Chapter 25 Arro
ARRO
Lachlan had outdone himself this year.
I strolled into my family’s ancestral home, my attention drawn upward to the expansive ceiling now camouflaged by tree branches, leaves, and blossoms. Four mammoth, very real-looking, faux trees stood in each corner of the massive reception hall, their branches arching toward each other across the ceiling to create the canopy.
Strings of LED lights dripped from the branches, shining like thick strands of golden diamonds.
Blossoms in pinks and greens and purples and blues brought color to the canopy, and fairy lights had been wrapped around the large tree trunks.
Flowered garlands draped the galleried balcony above and all the way down the stair balustrade.
The scent of jasmine filled the air, and there were oversized vases filled with flowers and more twinkle lights.
Waist-high tables had been strategically placed for people to gather around and talk while they drank champagne and ate canapés served by waitstaff.
A violinist wearing a formal evening gown played music from her spot on the landing.
It was fantastically overwhelming to the senses.
“This is amazing,” Regan said behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder at her and Thane.
He was so handsome in his kilt, Regan stunning in a golden-green dress that made her copper-red hair pop.
Eredine, to everyone’s surprise, had offered to babysit the kids alone.
It was the first time since Regan’s stalker, Austin Vale, had knocked Eredine unconscious to kidnap Eilidh and Lewis. I shuddered thinking about it.
Having been told the story, Arran had decided at the last minute he didn’t want to attend the ceilidh and would stay behind to watch the kids with Ery. I didn’t believe the decision was a last-minute one at all, and while I might question his motives, I was grateful to him for keeping her company.
“Is it always like this?” Regan asked as she ventured farther in among the glamorously attired guests.
“No, he’s definitely gone all out this year,” Thane murmured, taking it all in. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember what this place used to be like.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes,” we answered in unison.
Regan gave us a sympathetic look, but I shrugged. “Lachlan did what needed to be done to save it. It’s just … it holds so many memories for us.”
“And it always will.”
I spun around at my big brother’s voice to find Lachlan, Robyn, and Mac standing before us. Smiling at Lachlan, I reached out to embrace him. “The castle looks tremendous.”
“Thank you.” He hugged me back. “That means a lot.”
I pulled away to hug Robyn. “And Mrs. Adair looks stunning, as always.”
Robyn chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s still weird being a Mrs.”
“Not as weird as being a mum, I’ll bet,” Thane murmured, pulling Regan to his side with a tender look.
“Are you pregnant?” I gasped.
Thane chuckled as Regan shook her head frantically. “No, no, no.”
“Then what …?”
Regan looked at Thane, teary-eyed, as she smiled tremulously. “Eilidh called me mum tonight.” She shrugged, but I saw the complex emotions roiling in her gaze. “Just casually. ‘Mum, can I go to bed later tonight since I can’t go to Uncle Lachlan’s party?’”
I looked at Thane, wondering how he felt about that. As if reading my thoughts, he said, “It feels right. Eilidh knows and will always know about Fran, that she was her birth mum, but Regan loves her like a mother, and Eilidh loves her like a daughter. It feels right.”
Robyn, sensing the heightened emotion, drew Regan in for a tight squeeze, and I heard her murmur, “You okay? You happy?”
“Extremely,” Regan choked out. “But I’m close to bawling like a baby, so maybe some champagne?”
“On it.” Robyn gave Thane a small smile and took Regan’s hand to go find champagne and probably talk a little more about the momentous occasion.
Lachlan approached Thane to do the same, and so I had nothing else to do but finally acknowledge Mac. He looked extraordinarily sexy and handsome.
He’d never dyed the grays that had started growing in around his hairline in his midthirties—that just wasn’t Mac. He couldn’t give a shit. And honestly, that and the dusting of gray in his stubble gave him a rugged, distinguished air. His hair was so long at the moment, it curled behind his ears.
Thick, silky hair a woman could really get her hands into, if you know what I mean.
Damn the man.
I shivered at the heat in those ever-changing hazel eyes as they dipped down my body and back up again.
Mac wore his kilt well, a black, fitted jacket and waistcoat with the family tartan—a dark green plaid with red, black, and white accents. His long black knee socks accentuated muscular calves formed from the daily hours he spent in the estate gym.
While I appreciated Mac in a kilt, he made it very clear he appreciated me in this dress.
