by Xio Axelrod
Duff watched his best friend and Lovie’s best friend come together in a fit of smiles and glances. He had become invisible.
“I’ll, er, take my bag up.”
This was so very, very wrong. He would have to say something before things got out of hand completely. He made for the stairs when something he heard stopped him cold.
“I can’t believe a guy like you doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
The fuck?
Duff stepped back down into the parlor. Hamish peered over Joana’s head and blanched like a kid caught with his father’s girly magazines.
Oh yeah. It was time to put a stop to this.
Hamish shook his head, pleading with his eyes. Not now.
“Soon,” Duff mouthed to him before heading up the steps.
Opening Doors
When he reached the first-floor landing, Duff closed the door behind him and cursed under his breath. Christ on the cross! He’d been back three days, and already he was in the middle of a mess.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward his room. A soft, musical voice halted him in his tracks. He’d warned Hamish about the latch on the bathroom door ages ago, and now it stood ajar.
The occupant, completely unaware of the exposure, continued her melody. The song was some annoying Christmas tune, but it sat sweetly on Lovie’s voice. She passed by the small crack, and suddenly Duff couldn’t breathe.
Her back was to him. Her skin a long pour of single malt that he wanted to savor. Duff’s eyes followed the slight curve of her hip as she dried off, obviously just out of the shower. He felt like a predator. Should’ve turned away and slipped into his room before she caught him peeping like a perv.
She was so goddamn gorgeous. He was so overwhelmed by the thought of tasting all of that fresh, dewy skin that his damned feet wouldn’t move.
Lovie wrapped the towel around her body and panic gripped him. Duff hustled down the hall into his room, holding his breath as he stood behind his closed door. His heart beat wildly against his rib cage, the pulse pounding in his fingertips. His lips. His cock. Only after he heard Lovie walk past, still whisper-singing the same tune, did he relax.
There was something about this woman that unnerved him. He’d told her things that he usually never spoke of aloud. Hamish would joke that maybe he’d finally met his match.
Duff snorted.
He’d never been down that road before and had no desire to make the trip. Besides, she lived three thousand miles away.
And then there was this thing with Hamish and Joana. He needed to get him to come clean. Tonight. The lad was like a brother to him, but damn if he didn’t drag him into some fucked up situations. He was supposed to stand up as his best man in little more than a week. If it weren’t for him and his inability to find his arse with his own two hands, Duff might not be hiding in his room from a woman like Lovie.
“Ah, God,” he chided himself. “Don’t be stupid man. Ye’d be clot-heided to get involved with her.”
A knock at the door sent him stumbling back. He recovered quick enough to answer and found - thank heaven for its sweet mercy - a fully-clothed Lovie on the other side.
“Hey.” She smiled, warming him from the inside out.
Fucking hell.
“Uh, hey.” Her sweater hugged her curves in the most distracting way.
“I thought I heard you in there. Are you coming down? Jo said something about food and I thought about trying my first Scotch.”
“You mean to say you’ve never had whiskey?”
“I’ve had some, but not real Scotch.” She shuffled from one foot to the other. Little tendrils of hair, damp from the shower, clung to her neck. He wanted to bury his face there.
Duff had to look away.
“Also, I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
Ah. Right. “Canna miss yer first taste of ambrosia, now can I?” Another blinding smile had Duff’s jeans tightening. He wanted to strip her down and explore every inch of her.
This woman was definitely trouble.
****
The living room, or parlor as Hamish called it, was pretty cozy for being such a large room. When Duff called the house a cottage, she thought perhaps he was being facetious. It was a cottage but on a grand scale. With ten-foot ceilings, a ginormous hearth with a mantel the size of a twin bed and enough comfy leather furniture to seat twenty, it was still a rather intimate space.
Too intimate for some.
Lovie had hoped that Duff would ease the discomfort she felt watching Jo moon all over Hamish. He may have looked like The Calum, but his personality left everything to be desired. Hamish was clearly more in love with himself than anyone else could ever be. And yet, Jo hung on his every word. Even though every word seemed to be about him.
