A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2)

by Hilaria Alexander

  I couldn’t help staring at it, even now that my husband-to-be was on top of me. The sparkle of the diamonds distracted me, and yet, it also reminded me of how deep and pure the love my man had for me was. I wanted all of it.

  “I want all of you,” I whispered, kissing his lips as he leaned down.

  “You have me,” he replied.

  His erection pressed against my hip, and I opened my legs to accommodate him. I grabbed his smooth, hard cock with my hand and pressed it against my entrance. He slid in, filling me and stretching me. The ache I had felt for weeks could finally be satisfied, and since I’d decided to go on birth control a few months ago, now we didn’t even need to worry about protection. It could just be me and him, skin to skin.

  I loved seeing him get lost inside of me. It was the biggest turn-on.

  “You are so beautiful, Sam.”

  His words, mixed with the fresh memories of his proposal, made me tear up again.

  “I love you,” I told him, trying my best to hold back the tears.

  “You know I will never stop loving you,” he said, thrusting into me deeper. “It’s me and you from now on, neach gaoil.”

  HUGH

  I let her sleep a bit, figuring she must be exhausted after her flight and the trek all the way up to St. Martin. I reckoned the proposal was probably quite the shock, even though a good one. She was sleeping on her right side, and I took a picture of her with her left hand stretched on top of the MacLeod tartan.

  I would have married her the next day, or even that night if I could have.

  Being apart from her had been the worst thing I’d ever had to endure. It lasted barely two months, and it was just enough time to be certain of the fact that I didn’t want to spend one more day without her.

  My phone buzzed, and I took it out of my pocket to see who it was.

  So? How did it go? Can I call her yet? Hugh, I’m dying here!

  Cecilia, always so dramatic. Of course, when Sam had told her which day she’d be arriving, Cecilia wanted to organize a little get-together. That was before I’d informed her I had big plans for us, so I had to let her in on the whole thing, and ever since, I had been afraid she would let something slip.

  “Please, Hugh, I know how to keep a secret. Don’t you trust me?” she’d told me in a semi-offended tone.

  Honestly? I didn’t, not a hundred percent. Cecilia was . . . well, Cecilia. She was a good friend, generous, and enthusiastic, but she could talk a lot. I’d told her I wouldn’t forgive her if she’d accidentally ruined the surprise.

  SAM

  It was dark when I woke up. I wrapped the tartan around my shoulders, covering my naked body, and went looking for him.

  He was downstairs, and he’d lit a fire. He was sitting on the floor, right in front of it. My eyes scanned the place once more. I couldn’t believe this was the same rundown place we’d come to last year. It was so much prettier, and although small, all the updates made it look incredibly functional. I laughed to myself, thinking we’d better get some furniture soon if we didn’t want to keep sitting on our asses.

  “Sorry I fell asleep,” I told him as I joined him by the fire.

  A slow, lazy grin spread across his face.

  “You were out cold.” His eyes took me in, naked and wrapped in the MacLeod tartan, and became clouded with lust. I smiled to myself. He leaned in for a soft peck and I leaned against his shoulder, staring at the fire, fighting against my heavy eyelids.

  A yawn escaped my lips, and Hugh gave me a concerned look.

  “I’ll be okay. Just need some time to wake up.”

  “Do you think you’re up for a bit of celebrating?”

  I smiled at his accent making a more marked appearance. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, there’s actually some place we need to be. You better go get dressed, love.”

  She crossed the pub with the fury of a woman on a mission, and I was her objective. She came straight for me, wrapping me in a bear hug despite her petite frame before I could even say a word.

  When she finally let me go, I could barely mutter, “I am so happy to see you!” before she started assaulting Hugh with questions.

  “About time! I mean, were you going to keep her hostage, mate?” Cecilia asked in a brash tone. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh at her for being so eager to see me or get mad at her for being so mean to my fiancé.

