Page 85 of Single Daddy Scot
I feel wild—like an animal—an animal fighting a snare or her captor. As I lash out, pummelling and scratching, he slides his hands around my waist, carrying me back into the living room and setting me back on my feet.
‘It’s not very nice to worry and wonder, is it? Not very nice to imagine. To ask yourself questions of how and why, to ask yourself what it makes a person cheat or lie.’
‘I didn’t cheat.’ A glass of wine with his friend isn’t cheating. ‘And I came here to apologise, to explain why I didn’t tell you about tonight.’
‘Did you now?’ Why isn’t he more annoyed, and what’s with his smug attitude?
‘But now I’m not going to. B-because you don’t deserve it.’
‘Aye, you’re probably right. Even if I’m not guilty of fucking someone tonight.’
Relief is swift, but it isn’t just the sincerity in his voice that’s enough to make me believe nor is it foolish blindness. It’s because this is who he is. The kind of man he is. A good man. And I know this intrinsically.
I try not to cry with relief—try not to tremble as his hand trails down my neck, his large palm balanced against my collarbone.
‘Tell me.’ His words are like fingertips against my skin. ‘Tell me what you came to say.’
‘I—came to tell you about tonight. I—’ What can I say? How can I explain why I did this?’
‘Help me understand. This dancing, is something you do for... money? Accolade?’
‘No,’ I say quickly, though my gaze can’t seem to hold his. ‘This is something I’vedoneonly once. A sort of dare—something I’ve made myself face. I didn’t mention it because I can barely believe it of myself.’ My words aren’t defiant, yet not contrite.
‘So not a permanent thing?’
‘No.’
‘Not something to get your rocks off?’
‘You couldn’t be further from the truth. I-I came back from Paris because nothing had changed. I went there to get away from me—the girl who was nothing but her boyfriend’s beard. A girl who was studying a degree for someone else—I didn’t want to study finance! I did it for my dad. I was a girl who’d never had sex. A girl who couldn’t even attract the opposite sex! So I went to Paris. And guess what? That girl? She followed me. So I started a burlesque class.’ God, that sounds so pathetic.
‘I won’t pretend to understand. I’m not perfect. And I sometimes get things wrong, but I’m not ready to forgive you for tonight. Even,’ he adds, ‘if you’re not asking for forgiveness right now.’
I swallow past the ball of emotion stuck in my throat, willing myself to hold my tongue, because what could I say? He’s right. I should’ve trusted him. Should’ve told him about my fears. And I haven’t apologised. Just spewed a load of nonsense. But whatever I think and whatever I don’t say doesn’t alter the fact that as his big fingers grasp the tiny zipper, pulling it down an inch, I don’t pull away.
‘But you’re right about me being a hypocrite,’ he murmurs. ‘Because I did watch.’ His fingers still, his dark eyes on the sliver of my cleavage. ‘By Christ, did I watch. I tried not to out of loyalty to you.’ His expression ripples with a mixture of emotions I can’t process right now. ‘Which is a first for me,’ he says, his gaze rising, hitting mine honest and true. ‘Because I want you. I want you now, and I wanted you in that back lane. It’s like an addiction. I’m like a fucking junkie, Ella, and it’s not safe for you here tonight.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ I keep my voice soft as my pulse begins hammering. ‘And this isn’t a kindness I’m offering you. I’m not trying to placate or pay you a compliment. Call it a dare, Mac, or a call to action, because those feelings you mention? We could write a list and compare.’
‘I mean it, Ella,’ he growls again.
‘I know you’ll always take care of me.’
‘Always,’ he whispers fiercely. ‘But I din’nae think I could help myself right now.’
‘What if I don’t want you to?’
He huffs some semblance of a laugh. ‘Then you’re probably a bigger masochist than I am.’
‘Or maybe it means that I love you.’
From pained to stunned in an instant. There’s no ambiguity in his expression right now. And no happiness.
‘Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,’ he growls, his expression faltering for a moment, before it solidifies. Becomes serious. And God help me and my treacherous clenching thighs. ‘Maybe you should come back tomorrow and tell me then.’ His fingers fall away as he steps back. I step into him because, where he leads, I’ll follow.
‘I mean it, Ella. I’m not good company tonight.’
‘If I’d wanted company, I’d have stayed with Jules, my friend. I’m here for what you promised me. I don’t want to come back tomorrow. I want to tell you I love you tonight. I want to show you.’
