by Anna Durand
After the ceremony, my father clapped Lachlan on the shoulder and said, "Glad I didn't have to shoot you."
Lachlan arched an eyebrow at me.
With a sheepish shrug, I told him, "The possibility may have been discussed at one point. Weeks ago."
Dad grinned. "I offered, but Erica said nah, don't bother."
"Frank," my mom said in her best indulgent tone, "don't scare the poor boy. We decided we like him, remember? Offing your new son-in-law is rude."
"I'd only wing him," Dad insisted.
Both my parents had a teasing gleam in their eyes. I'd warned Lachlan he'd have to get used to the Teague family pastime of harassing our friends and relatives with odd sarcasm. I'd patted his cheek and assured him, "It means we love you, honey."
Now, as my mom enveloped him in a bear hug while my dad simultaneously gave his hand a powerful shake, Lachlan aimed a bemused smile at me.
"Okay, okay," I said, pushing my parents away from my husband and linking my hands around his arm. "There will be no winging Lachlan today."
"Today?" Lachlan asked, eying me askance, with a slight smirk.
"I need some way to keep you in line." I rose onto tiptoes to peck a kiss on his lips. "Can I have my own sword?"
"We'll see."
Lachlan's brothers approached us then, sly grins lighting up their faces, both as gorgeous as their elder sibling, my sexy-as-hell husband. Aidan and Rory — yes, I'd finally met the infamous Rory, Lachlan's solicitor and brother — slapped Lachlan on the back.
Aidan winked at me. "Picked a hot one there, Lachie. When do I get to kiss the bride?"
"Never," Lachlan replied in a dead-calm voice. "Don Juan MacTaggart does not get to practice on my wife. And don't call me Lachie, unless you're wanting to get skelped."
"So sensitive," Rory said, sidling around Aidan to get closer to me. "Welcome to the family, Erica. Best get used to Lachie being a humbug. He's a boring, humorless man."
I didn't miss the glint in his eyes or the upward twitch of his lips. Yes, the Teagues and the MacTaggarts would get along fine, thanks to their shared love of teasing each other without mercy.
"Oh don't worry," I assured Rory, snuggling closer to Lachlan. "My husband is exciting and entertaining for me. Maybe he just doesn't like you two scunners."
Aidan and Rory burst out laughing. Lachlan watched them while shaking his head, a slight smile curving his mouth, until Rory managed to say, "She's already taking to our language. Better watch your wife, Lachlan, or she'll be a true Scottish lassie before you know it, cursing at you in Gaelic."
"Let me help her along," Aidan said, his expression all innocence as he clasped my shoulder in one hand. "Now just say an toir thu dhomh pòg."
Lachlan slapped a hand on Aidan's chest and shoved him away. His brother stumbled backward, laughing so hard his eyes watered.
"What?" I asked, glancing between Lachlan and Aidan.
My husband's mouth twisted into a half-restrained smile. "An toir thu dhomh pòg means will you give me a kiss."
Note to self: Never repeat a Gaelic phrase told to you by Aidan MacTaggart.
I met Lachlan's sisters too — Catriona, Jamie, and Moira. They'd declared me "the fourth sister" while helping me get ready for the wedding this morning and I already felt like one of the family, thanks to the MacTaggarts' kindness and humor. Though they'd just met me a week ago, they treated me like their long-lost daughter. And both sets of parents had become fast friends as well. Niall MacTaggart was teaching Frank Teague how to play shinty. The game looked kind of like field hockey, but it confused the heck out of me.
Gradually, the wedding party headed down the hill to their cars parked in front of our house, to drive into the village for the reception. My brilliant husband had arranged to hold the party in the village, so we could sneak off to our house for a private party. Our parents, the last guests to leave, stopped to say goodbye before the MacTaggarts drove the Teagues into town for what promised to be a hell of a shindig. Casey bounded around the group of us, his tongue lolling and flapping.
As my mother hugged me, she whispered, "I hope you tested his engines already. Doesn't look like he'd have any trouble, but you don't want a nasty surprise on your wedding night."
"Mom!" I hissed, my cheeks flaring hot. "Honestly. It's a bit late to worry about it, don't you think?"
