by Anna Durand
"Only with you." He dragged the brownie dish to him and sank the knife through the flaky top layer, deep into the tender, dark-chocolate flesh beneath. "The sensuality of whisky begs for a decadent partner."
Wow, he should've been a writer — of erotica. I accepted the plate he handed me, laden with an enormous hunk of brownie. He dished out heaping servings of vanilla ice cream. My stomach grumbled just looking at the food. He impaled his own brownie with his fork, piercing the dessert straight through, then plunged the loaded tines into the ice cream. I watched, spellbound, as he took the morsel, now dripping with melting ice cream, into his sensuous mouth. Once he'd devoured the mouthful, he licked crumbs from his lips. "You'll be in my bed tomorrow night at the outside."
I thrust a bite between my lips and as the rush of chocolate and sugar overtook me, I knew I was in deep trouble. Because he was right. Even without the whisky, I couldn't hold out for long. This man understood how to set a bonfire inside me and stoke it until I quaked with anticipation.
He coiled his tongue around another mouthful of the voluptuous confection, chewed it slowly, erotically, and let it glide down his throat. "What are you thinking of?"
"What's to come."
He arched one dark brow, his smirk half suppressed. "You, lass. You're what's to come. In my bed, at my hand, over and over and over."
I shoved a forkful of brownie into my mouth and chomped it. I hungered for him more than the dessert. If he'd asked, I would've fallen into his bed this morning. But just to be contrary, I'd fight the impulse. "Don't get cocky, Mr. MacTaggart."
He surged forward, half his body bent over the table, and claimed my mouth. His tongue tormented me with possessive lashes, twining around mine, then plunging deep. His lips were soft yet demanding, his tongue hot and slick. I slumped, abandoning myself to him, nipping and lapping, letting out little grunts echoed by his own, deeper ones. When he tore his mouth from mine, I wilted into my chair, slack-jawed and breathless.
Lachlan dropped back into his chair. Panting, I struggled to look vexed. He speared a piece of brownie and twirled his fork. I'd wait till tomorrow night, so he wouldn't think I was too easy.
Yes. Tomorrow. I could hold out that long. I could.
Chapter Eight
"You owe me eleven hundred dollars." I held my hand palm up, outstretched, waggling my fingers. "Gimme."
Across the coffee table from me, Lachlan sat forward in his armchair, elbows on his knees, and gave me an amused smile. "Do I now."
"You know you do." I tapped the Monopoly board laid out between us. We hadn't left Gil's house all day, and this was our third board game. Lachlan hadn't kissed me since our brownie interlude. Of course, he had suggested strip Monopoly, but the idea struck me as too weird. This was a family game, for crying out loud. "You landed on Park Place, which I own. And I have three houses on it. Your ass is mine, MacTaggart."
"Anytime you want, my sweet wildflower."
I rolled my eyes at his mock-sugary tone. "You have a one-track mind."
"Only when I'm alone with you."
My hand floated up to my throat, my index finger curling around a lock of hair. I didn't realize I'd moved my hand until my fingers tickled my skin. Seated on the sofa while Lachlan lounged in the armchair, I couldn't tear my focus away my Highlander's gaze, the way it simmered at a low boil, whispering steam over my skin. He looked like he was considering whether to throw me down on the sofa and ravish me, or drag me onto the coffee table to have his way with me. Either one's good with me.
I corralled all my little fake bills and shuffled through them. This was Gil's house. How could I have sex with Lachlan here? My house was no better, because it wasn't really my house. If Lachlan knew what a mess my head was, he might reconsider his offer.
"Change, please."
Without raising my head, I looked up at Lachlan. "What's wrong with the way I am?"
I flinched at the tone of my own words. Defensive much?
He stared at me, expression blank, for a couple seconds. Then he shook his head, waving orange money at me. "No-no, I said I need change for these five-hundred-dollar bills."
"Right. Of course." I tugged the three bills from his fingers, gnawing my lower lip, and handed him four little hundred-dollar bills as change. Yes, that kind of change. "Here ya go."
Lachlan accepted the money, grimacing and scratching his cheek. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.
