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

by Evie Alexander

  * * *

  Three days after Zoe returned from Scotland, Sam finished her block of filming on the soap and was free for the Christmas break. Zoe put on make-up, skinny jeans and a black lace top and took the bus into central London to meet her in one of their old haunts. Sam was late as always, and Zoe sat at the bar, glugging her glass of Prosecco and fidgeting with her bag. The place was packed. Groups of people were out for Christmas drinks and had cranked their partying level up to the max. It was as if she was in the middle of a well-groomed mosh pit, assaulted by glossy hair, cloying perfume and stumbling strangers. She used to love the buzz of nights out, but now it all jarred. She felt awkward, out of place, hemmed in. Someone bumped into her, spilling her drink. She put the glass on the bar and wiped her hand on her jeans. She couldn’t do this any more, she needed to get out and ring Sam.

  ‘Babe!’

  Sam was pushing through the crowds towards her, arms thrown wide. Thank god she was finally here.

  They hugged each other, jumping up and down and laughing with joy. Sam held Zoe at arm’s length and looked her over. ‘I’m just inspecting for vermin. Do I need to check for lice as well?’ Zoe shook her hair at her and Sam leapt back in mock horror. ‘Get away! Don’t infect me with the countryside.’

  They sat at the bar to catch up, but hadn’t been chatting long when they were approached by two men: city boy clones with slicked-back hair, sharp suits, big watches, and even bigger egos. They had tinsel draped around their necks. The leader zeroed in on Sam. ‘Hey, are you Bethany? From Elm Tree Lane?’

  Sam tossed her blonde hair back. ‘I’m incognito. Here you can call me Sam,’ she replied, preening at the recognition.

  ‘Fuck, man, I knew it was you. Didn’t I say it was her, Brett? Can I get a selfie?’

  Zoe stepped down from her stool as Sam’s number one fan muscled in to take her place. Brett, the wingman, held out his hand to Zoe. ‘Hi, I’m Brett.’

  ‘Zoe.’

  She took it and he pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek, then broke away with a chuckle. ‘Sorry about that, you’re just well fit. We’ve just had our Christmas bonuses. Mine’s fucking huge.’

  Zoe stood with the bar digging into her back, forcing a smile as she was assailed by Brett’s aftershave, the stench of Jägerbombs, and the details of just how enormous his bonus was. Every part of her was screaming to get away. But wasn’t this the definition of a good night out? Drinks, loud music and the promise of sex with strangers?

  Sam clutched her arm and leaned in to whisper in her ear. ‘Are we having fun yet?’ she asked sarcastically. She tugged Zoe away from the men. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, such a pleasure, but we need to powder our noses,’ she said, winking at them and dragging Zoe towards the toilets.

  The door shut behind them with a bang, muffling the sounds from the bar. Sam went to the mirror, pouting at her reflection. ‘Well, I’ve never had that before. When I turned down the offer to autograph his dick, he offered me his right hand to sign so he’d think of me later when he jacked off. Charming.’

  Zoe gave a shriek of horrified laughter. ‘Oh my god, is this what being famous is like?’

  Sam grinned. ‘Nah, they’re just pissed. Most of the time it’s fine. I tie my hair back and put sunglasses on and no one bothers me. Anyway, pleased to be back?’ she asked mischievously.

  Zoe nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, it’s so great,’ she said, her forced smile starting to hurt.

  Sam narrowed her eyes. ‘I can tell… Did you get my package?’

  Zoe blushed. Sam folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘Aha. So, tell me. What on earth are you doing in the trenches of sexual desperation, suffering the likes of those two idiots when you could be banging Thor in your shed?’

  Zoe’s blush spread down her chest. She stared at the floor. ‘He lied to me about who he was, so I left. It’s complicated.’

  ‘Who is he then? Some local crim? The village idiot?’

  Zoe shook her head. ‘No, he’s the Earl of Kinloch,’ she mumbled.

  Sam stood in stunned silence as the music from the bar pulsed through the door to fill the void. ‘What? The actual Earl of Kinloch. The one with the castle?’ she finally managed.