She pulled back just enough to hit me with a mother-knows-best look. "Well, did you?"
"Take him for a test drive?" Had I ever. She did not need to know the details. "Yes, he's… well equipped."
Thankfully, she left it at that, seeming satisfied with my response. Mothers.
Not long after that, our parents and Casey piled into a vehicle and departed. Casey would return to our homestead in the morning to settle into his new life as a Scottish farm dog. For tonight, Lachlan and I needed privacy.
As the last taillights receded into the night, my husband hoisted me into his arms and carried me over the threshold of our new home — our farm in the Highlands, where we'd raise our bairns. I'd thought my life was over when Presley Cichon framed me for embezzlement. Instead, I'd found everything I ever wanted.
Lachlan set me down, shut the door, and smiled that smile. "Welcome home, Erica MacTaggart."
"It's so beautiful, Lachlan."
He held up a finger. "Got another surprise for you."
"You know how I love your surprises."
He trotted into another room, which I thought was the living room, and returned with his prize. My hand flew to my chest. "I thought you were kidding when you said — "
"A Scotsman doesn't joke about these things." He spread his legs wide, chest high, looking every bit the Highland hero in his kilt and white, long-sleeved shirt. "Like my claymore?"
"Oh yes."
The sword must've been five feet long, its blade glinting in the light. He swung the claymore through the air in broad swipes. Right then and there I knew life with Lachlan MacTaggart would never be boring, but it would be sweet and fulfilling and full of wonder.
Lachlan brandished the sword in both hands. "Better run for yer life, lassie, 'cause ahm coming fer ye."
I sprinted for the bedroom, giggling all the way like an idiot, with my husband in hot pursuit. When we got to the bedroom, I let him catch me. He tossed the sword on the floor and scooped me up in his strong arms. "Time to pay the tithe."
"Tithe?"
"Aye," he said, with overly done solemnity. "Every Highland wife must pay her husband a tax on the wedding night."
I rolled my eyes. "You've got way more money than I do. Want the five bucks I still have in my purse?"
"Not money, gràidh." Lachlan heaved me onto the bed and I yelped as I plopped onto the lush bedding, my butt sinking into it. His grin was wicked and promised many, many things. "I had another kind of tithe in mind."
"Hmm, in that case… " I stretched my entire body, which boosted my breasts high enough they almost spilled out of the dress. "I'll pay up gladly."
Lachlan stripped off his clothes faster than I'd ever imagined a man could disrobe, then sprawled over me, his hard body a blissful weight atop me. He thrust a hand under me, fumbling for the buttons of my dress. His lips pinched, his jaw clenched, and the spot just above his nose crinkled. After about ten seconds of jostling and struggling, he sprang to his knees and threw his arms up. "Bloody hell, woman, what kind of contraption have you got holding you in that thing?"
"Buttons." I pushed up into a sitting position, my face aligned with his waving erection. My mouth watered at the sight of his acres of muscle, his washboard abs, and oh yeah, his stiff shaft. I batted my eyelashes at him, putting on my best innocent face. "Is there a problem, my lord and master?"
His mouth puckered again, but this time because he was trying so hard not to laugh. "Careful. I might take you up on the lord and master bit."
I got to my knees, shuffling around so my back faced him, and glanced at him over my shoulder. "Surely a powerful warrior such as yourself c
an handle a few buttons."
Lachlan growled low in his throat, seized my dress, and ripped the buttons open in one jerk of his hands. Cool air wafted over my now-bare skin, but before I could shiver, his hot hands flattened on my back. He unhooked my bra and his tongue touched down on my skin, tracing a slick path down my spine, dancing over each vertebra, igniting sparks that set my whole body on fire. He shoved the dress off my shoulders. With his mouth now on my neck, he murmured, "Tha gaol agam ort."
"I don't speak Gaelic yet."
He pushed the fabric over my hips. It pooled around my knees as he dispatched my bra, sending it fluttering to the floor. I reached back to slide my fingers into his hair. He clasped my waist in both hands and, with stunning grace, hefted me up and out of the dress, spun me around, and laid me out on the bed, flat on my back.
Lachlan tore off my panties. "Tha gaol agam ort means I love you." He lowered his body onto mine once again, his erection trapped between our bodies. "Forever, mo leannan."
