Out of Her League (24 page)

It took a distressingly long time to find
any of them in the enormous mansion perched at the top of Beacon Hill. Lachlan
was proud, though, that he managed to greet some people he’d met before, be
introduced to others, and politely extract himself again without any help.

Now he stood in a quiet corner of the
intimidatingly large living room—or was it a parlor when it was this fancy? A
salon?—and looked out over the crowd of elegantly dressed guests. Seamus, ever
happy to exert his power, had declared that the fete would be black tie, and
that everyone should endeavor to wear only black, white, or orange.

Michaela looked fucking amazing in orange, as
it turned out. But then, she’d probably look fucking amazing in a mud-brown
sack.

Rhian, also pretty amazingly good-looking
in his tux, stood at Lachlan’s side, champagne glass clenched in his fist,
frowning fiercely.

“Chill,” Lachlan said mildly, without
looking at his friend.

Rhian snorted. “Since when have you become
so Zen about these things? You used to hate parties.”

“I still do,” Lachlan said automatically,
but as soon as the words left his mouth, they felt like a lie. “Okay, I don’t
hate them as much as I used to. But, the point is, you’re supposed to be the
one with superior social skills here, and you’re freaking out.”

“I shouldn’t have come to this thing,”
Rhian said. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“You’re a professional hockey player in
Boston. There is a very good chance someone is going to recognize you.”

“That’s not what I mean. What if…what if
someone thinks I look like Seamus? Or Chelsea?” Rhian lifted his hand to
indicate his sister on the other side of the room, chatting happily with
another guest—one who perhaps should have reconsidered wearing orange, as now
she appeared as though she was in liver failure.

Rhian and Chelsea did look a lot alike, but
no one here knew they were related. As far as the rest of the world was
concerned, Seamus, a well-known hockey fanatic, had befriended Rhian when he’d
come to Boston to play.

“No one will figure it out,” Lachlan said
soothingly.

“How do you know?”

Lachlan glanced at Michaela across the room.
“
Michaela’s Rules for Managing the Public
. People only see what they
want to see. What they expect. If you don’t give them a reason to wonder, they
won’t.”

Rhian followed Lachlan’s gaze. “Is that
what Grandfa—
Seamus
is doing with Michaela? Giving everyone a reason to
doubt their preconceived notions about her?”

Lachlan smiled. “Yes. That’s exactly what
he’s doing.”

As if she could feel their eyes on her,
Michaela looked over her shoulder and smiled at Lachlan. His heart skipped a
beat. Or four.

“
Oh
,” Rhian said, staring at
Lachlan’s face as if someone had just handed him an unexpected gift.

“Shut up,” Lachlan muttered. “It’s not what
you think.”

“What’s not what he thinks?” Savannah
asked, coming up behind them, her arm threaded though Garrick’s.

“Nothing,” Lachlan said quickly, turning to
his sister. “I was just saying that this kind of party was a lot easier than
some of the other things Michaela has dragged me to.”

Garrick pursed his lips. “Maybe for you,”
he said darkly, his hand subtly brushing the back of Rhian’s.

Officially, Garrick and Savannah were here
as a couple, and Rhian was here stag. It sucked for everyone involved, but given
Rhian’s high-profile career, no one questioned the wisdom of the charade.

“Fair enough,” Lachlan said with a frown.
He was distracted from dark thoughts about how everyone should just mind their
own business and let people live however they wished by the arrival of a
waiter.

“Drinks?” he asked politely.

Garrick and Lachlan both requested a glass
of wine and Rhian asked for a water, since he had a game the next day. Savannah
gave no reason for her ginger ale, but perhaps the game tomorrow was keeping
her from indulging, too. She was, after all, the team’s trainer.

Though that didn’t explain why Garrick and
Rhian were smiling like that.

“Are you all having a nice evening?” asked
Seamus as he wandered over to them, Michaela still on his arm.