  Zoe nodded.

  ‘And he’s single?’

  Zoe nodded again.

  ‘And he likes you?’

  Zoe nodded.

  ‘Has he told you he loves you?’

  Zoe nodded imperceptibly.

  ‘What? Fuck’s sake, Zoe! Then why are you here?’

  ‘I told you, it’s complicated,’ she said, her face twisting with pain.

  ‘Try me.’

  * * *

  Zoe woke the next morning as her mum brought in a cup of tea and a package that had arrived in the post from Morag. She placed them on the bedside table and kissed her forehead.

  ‘You get up in your own time, love, I’m glad you’ve finally seen Sam,’ said Mary, leaving the room and gently closing the door behind her.

  Zoe sat up in bed. Last night she had felt so out of place, like she was in an alien world. It had been amazing to see Sam, but as for everything else, it wasn’t what she enjoyed or wanted any more. And despite the messages Sam had sent her in Scotland, begging her to return to ‘civilisation’, last night she had insisted Zoe go straight back up. Her parting words ran around Zoe’s head on a circular loop.

  You’ve always wanted this. Scotland is where you belong. Go back and be happy.

  Zoe slurped some hot tea, and picked up the small parcel. It was from the post office, and the handwriting was Morag’s. There was an object inside, about the size of a clementine, wrapped in tissue paper with the words ‘for Zoe’ written in pencil on the outside. Her pulse raced as she pulled off a strip of Sellotape and opened it up.

  It was a small carving, slightly larger than a walnut, of a heart surrounded by oak leaves. The detail was exquisite. It was so fine and so carefully made it looked as if it had been crafted by woodland fairies. On the back were inscribed the words: ‘Zoe, my heart is yours’.

  She held it in her hand, rubbing her thumb gently over the words, her eyes pricking with tears. He had made this for her. Could she forgive him? Could she live with the thousand tonnes of baggage he came with? She sighed. Did her heart belong to him as his did to her? She picked up her phone. She needed to speak to Fiona.

  25

  Rory stood at the end of the great hall. Before him swirled a sea of people dressed up to the nines in their best kilts, tuxes, dresses and jewellery. Their eyes were bright, their cheeks reddened by alcohol and excitement. For the first time in decades, the castle felt alive. Putting on a Christmas ceilidh was his coming out party. A way of introducing himself to everyone and showing to them, and himself, that he was here to stay. He’d arranged with the landlord of the only pub in Kinloch to put on a bar at one end of the hall, and had paid for a ceilidh band at the other with yet another credit card.

  His mother had refused to attend.

  He had spent the first part of the evening meeting and greeting everyone. Trying to memorise their names, and what they wanted from him. He thought back to Lucy and how she would have loved this. She would have been in her element. On the arm of an earl, and finally seeing him inhabit the role he was born for. When she left him, it had broken his heart. He didn’t resent her decision. He was grateful she’d recognised they weren’t right for each other. The acute pain of her loss was infinitely preferable to the chronic pain he would have lived with if he’d married her.

  He put the brakes on his memory trip and realised that thinking of her and that time had absolutely no effect on him any more. He tried another memory on for size and found it equally unmoving. He thought back to the depths of his despair and just felt sadness for the man he was then and the way he had suffered. He realised that Lucy had gone from his heart, burned to ash by the fire that was Zoe.

  She had crashed into the waters of his life like a meteorite. Scorching through the sky and vaporising his s
ea of tranquillity. His feelings for her blinded him. She consumed every part of his body, mind and soul, drawing him into her endless light. But he knew with a dull certainty that if she had stayed, sooner or later the lure of city life would have come calling, like a tune you can’t get out of your head, an itch that can’t be scratched away.

  What could Kinloch offer someone as mind-blowing as her? A crumbling castle serving dwindling numbers of tourists, an economy built mostly on jobs done far away, and a small-town mentality where everyone knew your business. She deserved more than he or Kinloch could ever offer, and he would rather live with his soul ripped out than have hers one day yearn to leave. Her happiness meant infinitely more to him than his own.

