A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2)

by Hilaria Alexander

  “Oh, really? Please do enlighten me. When would you even have the time to help?” I teased.

  “I could find the time,” he said as he brought my breast up so it was out of the water. He leaned down, sucked slow and hard on my nipple, making me lose my concentration. A few strokes of his tongue on my skin were all my pussy needed to become a tangled mess of nerves, aching for more attention from him.

  “I could find the time,” he repeated. “I have a few ideas already.”

  “What are these ideas? Please do share.”

  “There’s a church in Stonehaven I have been to before, and I’d always thought that if and when I got married, I would like to do it there.”

  “Well, we need to figure something out. You’re Catholic but I’m . . . well, I’m nothing, raised with no religion whatsoever. That’s bound to raise some eyebrows, at least here in the old world,” I teased.

  “Come on, Samhain, you’re overreacting.”

  “I’m serious. I am going to have to explain to whichever priest we speak to that neither my father or my mother cared to raise me according to any religion, even a nondenominational one.”

  “No one will care, you’ll see.”

  “I have been trying to do some research, though, to see how it all works, you know.”

  “You have?” he asked enthusiastically.

  “Yes. I haven’t been to that many Catholic weddings, and I would like to be prepared a little.”

  “So, I know which church I want us to get married at, and you’ve been doing your research. All we need is to contact the priest, get your family airline tickets, and a dress for you.”

  “A dress for me—what about you? Do you think you’re going to recycle one of your suits? No way.”

  “Who talked about recycling? I just need to find a new jacket and shirt, perhaps. I already have the bottom half,” he said with a wink, and I laughed.

  “That’s right, you’re going to wear your kilt, aren’t you?”

  He gave me a sultry look, and with a hand wrapped around my shoulder, he brought the other one down between my legs.

  “That’s right, and I plan to be traditional on our wedding day,” he said in a seductive tone. He leaned over and gave me a peck, his tongue peeking between his lips, capturing mine slowly, wrapping around mine in a sensuous hold. I broke the kiss, heady and full of questions.

  “Traditional?” I asked.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Traditional, neach gaoil, when it comes the kilt.”

  “Ohhhh,” I replied, raising my eyebrows in understanding. “Traditional, aye?”

  “Aye,” he said, running his nose along mine while his fingers made their way to my center, teasing my clit in a circular motion, putting just enough pressure on it to make me arch my back and ache for him to give me all of himself again.

  “You’re such a scoundrel,” I told him in a shallow tone, my wits succumbing to my body’s reaction. I enjoyed witty banter, but right now his touch was all I craved.

  I found his hard length underwater and began stroking his smooth cock up and down.

  “Sam, get on all fours.”

  “All fours?”

  “Yes, lass. Grab the edge of the tub. I need to be inside you now.”

  Fuck me.

  I gave him a sly look and did as he asked. He was rarely demanding in the bedroom, and I liked when he was. I wanted to play with him. I grabbed the edge of the oval-shaped tub, getting steady on my knees as I felt him rise out of the water behind me. I turned around slightly to look at his glorious body as ripples of water washed off his skin. He grabbed my hips, his erection hard against my back, and ran a finger up and down my slit. Grabbing his cock, he positioned himself at my entrance and pushed inside, hard and fast.

  I gasped and grabbed the edge of the tub tighter.

  He waited a moment before moving again, one hand on my hip, the other teasing my nipple. He thrust again, deep and slow, while his hand traveled across my stomach. He started moving steadily inside me, filling me so deeply I wanted to scream. It got worse—in the best possible way—when his hand met the entrance of my pussy and found my clit. His deep thrusts with his fast stroking of my center had me rocking my head backward, moaning his name, begging him to give me more.

  “Harder, faster,” I moaned—as if it were possible to feel even higher than what I felt right then. He kept a steady rhythm and I felt the orgasm burst through my body as I clenched around him, coming hard. He reached climax a couple seconds later, grasping the edge of the tub for balance with one hand, the other anchored around my waist. As the orgasm washed through him, he leaned his head on my back, breathing hard.

  He pulled out, and before I could even straighten up, he bit my ass—hard.

  “Ouch! That was a bit much, Mr. MacLeod.” I turned to look at him, and he had the smuggest, most impenitent smile.

  “I’m not sorry about that, Ms. Farouk.” His grin lit up his whole face, and although I had planned to remain serious, I couldn’t stop the smile stretching across mine.

  Then, I had a sudden thought.

  Am I going to change my name? Women in the US did it often, but I knew a lot of women in Europe kept their birth name.

  We washed the soap off and got out of the tub just as the water was starting to get cold. I offered him a towel as I wrapped one around me.

  The words slipped out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

  “Am I going to change my name?”

  He looked surprised, almost startled. He smiled warmly and bit his lip.

  “When we get married, I mean.”

  “If you want to, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “It wouldn’t matter to you?” I asked. I couldn’t deny that I was a bit surprised. Men seemed to always make such a big deal about the woman taking the husband’s name.