Lachlan figured he might as well resign
himself to being without her for the entire night.

“It’s a very nice party,” Savannah said
politely.

Seamus’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“What? Nothing,” Savannah said with her
best wide-eyed innocent look, the one any member of their family could see
through in an instant. Including, apparently, Seamus.

“My sweet girl, you will tell me or I will
hound you for the rest of the night.”

Savannah leaned in close and whispered
furiously, “Grandfather, you cannot go fighting all my battles for me. It’s
fine.”

Seamus frowned. “Spill it, young lady.”

Garrick sighed gustily, caving way faster
than Savannah. “Some snotty old lady declared that it wasn’t appropriate for women
to work in a locker room full of those—and I quote—
sweaty, smelly men
covered in tattoos
.”

Rhian grinned. “Hey, I don’t have any
tattoos.”

“But you are pretty smelly,” Garrick
returned. “And sweaty, sometimes,” he added, his grin turning sly.

“Anyway!” Savannah said quickly before the
conversation went in directions none of their family members wanted to go.
“It’s fine. She’s just old fashioned.”

“Who was it?” Seamus demanded.

“Wiggle-something?” Garrick said. “I don’t
know, it didn’t even sound like a real name.”

Lachlan and Michaela’s eyes met, and in
unison they said, “Wigglesworth.”

Seamus’s eyebrows went up. “You know her, I
assume?”

“Her son Robby is a close friend of mine,”
Michaela explained. “And Lachlan had the pleasure of being introduced to them
the other night.”

Lachlan refrained from commenting on
Michaela’s definition of “pleasure” in this case. Instead, he turned to Rhian.
“I have an idea. Care to join me for a stroll around the party?”

“Uh, sure?” Rhian said. “Where are we
going?”

“Just follow me,” Lachlan said as he cut
through the crowd toward the room Savannah had indicated, looking back to
confirm Rhian followed in his wake.

It only took a minute to find the
Wigglesworths. He’d done his homework on these two since that night at the aquarium,
and now he felt a thrill remarkably similar to the moment before lining up for
a tough face-off. He slapped on a big smile and sailed right up to them. Mr.
Wigglesworth actually looked almost pleased to see him, but Mrs. Wigglesworth
couldn’t hide her distaste. Or her alarm when Rhian pulled up to stand next to Lachlan.

“James, Priscilla,” Lachlan said, greeting
them cheerfully.

“Dr. Morrison,” Priscilla Wigglesworth
returned repressively. “What a surprise.”

“Is it? Seamus is a good friend of mine, so
I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he returned blithely. He thought Robby’s
mother actually paled a little. “I’d like to introduce you to another dear
friend of mine.” He held his hand out toward Rhian. “This is Rhian Savage. You
may have heard of him. He and my sister, Savannah, work together. I believe you
met her earlier?”

Lachlan was certain Mrs. Wigglesworth would
not have been amused to see the smile twitching to life on her husband’s lips.

Rhian shook their hands briskly, nodding to
each of them. Lachlan then launched into a detailed and exhausting description for
Rhian about how Lachlan had come to meet Robby—omitting the fact that he’d
grabbed Lachlan’s ass repeatedly—and then went on to expound on Robby’s many,
many fine qualities. Rhian did a marginal job of not looking at Lachlan like
he’d lost his mind.

It was possible Rhian had never heard him
speak so many words in a row.

Michaela, Seamus, Garrick, and Savannah
were gathered in the doorway behind the Wigglesworths, blatantly eavesdropping.
Seamus smiled proudly when he caught Lachlan’s eye, while Michaela and Savannah
kept their heads bent together as their shoulders shook with ill-concealed
mirth.

When Lachlan ran out of wonderful things to
say about Robby, he moved on to Rhian, and Savannah, and how hard they worked
to reach the very highest levels in their professions. He made sure to ask Mrs.
Wigglesworth if she was aware that
two
of his brothers were professional
hockey players. Which, of course, led to a description of how much physical
strength, discipline, and mental acuity was needed to attain these heights.