  Hugh was standing behind me and scoffed at Cecilia’s accusations.

  After I’d left, Cecilia had become his makeup artist, and they had gotten much closer. It wasn’t really that surprising. My ex-flatmate had what I’d call a hurricane personality. She was the kind of person who was going to drop into your life with the magnitude of a natural disaster. Fortunately, she wasn’t mean or vindictive; she was just energetic and stubborn, and that alone was sometimes too much to deal with. But, she meant well, and she was a loyal friend. She’d always taken my side and rooted for Hugh and me when we had to keep our relationship secret.

  She also stood by my side when the network let me go. She even sent me messages—although I hadn’t asked her to—keeping tabs on my man at a time when he wasn’t technically mine.

  The two months spent apart were some of the bleakest days of my entire life. I knew leaving had been the right choice, even though it hadn’t been the easiest. I’d taken the job in Scotland on a whim, to escape Los Angeles and the drama I was partly responsible for. When things between Hugh and me got serious, it became evident that the network’s executives were not above playing petty games, and I knew I had to make a choice.

  In the end, I had to go so Hugh would have his chance to shine and could give Abarath one hundred percent.

  “Cecilia, stop,” I told her with a small laugh. “I fell asleep.”

  She suddenly stopped glaring at Hugh, and she looked me in the eye.

  “Bollocks,” she said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “You don’t have to defend him all the time, Sam.”

  “I’m not!” I tried to argue but ended up laughing, shaking my head in disbelief. I leaned in and took her face in my hands then kissed her on both cheeks, as Europeans did.

  She looked instantly mollified by my gesture.

  “I’m happy to see you too, you know,” I told her in a sweet tone, trying to get back in her good graces—and it worked. A smile spread across her face and she latched her arms around my neck, hugging me again.

  “Oh goodness, Sam, I am so happy to see you!” Her voice came out in a shriek, and I squeezed my eyes shut as she shouted in my ear. It didn’t matter, though, because I was just as happy to be reunited with my friend.

  “Come,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. I turned around to smile at Hugh, who followed closely and smiled patiently at the drama queen.

  As it turned out, every one of our closest friends from last year’s crew had been at the pub for the last two hours . . . waiting on us. Hugh had told them to meet up at Munro’s at a certain time, but no one except Oliver and Cecilia knew what he’d been planning.

  I spent the next hour working the room and catching up with the people I’d had to reluctantly leave behind at the beginning of the year. Everyone was pleasantly shocked to see my engagement ring, and I felt my face grow warmer with each celebratory round of whisky and every slainte. In fact, I was getting noticeably tipsy.

  One face was missing: Jake, the set decorator I had sometimes flirted with before Hugh and I got hot and heavy. Jake had been a real troubadour on the set of season one, collecting numerous hookups during the months in St. Martin.

  Thankfully, I had been smart enough to never get involved with him. I’d been burned badly by my breakup with Eric, and Jake reminded me too much of him.

  Jake had been hired to work on the set of Game of Thrones, so he wouldn’t be back this season. He was happy to be working on an even bigger production, and women on that set didn’t play hard to get, according to him. Ewww. I’d heard this specific piece of news from C
ecilia, but I knew about his job because we kept in touch from time to time via text messages. They were always innocent and very sporadic and yet, that was all it took to make Hugh a wee bit jealous. I snickered at the thought of Hugh being jealous of Jake, because there was no competition whatsoever.

  Jake was handsome and sexy, but fickle like a candle.

  Hugh MacLeod was . . . the whole package, and he was mine. Still, I couldn’t be too upset by the fact that Hugh was jealous of Jake. In fact, it had been the jealousy he harbored toward my coworker that had caused him to act on his feelings for me; jealousy was the spark that ignited Hugh MacLeod’s lust, and eventually his love. He had seen us flirt one night at the pub—during my superb rendition of Ginuwine’s “Pony”—and his testosterone-fueled envy produced such a tizzy that he had to have me.

