‘Oh god, Rory.’ She bit her lip to stop it trembling.
She reached towards his kilt, needing to feel him. He shot back as if scorched, pinning her hand to her side. He lay his forehead on hers.
‘Fuck no, Zoe. You can’t touch me or I’ll explode.’
She felt his hot breath on her face, and lifted her lips to his burning cheek, kissing her way up to his ear. ‘But I want to,’ she whispered.
She gently tugged on his earlobe with her teeth. It was like pouring gasoline on an inferno. He took her mouth with his, devouring her, as he pushed past layers of satin and net to find her leg, running his hand up her skin, dragging her bottom towards him. He bent his right leg and pushed his thigh between hers as she writhed to get closer, grabbing at his glorious mane, pulling at his arms, frantic with need. He slipped his hand under the cotton of her pants, cupping her bottom, the calluses on his palm sending shivers across her silky skin.
‘God, Zoe. It’s, it’s…’
She bucked her hips against him, desperately seeking relief. He released the pressure of his leg between hers and she tried to open for him against the confines of the dress, shifting her hips, encouraging him to move. As she twisted he let go of her bottom, and slowly slid his hand around to her front, sinking a thick finger into her wet heat. She cried out and he growled in response, sucking at her bottom lip and her tongue, feasting on her.
He circled around her clitoris, zeroing in on the source of her pleasure. Flashes of fire shot through her, ricocheting back and forth, colliding and multiplying, as she began to shake. She was imprisoned by the dress, his mouth, his caress, and the only escape was up. He stroked her higher and higher. She wanted to touch him, to give him the same pleasure he was giving her, but she was lost, disorientated, her breathing fitful and frantic.
‘Yes, Zoe, yes,’ he breathed between deep, frenzied kisses. He held her tightly, relentlessly driving her on. His fingers were flames, filling her with light and heat as she blazed in his arms. She felt the pressure building, saw stars behind her eyes, heard a ringing in her ears as he rocketed her into a blinding climax. She detonated with a scream, her body pulsing with spasms of searing pleasure, looping and radiating through her.
He swallowed her cries, holding her, riding out the overwhelming sensations that throbbed and burned, the aftershocks darting over her skin. Eventually, she went limp in his arms with a soft sigh, her eyes open but unseeing. She was vaguely aware of Rory gently kissing her forehead, but she was scattered, lost across multiple dimensions of space and time.
He stopped kissing her. ‘Get up,’ he whispered urgently. He leapt off, strode to the door and was gone.
The high-pitched wail of a baby could be heard echoing down the corridor, getting closer and closer. Reality hit her like a cold bucket of water. She was lying across a four-poster bed. Wearing Fiona’s wedding dress. Having just experienced the most intense orgasm of her life. From the sexiest man she had ever met. Who apparently liked her. Really liked her.
She shot off the bed, her hands smoothing the dress down, then fluttering to her hair. The comb holding the veil had fallen out to the floor and she snatched it up, jamming it back into her curls. The ornate counterpane covering the bed was in disarray so she pulled it straight, then looked frantically around the room for more evidence of carnal carnage. She found her reflection in a gilt mirror and stared at herself in horror. Liam’s screams were right outside the door but coming no further. Was Rory keeping Fiona talking? How could it not be obvious what had gone on?
As the door opened, she went to the table where her camera lay.
‘Shit, Zo, I’m so sorry, he’s shat over everything and upchucked cottage pie. He’s in a state; I’ve got to get him back to Mum’s,’ Fiona rattled out over Liam’s cries. ‘I’m so sorry to let you down, but Rory told me he’s got to get back to work so can we finish this another day? I’m so sorry, love. Who’d have a bloody baby, eh?’
Fiona was frowning with anxious worry, holding Liam wrapped in a blanket as he attempted to throw himself out of her arms, beetroot red with rage.
‘God, Fi, no worries, let me get this dress off, then I’ll help you get him home,’ she replied, bustling them both out of the room.
