Austentatious by Alyssa Goodnight Page A

a vengeance ever since he’d whispered in my ear and they’d skimmed hot on my skin. It didn’t matter—I planned to adopt the Las Vegas slogan for the entire evening: What happened at the wedding, stayed at the wedding.
    That solution sounded stellar until the little devil spoke up again, reminding me that we were still at the wedding, and there were opportunities for the taking.
    “What does it say?” I asked, glancing again at the little pewter pin and hoping to distract myself from further absurdity.
    “Ghift Dhe Agus An Righ.” My knees buckled just slightly, hearing the lovely, lilting words spoken in his deep, dark voice. “It means ‘By the grace of God and King.’ It’s the MacInnes clan motto.”
    The man spoke Gaelic—at least a little. As sexy goes, it was a major draw.
    “Do you wear it all the time?”
    “Not when I’m naked.”
    My entire body went on full alert as I began to picture this eventuality, and there was suddenly a free-for-all in my head, with loud and urgent voices spouting off all kinds of inappropriate suggestions. “Can I arrange a viewing?” was my personal favorite.
    “With Sean meanin’ ‘God’s gift’ and MacInnes ‘Unique One,’ it’s a lot to live up to.” It was impossible to tell from his grin whether he was teasing or serious.
    I stared up at him, gaping probably, before my mouth eventually curved into the smile I reserved for that irresistible cockiness only certain guys could pull off. At that moment our song ended and was immediately followed by an up-tempo, brassy, big-band number. Giving Sean a sharp little shake of my head to warn that I wasn’t at all up for swing dancing, we stepped off the dance floor, our fingers still entwined.
    It felt as if my temporary fantasy was in a fuzzy, in-between, about-to-change-back-to-reality limbo. Instinct had me turning toward the stairs, pulling him along behind me as we spiraled our way back down.
    In the darker, quieter calm of downstairs, I turned to face him with a catch in my throat. “Thank you for the dance—and your help with a certain never-to-be-mentioned mushroom incident. Now, when I snap my fingers, you will remember none of this, particularly the search and rescue.” I caught his eye and snapped my fingers.
    He let his eyes, twinkling with amusement, roam around the little castle, seemed to be considering, and eventually leaned down toward me.
    I skittishly angled my lips away from his, just in case, but the closer he came, the more tingly I felt. And the devil was starting to get very persuasive ... Before I could do anything truly mortifying, his voice settled over me, that lilting, lazy accent skittering up my spine.
    “You’ve a bit of a thing for me, don’t you?”
    He pulled back just in time to avoid my head whipping around in shock. I stared wide-eyed at those long, long lashes curling around sparkling eyes, taking in his raised eyebrows and quirked lips. I couldn’t answer. Denying it now would come off as childish, cranky, and patently untrue. Much as I hated to admit it, I kinda did have a little thing for him. Some wedding fluke of a thing that shouldn’t even merit a mention. Sensible girls should never tell charming, accented men that they were powerless against them—it tipped the balance of power in precarious ways.
    Besides, I was pretty sure it had been a rhetorical question, so I’d match him with one of my own.
    “Do you have one for me?” Sooo not what I’d been planning to say ...
    “Isn’t it obvious?”
    Talk about your awkward situations!
    “You don’t even know me.” I’d intended this to come out with just an edge of attitude, but he was so messing with my head that it came off embarrassingly coy. This had to stop.
    “True, it’s early going yet, but so far I’m smitten.” Placing his hand on my elbow, he led me toward a private alcove, limned in candlelight.
    “So far? You mean after our shared participation in an awkward mushroom incident and one