The sight made Claire a little queasy. This was no skinned elbow from a mere fall, however, but from an action that might’ve saved her husband’s life.
She flashed back to the car blindly speeding down the road while they were crossing the street—in the crosswalk where they belonged! Ugh, the memory turned her stomach even more. If Connor hadn’t spotted the speeding vehicle and pushed her and Emmy back before tackling Hugh in the other direction, her husband would’ve had his legs taken out from under him. Tossed to the side of the road like so much garbage.
Tears, banished for the past hour, clouded her vision once again and Claire sniffed back a sob.
Strong arms enveloped her, pulling her close until a life-affirming heart beat close to her ear. “Och, lass. Are ye weeping again?” Hugh asked unnecessarily. “Are ye planning on blaming yer hormones?”
Claire sniffed once more and buried her face in his shirtfront. “Maybe.” The word was muffled but he heard it. His broad chest rumbled against her cheek as he tried to suppress his laughter. “It’s not funny! You could have been killed.”
“But I wisnae.” Hugh smoothed a hand over her hair and kissed the top of her head. “’Twould take more than a recalcitrant driver to take me from ye, my love.”
Pulling back to behold his handsome face, Claire hugged him tightly around the waist. “You have the worst luck with cars, you know that?”
“Has he been run over before?” Emmy queried, as she cleaned the bits of rock and asphalt out of Connor’s arm.
“Nay—” Hugh began but Claire wouldn’t let him finish.
“Not hit, but he has blown two tires and had a rock blast a hole in his windshield in just the last month,” she told them. “He just has the worst luck.”
Hugh only kissed her into silence. Her blood rushed to her head. While she was still dazed and dizzy, she heard him explain to the others, “I believe my Sorcha simply prefers being behind the wheel herself and is looking for reason to take the position from me.”
“Dinnae let her do it,” Connor warned with a chuckle. “I’d be bluidy well damned if I’d gi’ it up were we to live in this time. Much of this world I can live wi’oot, but I’d love to take the Aston Martin we drove home wi’ me.”
Recovering from her upset, Claire rolled her eyes and noticed Emmy doing the same. Hugh and Connor had spent an afternoon the previous week at a supercar driving experience outside of Edinburgh. Connor had been forced into the position of passenger as he lacked a valid license, but they’d been able to take three laps around the track in each of the four luxury cars the track provided. A Ferrari, Lamborghini, Audi, and Aston Martin.
Hugh laughed too as if a car going seventy miles per hour hadn’t scared the shit out of him just five months before. She’d have to make sure Connor knew about that, if for no other reason than to bring her husband down a peg for making fun of the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy she was riding.
“Aye, ‘twas a rare thrill. If my book does well enough, I may just hae to purchase one.”
Over my dead body, Claire thought as she opened her laptop and scrolled through her email. She and Hugh hadn’t anticipated being away from Inverness so long. Other than a day trip home to pick up more clothes and ask a neighbor to keep an eye on their house, they’d determined to stay in Edinburgh until they knew everyone was safe. Laird and Scarlett were family now, no matter how distant the relation.
As a result of their lengthy stay, Claire had to spend a chunk of each day telecommuting so she wouldn’t lose her new job in green propulsion, which she loved. Hugh also spent an hour or two each day with his investments. While Scarlett was picking up the tab for their hotel and meals, they needed the income, too.
“Ye’d hae my eternal envy,” Connor promised solemnly.
Emmy finished bandaging his arm in gauze and was peeking in the large tear at the knee of his jeans.
“Are ye trying to get me to remove my trousers, lass?” He grinned so intimately down at his wife, Claire had to duck her head to hide the blush creeping over her cheeks. “All ye hae to do is ask.”
“Well, they’ll have to come off,” Emmy insisted, her tone more businesslike though her face was flaming as well. “But not for that. Not yet at least. Your leg is bleeding.”
With an impatient grumble, Connor tore his jeans the rest of the way down from his knee. “They were ruined in any case.”