Rhian actually blushed a little at the
effusive praise, and Lachlan had to look away before he broke down laughing. Mrs.
Wigglesworth now looked mildly ill.

Mission accomplished
. It turned out knowing how to make people staggeringly
uncomfortable in social situations
was
a useful skill.

The only issue now was how the hell Lachlan
was going to get
out
of this conversation after having dug himself in so
deep.

His savior arrived in the form of Seamus,
with Michaela in tow. “Lachlan, son, forgive me for interrupting. I can see
that you’ve quite captivated your audience, and I hate to pull them away, but I
must.” He turned to the Wigglesworths. “Priscilla, James, I hoped we could
speak? Michaela here has some wonderful ideas I thought we could discuss.”

Priscilla Wigglesworth had probably never
been so glad to lay eyes on Michaela, nodding so quickly she almost dislodged
her coiffure. Seamus smiled benignly and led them away toward a discreet door
in the corner. Lachlan wondered cheerfully what torture Seamus had in store
next. Whatever it was, they probably deserved it.

Michaela winked at him before disappearing.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Rhian burst into laughter. “Oh my god,” he
gasped. “That was awesome.”

Lachlan grinned, delighted to have amused
his friend and relieved when the waiter and their drinks arrived. He was
parched. He routinely gave one-hour lectures that required him to speak less
than he’d just done. He looked around the room, interested to see who else he
recognized, and trying to remember if any of them were on Michaela’s radar. He
suddenly understood the appeal Seamus found in making everyone learn how wrong
they were about Michaela.

He was pleased to pick out a few more
familiar faces that would be likely candidates for a chat. It was clear these
particular social circles weren’t that big. He was considering the couple in the
corner, whose names he couldn’t remember, but he clearly recalled they needed
more convincing about a shelter project somewhere, when someone literally bounced
off his side.

“Oh, forgive me,” said a high, breathless
voice at his elbow.

Lachlan smiled down at the petite blonde as
she curled a hand around his elbow under the guise of steadying him. It was
ridiculous, of course, since she was tiny and he had been hit at full speed by
two-hundred-and-fifty-pound defensemen while wearing skates on a regular basis
for years.

Speaking of defensemen, he saw Rhian shift
out of the corner of his eye, no doubt coming to save him.

“It’s no trouble,” Lachlan said, waving a
hand to still Rhian, and putting on what he now thought of as his “parent’s
weekend and press” smile. When she didn’t blink, or look away,
or
release
his arm, he raised one eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh. Um, no. I mean, hi. I’m Amanda.”

Her hand wandered up his arm. Subtle, she
was not.

“And I’m Lachlan. It’s nice to meet you.”
He kept his voice neutral. Not rude. Not interested.

“Care to join me for a drink?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. But it’s kind of you
to ask,” he replied, pulling out one of Michaela’s favorite send offs.

“Oh, well, maybe later?”

He smiled enigmatically. “Maybe.”
Never.

After a long look, she wandered away.
Lachlan turned back to Rhian, who was staring at him with a wide-eyed, wondrous
expression.

“Who the hell are you, and what did you do
with Lachlan Morrison?”

“What?” he said defensively.

“That was...you just…” Rhian shook his head
as if to clear it, then searched Lachlan’s face for god knew what. “Is that
what Michaela’s been teaching you?”

“No. Well, yes. But to be honest, I’m not
sure she taught me all that much. I mean, I always knew how to be polite—you’ve
met my mother, right?—I just couldn’t employ it when I was freaked out.”

“But that didn’t freak you out,” Rhian stated,
though there was a hint of a question there, too. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that
would have freaked you out, before. Right?”

“Yes, probably.” Lachlan shrugged. “But not
anymore, I guess.”

“Because you’re no longer nervous around
woman you’re attracted to?”