“I dinna want to brag, but-” Lovie hated the smug, self-congratulatory laugh that he did when he was about to do just that. Bragging seemed to be his occupation. Classic narcissist. “I went top o’ the class that year. Duffy was what, third? Fourth?”
“Second.” Duff sat on the back of a leather chair, staring into the hearty fire. Beside him, a nine-foot Christmas tree twinkled in red, green and gold. As picturesque as it all was, Lovie wasn’t feeling particularly Christmas-y.
“Anythin’ after first is hard to remember.” Hamish laughed his stupid laugh, and Jo giggled like Julie Rabinow in the fifth grade. Trilly and obnoxious.
“Second out of how many?” she asked Duff.
He turned to her, one dark eyebrow raised.
Lovie gave him a sympathetic smile.
He lifted one shoulder. “Outta a hundred and twenty, I reckon.”
“Well, that’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Good God, he had no right to smile like that, so flirty.
Before she could say anything stupid, she looked away, only to find Jo grinning at her.
“What have you been up to these last two days, Looovie?” She winked, curling her tongue against her teeth like she was licking a secret. “You were fast asleep when I got in last night.”
“Well, I walked through town. Took some photos.” She glanced shyly at Duff. “Oh, and yesterday I went to a Christmas bazaar just off the river. They had some fantastic stuff there.” Lovie omitted the part about her time with Duff and Ginny.
He met her eyes with a questioning grin.
“You mean the old folks fair at Eden Court?” Hamish huffed out a laugh. “They sell the same shite every year. It’s for blue hairs and tourists.”
“Well, I fall into one of those groups, so...” Lovie was tired of being around this dickwad. She glared at Jo who just shrugged and laughed at the smug joke from that smugging smugster from smugtown. Mayor, surely. No, King.
Lovie nodded at her own joke. “I need to get some air.”
“You do that a lot.” Hamish eyed her, lingering a little lower than was necessary. “You got some sorta issue with yer lungs?”
“I just find it a little...stale in here.” Lovie gave him her sweetest ‘fuck you very much’ smile.
“Eh Duffy, you should take her up to the roof.” Hamish wiggled his eyebrows. “Lotsa air up there.”
Subtle.
“Yeah, sure.” Duff seemed as thrilled with Hamish as she was, but he slid on his pea coat and motioned for her. “Coming?”
Jo threw her another wink.
Lovie grabbed a tartan throw from the loveseat and followed him.
As they climbed the winding staircase at the end of the hall, Lovie tried hard not to stare at the firm ass of the man walking ahead of her. Really, she did. They emerged onto the flat roof, facing the lake. It was another crisp, clear night.
Lovie smelled the fire from the chimney on the air and missed the warmth. She pulled the throw tighter around her and walked out to the railing. She could just make out the shapes of the trees and a few other homes across the way. So far away from the city, it should have been black as soot, but the full moon hung l
ow on in the sky. It looked close enough to reach out and touch.
And the stars, oh. The stars were everything.
She tilted her head back and gazed up into space. It was Van Gogh’s Starry Night in swirls of silver and the blackest blue. If she stared long enough, she might be able to see what Vincent saw.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
“Ye awright?” Duff shoved his hands into his pockets, hair fluttering in the breeze.
Lovie looked back out over the water. “Yep.”
“I can go back in if yer wantin’ to be alone.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” She looked up and caught his half-smile.
He pulled out a bottle of Scotch.
“I dinna come up empty handed.”
“Where were you hiding that?” She laughed as he stepped up next to her.
“Deep men have deep pockets, ye ken.” Duff passed her the bottle. The number on the front was eighteen. That was supposed to be a good thing, she thought. Large black letters above it spelled LAPHROAIG. She wasn’t even going to try to pronounce that.
“I remember somethin’ about you wantin’ to try a proper whiskey.”