Emmy tsked with a shake of her head. “Didn’t you notice torn jeans are all the rage?”
“Aye, but ‘tis indecent the way some people dress here,” he told her. “Such displays of flesh banish the element of the unknown for a man. Do women in this time no’ ken that imagining what lies beneath a woman’s clothing is often more tantalizing than ha’ing the mystery solved for them?”
Hugh threw back his head and laughed with Connor. His deep dimples slashed down his cheeks, disappearing into his dark beard. A little quiver tangled low in Claire’s belly that had nothing to do with queasiness, and she was reminded that it had been more than a couple of days since he’d explored what was beneath her clothes. Since she’d run her hands over the magnificent physique hidden beneath his.
Besides, after the scare today, she felt a strong need to reaffirm life in the most thorough way. Work could wait.
“I think maybe I should take a nap before dinner. Hugh, would you care to join me?”
“A nap? Why would I…?” Her husband had always been good with puzzles of any sort and caught on quickly enough. His blue eyes darkened, the corner of his lips lifting in a roguish grin. “Aye, I’m a wee bit tired myself.” He looked to Connor and Emmy. “Meet ye for dinner in an hour?” Claire cleared her throat. “Two hours?”
Connor grinned knowingly. “Are ye sure that’s enough time for a thorough nap?”
“Mayhap. I’ll be certain to let ye know if it is no’.”
Connor
When the couple disappeared into the larger of the two bedrooms in the suite and the door closed behind them, Connor cast a wolfish grin down at his wife as she knelt at his feet bandaging the gash in his knee.
“Any thoughts whilst ye’re down there aboot taking a wee nap ourselves?”
Emmy looked up at him and arched a brow. “Your knee is in bad shape.”
“Yers aren’t.”
Pain shot up his leg when she whacked him with the package of gauze. All the same, a wicked smile graced her lips. “Our early morning romp wasn’t enough for you?”
Connor traced the line of her jaw, enjoying the way her lips trembled and her lids grew heavy with just a single touch.
When he’d first fallen in love with his tempestuous lass and learned the truth of her origins, he’d worried he hadn’t enough to appeal to Emmy as compensation for all she would lose in his time. She’d assured him there was more for her to gain. The strength of his love and passion for her was something she’d never known before him.
He’d believed her.
Until he’d come to this time, seen for himself what she’d sacrificed for him, and knew every doubt she’d had about living in the past with him made sense.
Then to see how easily she slid back into her former life…Och, truth was it troubled him. Once again, she had her modern music, her gadgets as she called them. The clothes she preferred…
And bugger it all, as bonny as she was in a formfitting Victorian ball gown, bejeweled and primped, his Emmy was breathtaking in an oversized cabled sweater and the leggings the ladies preferred. Her sexy blonde hair falling in loose curls down to her hips. Earthy, sensual. Irresistible.
This time suited her better than his, he couldn’t deny it.
Emmy fairly oozed contentment. Her unveiled thrill for the things they’d experienced since coming back to her time was a harsh reminder of that unsettling feeling. And this after only a few months with him in the past. How would she feel after a few years? A few decades?
He didn’t want her to have any regrets. Yet, he, who’d never needed another before Emmy had
come along and upended his world, couldn’t help but feel she was slipping away from him.
These past weeks, he’d savored every moment with her, made love to her each chance he had. Because somewhere in a wee corner of his heart, Connor feared when the time came, she might choose not to return home to Duart with him.
“Connor? Are you okay?”
“Aye, lass.” He forced a smile. “I’m merely so worn out from our lovemaking this morn, I find I may indeed need a nap in truth.”
“Are you really?”
He sucked in a sharp breath as her hands slid up his legs until her thumbs grazed the rising bulge in his jeans. Blast, they were the most uncomfortable garb for a man. He couldn’t understand why everyone wore them. Then Emmy released the button and slid down the zipper, reminding him why.