* * *
Two hours later she was back at the cabin, holding a small package that had arrived at the post office addressed to her. It was from Sam, and she knew exactly what the contents would be. She tossed it unopened into one of the boxes containing her clothes, checked on a sleeping Basil, filled the firebox of the Rayburn with wood and made herself a cup of tea.
Sitting at the table, she switched on her camera and went through the photos from the shoot. The pictures from around the castle were good and definitely showed it at its best. The photos of Rory however, were incendiary. Her gaze roamed lasciviously over his body, remembering how his lips had felt on hers, the hot warmth of his tongue, his voice in her ear telling her how beautiful she was, his finger sinking deep inside her. She gasped out loud, her head spinning, her heart pounding in her chest. What had he done to her?
She felt utterly changed by what had happened. As if she had been unpicked, turned inside out and stitched back together with threads of light. Her internal landscape had been transformed into something deeper, more primeval, more powerful. Nothing would ever be the same again.
What would happen when she next saw him? Should she drive up the road and message him? And if she did, what should she say? Hi, Rory, thanks for the earth-shattering orgasm. Fancy giving me another? Cheers, Zoe. Ugh. She sank her head in her hands. She’d made the first move. She would wait for him to make the second.
Seventeen hours later, she was still waiting. She had hoped he would pop around, come to see her after their abrupt parting, but he hadn’t, and now she was convinced she had dreamt it all. She packed her bag and drove to the library to work.
* * *
She sat at her desk in the library and took out her laptop, chargers, notebook and phone. She had a new text message and feverishly opened it up.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I’ve finished your bed and borrowed a van. I can bring it to yours after lunch and we can drive to the storage place and collect your things. Rory.
She nearly dropped her phone. He had finished the bed. And now all she could think of was christening it with him. Shit. How could she reply without sounding crazy and desperate? Another message pinged through.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: If that’s okay with you?
Is that okay? Hell yes! She was shaking as she typed back.
Zoe: Yes please. What time?
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: What time is good for you?
She looked at her watch. Was nine o’clock in the morning after lunch? Could she pretend Kinloch was on Dubai time?
Zoe: Whenever, I’m easy.
I’m easy. Gah! Unsend! Undo! Nooooooo! Her phone pinged again.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I wouldn’t say that…
She dropped her head to the desk with a thump. This was mortifying. There was only one thing for it. She would have to leave Scotland immediately. Forever. Right now.
Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: I’ll see you at one.
Okay, so maybe she’d leave tomorrow… Three hours and fifty-five minutes till she saw him. Not that she was counting or anything. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, and sniffed her armpit. It smelled okay but she wanted to shower again before she saw him. She’d work for the next couple of hours on the website, then go to Morag’s.
* * *
At half past twelve a squeaky-clean Zoe drove up the track to the cabin, knowing she had half an hour left to put on some make-up. She rounded the track and saw a huge white van parked up. Her stomach did several backflips and heat rose up through her body. She had to hold it together. She parked to the side so he could get out, and got out to face him.
He was on t
he porch, stacking the long pieces of the bed, wrapped in packing blankets, his tool belt slung low on his hips. An enormous mattress, wrapped in plastic, was leaning against the outside wall. Zoe’s heart hammered in her throat. She stopped at the bottom of the steps, unsure about going any further. Rory turned.
‘I was going to let myself in and make you a cup of tea, but you’d locked the door,’ he said in a conversational tone.
Zoe looked away. ‘Yes. I was trying to keep out undesirables.’
Rory gave a low chuckle which sent shivers of delight down to her toes. ‘I’m definitely that.’ He stepped off the porch and came to stand in front of her. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’ he asked softly.
‘What?’
‘The storage unit. Where your furniture is.’
She looked blankly at him, her brain attempting to sort out the true meaning of his words. She fumbled in her pocket and passed him a piece of paper.