I wore a simple but sexy blush-colored gown—pencil-thin straps, a plunging wrap-front bodice, a figure-hugging silhouette, and an exaggerated hem.
The strapless push-up bra I wore under it was doing magical things for my average-size breasts.
And the pièce de résistance was the high slit on the right side.
Nude strappy high-heeled sandals completed my outfit.
I’d done my hair in a loose, thick fishtail braid that hung over one shoulder.
Diamond stud earrings I’d inherited from my mum sparkled in my ears to match the elegant necklace that had belonged to her too.
Mac took a step toward me as if compelled to. “You’re beautiful.”
A flush of pleasure prickled my skin. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”
And we might have been stuck like that for hours, staring at each other, if a server hadn’t approached and offered us drinks. I took a glass of champagne while Mac turned it down. He didn’t drink the bubbly stuff.
He offered me his elbow. “Want something to eat?”
“Sure.” I slipped my arm through his, feeling his hard muscle beneath my fingers. A heightened spark of awareness rushed through me, and I attempted to maintain some distance.
Mac pulled me tighter against his side, refusing to allow it.
I wanted to be irritated.
But the truth was, I was a tactile person, always had been. I loved to be touched and cuddled and showered with affection. Mac publicly acknowledging he wanted me as close as possible spoke to that part of me that had always longed to touch him and be touched by him.
Damn it.
Since our conversation in Flora’s last weekend, my resistance began to wane bit by bit.
Probably before then, if I was honest, but more so this week.
Mac texted every day to check in, called me a few times too.
I’d forgiven him when he’d apologized and told me about his therapy.
Now, though, I was growing toward trusting him again.
I didn’t know if I ever really could, but something was shifting, changing inside me.
Thursday night, we’d watched a thriller on Netflix together over the phone, discussing it, laughing at the plot holes Mac pointed out, until I’d grown too tired to continue.
The way he’d wished me good-night, in that deep, rumbly voice, seeped into my body, and I’d dreamed of him.
And now here we were, and he was looking at me like …
Well, to be frank, like he wanted to devour me.
The thing was … I was no longer sure I didn’t want to be devoured by Mackennon Galbraith.
Fury and jealousy, two of my least favorite emotions, churned in my gut as I watched a young woman monopolize Mac while I danced the “Highland Barn Dance” with Thane.
Mac and I had been having a great time, despite the sexual tension, talking, laughing, and eating from the massive buffet in the dining room.
Lachlan had opted for a lavish selection of party food instead of a sit-down dinner.
The rest of my family soon joined us, and not long later, the ceilidh dancing started.
I hadn’t really thought anything of it when Grayson Evans approached to ask me to dance. I’d actually been relieved he didn’t hate me after our last encounter, but as I glanced back at Mac, his face was like thunder.
And I realized he didn’t know I hadn’t slept with Gray.
Before I could return to explain, another guest kept me on the dance floor for “The Dashing White Sergeant.” None of these dances, FYI, were easy in four-inch heels.
It was then I’d noticed Mac had been left alone, but not for long.
A woman (more like a girl!) who seemed vaguely familiar and wore a cutout dress she looked far too amazing in, approached Mac.
She’d gotten physically closer to him within the last minute.
And despite my jealousy, I knew Mac well enough to know he was uncomfortable. He always looked extra stern when he was in a situation he didn’t want to be in, his lips pressed into a thin line, brow furrowed, shoulders stiff.
After hopping and skipping sideways from Thane, and then back toward him as part of the steps, my big brother pulled me away from the dancers.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re going to break something craning your neck to see what’s going on with Mac,” Thane replied dryly. “Just go over there.”
I immaturely stuck out my tongue at my brother, but he chuckled and gently shoved me toward Mac.
As if sensing me, he looked up. Annoyance flashed across his face. And jealousy. I saw it. It made me feel a little better about my possessiveness.
Our complicated situation aside, he was my friend, and as a friend, it was my duty to rescue him.
Approaching Mac, I sidled close, and despite his irritation, he rested his hand on my hip.
I placed my hand on his flat, hard stomach in a claiming gesture and cuddled into him.
Heat flushed through me, and I felt the telltale tingle between my legs.
Distracting me from my sexual awareness of Mac, the familiar young woman sneered at me. “Excuse you.”