Her breath roused him like a caress even through his boxers. “I don’t think you need a nap. You seem fully awake to me.”
“No’ fully,” he groaned, lacing his fingers through her long blonde locks.
Emmy’s parted lips found him with the barrier of cotton still between them. “How about now?”
His blood pumped hot in his veins. “No’ yet,” he ground out, teeth clenched.
She pushed his T-shirt up and pressed her lips to a sensitive spot just below his navel, then she drifted upward. Her tongue trailed a path along the valley of his abs, up and up, until Connor yanked the shirt over his head and flung it away. Catching her around the waist, he lifted Emmy against him. Her arms looped over his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He gripped her bottom in both hands, grinding hip to hip until they fit together like two halves of a whole.
Emmy’s breath hitched and she met his kiss fervently, her moan echoing his insatiable hunger.
“Bed,” she murmured against his lips.
“Aye.”
Mouth still on hers, he carried her to their adjoining bedroom and slammed the door with one foot. Dropping Emmy onto the bed, Connor fell on top of her. He slid his hands up her sweater, giving silent thanks for the one thing beyond cars for which this time held a distinct advantage. Loose clothes with nary a stitch beneath them and easy access to all he desired. Pushing the sweater up, he caught her hard nipple in his teeth through her bra, enjoying her delighted gasp.
“Hurry, Connor,” she rasped.
Her hands roamed his bare chest and back, then slid downward into his loosened jeans to cup his arse. She pulled him down and lifted her hips against him. Lust as wild as a tempest tore through him. He shoved her leggings down over her lush hips, past her thighs, and down to her calves in one fell swoop. Kicking off her flats, Emmy caught them from there with a toe and dragged them down to her ankles.
Connor removed them from there and stared down at Emmy’s lacy panties, remembering the first time he’d seen her in modern undergarments. His desire to have them off her forthwith was even greater than it’d been then, but Connor savored the moment, bending his head to rake his teeth across the thin silk.
Emmy grabbed his hair with a throaty cry. “Connor!”
“Aye, lass,” he agreed to the silent plea, eager to taste her.
He tore away the barrier and caught the throbbing nub of her desire between his lips, sucking hard until Emmy arched her back, sobbing his name. He stroked her with his tongue, forcing her thighs farther apart for him.
A long, feminine keening drifted through the adjoining wall and Emmy released a huff of laughter. “Oh my God, I so did not need to hear that.”
Another cry had Connor chuckling as well. “If I can hear any cries of passion other than yers, I’m no’ doing my job properly, lass.”
“You’re doing…just…fine,” she gasped each word when Connor resumed his work.
But nay, he could do better. Connor pulled back long enough to shed his jeans then fell between Emmy’s legs, pushing her knees high against her chest. He drove into her welcoming depths. Soon enough all they could hear was the sound of their blood pounding in their ears. Whispers of endearment, the groans of ecstasy, and finally their cries of release.
Then harsh panting breaths as Connor rolled onto his back next to Emmy and pulled her into his arms. “Nothing like a dose of healthy competition to make things interesting.”
“You’re a sick man, Connor MacLean.”
“Nay, lass, I’m a man in love with his wife,” he whispered close to her ear. “A man devoted to her pleasure.” His palm swept over her hip to her supple bottom. His heart ached at the thought of never touching his bonny lass again. Emmy had changed his life. Changed him. Anger and bitterness had once consumed his life. Now, because of her there was only happiness. How would his life change again if he lost her?
“Devoted, huh?” Emmy hummed.
“Aye, and with more than an hour more to show her just how much.”
Emmy lifted up enough to pull her sweater over her head and toss it aside. “Okay.”
“Just like that?”
“Who am I to argue with a man on a mission?”
Hugh
Nearly three hours of “napping” later, they met for dinner. Claire’s cheeks were rosy through the better part of the meal. A fact that amused Hugh to no end. He’d worked long and hard to keep the blush there.
Connor’s jesting comment about hearing strange noises throughout the afternoon had cemented it well in place.
