Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series)

by Evie Alexander

  ‘Okay, come on, out with it,’ she said, her dark eyes pinning him to the chair. ‘What’s up? You look like a condemned man having his last meal before facing the firing squad.’

  He swallowed and put down his knife and fork, tugging at the top of his shirt. Anxious prickles of heat scuttering down his neck. ‘I, I don’t know how to explain, I’ve got no excuses. I should have told you weeks ago,’ he began. He was desperate, haunted. He knew this was it. He was about to step off into the void.

  ‘Who’s Lucy?’

  Rory’s gaze flicked to the bed behind her, then back, his pulse racing.

  Zoe cocked her head. ‘Did you make the bed for her?’

  Rory’s cheeks burned. He nodded. ‘But she’s not, I mean that’s not what I—’

  ‘Who is she?’ Zoe interrupted, taking her elbows off the table and sitting up straight.

  Rory sighed, and ran his fingers into his hair. This was not going well. Zoe sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. He dropped his hands into his lap and stared at them.

  ‘Lucy is the daughter of my mother’s best friend. We grew up knowing each other but we never spent much time together as adults. When my father died and I came back to Edinburgh, Mum wanted me to settle down, marry Lucy. We got together two months after he passed away, I proposed six months after that, and she broke it off four months later. That was about a year ago. Four months ago we had to sell the family house in Edinburgh, and move to Kinloch. The bed was meant to be a wedding present, but it never got finished. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want me.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  Rory nodded. ‘I thought I did. But with all the upheaval in my life at the time, I think I clung to her as an idea rather than the reality. We had nothing in common. It was like we were from different planets. I think she saw me as a project. A scruffy oik who could be tidied up and tamed.’

  ‘Being a scruffy oik is part of your charm.’

  He raised his eyes to her, seeing a glimmer of humour in them. ‘When she left, it was the last straw. It nearly broke me. So I made a decision to get rid of anything I didn’t need, be on my own, cultivate my inner monk.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Until a few weeks ago. Then you showed up, and my inner monk buggered off.’ They stared at each other. Rory’s stomach twisted around his heart and squeezed. ‘You deserve the moon on a stick,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘You deserve everything. You deserve more than me.’

  He stood abruptly, and began clearing the table. ‘I’ll wash up and get going.’

  Zoe’s forehead puckered with confusion. ‘You’re leaving?’

  Rory nodded and carried what was on the table to the front door, returning to fill the kettle and put it on the Rayburn to boil.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zoe. For everything.’

  She got out of her chair. ‘But what about pudding?’

  His body was crisscrossed with darts of shame and desire. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not the man you think I am, or the man you deserve.’

  Zoe took the kettle off the Rayburn and turned him to face her. She held his hands and rubbed her thumbs across the back of his knuckles. ‘I want you. Just the way you are. I’m not Lucy. I’m not asking you to change.’

  ‘But, what if things were different, I was different?’

  ‘You think I want a fancy-pants life? The bright lights of a city? If I’d wanted that I would have stayed in London. Sure, it would be great if the cabin had a bathroom and a kitchen, but just because I have an eye mask that says ‘Princess’ on it doesn’t mean I want to live in a castle. I don’t need that kind of bullshit in my life. Being with Prince Charming is the last thing I would ever want. I want a simple life. Here. With you.’

  His insides stretched, as he was pulled apart. How could he have fucked this up so badly?

  Zoe kissed him.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said, his voice taut.

  She sighed, and put her arms around his broad shoulders, pressing tightly against him. ‘There is one part of your body that always speaks the truth and it’s telling me it wants you to stay,’ she said, kissing him again. ‘Why does it have to be so hard to seduce you?’

  * * *

  He looked into her deep brown eyes. He had never been so bewitched by a woman. She was the perfect fit, her tall, willowy body moulding to his. Her eyes were pools of chocolate, her freckles a dusting of cocoa powder, her hair spirals of spun sugar. She was the most delicious creature he had ever known, and he couldn’t get enough. Her lips were parted, and she ran her tongue across them, the movement sending a bolt of lightning straight to his straining cock. He pursed his lips and let out a long slow breath. She was impossible to resist.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, the battle lost, and she sighed, her tongue darting out to meet his. He ran one hand up her back, under her clothes, and unfastened her bra. He groaned, grabbing her bottom as she ground herself against him.