“No…not exactly,” Lachlan said, looking
over to where Michaela and Seamus had reentered the room and were holding court
in the corner. “I think it’s more that now there’s only one women I’m attracted
to.”

Rhian grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Lachlan was acting weird.

Michaela had no idea what was going on in
that big old brain of his, but something was bouncing around in there, and he
couldn’t seem to stop chewing on it. Maybe it was some great philosophical
question. Or logistics for the hockey league’s next season. But whatever it
was, he wasn’t inclined to tell her, and it seemed to necessitate him staring
at her a lot.

Which she didn’t mind so much, as a rule.
If anyone were going to stare at her, she’d rather it were Lachlan. But often
these deep thoughts came with a frown that made her worry. Maybe he was already
beginning to tire of the insanity that surrounded her life. God knew she was
sick to death of it.

For the first time in years, she was giving
serious consideration to the idea of hiring someone to help her run the
Foundation. Someone who could split the duties of attending events and going to
meetings and dealing with the administration. Not another project manager or
accountant. But a director.

It would take a while to find someone she
could work with that closely. Who she could trust. But in the meantime, even if
she couldn’t save herself from the constant grind of fundraisers and dinners,
she could save Lachlan. Seamus’s party the other night had been perfect, since
it had been small and private. There would be plenty more like it in the coming
months, now that she was getting to know some of the players in Boston. She
could still spend time with Lachlan and help him with his social skills without
subjecting him to the full onslaught of her miserable life.

“You’re busy this weekend, right?” Lachlan
asked, as if he were reading her mind. They sat at her kitchen table with their
work spread out before them. They’d promised themselves and each other they’d
get it done before doing anything else.

“Yes, I have a thing this weekend. In New
York.”

Lachlan cocked his head, studying her far
more intently than was warranted. “You do?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s the annual gala for the
Price Foundation,” she explained, trying to make it sound far less traumatic
than it was. “I didn’t mention it because I know you don’t want to deal with
all that.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t mind.”

She smiled, hoping it didn’t look as sad as
it felt. “You would mind, I think, in this case. There will be about a hundred
times more press at this thing than at anything we’ve been to together.”

Lachlan shuddered, proving her point.

“Yeah it’s…
big
,” she agreed. “They’ll
make a huge deal out of us dating, and won’t believe it if we tell them
otherwise. I’d just as soon not give them the fodder they’ll need for articles
about how I’ve been dumped by multiple Morrisons when you’re not around to help
me out anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Yet,
she
thought. Though hearing him say it did make her feel a little better. She
suspected, though, that nothing would end their arrangement faster than
exposing Lachlan to the full extent of the bedlam surrounding this event.

Lachlan’s scowl grew darker the longer he
sat there watching her.

“Do
you
have to go?” he asked at
last.

Michaela wished she didn’t, but admitted, “Yes,
it’s pretty much a command performance for the Chairwoman of the Board.”

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry?”

She smiled, genuinely, at that. She didn’t
know when she’d started to think of New York as enemy territory. It had been
her home most of her life. She should be looking forward to her visit, but
mostly she was already looking forward to coming back to her life here in
Cambridge. She was hardly anonymous, but she felt…safe, and cared for, in a way
she hadn’t ever in her adult life.

Shaking off that thought, she focused back
on Lachlan.

“For the record,” she said, “it won’t be
nearly as much fun without you there.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right, because being
my social chaperone is so much fun for you.”

“I was hardly your chaperone at Seamus’s.
You took that place by storm while I was off in another room with Boston’s
elite being forced to pretend they liked me.”

“If Seamus is pushing too hard, I can talk
to him.”

She laughed. “No, I’m enjoying it, to be
honest. I’ve never had a champion like him before. It’s really nice, knowing
there is someone on your side. Someone who would protect you.”

Lachlan opened his mouth to say something,
then seemed to think better of it.