‘I know roughly where it is,’ Rory said. ‘You can give me directions for the last bit. Do you need anything from the cabin before we leave?’
She shook her head.
‘Zoe?’
She looked up at him through her lashes. He seemed nervous, unsure. Was he regretting what happened yesterday? Oh god, was he about to let her down gently? Tell her it had been a mistake?
He swallowed. ‘I, er. About yesterday… I can’t…’ he began uncertainly.
Tears pricked at her eyes. Shit! She couldn’t cry. She blinked furiously.
‘God, Zoe. What’s wrong?’ He brought his arms up, as if to touch her, then hesitated.
‘It’s fine. You don’t need to say it. It was a mistake. Let’s forget it ever happened and move on.’
‘What? You think it was a mistake? Jesus, Zoe, not for me. It was fucking mind-blowing. I was just trying to say I can’t stop thinking about it, about you.’
She stared at him.
‘Do you think it was a mistake?’ he asked again.
She shook her head and the tension left his face. He looked at her as if she was a dream.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured.
She reached forward and he caught her hand in his, rubbing his thumb in slow circles on her palm. ‘We’d better go,’ he said quietly. Zoe opened her mouth to speak but only a whimper came out. ‘If we don’t go now, then I’ll carry you into the cabin and we’ll never leave. I can’t touch you without wanting all of you.’
He let go of her and walked stiffly away towards the truck, stopping halfway to adjust himself. He glanced over his shoulder at her balefully and she giggled.
The cab of the truck felt small with Rory in it. On the passenger side were two seats and she sat in the one by the window, her bag on the seat between them. He looked at her. ‘Wise decision. I need you out of reach.’
Her heart was still thumping. ‘Where’s Bandit?’
Rory drove slowly down the track. ‘He’s at home. It’s not safe to have him up here for such a long journey, and I don’t want to have to fight him for your attention.’ He stopped at the end of the track and signalled right. ‘What was it you said? “He’s the most gorgeous male in Kinloch”?’
‘After Morag’s son, Jamie,’ she replied with a smirk.
Rory fixed her with a look. A bolt of desire shot through her body. ‘I guess I’ll have to work harder on changing your mind then,’ he said, his expression glowing with promise as he eased the van out onto the main road to Inverness.
They didn’t speak for the first few miles. In Zoe’s head, however, there was constant chatter as she tried out conversation starters and found them all lacking. She sneaked glances across at him, so comfortable in his own skin. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and she had unfettered access to drool over his powerful forearms, tanned by his work outside. When the road was straight he let his left hand rest casually on his solid thigh, and when they rounded corners he turned the wheel with the heel of his right. His strength and self-assurance were the most powerful aphrodisiac she had ever experienced. She wanted to touch his arms, his legs, to feel the latent power. She wanted to get closer to him, breathe him in, taste him. She shifted in her seat; hot and bothered.
‘You okay? Do you want to stop?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘This is way more comfortable than The Beast.’
Rory glanced at her. ‘You called your truck The Beast? I’d thought you’d have reserved that name for my collection.’
‘Gotta share the love. Besides, after my last car, it is a beast. I keep thinking I’m going to take someone out in it.’
‘So do I.’ Rory smirked.
‘Oi! I’m used to London driving. It’s hard to adapt to the pace of the countryside.’
‘It won’t take long. Soon you’ll be saying “och aye the noo” and eating haggis like the rest of us.’
‘I don’t have that stereotyped a view!’
‘Kilts, shortbread and bagpipes? Isn’t that what you said the website should have?’ Rory asked with a grin.
Zoe blushed. ‘Gotta give the tourists what they expect.’
They rounded a corner and a loud ping came from Rory’s phone, lying on the seat between them. Zoe took advantage of his attention on the road to look at it. It was a text from someone named Lucy. She could read the beginning of it: Hi, I saw your mum yesterday.
Zoe looked left out of the window as the road straightened and Rory glanced down. She was itching to ask who Lucy was.
