CHAPTER ELEVEN
Having finished my second glass of champagne, and pleasantly relaxed as a result, I decided to check that everything was going according to plan in the ballroom.
Reluctant to walk through the crowd, I opted for the kitchen entrance instead. This proved a very bad idea. As I traversed the grass, my spiked heels kept sinking in the muddy ground. Just my luck, it had rained overnight.
I sloshed along, muttering expletives. I even contemplated removing the shoes, but then my nylons would have muddied. I hurried along assuming illogically that it would minimize the damage. From graceful princess to clumsy Clarissa in one stroke—my pathetic attempt at walking would’ve had a spectator squealing with laughter. I reminded myself that I was alone and surrendered into the sodden ground, my feet becoming heavier with each step.
I expelled a long, slow breath of relief when I finally hit the path. Bending down to survey the damage, an exasperated “Fuck!” issued from my lips like a missile through the air. My obscenely expensive nude heels were covered in mud.
As I searched hastily for a tissue in my purse, a familiar deep voice resonated over my shoulder. “Do you need a hand?”
I looked up, expecting it to be someone else. Such was my bewilderment I lost my balance and fell onto my bottom. My gown ended up around my thighs showing off my stocking clasps.
What a sight I must have made. Did he think I was drunk? Oh God, it got worse with every second. I was sure I was the color of beetroot because my face was on fire.
It all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to collect my wit. And before I’d even attempted to stand, I was floating in the air like a ballerina. Having lifted me effortlessly, he placed me upright on earth.
All the while, his deep-blue eyes remained glued to my face. Hypnotized, I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Time stretched. Everything was going in slow motion—just like in a romance movie, but without the build-up music and heavy breathing.
As my body rested in his strong arms, a heady mix of cologne, body wash, and masculinity traveled up my nostrils and straight to my nipples, which, with a mind of their own, pierced the silk fabric. Much later, when I was reliving that moment over and over again, I wondered whether his hand may have accidentally brushed them.
His mesmerizing blue eyes remained focused on my eyes. I had to look away in order to gather my senses, but I still felt his searing gaze burning into me—like a naked flame, but instead of bright specks, his blue eyes became the after-burn.
Not helped by my skyscraper heels, my legs wobbled, as he continued to hold me up. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to these heels. I’m more of a sensible-shoes-girl.” My attempt at a chuckle was thin-if not-pathetic.
Aidan Thornhill’s well-sculptured lips twitched into a faint smile. “I don’t know how you manage to walk in them. It strikes me as a difficult unnatural feat.”
Should I giggle? Was that a pun? I checked out his expression, which was suddenly earnest, just like the photos. Or was he one of those dry-delivery guys? My face cracked into an awkward smile nevertheless.
With equilibrium restored, physically speaking, I pulled away reluctantly from his grasp and smoothed down my gown. I brushed the back of the dress, praying it had not been ruined.
I needed a bathroom to regain composure and fix my outfit. But Aidan was so arresting I couldn’t move. I feared falling, this time from swooning, not from my shoes.
How could a girl not swoon? That tuxedo showed off his broad-shouldered, manly physique, in one mouth-watering package.
“How’s that scratch?” His deep voice vibrated through my ribcage and traveled down to that tender spot. Those ridiculously deep-blue eyes had stolen my senses.
“Scratch?” My brows drew together in one sharp motion. Freaking Hell. I tapped my forehead. Aidan Thornhill was the sexy gardener I’d been fantasizing over these past nights.
“Oh… you were with Rocket. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you without the cap and glasses,” I trilled.
“There’s no need to apologize. I should’ve introduced myself.” Aidan’s voice was so seductive he could have read the phone directory, and I’d still salivate.
“I love what you’ve done here tonight. Greta has spoken highly of you. Now I can see why.” One side of his mouth curled slightly. Smiling didn’t come naturally to him. I sensed shyness.
“That’s so kind of you. Everybody’s been generous. The cottage is heaven. The gardens, the beach—I feel blessed,” I said, hoping that I wasn’t blabbering. “I’m sorry. I must be holding you up from your guests. I was heading for the ballroom to check on things.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. I look forward to hearing the band in the ball-room. I’m fond of jazz. Good choice. And the quartet are superb, they look and sound fabulous in the garden,” said Aidan.
His lingering gaze was spellbinding. My core tightened. I was almost hyperventilating from lack of air.
I watched him move off. There was that unmistakable relaxed, manly stride that I’d already lost my head over. Phew. I leaned against a wall for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I gave my heart a chance to steady.