I rolled the dice, and once again, we lost ourselves in the silly battle for the biggest stash of colorful bills. Lachlan gained some headway, but I still had Park Place and three railroads, plus two utilities and various other properties. I began to suspect he was letting me win somehow, since I'd beat him at all the other games too, even the ones I sucked at on a good day. I wasted no time puzzling out how or why he was letting me win because, with this man, the excitement of each roll of the dice took on a new, more electrifying significance.
Especially when he aimed those smoldering eyes at me, blew on the dice, and murmured in a husky voice, "When this game is over, I'll be kissing you for a long, long while."
My body melted, forcing me to slump against the sofa. I meant to slay him with a sarcastic comment, but I managed nothing more coherent than "mmm."
A bit later — I'd stopped checking the time — I rolled and moved my playing piece, a teeny-weeny cat, around the board. When I saw where I'd landed, my fingers clenched into fists, nails sharp on my palms. Four letters taunted me on the game board: J-A-I-L. A sour taste invaded my mouth and my eyes stung. I set to shuffling and reordering my Monopoly money, but acid burned in my chest. Jail. Was the universe mocking me? I shouldn't get this upset about a dopey game, but I couldn't stop the tears collecting in my eyes, about to overflow. I swiped them away with the heel of my hand, fighting back a sniffle. It hiccupped out anyway. Too much stress, that's all this was.
"What's the bother?" Lachlan's voice boomed through the living area and I jumped, a bigger hiccup jolting me. Lachlan pulled at the neck of his T-shirt as his lips twisted. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to shout, but I asked you twice before and you didn't answer."
"Didn't hear you." A lone tear trickled down my skin, the salty tang invading my mouth.
Lachlan's voice turned softer, almost tender. "Must've been lost in thought, if you didn't hear me ask the first time." He reached across the table to touch my knee. "What's fashed you?"
Even through my jeans, the slight pressure and warmth of his hand on my knee rippled a distracting tingle through me. I gulped. Lachlan studied me with a concern that made me squirm. No emotional entanglements, that was our deal. Yet here he was, acting worried about my change in mood. I fiddled with my Monopoly loot. Crying and making pathetic noises? Sure, that was a simple change in mood. He must wonder if he'd hooked up with a nutcase.
Lachlan caressed my knee, his fingers moving in slow strokes, and all thoughts fled my mind. He massaged a little higher, just above my knee. "Erica?"
I cleared my throat. "What does fashed mean?"
His fingers curved around my knee in a comforting grasp. "Means bothered, which you seem to be at the moment."
"Oh no, not me." I faked a smile, but his scrunched brow told he didn't buy it. I patted his hand. "Thanks for the concern, but didn't we agree to no personal questions?"
"Yes." He pulled his hand away, his jaw tensing. "I apologize for violating our agreement."
"No biggie." When his face blanked again, I smiled. "That means it's okay."
He exhaled a breath that erased his tension and confusion. "Good."
The relief on his face was so adorably sweet I found myself biting my fingernail to avoid flinging out a hand to clasp his. Instead, I pointed at his playing piece — a Scottish terrier, of course. "Your turn."
My gaze fell to my piece, stuck in jail, and I clamped my lips between my teeth.
Lachlan's lips drew together in a manly pout. He narrowed his gaze on me. "What about a game of Monopoly is too personal to di
scuss? How can a wee metal cat fash you?"
"It's not the cat." I shut my eyes and pulled in a deep breath, then let it out slowly as I opened my lids. "I landed in jail."
"I can't see the significance."
No, he wouldn't. I shook my head. "It's not important. Can we please move on so I can get the hell out of jail?"
Lachlan snapped up my piece and plunked it down one square forward. With a victorious grin, he announced, "There. Problem solved."
My lips tightened and I touched two fingertips to them, realizing they'd turned up into a closed-mouth smile. He wanted to make me feel better. If only my problems were so easy to fix. "I would've gotten out on the next move anyway, but thank you."
"What's a jail break between fr — companions."
Had he been about to say call us friends? If he uttered the phrase "friends with benefits," I just might vomit. No, first I'd smack him. Then I'd barf in his lap. Why did life have to be so complicated? I gestured at the board. "Still your turn."