They were playing cards in their suite after a long entertaining meal when a knock sounded on the connecting door.
“Can we come in?” Scarlett popped her head around then entered when they waved her in. Laird followed with Hermione in his arms. The toddler immediately begged to be let down and ran to the coffee table to retrieve the books they’d bought her over the last couple of weeks.
Scarlett looked at the array of shopping bags and clothes strewn over the back of the sofa. “Guess your afternoon was far more enjoyable than ours.”
Claire’s blush, which had begun to fade, blossomed handsomely once more. Much to Hugh’s delight.
“We went shopping and had a nice dinner down at the restaurant,” Claire told her primly, omitting how the space between had been spent.
“These onesies are adorable.” Scarlett held out one after the other and Claire joined her to ooh and aah over the baby clothes.
Laird sat on one of the two mohair club chairs facing the worn leather Chesterfield sofa, watching his wife with a fond smile playing at his lips.
“We should get you some to take back for the baby,” she said to Scarlett.
“I’d rather take home a hundred cases of disposable diapers.” They both laughed though Scarlett was clearly very serious. “But I suppose I should get her something to wear when we leave the hospital until we get home.”
Emmy dropped her cards and joined them. Sitting nearby, she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she watched the ladies sort through the clothes. “You should get some of those gowns with the drawstring on the bottom. My mother always called them cinch-sacks.”
They all chuckled at the term, but Hugh’s eyes were drawn to his wife. His bonny Sorcha lit up with joy and laughter. He’d never really seen her socialize with other women and wouldn’t have thought her the sort to fall into giggles. But there it was, before his eyes.
Hugh threw down his cards and joined the group, sitting at the end of the sofa near Claire. Connor followed and took the other chair.
Emmy laughed. “Seriously! She claimed they were the most practical clothing ever for a baby.”
Scarlett smiled dryly. “My mother had me in designer dresses and patent leather shoes the day after I was born. Practicality never came into it.”
“I’ve never met your mother, but I’m sure she wasn’t that bad,” Emmy assured her.
“I hae.” Laird’s exaggerated rancorous frown prompted another round of chuckles. “By my word, ye’re better off no’ ha’ing the pleasure.”
Both women looked to Scarlett, but she only shrugged and didn’t argue the point.<
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“Well, you’ll have to have at least one outfit for the baby,” Claire informed her. “And a car seat. They won’t let you leave the hospital without one.”
“I suppose I could take an hour or two away from the hospital to do a little more shopping.” Scarlett cast Laird a wicked grin. “I know how Laird so enjoyed our last trip.”
Poor Laird, Hugh grinned in sympathy. Hugh had made a trip back to Inverness for more clothes, but all he owned hadn’t been enough to clothe four men for weeks on end. Purchases had to be made. Rhys had enjoyed it, but then Hugh had been told he’d always been the fashionable sort. As was Hugh. Connor had given in gracefully, but Laird had suffered through it with ill grace.
Still, he could laugh at himself, comfortable with the teasing.
These weeks of passing time with little else to occupy them beyond each other’s company had been some of the best Hugh had experienced since his arrival in this era. Claire had admitted the same. There was no pretense among them when they were gathered like this. No pretending to be something they weren’t, watching every word or action.
The camaraderie among them continued to grow. Something Hugh hadn’t considered when he’d first approached them. He’d found true friendship in Laird, Rhys, and Connor. A spirit of brotherhood born of truly knowing one another without barriers. A truth Hugh knew he’d never be able to share with another in this time. Trust. And to some extent, familial loyalty.
He would miss them all when they left.
But their group was down one, Hugh noticed. “Where’s Rhys tonight?”
“He’s meeting Jack down at the bar and they’re going out to a nightclub. To dance.” Scarlett managed to keep a straight face, but most everyone else laughed aloud.
“They’re going to something called a gay bar,” Laird added. “I dinnae e’en ken there was such a place.”
A Laird to Hold Page 13