  The band was warming up for the ceilidh, and people drifted to the sides of the room or paired up. As he turned away a flash of red snagged the edge of his vision and his head jerked instinctively towards it.

  Standing at the far end of the hall – Zoe.

  As their eyes locked, lightning arced through him and blood roared in his ears. He blinked rapidly, trying to convince himself the goddess gliding towards him was real.

  It looked like she had floated down from heaven, then been poured into a dress designed to send men to hell. It was black as sin, hugging her perfect curves and ending just above her knees. As she walked, the skirt split up the side, revealing a glimpse of her long, creamy thighs, kissed with freckles. Lust punched him in the groin.

  Her hair was braided and pinned up, but with enough escaping curls for people to know she was a firework. He tried to move but his feet were rooted to the spot, his breathing ragged, a fire of love and want and need raging through his body. She smiled at him, and ran her tongue out to lick her bottom lip nervously.

  She reached him and he drowned in the liquid warmth of her eyes. ‘You scrub up well,’ she said with a smile. ‘I was looking for my scruffy boyfriend but he appears to have been replaced by James Bond.’

  His throat constricted with emotion.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’

  ‘You’re here. You came back,’ he said hoarsely.

  She took one of his hands in hers. ‘And I’m staying. If you’ll have me?’

  He nodded and swallowed. ‘I’ll take whatever you want to give,’ he whispered.

  ‘You can have my heart,’ she said softly.

  The dam broke and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his head into the side of her neck, kissing up her jawline until he found her mouth, losing himself inside her with a groan. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ he murmured between kisses. ‘Oh god, Zoe, I love you.’

  She stroked his hair, as if soothing a wild animal. ‘Rory, maybe this can wait?’

  He looked up. They were standing in the middle of the hall on their own, everyone watching with smiles on their faces. The silence was broken by the sound of the band’s bass player playing ‘Bow Chicka Wow Wow’ for their benefit. The room erupted with laughter, cheers and wolf whistles.

  Rory’s face flushed almost as much as Zoe’s and he whispered in her ear. ‘You make me forget which planet I’m on.’

  He ran his fingers up and down her spine, revelling in the discovery that her dress was completely backless. ‘Or maybe they’ve just noticed half your dress is missing.’

  Zoe giggled. ‘It’s Fiona’s. She bought it to wear for her husband.’

  ‘And then, nine months later, their baby arrived,’ he replied drolly. He kissed her earlobe, in no hurry to leave the dance floor, impervious to the uproar they were creating. ‘What you’re wearing isn’t a dress,’ he murmured, grazing his hand down to cup her bottom. ‘It’s just a scrap of material in my way. And in about five minutes, I’m going to remove it with my teeth.’

  Zoe shivered. ‘Can we dance first please?’

  ‘One dance. Then we’re leaving.’

  ‘But isn’t this your party?’

  ‘They’ll be fine without me.’

  ‘Come on, at least two dances? This is my first ever ceilidh.’

  ‘One. And that’s my final offer,’ he replied, reluctantly releasing her.

  The fiddler played a chord.

  Rory bowed deeply. ‘Would you give me the honour of the first dance?’

  Zoe nodded shyly, and he led her into position. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered.

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t worry. They have a caller and they’ll talk us through the steps.’

  The caller had a microphone, a twinkle in his eyes, and the vigour of a man at least half his age. He made a beeline for Zoe, using her for the demonstration, complete with eyebrow wiggles and ostentatious fanning of his brow for comic effect that had everyone howling. At the end of his performance, he led her away, walking on tiptoe, his finger held up to his mouth telling his audience to shush until Rory tapped him on the shoulder and reclaimed her.

  By now Zoe was puce with embarrassment. Rory bent down to her ear. ‘You’re even more gorgeous when you’re ruffled,’ he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

  The music started and the dancing began.