  I looked up at him, holding my bottom lip between my teeth.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied with a smile and a shake of my head.

  “You’re thinking about something . . . and you think you can’t tell me?” he asked with a frown.

  I hesitated. “I was wondering . . . are you sure you had nothing to do with Jake getting a job with Game of Thrones and not coming back for season two?”

  The broad smile that stretched on his face was blinding and infectious. Was he not going to hide it at all? He wasn’t even going to try?

  “Trust me,” he said, “I had nothing to do with it. If I had, I’d take credit for it. That . . . what did you call him before?”

  “Sleazeball.”

  “That sleazeball has no place on this set.” He laughed, and I joined him. Jake wasn’t a bad guy, but no one could deny it—he was a sleazeball. He was a shameless flirt who would always kiss and tell.

  As the night progressed and I saw old and new friends—new crewmembers who’d be working on season two—I learned that Jake had been replaced by a beautiful and busty blonde by the name of Gretchen.

  We exchanged a few words and she seemed like a nice girl, but as soon as she was out of earshot, Cecilia made a face and some comment about the girl looking like a bimbo.

  “Come on, Cece. You don’t need to go full-on mean girl now, do you? I bet Oliver is not even going to look at her.”

  “Oh, it’s not Oliver I’m worried about, but I would watch her around Hugh, if you know what I mean,” she said in a low tone, raising her eyebrows and turning her head in the direction of Gretchen, who was now chatting up some actors, including Hugh.

  “Why would you say something like that? I-I . . . I just got engaged,” I replied, almost speechless.

  “You’re welcome,” she said in a serious tone. I narrowed my eyes at her and she burst into a laugh and bumped her shoulder against my arm. “I’m kidding, you gullible American!” She walked away toward the bar, glass in hand, probably looking for a refill.

  “You’re so going to pay for this, Cecilia!” I grumbled before she got too far away.

  She was joking, but what a stupid thing to say.

  I’d never been too jealous when it came to Hugh, because he never gave me any reason to be concerned, but sometimes I couldn’t help but worry, especially after what had happened with Eric.

  My last relationship had gone up in smoke right in front of my eyes when my boss and my boyfriend took their work liaison to a whole new level. Sometimes I wondered how much longer they would have been sneaking around my back if I hadn’t seen them kissing at the Golden Globes and if I hadn’t told the entire world about their affair.

  Cecilia was right about one thing: I was gullible. I had been in the past, that was for sure. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try to keep a vigilant eye, just as a safety measure.

  I mindlessly joined Cecilia and turned around with my back against the wooden bar, facing our group of friends.

  “Seriously, you are a prankster’s dream,” she said with a smug smile, twisting a thin cocktail straw into her drink.

  “I would stop it right now if I were you,” I replied in a low growl, matching the tone of my voice with the unamused expression on my face.

  “I know, I know. That was a cruel joke, but . . . come on! The man just gave you a house and put a ring on your finger.”

  “It was a tasteless joke.”

  She lowered her eyes and raised her shoulder in a shrug just as a smile stretched across her face. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . it’s too much fun to see you getting all worked up, Sam. I missed you. I missed this.”

  Cecilia going soft on me? Impossible. I narrowed my eyes at her and she nodded, swearing it was the truth.

  “I really missed you, Sam, and as excited as I am to be with Oliver, I’m going to miss living with you. Things are great, but it’s different than from last year, you know?”

  “Awwww, Cece.” I tilted my head in her direction and gave her a knowing look. “I missed you, too.” I reached for her hand and squeezed it, and she squeezed it back. With her other hand, she took a swig of her cocktail and nodded thoughtfully, placing her glass down on the bar.

  “Plus, I am not going to have anyone cooking for me anymore. Oliver is shit at it!”

  I hastily let go of her hand and groaned.

  “So that’s the real reason why you miss me! You’re such a slag!”