  All his dreams, all his fantasies, nothing ever compared to the reality of having her in his arms. The feelings blinded him. Every movement she made sent fire raging out of control through his body. No woman had ever had this effect on him. If he thought himself caught up in desire before then it was an illusion, a pale imitation, a candle next to an inferno.

  As her tongue danced with his, he cupped her breasts, rolling and pinching her nipples, feeling her tremble, pushing her body into him. Every circle she made, each time she ground her hips forward poured more fuel onto the fire. He gripped her bottom tighter, her muscles clenching as she pushed herself against him, her legs spreading to anchor the strained ridge of him between her thighs. Darts of pleasure were shooting up his legs and down his chest, coalescing in his groin, drawing his balls up tightly.

  He tore her top up and off, throwing it with her bra to the floor. He raked his eyes over her, taking her in. She looked drowsy with desire, her lips pink and swollen, air rushing past them as she breathed. He was overwhelmed with her beauty.

  ‘Jesus, Zoe.’ He swallowed, his mouth dry.

  He fell on her breasts, thirstily sucking and rubbing as she whimpered and clawed at him. The roughness of his tongue and his fingers rasped over the sensitive tips, and she cried out, grabbing handfuls of his hair, kneading like a cat. Blood pounded through him, he couldn’t hold back much longer. He needed to taste her.

  He unzipped her jeans and knelt on the floor, yanking them and her pants down her legs and off. He held her bottom, pulling her onto his tongue, pushing it between her folds, groaning as he dived into her wet heat. She bent forwards, holding onto his head for support.

  ‘God, Rory, I, I can’t—’

  He spread her legs, scooped his arms under her thighs, and lifted her off the ground, his mouth still anchored over her swollen mound, his tongue inside her. He carried her to the table and lay her on it, her bottom by the edge. He reached one foot back behind him, catching the chair leg and dragging it towards him. He sat, his hands locked under her thighs, and licked up the length of her, drinking in her sweetness. His thirst for her was unquenchable. He’d found his heaven between her thighs and never wanted to leave. He lapped at her clitoris, holding her still as she shook under him.

  ‘Rory, Rory, Rory,’ she gasped.

  The sound of his name sent blazing heat through him. He increased the pressure of his tongue and her cries became louder, repeating his name over and over again. He licked faster and faster, rushing her upwards, holding her as she shuddered beneath him, pulling at his hair.

  Her body suddenly stiffened, her thighs clamping around his head as she screamed his name. He felt a rush of pleasure, a rush of power.

  She quivered beneath him, her nails raking over his scalp. She propped herself up to look at him, her eyes dazed. ‘That was the best pudding I’ve ever had,’ she murmured. ‘Now go and get the condoms.’

  He got up and brought the box back to her. She was sitting on the table, her legs dangling over the edge, her wild curly hair cascading over her shoulders.
She took the box from him.

  ‘Now take your clothes off and sit down,’ she instructed.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he replied with a grin.

  In a few seconds he was sitting, and Zoe unfurled the condom down over his length. She stood with her legs either side of him and took his mouth in a deep kiss. He ran his hands up her back and into her hair, their tongues tangling, as she positioned herself at the head of his cock, and slowly began inching herself onto him.

  He tore his head from hers, his jaw tensed, his eyes shut, and gripped the edges of the chair.

  ‘Jesus, Zoe, you’re so fucking tight,’ he hissed.

  She brought her mouth to his ear. ‘And you’re so fucking huge,’ she whispered, gyrating herself deeper onto him.

  He let out a tortured laugh, and cupped her breasts, pulling their weight together as he flicked his tongue back and forth over the tips of her nipples. She tensed around him, threw her head back and moaned. He hungrily sucked as she sank her weight down, taking the whole of him in. He was red hot. Blinding flashes pulsing through his body and into hers.