  Despite his assurances they would leave after one dance, as he whirled her around the floor, his heart overflowed with her happiness. One dance turned into two, two into three. He wanted everyone to know that the most intoxicating woman in the world belonged here, by his side. Finally, there were no secrets between them. She knew every part of who he was and she still wanted to be with him. Eventually she begged to sit down and rest.

  He led her to a chair in the corner of the room and pulled it out for her, facing her away from the hall. He then grabbed one for himself and sat opposite, lifting her feet into his lap and slipping off her pumps. He kneaded the soles of her feet and she groaned.

  ‘Thank you. I feel like Cinderella after her first ball.’

  ‘Did you have fun?’

  She smiled at him. ‘I had the best time ever.’

  He massaged her ankles, kneading up her legs. ‘The night’s not over yet,’ he said softly.

  Her eyelids fluttered as if she wanted to close them. She swallowed. ‘Do you want to leave?’

  He nodded, suddenly uncertain. Would she still want him at the cabin? ‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Home. Our home.’

  Emotion rushed through him again, obliterating his ability to speak.

  ‘Although, I got a lift here from Fi and I’ve had a few, so I wondered if you knew of a handsome man who doesn’t drink who might be able to put me to bed?’

  He couldn’t reply, but he could act. He grabbed her shoes, then scooped her out of the chair and into his arms.

  ‘Rory! What are you doing!’ she said, starting to giggle. ‘I’m too heavy! Put me down!’

  ‘Excuse me, coming through,’ he boomed as he ploughed his way through the crowds.

  ‘Rory!’

  He stopped and raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Would you prefer I put you over my shoulder? I’ve done it before and I’d quite like to do it again. Only this time I’m going to take a bite out of your peach of a bottom.’

  She attempted to look sternly at him but her eyes were sparkling. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  He hoiked her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing and continued walking, nipping at her bottom as she shrieked. Everyone around them burst into whistles and applause.

  The cabin was waiting for them, lit by twinkling fairy lights. Earlier, as Zoe was driving up from London, Fiona had lit the Rayburn and Jamie had collected her chairs from Inverness police station. By the time she arrived in the late afternoon, the cabin was warm, and all she needed to do was settle Basil and unpack her bags before getting a lift with Fiona back to Morag’s for her fairy-tale transformation. Cinderella had gone to the ball, found her Prince Charming and spent the evening dancing in his arms. Now they were alone, and the magic had gone from enchanting to alchemic.

  It took them five minutes just to get in the door. Eventually Zoe tore her mouth from his and turned
her back to him, shaking as she fumbled to get her key in the lock. He covered her from behind, kissing her neck, as he ran his hands inside her jacket, sending trails of fire across her bare skin. He found the button of the halterneck and undid it, pushing the front of her dress down, growling as he cupped her breasts.

  She let her forehead rest on the door, gulping in air as he grazed the tips of her nipples with the calluses on his palms. Flashes of intense pleasure shot through her, and she pushed back into him, anchoring his hard length in the crease of her bottom and squeezing against it. He pushed the hem of her dress up, stroking over her sodden underwear.

  ‘God, Zoe. You’re so fucking wet,’ he growled.

  He slipped his finger under the elastic and slowly pushed it inside her, up to the hilt as she trembled in his arms. He added another, and slowly and deliberately drove them in and out.

  ‘Zoe. Open. The. Door,’ he hissed between thrusts, as she moaned, her muscles squeezing around him. She managed to turn the key and they tumbled into the cabin. He shut the door behind them, pushed Zoe up against it, pulled her jacket off her shoulders to the floor, then stood back, staring at her.

  She felt faint from the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were burning, fire running across his high cheekbones, his full lips parted. He lifted the fingers that had been in her up to his mouth, and sucked hungrily at them. A spasm of need ripped through her, and she reached for him. He interlocked his free hand with hers, gripping her tightly, holding her up, as he angled his body away. Then he traced a wet path over her breasts, circling them, grazing her hard nipples, pinching them as her head dropped forward.

  ‘Rory, god, Rory, please,’ she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for any more, except release from his exquisite torture.