  She laughed impenitently, not a hint of shame on her face. A moment later, I was distracted by another beautiful, rich laugh coming from across the pub.

  Gretchen.

  I glanced at the bosomy, bubbly blonde impressing the circle of men around her—most of the male cast, in fact. Gretchen had her hand all over Mika’s arm—he played Kjell, Abarath’s best friend and second in command. I had only read three books of the series and some of Kjell’s past hadn’t been revealed yet, but from what I knew so far, he had come from a Scandinavian kingdom, was a skilled swordsman, and was a healer. He wasn’t your average type of “healer” either—his hands had healing power, but that was a skill his character kept under wraps. Only Abarath and a few others knew about it.

  Gretchen was telling Mika something, leaning in, and they were laughing together as the rest of the guys watched and laughed, all too eager to get in on the action and have a bit of Gretchen’s attention.

  Hugh was laughing as well, although he seemed a bit distant and removed from the general conversation. He raised his glass to his lips, and that’s when his eyes met mine. I saw the smile in his eyes before I could see the one on his lips. He swallowed his drink and lowered the glass, and then raised it in the air, nodding in my direction.

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I replied to his toast with a shy smile.

  Jokes and scumbag ex-boyfriends aside, I knew I had nothing to worry about.

  That man is mine.

  Just the thought of him sparked another wave of desire. Warmth spread in my lower belly, and suddenly, I had an idea.

  Last year we had to keep things under wraps and could never be seen in public, let alone do something a bit more . . . risky.

  Bathroom sex had never sounded as enticing as it did right then, especially with the bedroom eyes he was giving me from across the room.

  “We should sing a song,” Cecilia said, interrupting my daydream.

  “It’s not karaoke night,” I replied without taking my eyes off Hugh.

  “I’m sure they’ll make an exception for us.”

  I turned in her direction. “Go ahead, the floor is yours.”

  “We should do it together. The only time we sang together, you got whisked away. We should celebrate,” she insisted.

  “Another night, maybe. I’m a bit worn out from my flight. Besides, I have a different kind of celebrating in mind.” I couldn’t stop the smile on my face from growing wider. Hugh, on the other side of the pub, still had his eyes locked on me. Cecilia turned around and finally caught up on what was going on.

  “Oh, I see. You’re hopeless, Sam.” She let out a small laugh and I shook my head, disagreeing with her.

>   “I’m not hopeless, I’m helpless. I just can’t help myself,” I told her before walking away, my eyes fixed on my man.

  “Fine, don’t sing with me. I’ll make sure to dedicate Selena’s ‘Hands to Myself’ to you as soon as you two make it out of that bathroom.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I replied with a wink, taking her up on her challenge.

  “You’re so bad,” he whispered.

  “Shush, you love it,” I replied as I locked the stall door behind us.

  “I do.” His accent was deeper whenever he said that, and I couldn’t help but fantasize about the day he was going to say that in response to taking me as his wife.

  For the time being, he was taking me elsewhere.

  “Bad girl,” he whispered in my ear, his erection pressing against my back. I turned around and he was grinning, his eyes wild with desire. He pinned me against the wall, one of his hands grabbing a fistful of my hair.

  His mouth captured mine and his tongue traced the shape of my lips before wrapping around my tongue in a fluid tempo. He broke the kiss too soon and my back arched, my hips looking for more friction. One of his hands slid under my shirt, pulling my bra down, teasing my heavy breast and my hard nipple.

  “What if someone finds us here?”

  “Unlikely,” I replied in a whisper as his mouth placed slow, deep, searing kisses on my neck.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because . . . I just sent several trays of food to the tables. No one is coming in here unless their bladder is ready to burst.”

  “So clever,” he teased. “But what if they do? What if someone comes in here?”

  “Well, in that case . . . I bet you can be very still . . . and very quiet, too. Can’t you?”

  He hummed, but his eyebrows were pressed together.