn’t bed,’ I jokingly admonished.
Claire held up her bag, a cheeky grin crossing her face. ‘I brought a bag, and you never specified which bed.’
I took the bag from her and looped an arm around her shoulders. ‘That’s a good point.’
‘Plus…My man Meowrse will be missing me.’