Lachlan bent forward, lifted the dice near his mouth, and blew on them. I glimpsed the tip of his pink tongue between his puckered lips. His gaze drilled into me and the room temperature seemed to soar twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. He tossed the dice.
Was I… fanning myself? Ugh. Stupid hand. I shoved the offending appendage under my thigh.
Forty-five minutes later, Lachlan raised his big hands in surrender. "The wee lassie is victorious."
"I'd think a financial consultant would be better at Monopoly." I angled my head to squint at him. "You let me win, didn't you?"
With a snort, he waved a dismissive hand.
Springing forward, I jabbed a finger at him. "You did."
"Does it matter?"
I hissed out a breath. "Not very satisfying to win because your opponent gave up."
"A gentleman never bankrupts the woman he plans to seduce."
The chains around my heart loosened the tiniest bit. I longed to kiss him for saying such a thing. Lachlan might've talked me into a fling, but he was apparently old-fashioned at heart. Strange. Wise up, girl, there's gotta be something wrong with a guy who scorns relationships and won't talk about himself. Well, for once I didn't care. Really, I didn't. Bring on the hot, meaningless sex.
My stomach roiled.
"Would a prize heal your wounded dignity?" Lachlan asked.
"Depends on what the prize is."
He settled back in the armchair, knees spread wide, and locked his hands behind his head. His admiring gaze traveled over me from head to toe and back again. "I can think of one or two rewards we'd both enjoy."
"I bet you can."
He leaned forward to gather up the paltry bankroll he had left, then stretched out farther to collect up my sizable winnings. With his head inches from my knees, he turned his face up to me. "Time to relinquish your treasure to the banker."
I laid my hand on his, feeling his tendons flex under my palm as he scooped up the toy money. "Not so fast, Scot. Maybe I want a rematch."
"Happy to oblige." His gaze flicked to the hallway, which led to the bedroom, and his tongue slipped out to moisten his sinful lips. When his eyes swiveled to me, the fire burning behind them stole my breath. He dropped the money, flipped his hand over, and clasped his fingers around my wrist. "You're sweeter than Atholl Brose, and I'm aiming to taste ye tonight."
"Uh… " My brain bypassed the unknown phrase — Atholl Brose — and latched onto his final words. Taste ye. Tonight. I didn't need a translator to tell me what he meant by that. His tone, deep and erotic, set off a damp ache between my thighs. I clamped my knees together, but couldn't summon the will to pull my hand away. I agreed to this. I told him I could handle it. Wild woman on the loose, wanton through and through. So why did my stomach keep churning? "Um, well, that sounds… What on earth is Atholl Brose? Is that some kind of Gaelic sex slang?"
Yep, I knew how to steer a conversation into a hard U-turn. We needed seat belts for this one.
"No," he chuckled. His free hand came up to cup my cheek. "It's a sweet liqueur made from oatmeal, honey, whisky, and cream."
"Sounds yummy." My heart thudded at the blatant hunger on his face. His chest rose and fell with heavy, shallow breaths — just like mine did. My body went quivery and weak. This is going to happen. I fought for some semblance of control, but all I could think of was his mouth on mine. Hot. Greedy. Maddeningly sensual.
Lachlan dragged his fingertips down my cheek, over my jaw, trailing them along my throat to my collarbone. I shivered. Swear to God, I did. And it felt soooo good.
Naturally, I swung us into another conversational U-turn. I squeezed out one breathless question. "Do you speak Gaelic?"
His mouth dropped open.
I hunched my shoulders.
With a kind smile, he skated his thumb across my lower lip. "My mother insisted we all learn."
A single word snapped me out of my stupor. "We? Do you have brothers or sisters?"
"Both." He flopped back in the armchair with a resigned huff. "Two brothers, three sisters."
"Thr — You mean you have five siblings?" I blinked once, in slow motion. Erica Teague, an only child, could not fathom such a brood. "Wow, that's amazing. Do you get along with them?"
"Mostly." He shrugged one shoulder. "With a clan as big as ours, the occasional barnie's to be expected."
"Barnie?"
"A tussle." He tipped his head to the side, studying me again with that unnerving intensity. "Do you have brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. Just me." I picked up the Monopoly board and dumped everything off it. Playing pieces, houses, and hotels scraped across the smooth cardboard to clatter into the box in a landslide. "Do you see your family often?"
