A New Year Bride. Scarlet Wilson

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      As the music came to an end he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her towards the exit. All of a sudden the room felt claustrophobic. There were too many eyes. Too many whispers. He didn’t want to share Grace with all these people.

      He wanted her to himself.

      ‘Hey, Finlay—what’s wrong?’

      He leaned into the coat check and grabbed her stole, leaving some cash as a tip. He could hear Grace’s feet scurrying behind him as he lengthened his stride to reach the exit as quickly as possible.

      They burst outside into the cold night air. He spun around and put the stole around her shoulders. She was breathing heavily; he could see the rise and fall of her chest in the pale yellow light of the lamp post above them. ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was high. She sounded stressed.

      He took a deep breath. He had no idea what he was doing. But could he really admit that?

      He reached out and touched her cheek—just as he had on the roof that night.

      ‘I needed to get out of there.’

      He kept his finger against her cheek. It was the slightest touch of her skin. The tiniest piece beneath his fingertip. But it was enough. Enough to set every alarm bell screaming in his brain. Enough to let his senses just explode with overload.

      He was past the point of no return.

      Grace reached up and captured her hand around his finger, leaving it touching her cheek. ‘Why, Finlay? Why did you need to get out of there?’

      He could hear the concern in her voice. She didn’t have a clue. She thought this might be about something else. She didn’t realise that every tiny part of this was about her.

      Guilt was racing through his veins in parallel to the adrenaline. Feeling. He was feeling again. And the truth was that scared him.

      Guys would never admit that. Not to their friends. Not even to themselves. But most guys hadn’t loved someone with every part of their heart, soul and being and had it ripped out of them and every feeling and emotion buried in a brittle, cold grave.

      Most guys wouldn’t know that they didn’t think it could be possible to ever get through that once. Why would they even contemplate making any kind of connection with another person when there was even the smallest possibility they could end up going down the same path?

      Once had felt barely survivable. He couldn’t connect with someone like that again. How could he risk himself like that again?

      Where was his self-preservation? The barriers that he’d built so tightly around himself to seal his soul off from that kind of hurt again.

      Somehow being around Grace had thrown his sense of self-preservation out of the window. All he could think about right now was how much he wanted to touch and taste the beautiful woman in front of him.

      She was still watching him with those questioning brown eyes. She was bathed in the muted lamplight—her silver dress sparkling—like an old-fashioned film star caught in the spotlight.

      He stopped thinking. ‘Because I couldn’t wait to do this.’

      He pulled her sharply towards him, folding his arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against the length of his body. He stopped for a second, watching her wide eyes, giving her the briefest of pauses to voice any objections. But there were none.

      He captured her mouth in his. She tasted of cocktails and chocolate. Sweet. Just the way he’d imagined she would. One hand threaded through her tumbling curls and the other rested on the satin-covered curve of her backside. He’d captured his prize. He wasn’t about to let her go.

      After two seconds the tension left her body, melding it against his. Her hands wound their way around his neck again, her lips responding to every part of the kiss, matching him in every way.

      This was what a connection felt like. He hadn’t kissed a woman like this since Anna died. This was what it felt like to kiss a woman you liked and respected. It had been so long he hadn’t even contemplated how many emotions that might toss into the cold night air.

      Her hand brushed the side of his cheek, running along his jaw line. He could hear the tiny scrape of his emerging stubble against her fingernails. The other hand ran through his hair and then down to his chest again. He liked the feel of her palm there. If only it weren’t thwarted by the suit jacket and shirt.

      Their kiss deepened. His body responded. He knew. He knew where this could potentially go.

      Grace pulled her lips from his. It was a reluctant move, followed by a long sigh. Her forehead rested against his as if she were trying to catch her breath. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest.

      His hand remained tangled in her soft hair and for a few moments they just stood like that, heads pressed together under the street light.

      He eventually straightened up. Should he apologise? It didn’t feel as if the kiss was unwanted. But they were right in the middle of the street—hardly the most discreet place in the world for a first kiss. He could ask her up to the penthouse but somehow that didn’t feel right either—and he was quite sure Grace wouldn’t agree to come anyway.

      ‘Thank you for coming tonight,’ he said quietly.

      Her voice was a little shaky. ‘You’re welcome.’

      He took a step back. ‘How about I get one of the chauffeurs to drop you home?’

      He had no idea what time it was—but whatever time it was, he didn’t want her travelling home alone. He trusted all the chauffeurs from The Armstrong. Grace would be in safe hands.

      She gave a little nod. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’ This time her voice sounded a little odd. A little detached. Had she rethought their kiss and changed her mind?

      He put his arm behind her and led her back to the main entrance of the hotel, nodding to one of the doormen. ‘Callum, can you get one of the chauffeurs to take Grace home?’

      She shivered and pulled the stole a little closer around her shoulders. ‘Do you want me to get you another coat?’

      She shook her head, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll be fine when I get in the car. That’ll be warm enough.’

      For a couple of minutes they stood in awkward silence. Finlay wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do next. And he couldn’t read Grace at all.

      The sleek black car pulled up in front of them and the driver jumped out to open the door. Grace turned to face him with her head held high. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Finlay,’ she said as she climbed into the car.

      ‘You too,’ he replied automatically as he closed the door, and watched the car speed off into the distance.

      One thing was for sure. Finlay Armstrong wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.

       CHAPTER SIX

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