“What’s the big deal? He’s just another floppy-haired English actor with a posh accent...and he probably has wonky teeth. Oh, and sorry, but he’s also hetero.”
“What’s the big deal?” Chaz echoed. “Are you serious? The big deal, my dear clueless Holly, is that Ciaran is...well, aside from the fact that he’s gorgeous, he’s...”
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Holly looked up to see the subject of their conversation standing before her, his right hand outstretched, an amused smile on his lips. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit of charcoal gray and a dark-red tie. She gave him her hand, temporarily mesmerized by the greenish brown of his eyes and the scent of his aftershave and the dazzling white of his perfect, even, decidedly not wonky teeth.
His clasp was firm and warm. “Ciaran Duncan,” he added.
As if she didn’t already know who he was. He was far better looking in person than he was on the screen, if that were possible. “Your teeth are perfect,” she blurted.
He raised his brow slightly. “Now there’s an odd compliment.”
“Sorry. It’s just...you know, the ‘English people have bad teeth’ cliché,” she managed to say. “I’m Holly James. I’m...” she stopped. Who was she? She’d forgotten. “I, um, I’m Alastair’s daughter.”
His smile, like his hand, was warm. “Yes, I know. Natalie Dashwood-Gordon pointed you out when you came in.”
“She did? You know Natalie?” Natalie was her father’s goddaughter and now, since her marriage to Rhys Gordon, she was Holly’s half-sister-in-law.
“Not very well. Your father only introduced us about ten minutes ago.” He glanced down at her hand, still clasped in his, and back at her face. Amusement lingered in his eyes.
Hastily, she released his hand so he wouldn’t think she was a complete idiot...which he probably already did.
She turned to Chaz. “This is my friend, Chaz Williams. He’s—”
“I’m your biggest fan, Mr Duncan,” Chaz gushed. “Oh my God, you have no idea! I’ve seen every one of your movies, every single one, even that one about the English veterinarian that bombed at the box office—”
“Yes, well, the less said about that, the better,” Ciaran said quickly, and took Chaz’s hand in a brief grip. “Very nice to meet you, Mr, er...Chaz.”
Chaz let out something between a whimper and a gasp and very nearly melted on the spot.
Ciaran turned back to Holly. “I wonder if I might trouble you for directions to the loo,” he murmured. “I’ve had a bit too much of that questionable chardonnay.”
She smiled in sympathy. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? My father’s notoriously cheap.”
His gaze lingered on her face. “There are other compensations.”
“Follow me, Mr Duncan.” Holly ignored the disquieting lurch of her heart – you’re engaged to Jamie, she reminded herself – and turned to go. “I’ll show you the way.”
“Please, call me Ciaran.”
“Why don’t you let me show him where the bathroom – I mean the loo – is?” Chaz whispered, and grabbed her arm. “Please!”
“Next time,” Holly promised. “Be right back.”
“Ooh, you’re a heartless bitch,” he hissed.
She grinned and threaded her way through the crowds with Ciaran behind her, everyone smiling and parting like the Red Sea for the two of them, until they reached a door at the end of the hallway. She turned the doorknob, but it was locked.
“Occupied,” she apologized, and led Ciaran towards the front staircase. “You can use one of the bathrooms upstairs,” she said over her shoulder. She unhooked the velvet rope that barred partygoers from the upper floors and waited as he followed her.
“Thanks. I don’t fancy embarrassing myself at your father’s party,” he confided as he followed her up the stairs. “I can see it now – ‘Film star Ciaran Duncan, smelling strongly of wee, appeared at Dashwood and James’s New York City launch to promote his new film, “The Incontinent Continental,”’ he said. “Not the sort of publicity I want, I can assure you.”
Halfway up the stairs, they moved aside to let another man pass on his way down. He was impeccably dressed in black tie. With his somber expression, he wouldn’t have looked out of place at a funeral.
He drew even with them and paused. “Ah. Miss James.”
She glanced over at him. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry – you obviously don’t remember me. Your father introduced us last week. Hugh Darcy, the family solicitor.”
“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said, and shook his hand briefly. “Mr Darcy, this is Ciaran Duncan. Ciaran, Mr Darcy.”
“We’ve met,” Darcy said, and ignored Ciaran’s outstretched hand. He turned back to Holly. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss James,” he said, although his expression indicated it was anything but. To Ciaran he said nothing, only cast him an unsmiling glance as he proceeded down the stairs and headed towards the drawing room.
“Well, that was rude,” Holly said, unaccountably annoyed by Hugh Darcy’s unfriendliness. “Who does he think he is, anyway?”
“Perhaps,” Ciaran suggested, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “I’m not the only one here tonight with bathroom issues. Mr Darcy looked rather constipated, even for an Englishman, don’t you think?”
Holly couldn’t help it; she giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to see Mr Darcy pause and glance up at the sound of her laughter, his expression unreadable. She flushed and turned away. “You’re very bad, Mr Duncan,” she whispered.
“So I’ve been told,” he whispered back.
“Come on then, let’s find you a bathroom.”
The guest bath at the end of the upstairs hall was empty. “Here you go, all clear. I’ll see you later.” She turned to go.
He caught her wrist. “If it’s all the same to you, Miss James,” he said as he pulled her forward and slid his arms around her waist, “I’d prefer sooner rather than later,” and he drew her firmly against him, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her.
Holly was too shocked to do more than give in to the – admittedly – skilled persuasion of his lips. He was an excellent kisser. Oddly, he didn’t taste of chardonnay, but of minty toothpaste. Almost as if he’d planned this kiss...
With his lips distracting her, and with her thoughts spinning faster than one of those stationary bikes at SoulCycle, she couldn’t help but respond.
Suddenly Holly realized Ciaran was maneuvering her into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind them with his foot, even as he kept his mouth expertly attached to hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she drew back in mild alarm.
He looked at her in surprise. “Why, having a quickie, of course.” He smiled. “Isn’t that what the Yanks call it?”
“What are you talking about?” Holly wrenched herself from his grasp and stared at him in astonishment.
“Well,”