The sensation of Evie’s mouth under his, her face wet from the water on his hands, came pouring back to him as Jamie eased the throttle forward to give the engine fuel. He recalled in exact detail the taste of her tongue, the scrape of her teeth, the warm strands of her sable hair that had escaped its bonds and curled around his hands.
Jamie jerked the throttle and almost flooded the engine, which gasped and sputtered. He quickly eased in the lever and patted the wheel.
“Sorry, lass. Distracted.”
He’d always been pleased by the gift he’d inherited from his father to remember things with sharp precision, even kissing a lady six years ago. Jamie cursed the gift now, which did not let his memories be pleasantly fuzzy.
He gazed up at the hotel, locating the windows he knew belonged to the suite’s sitting room. Did Evie watch him from above, also remembering their kiss? Or had she already turned to unpack for the night, Jamie forgotten?
Jamie waved at the window on the off chance, then made himself put the car in gear and drive away.
Images of Evie would not leave him alone—her thin rowing uniform wet from his dripping body, the flannel clinging to her curves. He’d wanted to slide his hand upward, cupping her breast, as he leaned in for another kiss. One hadn’t been enough.
That kiss had seared an awareness through him—of Evie, of a need for her. Jamie’s powerful longing had amazed him, and now, six years later, it was surging anew like a beast tired of being suppressed.
Evie’s mouth had been hot, her response unfeigned. She’d leaned into Jamie, kissing him back, fingers clutching his sleeve. Not to push him away, but to hold herself up while she kissed him more deeply.
Even now, Jamie wasn’t certain who’d first broken from the other. One moment, they were taking each other greedily, the next, they’d been apart and staring, breaths coming fast.
Jamie had forced a nonchalant grin as he’d released her, as though his heart hadn’t been pounding uncontrollably. Evie had flushed brick red as her teammates’ laughter had rolled to them. It had been all Jamie could do to turn and stroll away, dripping, to change his clothes.
Now as he navigated the traffic on the way to Regent’s Park, Jamie’s imagination continued to feed him images of Evie, not only at the riverbank, but what might have happened if he’d pursued things further. He pictured himself and Evie in a lavish hotel bedroom, bed hangings shimmering in the candlelight as he slid his hands down her unclothed body, she arching to him as he stroked and kissed her.
A cart swerved past him, the drover snarling about noisy motorcars, snapping Jamie back to his surroundings.
Ridiculous fantasy. Few hotels Jamie stayed in had bed hangings anymore, and most used electric light.
But the vision of Evie under him in the dark, he becoming reacquainted with her in many enticing ways, would not leave him.
Jamie had been aware of her sensuality today, first as she’d teased him at the dock and then as she’d ridden in the seat next to him, unconsciously leaning to him as he’d explained how the motorcar worked. Her warmth had touched him, making him nearly forget everything about the engines he’d known by heart since he’d been a lad.
His fantasy was also ridiculous because Evie was engaged. Whoever this Mr. Atherton was, he had a treasure, and the man had better understand that.
Jamie ground his teeth all the way to a lane just east of Baker Street, where Daniel rented a lock-up to store the cars he kept in Town.
Leaning against the doorpost of said lock-up was a tall young man with red hair, a fierce countenance, and a well-muscled body hugged by a kilt and a long coat. He would not have been out of place with a sword in his hand, screaming at redcoats as he charged through the heather, nor in the slums of London, relieving passers-by of their purses simply by terrifying them with his glare.
Jamie leapt out of the car, passed the young man without a qualm, and inserted his key into the padlock.
“Now then, Alec,” Jamie said cordially.
The young man scowled, his dangerous air intensifying. “Where the hell have you been, Jamie? I’ve been holding up this wall for an hour.”
Chapter 4
Lord Hart Alec Graham Mackenzie, Marquess of Ardmore, was the oldest son of Hart Mackenzie and heir to the dukedom of Kilmorgan. Called Alec by the family, he had the formidable features and mannerisms of his father, his fearsomeness softened only by a glint of humor that came from his mother.
Jamie shoved open the lock-up’s door. Alec caught the edge and helped him.
“Rescuing damsels in distress,” Jamie said in answer to Alec’s question. “Just hold that back, will you? It likes to swing closed.”
Without a word, the heir to one of the wealthiest dukedoms in Britain held the gate for Jamie, son of the duke’s youngest brother. Jamie leapt back into the car, guided it through the gate, and shut down the engine.
Alec eased the lock-up’s door closed then retrieved a cloth from the workbench and began to wipe dust from the motorcar’s front fender. Evening sunlight from high windows illuminated the space, motes dancing in the still air.
“What damsels?” Alec asked as he worked, but the inquiry held only idle curiosity. Three years younger than Jamie, Alec had ladies clamoring for him, both respectable ones and those from the demimonde. Alec never had to worry about lack of female company.
“Old friend from university and her sisters. And her mum.” For some reason, Jamie did not want to talk about Evie, not casually. She wasn’t a tart from a tavern’s back room.
“Ah.” Losing interest, Alec busied himself polishing the travel grit from the car.
Jamie procured a bottle of whiskey from the recesses of a cupboard. “Wet your whistle?”
Alec didn’t raise his head. “All right.”
Jamie poured out two fingers for each of them into tin cups he kept for the purpose and tucked the bottle away. Alec had obviously come to talk to Jamie about something, but he continued to polish the car in silence.
Jamie laid a clean rag on the car’s fender and set Alec’s cup on it. Alec took it, then the two men clicked vessels together with a clank of metal, and drank.
Jamie leaned against the warm side of the car. “What is it, lad?”
The younger generation of Mackenzies had taken to turning to Jamie for advice. Since he was the oldest cousin—apart from Daniel, who was fifteen years Jamie’s senior—and the firstborn son of Ian Mackenzie, they regarded him as their leader. Never mind that Jamie was a long way from the dukedom—thank heaven. Jamie had become a guide to the others, a confidante who helped solve their problems.
Alec didn’t speak until he’d set down his cup. “I am considering my future,” he announced. “Reconsidering it, you could say.”
Jamie regarded him with disquiet, though he remained outwardly calm. With Alec, this declaration could mean any number of things.
“My future as duke, I mean,” Alec finished.
Jamie held himself stoically as he waited for Alec to explain, but Alec returned to rubbing at a spot on the car’s red paint as though determined to polish the metal bare.
“Are you going to be more specific?” Jamie asked after a time. “Before supper, anyway? I’m getting hungry.”
Alec heaved a long sigh and tossed the rag to the fender. “I’m contemplating my future where I’ll have to take up Dad’s political career. I love Dad—and I respect him—but he hasn’t gone out of his way to make himself loved, has he?” He grimaced. “I can’t walk anywhere near Whitehall without someone buttonholing me and demanding to know what the Duke of Kilmorgan plans to say about whatever topic is giving them apoplexy this time. Doesn’t matter when I explain he’s more or less retired. Apparently, I know every scheme in his mind. They expect me to step directly into his boots, be exactly like him.”