“This looks pretty proper.” Lovie sniffed the open bottle and promptly coughed. She would have recovered sooner if a strong hand hadn’t begun thumping her on the back. “I’m fine.”
“Ye sure?” Now the hand rubbed in slow circles. Oh God.
“Uh, yeah.” Lovie leaned away, breaking the contact. She lifted the bottle to her lips, Duff’s eyes following the movement.
“Slàinte.”
Cool, liquid smoke filled her mouth. It was surprisingly smooth and not at all unpleasant. She looked at him, amazed.
He grinned. “Good?”
“Damn, I’ve been missing out.”
His grin blossomed into a smile. Lovie handed him the bottle and he took a much more generous pull. Watching his lips purse over the mouth of the bottle, the same one she’d just drunk from, did funny things to her insides. Her brain went fuzzy when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
He licked his lips. “This isn’t the proper way to drink it, o’course, but I didna want to risk bringing any glasses up here.”
“Good thinking.”
Lovie accepted the bottle and took another, larger, sip. It tasted different now that his lips had touched it. Sexier, somehow. Both the liquid and the thought warmed her as they went down, giving her a nice, mellow feeling all over. That is until a stiff wind came off the water, pushing against her with icy fingers. She pulled the thin blanket up to her ears. It made little difference.
Concern knit Duff’s brow. “Cold?”
“I-I’m okay,” she lied, teeth chattering.
He laughed. “You’re no okay, lass. C’mere.” Duff opened his coat and pulled Lovie inside, her shoulder resting against his chest. He wrapped one arm around her.
It was a startlingly intimate arrangement, and she inhaled his warm exhalations.
He was a furnace, heating the side of her body that lay flush with his.
“Better?”
She nodded, her stomach in knots.
They fell silent and took turns drinking from the bottle. Being this close to him, it was impossible to deny her attraction. Every nerve ending was suddenly on high alert for the slightest twitch from the man beside her. He smelled of wood smoke and fabric softener, an intoxicating combination.
Lovie looked back out over the lake. The silvery edges of the waves glimmered in the moonlight, and she could just make out the silhouettes of animals foraging along the shore.
“Anything out here other than foxes?”
“Other wee beasties, but none to be afeared of.” His near-whisper matched hers. “I lived here most of me life and never caught a glimpse of ol’ Nessie.” A chuckle vibrated from deep within in his chest.
“Oh, of course. I hadn’t put the two together. Loch Ness, right?” She nodded toward the dark water.
“Yep. Spent a lot of time out there as a boy. We’d fish in the summer.”
“You and Hamish?” He nodded. “It’s hard to picture you guys hanging out together. You two are so different.”
“Are we?” He shrugged. “I s’pose we are, yeah. It was always him and me growin’ up, though.”
“You met at school?”
“Aye, at primary school. I was small for me age, always gettin’ picked at by the older kids. One day, a few of the boys had me out in the field. They were wailin’ on me somethin’ fierce.” Duff gestured with his free arm, animating the tale as most Scots did when telling a story. “Up comes Hamish, this big, braw lad with all that red hair, roarin’ like a lion. ‘If ye don’t leave him be, I’ll beat every one o’ yer arses!’”
Lovie laughed, picturing it. “Oh my God, how old were you?”
Duff chuckled. “Eight and nine, I think, though Hamish was already taller than everyone else. Scared the shite outta those boys and me as well. We were fast friends after that. Me ma practically adopted him.”
Lovie smiled. “Tell me more about her.”
He glanced down at her. “Me ma?”
She nodded.
Duff took a slow breath and a slow pull of whiskey. “Why d’ya want to know.”
“I just do.”
He was quiet for a moment. Lovie thought he would ignore the query.
Duff tucked her head under his chin. It felt...right, somehow. “You remind me o’ her, a little bit.”
“Me?”
“Aye.” He nodded against her crown. “Caring. Honest.”
