It seems I have a nickname. It’s sweet. Score: one, Sinclair.
“It was rough but it’s much improved since you did whatever you did to make the grabby hands leave me alone.”
“No one’s bothering you?” He reaches for my right foot and rubs.
Shit, that feels good. I think I may orgasm.
I shake my head. “Not anymore.”
“I could do a better job if I had lotion or oil. Do you have any?”
“Umm … yeah. I think it’s on the bathroom counter.”
He disappears down the hall, then reappears with my favorite body lotion and sits at my feet again. He squeezes a generous amount into his hand and begins his sweet seduction of gliding his palms over my feet. “You were telling me about your day.”
I can barely concentrate enough to put a coherent sentence together. “It was okay.”
“Just okay?” He sounds a little disappointed.
“It got better once I found a beautiful red rose and invitation for a date tomorrow night. Thank you, by the way. It was a lovely surprise.”
“Is that an affirmative?”
Really? He’s asking after he rearranged my work schedule? “I don’t recall there being a question anywhere on the note. Only instructions to be ready at seven.”
“Please, bear with me, Bleu.” He stops massaging, so I open my eyes. “This is new to me.”
He looks so sweet sitting on the floor … serving me. “I can see that and I also know you’re trying. Please know it doesn’t go unnoticed. I appreciate your effort.”
“Let me try this again because I want to get it right.” He clears his throat. “Will you please join me for dinner tomorrow night and perhaps dancing afterward?”
How in the world can I say no to that? “Yes. I’d be happy to.”
He applies more lotion to his hands and works his way up my calves.
“You haven’t been to the bar in a couple of days.”
“I’ve been working on a really important case.”
“Oh.” I’m glad to know his reason for not coming wasn’t his choice.
“Did you think I wasn’t showing up because I wasn’t interested in seeing you?”
“Maybe.”
“Were you disappointed?”
I think I should throw him a bone. “Maybe.”
“Damn, you don’t give much away.”
He’s right. I have to make myself more vulnerable. “Most men don’t appreciate hearing the word no when it comes to sex, so I thought you were skipping out on me.” I shrug. “I must confess it was a huge letdown to not see you for two days. I wondered if my demands might have been too much for you to handle or maybe I was a turnoff.”
“It’s the opposite for me. I’ve never been more turned on.”
“I’m calling bullshit.” As much as I hate to admit it, that damn Geneen was stunning—until I broke her nose. “I’ve seen the women at the bar. Some are gorgeous and have bodies to die for. There’s no way I’m the biggest turn-on you’ve ever had.”
“Bleu. Those women are beautiful until you know them and understand their motives for being at Duncan’s. Every last one of them wants to be claimed, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
Claimed. I remember reading about this in one of the files. The Fellowship has this bizarre practice of laying claim on women they aren’t married to. “I don’t understand what you mean by claimed.”
“You don’t understand because you aren’t like them. And I like that very much.”
“I want you to tell me what it means. Is it a Scottish thing?”
“Another time, Bonny Bleu.”
Chapter Six
Sinclair Breckenridge
Bleu and I will be dining in the finest restaurant in Edinburgh. It’s a place I visit often, but never with a companion. I know the owner and manager well so I’ve called ahead and confirmed our seating at the table I desire–the one for two hidden in the back corner where lighting is low and foot traffic minimal. I’ve chosen this with an ulterior in mind. I want to talk to her with as few interruptions as possible. I want to find out who Bleu MacAllister is. I know the basics but those things aren’t enough to satisfy my curiosity. I want to learn what makes her tick. What—or who—has made her so sexually demanding? Most importantly, I want to confirm that what I’m working toward will be worth my effort.
I wait until our dinner is ordered and drinks are served before I begin digging. “What made you want to be a photographer?”
“It’s sort of strange so you can’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
She grins. “I love to capture feelings.”
It sounds like an art-minded response.
“People don’t realize the things they say without uttering a word. Something as simple as the lift in the corner of one’s mouth can reveal thoughts and emotions better than any voice. Body language—it’s nature’s crafty trick, second only to falling in love.”
“Aye. It’s a shan.”
“A shan?”
“Americans would probably use the word shame.”
“Oh. You sound like you know from experience.”
I have no experience. I’m far too intelligent for such nonsense. “When one falls in love, that person makes the decision to become vulnerable. It’s not a path I’d ever willingly choose so, no. What about you? Has Bonny Bleu ever been in love?”
“I’ve tried dating but it never matters what I do. I’m always what’s wrong.” She’s nervously twisting the ring on her thumb. “I’m able to capture other’s emotions in photos yet I can’t get a grip on my own. I avoid connecting with people. I make myself an island so it gives me an excuse to remain alone.” She sighs and looks embarrassed. “Wow. That sounded like a psychological profile … or something.”
She’s sharing intimate details. I didn’t expect that. “What about brothers and sisters?”
“One sister. Ellison. She’s an ER nurse. What about you? Any siblings?”
“One younger brother, Mitch. He’s still in college. And then there’s the two numpties, Leith and Jamie. We’re as close as brothers.”
“The whole thing at the bar is sort of confusing. Everyone knows one another. It feels more like a private club than a public bar.” That’s a pretty accurate description. “It sometimes feels like there’s a secret everyone’s privy to except me.”