  She tensed her inner muscles and lifted her hips, dragging them against him as she withdrew, then dropped her weight back into his lap, burying him in her. He was teetering at the edge of oblivion, his breathing ragged as he tugged on her nipple. Every movement she made was a torturous lesson in control, attempting to hold back the rushing tide, trying to give her more until the dam burst. And each time she clenched around him, another fuse was lit.

  He rubbed her wetness over her clitoris, his mouth anchored to her nipple, his other hand gripping her bottom tightly. He was on the edge, his balls drawn up, his cock rigid. Every movement she made, every sound of her pleasure brought him closer to climax. She was his ecstasy, his divine bliss. He worshipped at the temple of her body, learning how to touch her, how to kiss her, responding to the subtle shifts as her orgasm built within her.

  She moved faster, calling his name like an invocation. He couldn’t hold back much longer. He let go of her breast, resting his forehead on her chest, his teeth gritted.

  ‘Zoe, slow down, you have to—’

  But she was gone, pounding harder onto his cock, pushing her pelvis forward, crying his name. He felt his body rushing upward, the earth disappearing beneath them. The two of them were in a rocket of sensation, flying higher and higher.

  Her muscles spasmed around him and he lost control. Thrusting hard up into her, a deep and guttural sound forced itself out of his throat as the climax shattered through him. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, feel his seed emptying into her, searing pleasure consuming him. Every part of him was light, every part of him was her.

  22

  Zoe woke the next morning in the middle of her huge bed, engulfed in the duvet, happiness bubbling inside her. She pushed up her eye mask and looked around. To her right the sturdy logs of the cabin wall, above her the underside of the roof, with its own duvet of sheep’s wool, and to her left the rest of the cabin and the Rayburn she alternately loved and hated.

  She pulled out her earplugs and listened to the sounds of the birds outside. No traffic noise, no distant aeroplanes, no sirens, no shouting, no barking, no screaming. Just the sounds and stillness of nature. This was what she had come here for. She had come for this moment. This perfect moment of peace and contentment. Warm and well fed, on the side of a Scottish hillside, in the cabin she had held in her heart for so long.

  And yet her new life was so much more. Fiona, Morag, Jamie, a rat named Basil, her new job as a social media guru and marketer extraordinaire for the castle – and Rory. He had made love to her with a desperate intensity late into the night and she had fallen asleep in his arms, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked her hair. She was drunk with remembered pleasure, luxuriating in the feelings of contentment humming through every cell. He was now part of her very make up. He had twisted himself around the double helix of her DNA, creating a triple one. She could no more remove him than breathe underwater or walk on the moon.

  She sat up in bed, stretched, and swivelled her legs around to begin the slow process of getting up. As she pottered about, she saw the Rayburn was already filled with wood, the washing up from last night was done. The floor had been swept and everything was tidy. He was definitely a keeper. She made herself some porridge and prepared to go to the library. The website was nearly finished and she couldn’t wait to make it live. There was also a phone signal there and she wanted to see if Rory had messaged her.

  * * *

  At the library she emptied her bag and switched her phone on. It pinged happily at her with a message.

  Man-bear, yeti, mutant-redneck-hobbit, hobo: Good morning, princess, hope you slept well? I’m picking up some fittings for the kitchen this morning, then I’ll head to the cabin. See you later. Rory X

  Her tummy fluttered and her skin prickled with excitement. She didn’t know how life could get any better than this.

  Zoe: Slept like the dead. I think you broke me. See you later xxx

  She worked for a couple of hours on the website, until she couldn’t hold her yawns in. It was lunchtime, but rather than visit Morag and Fiona, she wanted to get back to the cabin and to Rory. She packed up and left the library to drive home.

  Walking across the car park towards her was a striking woman, her gaze fixed on her, and a brittle smile on her face. Confused, Zoe glanced behind her, in case she was looking at someone else, but they were the only people there. It was starting to rain, so she quickly unlocked the truck door and threw in her bag. She was about to jump in when she heard her name.