"I love you too. Forever and ever." I wriggled, and he sucked in a breath. "You're mine, Lachlan MacTaggart. Gràidh."
He cradled my head in his hands, gazing deeply into my eyes. "I love the way you say gràidh. You pronounce it perfectly."
"Is it my pronunciation you're interested in at the moment?" He locked one leg around his, rubbing parts of him into slick, swollen parts of me.
He made a choking sound. "Couldnae give a fuck about yer pronunciation right now."
Wrapping my arms around him, I raked my nails up and down his back. "Show me what you are thinking about."
He slanted his mouth over mine in a hard kiss, full of heat and tangling tongues. He groaned into my mouth and my sex pulsed, my core aching with emptiness only he could fill. When he pulled away, his eyes burned with a bonfire of hunger matching my own.
"Now," I begged, arching my hips into him. "Please."
"Anything for you, gràidh." He drove into me with one long, powerful thrust. I cried out, my back bowing from the sheer ecstasy of him consuming me. He took me with leisurely strokes, driving me to the brink of madness, until I clawed at his back and pleaded for release, only to beg him with my very next breath never to stop. He braced his body on straight arms, grunting and shouting my name, his chest heaving, pumping harder and faster into my inflamed flesh. Sweat sheathed his body and dripped off his chest onto mine, where it mingled with my own sheen of perspiration. The smell of sweat and sex permeated the air, the scent of my own arousal so strong I might've been embarrassed, if not for my husband obliterating my every thought with his throbbing shaft.
My body convulsed as I came with a whimpering scream, clutching at Lachlan until my fingers dug into his upper arms. He exploded inside me with a sharp yell. I spiraled down from the heavens back into my body as he thrust a few more times, then collapsed beside me, breathing hard. I fought to catch my breath, my body humming from the inside out like a guitar string plucked hard. But oh how I loved the way Lachlan plucked my strings.
He pulled me onto my side, tucked against his body, my head pillowed against his shoulder. "Are you happy, sweet?"
I propped my chin on his chest so I could meet his gaze. "You know I am. A few months ago, I thought I was going to prison. Just a few weeks ago, I thought I'd never have what I really want." I snuggled into him, brushing my fingers over his cheek. "Now I have everything. With you."
He captured my hand, enclosing it in his. "You've given me more than I ever dreamed I'd have. Nothing will ever take me away from you, Erica."
"I'm not going anywhere. This is where I belong." I cleared my throat and prayed I'd pronounce the next part right. "An toir thu dhomh pòg?"
A breath rushed out of his nostrils. He hugged me tighter, his voice fierce with passion. "Keep speaking Gaelic."
"Why?"
He flipped us both over, with me beneath him and his quickly rousing shaft. "Because hearing you speak Gaelic will keep me going all night."
"Promises, promises."
"A guarantee."
For the rest of the night, he demonstrated that he would always keep his promises. Sometime in the wee hours of the night, we curled up under the sheets, exhausted in the best way, and fell asleep in each other's arms, content in our life together.
Forever.
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Dangerous in a Kilt
Copyright © 2016 by Lisa A. Shiel
All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictional. No portion of this book may be copied, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, including recording, photocopying, or inclusion in any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher and author, except for brief excerpts quoted in published reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-934631-75-1 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978-1-934631-76-8 (EPUB ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-934631-77-5 (Kindle ebook)
Manufactured in the United States.
Jacobsville Books
www.JacobsvilleBooks.com
Publisher's Cataloging-in-Publication Data
provided by Five Rainbows Cataloging Services
Names: Durand, Anna.
Title: Dangerous in a kilt / Anna Durand.
Description: Lake Linden, MI : Jacobsville Books, 2016. | Series: Hot Scots, bk. 1.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016952974 | ISBN 978-1-934631-75-1 (pbk.) | ISBN 978-1-934631-76-8 (EPUB ebook) | ISBN 978-1-934631-77-5 (Kindle ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationships--Fiction. | Scots--Fiction. | Chicago (Ill.)--Fiction. | Love stories. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3604.U724 D36 2016 (print) | LCC PS3604.U724 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23.