No, it wouldn’t. In fact we should ditch the party so you could ‘come f**k me’ right now. Tuning the inappropriate thoughts from my mind, I said, “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”
I’d been so distracted by the shoes comment that it took me a moment to process what Rhys had on. Blinking several times, I fought the urge to brace a hand on the doorjamb, so I wouldn’t slide into a puddle of lust on the floor. “You’re wearing a kilt?” I questioned lamely.
His cocky smirk faded and was replaced by a sheepish look as he glanced down at himself. “I guess I forgot to mention that my parents’ party recognizes Tartan Day.” At what I imagined was still my deer-in –the-headlights expression, he continued on. “It’s when people with Scottish heritage celebrate the Declaration of Arbroath.”
“I didn’t realize you had such strong Scottish roots. I mean, I kinda gathered your family origin from your last name.”
“Yeah, my great-great grandfather was a lord with a pretty expansive estate.”
My brows shot up at his declaration. “Does that mean I should start addressing you as ‘my lord’?”
He laughed. “Not quite. My great-grandfather was the fifth son, so he didn’t get to inherit the title.”
“I see.”
Cassie came to join me at my side. She gave a low whistle at the sight of Rhys. “Look at you, stylin’ and profilin’ in a skirt. Didn’t take you for a cross-dresser.”
With a good-natured chuckle, Rhys replied, “It’s a kilt, not a skirt.”
Cassie motioned to his crotch. “You free ballin’ under there?”
Although my mind had certainly gone there, I still let out a horrified gasp at Cassie’s question. Rhys wagged a finger at Cassie. “A gentleman never tells.”
“Whatever,” Cassie replied.
Wanting to escape before the conversation got any crazier, I said, “We should go. We don’t want to be late.”
Rhys nodded and then opened the door for me. After saying goodbye to Cassie and the others, we headed out onto the porch and then down the stairs. As he held open the car door for me, Rhys gave me a genuine smile. “I meant to tell you earlier, but I was a distracted. You look very beautiful tonight, Allison.”
The sincerity with which he said the words, coupled with the way he was looking at me, caused my cheeks to warm while a delighted shiver ran down my spine. “Thank you.”
After I sank down on the leather seat, Rhys leaned in rather than closing the door. “And I’m really glad you’re wearing a long dress to cover those heels. They’re awfully distracting.”
My stomach flip-flopped at his words. It didn’t help matters that he gave me a teasing wink as he shut the door. While he went around the front of the car, I tried smoothing down my dress—anything to try to get a hold of my raging hormones.
When he got into the car, I couldn’t help cutting my eyes over to see how he maneuvered himself in the kilt. He must’ve had practice because he managed, unfortunately, not to flash more than the tops of his knees. We drove along the streets with the radio playing softly in the background. I was anxious to see where Rhys lived. I imagined it was somewhere in the Historic District—some pre-Civil War home that had been in his family for generations.
As we neared Forsyth Park, Rhys turned off on a street I’m not familiar with. It doesn’t take me long to spot his house, or I should say, mansion. It’s the one where expensive cars are lining up to the valet stand. It’s pretty much everything I envisioned in my mind. Instead of waiting for the valet, Rhys pulled into the driveway that wound around to the back of the house.
After turning off the car, he glanced over at me. “Pretentious, isn’t it?”
“It’s magnificent. I love antebellum homes.”
“Well, it’s from the 1830s.”
“I can’t wait to see inside.”
“Then let’s go.” Rhys then climbed out of the car and came around for me. Once he opened the door, I slid out, careful not to stumble on my heels.
When we continued up the pathway to the back of the house, I couldn’t help asking, “We aren’t going in the front?”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “And have to pass through the doorman and all that bullshit? I don’t want any part of that.”
“Oh,” I murmured.
“What do you mean ‘oh’?” he questioned, as he walked ahead of me.
“I just thought you might be embarrassed of me,” I murmured.
Skidding to a stop on the brick walkway, Rhys stared at me with an incredulous expression. “You are not serious?”
I shrugged. “It’s not like I fit into this world.”
“Neither do I,” he countered.
“But you were born into it. You’re a blue blood for God’s sake. Besides, your mother made it very clear a few weeks ago that I wasn’t the type of girl that you should be interested in.” Realizing I had said too much, I quickly tried backtracking. “I mean, the type of girl you should be hanging out with,” I hurriedly added.
“I don’t give two f**ks what kind of girl my parents think I should be hanging out with. I like being with you. I can’t remember a time when I’ve had more fun or been more at peace than I have with you. You’re the only thing that has made this visit tolerable. All those reasons? They’re what matters, not my parents.”
Between his words and the intensity of his stare, I had to focus on breathing. In and out, in and out, I recited in my head as my chest rose and fell in harsh pants. Finally, when I felt like I wasn’t going to pass out, I murmured very ineloquently, “Okay then.”
He smiled. “Good. I’m glad we have that settled.” He held out his arm for me to take just like a gentleman of years past would. “Now come on. It’s time we jumped into the shark tank.”
I slipped my arm through his and let him lead me up the walkway. When we got to the backdoor, Rhys didn’t even bother knocking. Instead, he barreled right on inside. A flurry of activity was going on in the massive kitchen with its marble tiled floor and granite countertops. The caterers and wait-staff buzzed around like busy worker bees. I’m sure Rhys’s mother would have considered them more as drones. They didn’t acknowledge our presence. Only one elderly, African-American woman’s face lit up at the sight of Rhys.
“Why hello there, stranger!” she cried.