  ‘Zoe?’

  She turned to see the woman standing in front of her. She was smaller than Zoe, older, and incredibly beautiful, with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was holding an umbrella over her head. Zoe stared blankly at her, wondering who she was, how she knew who she was, and whether she could get into her car to avoid the rain without seeming rude.

  ‘So, you are the famous Zoe I’ve been hearing so much about,’ she said, her face neutral. The woman’s voice was soft and melodious, high cultured Scottish.

  Unease crawled across her skin. The woman didn’t sound particularly pleased to have finally met her. ‘Er, hi?’

  ‘I knew your mother when I was growing up. Such a high-spirited woman, just like you, and so popular with the men. I haven’t seen her since she ran off with your father. How is she? Are they still together?’

  A drop of icy rain slipped inside the collar of Zoe’s coat and down her neck. Who was this woman, and what the hell did she want? She thought of her mother managing the local charity shop, her father working as a cashier at the bank in the next town, the love they had for each other and for her, and the sacrifices they had made.

  ‘My parents are simply wonderful thank you,’ she said artlessly, with the poshest voice she could muster. ‘My father is in banking and my mother does a lot of work for charity.’

  The woman looked a tiny bit put out but covered it well. ‘How splendid. I’m so pleased to hear that,’ she said, whilst appearing anything but. ‘I’ve heard about your plans for the castle. The earl is very taken with the changes you’ve proposed,’ she continued.

  ‘Oh?’ replied Zoe. How the hell did she know?

  ‘I’m Countess Kinloch,’ she explained.

  Oh god. The countess? Why was she here and not in London?

  ‘That’s great,’ said Zoe. ‘I hope it will make a big difference.’

  The woman ignored her. ‘And now the estate is going to be all over social media. How very modern. Still, if Lord Kinloch agrees with such a course then there’s no swaying him.’

  Zoe’s veneer of politeness was wearing thin. What was going on? She didn’t know this woman. She wanted to get out of the rain and back to the cabin and Rory.

  ‘Okay,’ she said brightly. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you, but I need to be getting home now.’

  She made a move to go but the woman laid a cool hand
on her arm. ‘A little word of advice, my dear, leave the earl alone.’

  Zoe was confused. ‘I’ve never met the man.’

  The woman gave a tinkling laugh that sounded like a crystal bauble being dropped onto a stone floor. Her umbrella shook droplets of frigid water onto Zoe. ‘How ridiculous. You haven’t been able to keep your grubby mitts off him since you arrived.’

  ‘The earl? Lord Kinloch? The one who lives in London?’

  Her grip on Zoe’s arm intensified, her fingers digging like sharp talons into her flesh. ‘He doesn’t live in London, he lives here. And he’s my son, Stuart.’

  Was the woman mad? ‘I don’t know anyone called Stuart.’

  Her face stiffened. ‘He likes to call himself Rory.’

  ‘But, Rory’s not the earl. He’s just a scruffy bloke with a dog.’

  The woman wrinkled her nose. ‘Bandit?’

  Zoe couldn’t breathe. ‘Rory can’t be the earl, he just works for Lord Kinloch,’ she stammered.

  ‘My husband passed on two years ago and the title went to our son. He most certainly is the earl, and his future will never contain someone like you. You’ve outstayed your welcome and need to leave.’ She dropped Zoe’s arm and walked off, the rain parting before her.

  Zoe bent forward, clutching at her belly, a low keening sound issuing from her lips. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t. Rory worked for the estate, that was all. He wasn’t an upper-class tosspot who did what they liked with no fear of repercussions. He wasn’t the son of the man who had treated her great-uncle so badly. He hadn’t stolen her lease and her heart. He hadn’t lied to her, all the time laughing at her behind her back as if she was some sort of stupid peasant. He wasn’t the earl. He couldn’t be.

  The icy rain battered her. It cut like knives through her body, the truth slicing with clinical clarity through the fog of her delusions. Everything had been a lie. Her dreams had been twisted into a sick nightmare by the man she had fallen in love with.

  The fucking Earl of Kinloch.