CHAPTER TWENTY ~ GRAEME ~ FOUR YEARS AGO #3
Abby’s voice had started shaking when she spoke about what an honour it was to be a part of such a beautiful love story from the very beginning.
She’d raised her glass toward Brodie’s old friend Brent, who was also there the night Brodie and Drew met, and then she fell silent.
When she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, Drew hopped up from her chair and wrapped an arm around her, remaining by Abby’s side even once she’d collected herself enough to finish her speech.
“I can’t wait to see the pictures,” she says. “This place is gorgeous, and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect.”
She’s right; it was a beautiful autumn day.
The sky was so blue it looked like an oversaturated photograph.
Paired with the wisps of clouds that danced across the sky, it created the perfect contrast to the lush trees with their fiery red, orange, and gold leaves.
The photographer spent over an hour taking both staged and candid photos of Brodie and Drew, along with shots with the wedding party.
She snapped several of just Abby and me, as maid of honour and best man, so I’m particularly eager to see those.
“It kept hitting me that all the people I love most in the world are here together,” I say.
Abby’s back tenses under my palm. “I thought the same thing.” The words are barely audible, like a confession she’s afraid to admit.
In an effort to steer the conversation onto safer ground, I say, “I bet you were itching to get your hands on the photographer’s camera.”
Her laugh sounds somewhat forced. “I haven’t had much time for photography lately.”
“You took Brodie and Drew’s engagement photos, though. They were stunning, Abby. My parents have several of them framed in the living room.”
In the silence that follows, I notice the music has changed into another love song. Drew and Brodie are still dancing a few feet away, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes.
“Drew begged me to do the engagement shoot,” Abby says. “I tried to talk her out of it, told her they should hire a professional, but you know how Drew is once she gets an idea in her head. She tried to convince me we should do the shoot in Scotland, but I managed to talk her out of it.”
That part is news to me. We’ve all tried to coax Abby to return to Scotland over the years, even going so far as to get my parents to plead for her to visit.
I’ve often wondered if I’m the reason she’s avoided returning to a country she obviously loved.
If memories of our time together and thoughts of being there again have tainted that love.
I glance over to see Brodie and Drew talking to their wedding coordinator. When she leaves to speak to the DJ, Drew waves us over.
“You two can head up to your rooms now,” she says. “We’re just going to say goodbye to the rest of the guests, and handle a few things before we go up.”
“Tell us what you need, and we’ll do it,” Abby says.
The words are barely out of her mouth before Drew starts shaking her head.
“No, you’ve done enough, both of you. Today was absolutely magical, and you were a huge part of that.
I’m sure Graeme is exhausted after his whirlwind travels, and you’ve been working around the clock to help me get everything ready.
Go to bed. We’ll see you at brunch tomorrow. ”
We both protest, saying we’re happy to help, but Abby was right when she said that once Drew gets an idea in her head, there’s no dissuading her. After a prolonged round of hugs and kisses, Abby and I collect our things and head for the elevators to ride to the fifth floor.
We reach Abby’s room first. Drew arranged for our rooms to be side by side, which meant I spent a torturous night last night thinking of the woman I love sleeping on the other side of the wall. Tonight will be a repeat, I’m sure.
“Well...” Abby gives me a tight smile before inserting her keycard into the door.
Words I shouldn’t say tickle my throat like champagne bubbles. I should clamp my mouth shut and swallow them down, but there’s no containing them. “You’re so fucking beautiful I can hardly stand it.”
Her fingers slide off the door handle. She remains facing away from me, her shoulders bunched up around her ears.
“When I saw you at the altar this afternoon, I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.” She pivots to face me, her eyes meeting mine as a blush creeps into her cheeks.
“I’d seen you in a kilt before, but not the whole traditional outfit.
Then tonight, when you took off your jacket and rolled up your sleeves, it took everything in me not to jump you. ”
She lets out a breathless laugh and claps a hand over her mouth. I want to wrench her hand away and cover her mouth with mine.
“I have another confession to make, but I don’t think mine will make you laugh,” I say.
She moves her hand to grip the front of my shirt. “Tell me anyway.”
I lay my hand over hers and press it flat against my chest. “When you were walking down the aisle, all I could think was that it should have been us.”
Her eyebrows jerk upward. “You still...”
“Love you? Aye, still. Always. I can’t stop, Abby. Don’t want to stop. Ever.”
She makes a sound like a whimper a second before she launches herself at me.
I catch her, lifting her into my arms and covering her mouth with mine like I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw her yesterday.
The kiss is wild and messy, all passion and little finesse.
Her hands dive into my hair, weaving and tugging on the strands, eliciting a surprised moan from me.
She releases me suddenly, her feet sliding to the floor.
“Will you come inside?” Before I can answer, she rushes on.
“I know it’s a bad idea, and you can absolutely say no.
Probably should say no. But I’m going to ask you what you asked me ten years ago: let me love you until it’s time for you to leave. ”
I thought every last drop of emotion had been wrung out of me earlier in the day, but I was wrong. Abby’s entreaty sends a current of electricity through me that makes my heart beat double time. She’s right about it being smarter for me to say no, but I never could say no to Abigail Morton.
She must see the answer on my face before I even open my mouth, because she swipes her keycard once more and lets us into the room.
The door is barely closed behind us before she pushes me against it and kisses me.
The feverish passion from the hallway has simmered to soft exploration that feels like a long-awaited reunion.
I cradle her face, alternating between gentle, shallow kisses and deeper ones until she lets out a contented sigh against my lips.
Without breaking contact, I back her further into the room.
Her hands roam over my shoulders and chest, pausing to undo the buttons of my waistcoat.
Her mouth leaves mine as she slips the material off my shoulders and lets it drop to the floor.
Her fingers are shaky as they work the buttons of my shirt, so I gently nudge her hands aside and take over.
Her eyes darken with each inch of skin revealed, reminding me how much she always loved looking at, touching, and kissing my chest.
She lets out an appreciative hum as I cast the shirt aside to join my waistcoat on the floor. “How do you keep getting hotter?”
I let out a laugh that’s part surprise, part pleasure. “I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. Now turn around.”
I catch the tiniest hint of a smirk flirting around the edges of her mouth as she does what I ask. “I see you remember that I like it when you take charge.” She collects her hair over one shoulder so I can access the zipper on her dress.
I drag it down slowly, pressing my lips to her skin as I go. In the second before she pivots to face me again, I get a glimpse of a lacy white thong that has me biting back a groan. She holds the dress in place for a moment, then lets the material fall, revealing a bra that matches her underwear.
“So. Fucking. Beautiful.” I take her hand as she steps out of the dress. The sight of her in nothing but that lacy underwear set and her glittering silver heels gives me heart palpitations.
“Your turn,” she says, motioning to my kilt.
She kicks off her shoes—a shame, really—and gets settled on the bed as I remove my shoes and socks, and carefully set aside my sgian dubh, which she eyes curiously.
She reclines against the pillows, watching me as I remove my sporran and then unfasten the straps of my kilt.
I hold it in place, just as she did before letting her dress fall, and she bites her lip as her eyes dart up to meet mine.
I step out of the kilt and drape it over the armchair by the bed. “Disappointed I’m not living up to the stereotype by going commando?”
Her light laughter dies on her lips when I grip the waistband of my black boxer briefs and push them down. “I could never be disappointed when it comes to you.” She spreads her legs in invitation, and I crawl across the bed and straight into her waiting arms.
I lean in to kiss her, then stop as a realization hits me. “Shit. I don’t have a condom.”
“I’m on the pill,” she says. “It’s been a year since I’ve been with anyone, and I got tested after.”