Chapter 1
ONE
WANT TO GET ENGAGED?
Scarlet
Power walking along the corridor, I swung left, the heel of my right stiletto wobbling in protest at my flight. My breath caught in my lungs, and I suppressed the urge to giggle in glee. Just make it to the corner.
At my back, the conference doors swung open, the drone of business speak chasing me along the hall.
“Scarlet! Hold up!” Devon called.
Ugh, even his voice drove me nuts.
I sped up, needing to escape. Ahead, the doors to the hotel’s metallic gold elevator slid open on silent rails. Yes! If I could make it to the lobby, I could vanish into the crowd. But if Devon trapped me, I’d be stuck in an evening-long follow-up meeting with him and Dad.
This whole weekend, we’d worked our asses off.
As Dad’s intern for the six months since I’d left university, I’d learned the ropes of his expansive business empire, training how to be shrewd and hard-nosed.
I’d sweated over numbers, I’d furiously pounded out reports, chipping my French polish with abandon.
I hadn’t dated. I’d barely caught my breath.
I needed five damn minutes.
Inside the elevator, my pulse thrummed, and my eager finger landed on the button to take me away from the conference suite. Finally, I casually turned around.
Devon raised a hand, hurrying, closing the distance. As Dad’s other intern, this guy had super-keen written through his bones. He never missed an opportunity to brown-nose and, though our business concerns were concluded, he’d want to talk through every. Tiny. Detail.
Honestly. Screw that guy.
“Scarlet!” he called again, his eyes wide with his quarry slipping away.
I feigned deafness and pressed the button twice more. Hard.
“Sorry, Devon? Oh! The doors are closing! I don’t think I can—” The elevator clamped shut right in front of his preppy face.
“Oh my God!” I burst out, my reflection in the mirrored walls creasing up with mirth. With my hands to my bare knees under my short, pinstriped skirt, I belly-laughed, my exhilaration spilling over. I let it all out, the stress of work, my irritation at my colleague.
In a boardroom, I had professional woman down to a T. But my wild side was never far from the surface, crawling under my skin for release.
The elevator dinged, heralding my safe delivery from the corporate world. Slipping into the Metropolitan hotel’s opulent lobby, I sucked in a calming breath, pressing a hand to my hot cheeks as I checked out the scene.
Hotel guests milled about, heading for dinner and dressed to impress, Italian style. We were in Milan in the middle of Fashion Week, after all. I passed them, ducking into an alcove half hidden by a curtain. Devon could have taken the stairs. I needed to keep out of sight.
It was past seven PM, and we’d been fed at the conference, so I didn’t need a meal but I definitely needed fun.
In one direction, the rainy evening glistened through the hotel’s glass entranceway.
In the other, a function room’s door stood wide open, white and peach balloons bunched on either side. Wedding Faire! screamed a banner. Couples mingled around the stalls, examining rails of elegant dresses, or getting their pictures taken by photographers touting for trade.
At a fancy table, a woman served wedding cake samples to attendees. One raised a delicate-looking cupcake to her mouth and took a bite. Cream fondant oozed.
Oh, I could really eat cake right now.
My sister was a wedding planner. She ran a successful business from her home in the Highlands of Scotland where she lived with her family. She’d appreciate intel on wedding cake trends.
Devon would never look for me there.
Dare I go in alone?
A tall figure strode into view, breaking my reveries. A man, muscular and lithe, a swagger to him that had women, and men, tracking his movements. A tight fashionably distressed t-shirt clung to his chest, and dark denim encased his long legs.
Good God.
That outward persona had been perfected as part of his trade. I knew it well, I’d grown up watching him, my beautiful brother-in-law, become an international model.
Alasdair McRae was in my hotel.
Dad hated him, calling him a waster. His family equally adored him and despaired over his ridiculous antics. If my mouth had watered at the idea of cake, it flooded with the sight of Ally.
I stared unashamedly at my long-term crush.
Then, just like that, I leapt into irritating younger sister mode, an act I’d perfected over the years.
“Ally!” I whistled, once and shrill.
He halted in his steps and, in an instant, located me in my hiding place.
His square jaw dropped, and his gaze sank to my feet then rose again, taking in every inch of me in my business attire.
Last time I saw him was at his twin brother’s wedding.
He’d escorted the bride down the aisle, her own father not being up to the job, and he’d worn a kilt.
All of the McRae brothers had, but that had been the cherry on top for my lust.