She flushed with heat from the compliment. “You have a high opinion of someone you’ve only known for two days.”
“I’m a good judge o’ character.”
“I bet.” Lovie tipped the bottle in his hand to her lips. “So, your mom?”
“Well, she was an artist, afore she met my father.” He was silent for a moment. Lovie could almost hear the thoughts running through his head. “Not so much after. She had to work to help put food on the table. She was proud, ye ken. Wouldna take any help from me gran and granda.”
“You’re right.”
“About what?”
“We are alike, at least in that way.”
“Oh yah?” He smiled down at her. “Are ye stubborn as well?”
Lovie arched an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”
Duff laughed, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in her hair. “Aye, well, I wouldna call you fragile. Sensitive, maybe, but no fragile.” He sobered. “Me ma...she wasna built for this world. Not for him, anyway.”
“Your dad?”
He ran a rough hand through his hair and nodded. “I dinna want to talk about it anymore.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry.” He took a sip from the bottle.
“It’s okay.” The quiet of the night wrapped around them like a blanket. “It’s sort of wild and magical here.”
“Aye.” His arm tightened around her shoulder and Lovie couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped from her lips. The way Duff stiffened meant that he hadn’t missed it.
She turned her face into his chest, and his hand slid under her hair to cradle her head, his fingers kneading the nape.
Duff took a deep, stuttering breath.
Lovie wasn’t sure if it was her heart she heard pounding in her ears, or his.
Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she lifted her face to find him looking down at her, his lips slightly parted. Even in the low light, she could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes. He scanned her hair. Her face. Looked down at the non-existent space between them.
“This is a verra bad idea, love.” He barely breathed the words.
“Yeah.” She echoed his tone, shivering as his hand tightened, pulling her close. “The absolute worst.”
Duff tilted his head and brushed his mouth over hers and then he claimed it.
Lovie was no blushing virgin, but nothing had prepared her for this kiss. It was, at once, delicate and
luscious. Tentative and demanding. Something she thought only existed on the silver screen, or in the pages of Jo’s tattered paperbacks. He nibbled at her with lips and teeth. His tongue curled around hers, hot and sweet, and every synapse in her brain misfired.
Duff broke the kiss, set the bottle down and pulled her closer, tangling his fingers in her hair. Lovie tingled from her scalp down to her toes.
She slipped her hands underneath the coat and around his back, her fingers sliding over solid muscle and searing heat. They stared at one another, breathing heavily.
Lovie licked her lips before they came together again.
This kiss was decadent and full of promise. His mouth was soft, warm and urgent. He tasted like power restrained.
She gently bit down on his lip, running her tongue along the edge to soothe it, and Duff made one of the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard. She wanted to take him down to her room and see what other sorts of noises he could make.
His hand drifted down and over the front of her sweater.
Lovie’s nipple peaked against the warmth of his palm, and a soft, needy sound escaped her throat. Her mind hovered in the shimmering haze between fear and desire. Desire won.
She placed one hand over his, pressed it harder against her flesh and squeezed, knocked even more breathless by his answering groan.
Lovie came up for air, but there wasn’t enough oxygen on the planet.
Duff leaned back, gave her a little ‘wow’ and moved in for the kill, sucking on her bottom lip as if it was candied.
Lovie skimmed the stubble on his jaw with her fingertips and slipped a hand into his hair. His fingers tightened around a handful of hers.
Duff pressed her body to his, and she sighed into his mouth. She felt him, hard against her belly.
They fit together like chocolate and peanut butter. Like Ross and Rachel. Like scotch and rooftop kisses.
His arm banded around her waist, nearly lifting her off her feet as the kiss deepened into something more than mere lust. It was magical.
A shout from the doorway broke the spell.
Duff leaned away, a shocked expression on his face. After a breath, he quickly set her down and removed his hands from her body. The cold air rushed back in with a vengeance. Duff took a step back, but his eyes were on her mouth.