our coffees and eat the pastries we’d gotten back at the café.
A few hours later, Damon took me to his favourite pub for dinner, and we both ate a massive meal of roast beef, gravy, and potatoes. I was fit to burst by the time some of the bar workers began setting up a stage area. Not long after that, a Scottish folk band arrived to play for the small Saturday night crowd that had gathered.
There were two fiddle players, an acoustic guitarist, a guy with a thin whistle, and another man playing the bagpipe. I was giddy with excitement, feeling like I was getting a real authentic experience as I clapped along to their set. At one point, several men and women got up to dance, and, after a lot of cajoling on my part, I finally managed to get Damon to dance with me. He’d had a few beers over the course of the evening, so he wasn’t as stiff as he might’ve been. He was also far more confident in his dancing abilities now than he’d been back when we first met. In fact, when we stepped onto the dance floor, he pulled me to him, bringing our bodies flush together. I let out a surprised laugh, enjoying his forwardness as we started to dance.
“Why, Mr Atwood, is that a whistle in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” I asked teasingly.
Damon smirked and glanced at the guy on stage with the whistle, then brought his mouth over my ear. “That’s not a good comparison.”
My eyes gleamed, merry with the beer we’d drunk. “No?”
He grinned, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. “Nah. You should’ve said didgeridoo.”
I barked a loud, boisterous chuckle, loving how relaxed and flirtatious he was being. Sure, it was the alcohol, but I also thought it was being on the island. Damon was at peace here, and it made my heart swell.
The music was very vibrant, full of life and colour, and our movements were vigorous to match the speedy tempo. I felt sweaty and hot, but I loved every second. When one song came to an end and Damon ran his hand from my neck all the way down my spine, I shuddered. A familiar tight feeling returned to my belly as butterflies flittered all about. I loved it when he acted all manly like this, manoeuvring my body how he pleased.
“You’re so beautiful right now,” he said, lips on my ear.
I wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol talking. My hair was sticking to the sides of my face, and my dress felt glued to my skin. The heat inside the pub had continually increased as the night wore on, especially now with lots of people up dancing.
“Are you tired?” Damon asked, his voice raspy.
I shook my head. “I’m never too tired to dance.”
“Well, I am. We should head home.” He was being insistent, but he didn’t look tired. All of a sudden my pores tingled as I imagined why he wanted to leave.
“You’re too drunk to drive,” I said.
“Taken care of. I’ll call for a taxi.”
I was surprised that they actually had taxis here. In the end all I did was nod, allowing him to lead me outside, where the air was blessedly cool on my sweat-soaked skin.
The journey home was quiet and filled with tension. When we arrived back at the cottage, I got out while Damon paid the driver. Stepping inside the house, I felt a sudden bout of nervousness to be alone with him, and quickly muttered something about taking a shower before I locked myself away in the bathroom.
I could hear Damon talking to Charlie as I stepped under the spray, hoping the water might wash off some of my sexual frustration, but no such luck. Even when I was out and wrapped in a towel, I still felt edgy. The need for some kind of physical contact had me buzzing with adrenaline.
I went inside my room and put on some pyjamas, listening as Damon continued to restlessly potter around the house. I wanted to go to him, but I wasn’t brave enough. Instead, I got into bed, flicked off the lamp, and tried to sleep.
It was useless.
My pulse was loud in my ears, too fast, my thighs practically quivering with unspent sexual energy. I heard Damon finally go inside the bathroom and the shower turned on. After a few minutes he emerged, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he