I had a picture of him on my phone.
If he ever found out, I’d die.
“Scarlet Storm.” Ally’s shock morphed into his more typical sexy arrogance. “Stalking me again, I see.” In three long strides, he joined me behind the curtain, crowding me, his eyes bright with mischief.
“Shut up.” I reached up and gave him a ready hug. I might have a lady boner for him, but he’d never treated me as anything more than a pain-in-the-ass sibling. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He ran a hand over his buzzed, short blond hair. He used to wear it longer until a catwalk show meant he had to lose his locks. I’d been despondent for a week, despite how hot he still was. Now, I appreciated how it made his bone structure and his green eyes really pop.
“It’s the start of fashion week. I’m here for work. Tomorrow is my first catwalk show.”
“Whoa, hitting the big time.”
“Maybe. If I get in with the right people.” A dark look passed over his vision. Blink and I would’ve missed it. “What brings ye to this dive? And why are ye hiding?”
Devon emerged from the stairwell. I yipped and ducked behind Ally, clutching his waist to tuck in close.
Ally chuckled, the effect rumbling through his back. He stood taller, getting with the game and protecting me. “Who’s the douchebag?” he whispered, maintaining his stance and keeping his eyes forward.
“Dad’s other intern. If he finds me, I’ll be spending the evening going over data and analysing business stats.”
“He wants in your underwear, then.”
I poked him in the ribs. “He does not.”
Devon stuck his head out of the entrance, the hotel’s bright lights shining on his brown hair. He held a hand to the rain then grimaced before stepping outside.
“Believe me, Scar.” Ally twisted to gaze at me. “That guy wants ye. When you’re looking like this,” he batted a strand of red hair that had escaped my updo, “no red-blooded male has a hope.”
Yeah, except for you.
“Don’t call me Scar.” I wrinkled my nose. “And even if that’s true, I’m not interested. We’ve been in endless meetings trying to agree to the terms of a merger. Dad needs to relax, too, so I’m doing us all a favour.” An idea struck me. “What are you doing for the next hour?”
“Avoiding my agent. I was about to return to my room to charge my phone. It died when my brother rang. Why?”
“Perfect. Want to get engaged for the evening?” I indicated the wedding faire, and Ally followed my gaze.
“What’s your thinking?”
“I want cake. I need to stay out of Devon’s reach. You have nothing better to do, and I can’t really go in there as a single woman.”
He snorted a laugh. “For that, you’d engage yourself to me? Your dad would kill me even for playing along.”
“Seriously. I want that cake.”
His green-eyed gaze turned calculating. “If I do this for ye, you’ll owe me a favour.”
I shrugged an easy shoulder. “No problem there.”
“Then, Ms Storm,” he dropped to one knee, “will ye do me the greatest honour and accept this poor lad’s hand in marriage? I have nothing to offer but my heart. And a huge…ego.”
Going along with his act, I smacked my hand to my mouth in pretend shock then took his offered fingers. But a strange feeling washed over me. Something potent and heady that didn’t match with the ridiculous proposal. I dismissed it with a blink. “Mr McRae. I’d be delighted.”
He leapt to his feet in one slick move, then crooked out his elbow for me to take. “Then let’s go register for free shite.”
At the faire’s registration desk, Ally gave our names, one arm tucked around me, keeping me close.
“When’s the wedding?” the friendly organiser asked, poised in entering our details into her tablet. Her pretty Italian accent added a certain classiness to the event.
“Soon.” Ally sucked in a breath. “Before the baby is born, for sure.”
“Oh my goodness, congratulations! How far along are you?” She beamed at me.
“It’s very new.” I pinched Ally’s side and forced back a bubble of laughter.
“Well, make sure you mention it to your dress designer. They have genius ways to hide bumps. Go on and enjoy the faire. Have a wonderful evening!” She waved us off, and we strolled on.
“You jerk. I can’t have champagne now.” I shook him lightly, dislodging his arm from around me.
“What? If I’m getting married, damn sure it’ll be a shotgun wedding.”
I snickered. “Same.”
“Really? You don’t want to settle down?”
We ambled past a stand with multiple blown-up pictures of big house venues.
“Nope. Now I’m working for Dad, I’m pulling eighty-hour weeks and jetting off to meet foreign investors at the drop of a hat. A boyfriend would get in the way. I’m not interested.”