They continued to drive in silence for a few seconds, then another ping came through. Zoe couldn’t help herself. She zeroed in on the phone in time to see another message. I’ve missed your kisses.
Rory lifted the phone and threw it on the floor by his feet.
‘Do you need to get that?’
‘No,’ he replied curtly.
Zoe knew something was up but thought it best to stay silent. One minute he’d been fine and the next minute thunder clouds had rolled in. She was not going to ask who Lucy was. Not yet anyway. She stifled a yawn, settled herself into the seat and closed her eyes. She was going to allow herself time to fantasise.
As they ate up the miles, her mind had them married. They were driving along, her right hand resting on his thigh. Occasionally he would glance from the road to her, looking at her with smouldering intent. Sleeping in the back were their golden-haired children, William and Shona. Everything was perfect, everything was complete.
18
Rory stood in the queue to pay for petrol, looking out of the window at Zoe asleep in the van. He never knew joy and pain could be so intimately bound together. The joy of being around her, and the pain of knowing it was all going to come crashing down. Being with her was like a dream, a fantasy, something outside normal space and time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive. But for each high there was a gut-churning low. How could he tell her who he was now? That he’d lied to her? Every moment he kept quiet only made it worse. He felt sick to his stomach. He’d do it today. He’d try to find the right words, and hope for the best.
‘Hello? Earth to loverboy?’ The cashier was calling out to him.
He walked forward to the counter. ‘That obvious?’
The older woman gave a knowing smile. ‘Love’s young dream. You’re a lucky man. She’s a beautiful lass.’
Rory nodded his head in agreement. He saw her waking up and flipping down the sun visor to check her face. She was adorable. She was as strong as acid, etching herself onto the steel plate of his heart, condemning him to a lifetime of printing out the same image, over and over again, a portrait of a woman of fire and light named Zoe.
He paid for the fuel, strode back to the van and climbed in. She turned to him, uncertain.
‘Did I…?’
He leaned back against the headrest, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and began a pantomime snore.
She let out a wail. ‘Noooooooo!’
He stopped snoring and chuckled.
She poked him in the ribs
. ‘It’s not funny.’
He tried to evade her pokes. ‘You didn’t snore, you just drooled.’
Zoe moved her bag off the seat between them and prodded him with both hands. His laugh went up an octave. ‘I did not. I checked,’ she said with conviction. ‘Are you ticklish?’ He shook his head, but his face was contorted with giggles. ‘Oh my god, you are!’ she squealed with glee.
She climbed on top of him and attempted to wreak her revenge. He was gasping now, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. He pinned her arms to her sides. She was straddling him in the front seat of the van, still fighting to free her arms. He got his breathing under control and looked at her. There was a moment of stillness, then he released her arms and pulled her mouth down to his.
Their kiss was frenzied, torrid, a tangle of tongues and need. She wound her fingers up into his hair and he dropped his hands to her bottom, grabbing it and pulling her towards his cock. She ground her hips into him, finding his hard length and circling into it. It was like he’d crashed into the surface of the sun. Light and heat ripped through him. He slid one hand under her clothes, over the silky softness of her skin, found her bra strap and unfastened it. She moaned and rocked her hips over his cock. Each time she rocked back, her bottom bashed against the steering wheel, setting off the horn.
Rory could hear beeping, people calling out, but nothing could stop Zoe overwhelming every one of his senses. He needed her naked, he needed to be inside her, he needed—
‘Hey! Romeo and Juliet! Yous two in tha’ white van!’
Zoe jerked her mouth away from his. She stared out of the front windscreen to the glass wall of the forecourt shop. The cashier was using the tannoy to address them, as well as anyone else within a five-mile radius.
‘Aha! So yer not deaf then? Jolly good. Hows about yous take yer little love-in somewhere more private, eh?’
They looked with dawning horror at the punters standing around laughing. Zoe scrambled off him and sank down to hide in the footwell as Rory started the engine.
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 17