Quinn knewhe was hitting the whisky hard, but, och, he was out dancing in Glasgow with Lilibet, and he felt like celebrating. “I’m goin’ up next. I signed up when you went to the loo.”
“You’re singing karaoke?” She smiled but shook her head. “There’s not enough alcohol in the world to make me do that.”
If he lived to be a thousand years old, Quinn would never forget the look on her face when he stepped out of the room wearing the kilt. Her gaze had moved over him, desire naked on her sweet face. Then she’d asked what he was wearing beneath it, and he’d showed her.
He’d thought for a moment she was going to faint. Instead, she’d dropped to her knees and given him the best blow job of his life right then and there, climax all but making his knees buckle.
His Lilibet wasn’t a cunning linguist for nothing.
She’s no’ yours.
He tossed back the rest of his whisky, tried to ignore that thought. They were together for tonight. She was here with him, not some other man.
They had already danced together until they were out of breath and sweating, Quinn unable to take his eyes off her, that little dress hiding all the delicious curves he’d come to know so well this past week. He couldn’t wait to get her back to the flat.
The woman ahead of Quinn finished some tune he didn’t recognize to the cheers of her friends then all but stumbled off the stage, clearly steamin’.
Quinn kissed Elizabeth hard. “This is for you.”
“Oh, no, don’t blame this on me!” she called after him, laughing.
Quinn took the stage. He knew the lyrics to The Proclaimers’ “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” like he’d written the song himself, and he felt every word as he belted it out, his gaze fixed on Elizabeth’s. Och, he really would walk a thousand miles for her.
He’d give his life for her.
As he sang the last notes and the club exploded into applause, it hit him.
You’re in love wi’ her.
He stood on the stage, stunned, his heart pounding.
You’re mad wi’ it. It’s just the whisky.
Naw, it was the truth. He was in love with a woman he had no business loving, a woman who didn’t love him back, a woman he couldn’t have.
Someone took the mic from him. Somehow, he found his way down the stairs to the dance floor, where Elizabeth rushed up to him and threw her arms around him.
“I didn’t know you could sing like that.”
He kissed her, long and hard. “I need a drink.”
“Haven’t you had enough?” She walked with him to the bar, looking worried.
Annoyance stabbed at him. “Dinnae worry yourself. I can hold my liquor.”
He drank another shot and another and another, trying to still the emotional storm inside him. When that didn’t work, he led her onto the dance floor again, the two of them dancing to a bloody awful rendition of some old disco tune—until a man slammed into Quinn, pushing him off balance so that he stepped on Lilibet’s foot.
Quinn turned, confronted the bastard, fists clenched. “Bolt, ya fuckin’ arse.”
“Ya want to fight, ya daft bastard?
“Quinn, it’s okay. It was an accident. Come on. You’re both drunk.” She took hold of his wrist, pulled him away. “Please, Quinn. I want to go home.”
“Ye’d best listen tae yer American piece there.”
Quinn didn’t like to back down from a fight, but he didn’t want Elizabeth getting caught in the middle of this. He followed her to collect their jackets and umbrellas and walked out toward the car.
She stopped him. “Oh, no, you’re not driving. Give me the keys.”