She didn’t question it. She was too busy picturing
her parents and realizing how much she wished they’d done the same. How
disappointed she was that they hadn’t. At the time, she hadn’t blamed them for forcing
her to face down the demons she’d unleashed. They’d stood by her, at least, but
they hadn’t leaped to her defense. Not like Seamus. She’d never once questioned
whether it had been an option, until now.

“Let’s take a break,” Lachlan said suddenly,
standing and pulling her from her chair.

She rose with a reluctant look back at her
books as he led her from the kitchen, her hand in his. Her eyebrows went up when
he walked through her bedroom door.

She’d been hoping, of course, that they
would end up here eventually, but figured it would be after their work was done
and they’d gone out to eat. That had been the vague plan, anyway.

As Lachlan bent to kiss her, she decided
she liked this plan much better.

Her hands went for his shirt, working open
the buttons while his cruised up and down her back, soothing her while they
kissed. It was, perhaps, a wasted effort, since just the feel of his lips
against hers worked her up. Thoughts of her parents, of champions and people
who would stand by her no matter what going by wayside in favor of focusing all
her attention on one person only. Lachlan.

He shrugged his shirt to the floor the
moment she got it completely open, and her shirt soon followed. They stripped
quickly, hands everywhere, palms rubbing over warm skin to search out the
sensitive spots with quick, knowing fingers.

She gasped when he tweaked her nipple,
pinching it hard and unexpectedly. Blood rushed to that point the moment he
released her, and she curled her hands into his hair, her tongue wrapping
around his in a show of appreciation.

He did it again. And again. Stopping only
when they had to break apart so she could climb on the bed or risk dissolving
to the floor.

She rolled to her back and raised her arms
to pull him over her, but he was already there, pressing her into the mattress,
his cock slipping between their bodies. Her breath sounded loud in the dark
room, each little noise he teased from her with the roll of his hips and his questing,
curious,
devious
fingers, burst like a shout into the silence.

His hands skimmed up her thigh and she lifted
her legs, wrapping them around his ribs, her hands clenched in his hair,
holding him close. Her lips buzzed, feeling swollen and bruised from their
long, avid kisses. He rocked against her harder, his cock nudging between her
legs to run through the slick where her body ached, hollow and needy.

She was aware, distantly, that this was
different. The part of her brain not lost to the slow, powerful thrust of his
cock along her clit and the dance of his tongue in her mouth understood that
they hadn’t had sex like this before.

One reason why popped into her head and she
laughed, abruptly forcing their mouths apart at last.

He pulled back a little, his nose brushing
along hers sweetly. “What?”

“We finally made it to a bed.”

He grinned. “That okay?”

“No. Yes. This is great.”

His smile turned softer and she leaned up
to meet his descending lips eagerly, feeling that smile and letting it warm all
the places in her heart she’d sworn she would never be able to open to anyone.

Lachlan smiled and kissed Michaela, letting
himself sink into every physical sensation, accepting every strange new
feeling, and enjoying how she responded to every touch. Every kiss.

He’d been thinking about that a lot over
the past few days. About how he felt when he was with her. How
he
responded to
her
touch and kisses. How his stomach did somersaults every
time she smiled at him, or the way his heart would skip beats when she laughed.

Needless to say, he’d drawn some fairly
obvious conclusions about where his head and heart were in all this. But, sadly,
that didn’t mean she felt the same way. The lack of invitation to New York made
that clear enough.

He was astounded to find that his feelings
were a little hurt that he hadn’t been invited to a party. This was, as a rule,
the kind of thing that had flooded him with relief whenever it had happened in
the past.

But it wasn’t the party he was interested
in. It was the company. He wanted to spend any time he could with the beautiful
woman and friend who at this very moment writhed beneath him as he ran the
length of his shaft along her clit. He bit his cheek, hard, to keep his head
screwed on straight and the words from spilling out while he teased her, and
himself, his dick aching with the need to be inside her.