Ally hummed agreement. We made our casual way over to the cake stand. Two young waiters held silver trays with samples.
I stopped in front of one of them. “May I?”
The waiter gave me a spiel on the different types of cake and pointed out the owner of the cake company—one based in Milan, so no go for my fake wedding—but I was already in heaven.
“You have to try this, darling.” I pointed to the red velvet cupcakes.
Ally eyed the offering but sighed. “I’m meant to be dieting. Apparently, if I ever want to make it to the top of my game, I need to slim down.”
“You’re joking.” I gaped at him, my hand in front of my mouth and my half-eaten cupcake forgotten. “Who told you that?”
“The agent I’m avoiding. She’s pushing me a lot harder this year. I had a gig last night…” His gaze left me and skirted over the crowd, discomfort plain in his features. “It’s a tough market. There are a few things I need to change if I’m going to rake in the big money.”
His subject switch didn’t go unnoticed. We were both a long way from home—he lived in the Highlands, I lived in billionaire’s row in London. Comfort was not close at hand.
I gave him a purposefully leering once-over. “You don’t need to lose any weight.”
“You’d think so, aye? But that isn’t the case.”
My appetite disappeared. I tossed the remainder of my cake into a nearby bin and took his arm again. “You don’t seem happy.” I’d never known him to have anything but a permanent grin on his face.
“I’m not.”
“Time to find a new career?”
Ally shook his head and led me across the room. “That’s the problem. This is the only thing I can do. There is nothing else out there for a man who can’t read.”
Ally had dyslexia. A severe form, my sister had explained to me when I’d been fourteen and she’d married into the McRae clan. He used headphones and text-to-speech apps as words on a page were a mystery to him.
I had no idea how to answer.
I had a stellar education, and he’d left school at seventeen. I wouldn’t even pretend to understand.
We moseyed past the wedding clothes stands. Up ahead, a photographer wielded a Polaroid camera and snapped another happy couple.
“I think Wasp and Taylor might be pregnant,” Ally said, out of the blue.
“Wow, quick work!” His twin had only been married a few months.
“I’m not sure, but that’s who was trying to get hold of me earlier. Wasp sent me a text, which I think said ‘call me’, but my phone buzzed once then went blank.”
“Want to use mine?” I patted my purse. I’d turned it off for the afternoon of meetings and left it off so Devon couldn’t harangue me.
“Aye, but let’s do this first.” He took my hand and gestured to the photographer. “I’m Alasdair, and this is Scarlet, my bride-to-be. Can we get a shot?”
“Take a seat!” The woman led us to a bench set against a canvas backdrop of flowers. “You make such a beautiful couple. These instant snaps are so popular at weddings. Your guests take home perfect and permanent memories of your wonderful event.”
Ally’s cocksure grin was back in place now. He leaned back and brought me to his chest. “Smile, sweetheart,” he instructed.
I did, and broadly, because there was nothing like this man for making me grin.
The photographer took the shot, the bright flash temporarily blinding me. “I’ll shoot two, then you can have one each.”
We posed again, and my smile became fixed.
I was too aware of Ally. His hard body behind mine. His clean scent tickling my nose. His fingers interlaced with mine, and I drew an unsteady breath, caught up in the moment.
Embarrassment suddenly descended in a rush.
I’d flirted with him since I’d been old enough to know what I wanted from boys.
He’d let it bounce off him, never once giving me any indication of interest. But we’d never sat like this.
So close. I’d never given him any more than a brief hug in greeting.
There was no attraction for him. That was patently clear.
Yet the chemicals working their way between my groin and my brain had other ideas. My body was very, very interested in his.
“Why don’t we make this one a kiss?” The woman glanced down, checking her camera.
I jerked up and opened my mouth, ready with a denial.
“Aye, let’s,” Ally replied.
I swung my gaze to meet his. “What?”
Ally’s eyes darkened. His lips twisted in a delicious smirk. “Shy all of a sudden? We’re getting married, don’t forget.”
What the hell was he doing? My lust-clouded judgement rippled and woke in a challenge.
I narrowed my gaze.
He wetted his lips with his tongue.
I nearly dissolved on the spot. This was so, so… Unexpected.
“Ready?” called the photographer. “Three, two, one…”
Ally didn’t flinch, so I did the only thing I could do. I’d wanted to kiss him from before I even knew where kissing led and what fun could be had by two consenting adults.
With a barely concealed surge of need, I brought my lips to his.