A noise, somewhere between a growl and sigh, whooshed out of him. As I tossed the multicolored money into the box, I glanced up at him. His mouth was twisted with a downward slant, his shoulder muscles bunched with tension. "No more talk of family. Agreed?"
I opened my mouth to protest, then remembered with a cold pang that talking about his family might lead him to ask about mine, which might trigger more tears and evasion and general panic on my part. I clapped the Monopoly box shut. "Sure, you got it. No more family talk."
He nodded, shoulders slackening. He pressed his palms to his eyes, then let his hands fall to his lap. "Don't quite understand why, but we've derailed in somber territory. Time to get back on track."
Chapter Nine
With both hands on the chair's arms, he thrust his body up out of the seat and unfolded it to full height. Towering over me, he sauntered around the table to settle in beside me, half on my cushion. His weight forced it to slope toward him, tilting me closer to his brawny chest, so close my shoulder glanced off the hollow of his. He braced one arm on the sofa's back, behind me. Sparks of desire burst under my skin, like matches struck in the dark, flares of heat and incandescent need.
Lachlan slid his hand up my cheek, delving into my hair. With the barest pressure, he urged me to turn my face to his and tip my head back, while he slanted his down, until our lips aligned. No more than an inch separated our mouths. His breaths tickled my lips, warm and moist and scented with whisky and chocolate, a ghost of our sensual snack earlier. He teased me with little nips and swift grazes of his mouth across mine. His fingers roamed my scalp, exploring, massaging, driving me wild with the tingly sensations his touch evoked. When he darted his tongue out to trace the seam of my lips, I sagged into him, hands on his firm chest, my throat exposed to him.
"Sweeter than anything," he purred, ducking his head to plant open-mouth kisses on my throat. He drew my earlobe between his lips and suckled with tiny flicks of his slick, velvety tongue. A bolt of lightning shot through me, straight down to my core. He groaned against the shell of my ear. "Forget tasting. Devouring ye is what I'll be doing."
His mouth captured mine in a punishing lip-lock that robbed me of breath and sanity and any awareness of the world around me. Everything telescoped do
wn to us, his lips branding mine, our tongues colliding, the molten passion obliterating my defenses. His five o'clock shadow rasped against my cheek, the rough texture delicious on my sensitized skin. My breasts grew heavy, my nipples went rigid. I flung my arms around his neck as he wrapped his around my back. Bound to his rock-hard body, I moaned into his mouth.
A guttural sound resonated in his chest. He shoved one hand under my buttocks and hoisted me up, then laid me down on my back, spread across the sofa's length with my legs over his lap. His eyes hooded, lips parted, he stretched out alongside me with his body between me and the sofa's back. The erection swelling in his jeans rubbed against me. A wave of dizzying lust swept through me, and I clung to his massive shoulder. He peppered kisses over my forehead, across my temple, down to the tender spot under my ear.
"Lachlan," I murmured, my voice as dazed as I felt. His kisses drugged me. His touch inflamed me. What would the sex be like? Goose bumps erupted all over my skin at the torrid fantasies the thought unleashed.
He grasped my hip, probing the hollow with his thumb, while his lips hovered over mine and those incredible eyes pinned my gaze. His hand skidded off my hip onto my mound, the shield of my jeans no defense against him. The heel of his hand rested there, moving in lazy circles over my clitoris, the caress light but rapturous in its effect. Writhing, I spread my thighs without thinking. His fingers dived between them to pet my sex. His hand kept circling over my clit, and combined with the swipes of his fingers, it had me bucking and gasping as an exquisite pressure mounted deep inside. More, more, I yearned to say, but my voice abandoned me. I could do nothing except moan and whimper.
I closed my hand around his swollen cock, trapped inside his jeans.
"Och!" Lachlan pushed my hand away, eyes flashing wide for a heartbeat before sliding almost shut. "Donnae be touching me like that. Yet."
"What if I do?" I brazenly palmed his shaft. Not like me at all, but this man awakened a secret part of me. When I began to stroke him, he batted my hand away again and gave me a half smirk, half frown.