He threw an arm out to search for the
condom he’d tossed on the bed a moment before discarding his pants, whimpering
in relief when his fingers closed around the foil packet.

“Here,” she said, plucking it from his
grasp. “Let me.”

He watched her tear it open with her bright,
sharp teeth just pinching the corner of the square. The moment it popped free
and into her hand, he pulled away just far enough for her to reach between them
and roll it down his shaft.

“
Fuck
,” he muttered, squirming at
the feel of her long, hot fingers running along his length.

“Yes,” she sighed, wrapping her
forever-long legs back around him and pulling him close.

Surging forward, he plunged into her,
buried to the hilt in one long, heavy thrust.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up,
every muscle shuddering as he was swamped with the desire to thrust, to seek
out more of this perfection. He pressed their foreheads together while they
attempted—and failed—to catch their shared breaths. The tight, hot clench
around his cock was amazing, but it was nothing compared to the smile in her
eyes as she looked up at him, the slow stroke of her fingers over the
goosebumps along his spine.

He felt connected to her in a way that he’d
never experienced before. And it had nothing to do with the physical.

Though the physical was good, too. Jesus
fucking Christ, was it good.

He rolled his hips, rubbing his cock along
her clinging walls and swallowing her moans with his lips. When he couldn’t
stand it any longer, he withdrew, slowly, stopping when just the head of his
cock hovered inside her body, before pushing just as slowly back in.

He tortured them both with a slow climb,
until her hands went from soothing strokes to a hard grip around his ribs, and
her hips rose to meet his on every stroke. His kissed her through it all,
trying to capture every touch and scent and sound. To figure out how the fuck something
as simple as this could feel more powerful, more intimate, than anything they’d
done before.

“Please, Lachlan. I need…” she writhed
beneath him, her words lost and her eyes vague.

He nodded, possibly stupidly, because he
wasn’t really sure what he needed either. He knew what his body wanted. What
clamored for release in the tingle at the base of his spine and the heat
pooling low in his belly. But it felt bigger than that. That he needed to do
something
more.

He didn’t want to take his hands from under
and around her shoulders, where they’d caught in her hair and the silk of it
slipped between his fingers. He didn’t want to lose the feeling of her long,
strong body pressed from chest to hips with his, or the warmth of her thighs
along his sides.

Instead he picked up speed, each thrust
coming a little faster than the last. He pressed his cheek to hers, so that her
lips carried her cries directly to his ear, the moment their bodies met forcing
a loud staccato burst of pleasure up from her throat. His knees slid across the
bed, anchoring him so that he could shift lower and thrust harder.

She arched beneath him, her fingers ten
perfect points of pain against his ribs, and cried out. She was close, so
close. He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. His rhythm relentless, his balls drawing
up tight, so that he struggled to force his orgasm back. She wasn’t there yet.

She looked wrecked, her cheeks bright pink
and her breathing hectic. Her hair a tangled mess spread across his bed.

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she
was. Pour out all the words in his heart, but he didn’t dare. Even half out of
his mind, he knew such a declaration made within moments of orgasm would be a
mistake. Too easily dismissed or discounted.

He kept going back to what she’d said about
Seamus, and how she’d never had someone like him help her before. Her tone had
said she hadn’t ever expected one either. And that just seemed so
wrong.
He
wanted to be her champion. To protect her no matter what.

His ears rang with Michaela’s loud shout,
cut off when their mouths met and she gasped against him, shaking, her tight
sheath clamped down around him. The tension coiled at the base of his spine
rolled up and out, washing over him, pouring from his body into hers, whiting
out anything but the joy of having her in his arms, wrapped around him, sobbing
in his ear. He bucked against her, again and again, until there was nothing
left of him but quivering muscles and a full, aching heart.

His hips finally came to rest against hers and
he clung to her, indulging in long, lingering kisses that didn’t begin to communicate
what needed to be said, but which eased his mind from dizzying heights to a
warm, post-coital haze he wanted to wallow in forever.