  “It doesna matter much to me, Sam. I can be traditional about some things and modern about others. Your name is part of your identity. As nice as it is to take your husband’s name, I don’t see it as necessary.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Whether you take my name or not, you’ll be mine, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.” I smiled at that, because he was right. Whether I decided to change my last name or not, I would be his. I was going to be his for the rest of my life.

  HUGH

  I entered the makeup trailer at the end of our lunch break. Sam had told me she had some things to do and might have to skip lunch, so I was surprised to find her sitting with a bloke I had never seen before on the couch at the very end of the trailer.

  They looked awfully cozy. The guy was wearing a nice light blue suit and Oxford shoes with brightly colored argyle socks. He certainly didn’t look like a member of the crew; perhaps he was an employee from the network?

  Sam was pointing out something on her iPad and gesturing animatedly, and he seemed to be taking notes on a tablet. Had I walked in on a meeting? If so, why was it only the two of them? Why were the other makeup artists not involved?

  I took a few steps forward, making my presence known. Sam’s head shot up, and an alarmed look appeared on her face before it was replaced by her sweet, reassuring smile.

  What in the bloody hell is going on?

  “What’s going on here, Sam?”

  “Hugh, this is Fern. He’s the winner of the internship.”

  “Internship? What internship?”

  “Oh, sorry. You probably haven’t heard about it! Now that I think of it, it was an internal memo, crew only. Apparently, the network had a big contest a few months back. It was open to college students enrolled in movie-industry programs. Fern here is the winner of the internship for the makeup department, and he’ll be on set with us for a couple hours a day, a few times a week.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacLeod. I’m such a huge fan of the show,” Fern said, getting up and stretching his hand toward me.

  “Nice to meet you too, Fern. Please call me Hugh,” I told
him, and the young bloke smiled sheepishly, as fans sometimes did, a red flush coloring his pale, almost translucent skin. His hair was styled in an unruly uppercut, his brown curls falling on the side of his face. He was a handsome chap, tall and lean, with startling pale gray eyes. His smile was wide, and his teeth were the kind of white that led one to believe the guy had a weakness for whitening treatments.

  The guy had to know a lot about makeup and skincare, because his skin was flawless. He looked young, but seemed to be very well dressed for a college student, and very . . . manicured. I certainly hadn’t been that well put-together when I was attending the Royal Academy. He seemed too put-together even for a makeup artist—he looked more like an actor dressing up for an audition.

  “What were you two looking at?” I asked, pointing at the tablet in her hand with a tip of my chin.

  “Oh, nothing,” Sam replied dismissively. “I was just showing Fern some of our makeup techniques.”

  “Should I go and come back another time?” Fern asked, turning to Sam.

  “I think that would be okay,” Sam replied with a certain uneasiness.

  Fern said goodbye and was about to walk past me.

  “Wait, shouldn’t he stay and watch you do touchups?”

  “Right!” she replied, her eyes widening as if she was coming out of a daze. “Of course you should stay, Fern. What was I thinking? Come stand behind me and you can watch me work.”

  “Can I take notes?” Fern asked, and his question seemed to surprise Sam.

  “Yes!” she replied, smiling brightly. “Yes, of course you can. Hugh, please sit down. So, Fern, I don’t know how familiar you are with the type of schedule we have here on set, but the first thing I have to do is make sure I keep a certain consistency with the actor’s makeup, especially between scenes. Years ago they used to take pictures and keep them in the makeup trailer, but nowadays we can rely on different types of visual aids. All the makeup artists have tablets available with how the makeup for each actor should look. You might know this from school, already, but I do have to admit, sometimes I use my cell phone on a day-to-day basis, as it is more practical to have when we’re shooting outdoors.”

  As she started reapplying the makeup, Sam proceeded to explain the details of her work process, and Fern kept watch studiously while taking notes. Of course, I could only watch for so long since she was touching up my makeup and I had to keep my eyes closed.

  At some point, maybe lulled by the sound of her voice, I must have fallen asleep. I felt a hand gently shaking my shoulder and a feather-like kiss on my cheek.

  “Hugh, wake up. Honey, they need you back on set . . . come on, wake up.”

  “Hmmm . . . what’s going on?”

  “You fell asleep while I was giving a makeup lesson . . . so rude. You know, my area of work is not that boring, Mr. MacLeod.”

  The tone of her voice was stern. I peeked through my heavy eyelids, thinking she’d smile and admit she was joking. Instead, she shook her head, her features tensed with annoyance.

  “Mmhmm,” I said, stretching my arms above my head, trying to wake up. “No, you’re right, it isn’t. I didn’t fall asleep because I was bored, I can tell you that much.”

  “Then why did you?”

  I yawned and she gave me another sour look.

  “I’m tired, okay? Still trying to get back in the swing of things. You know how hard it is to get used to these twelve-hour workdays all over again. Plus, neach gaoil, it was your voice that made me fall asleep.”

  “My voice! My voice is responsible for making you fall asleep? You embarrassed me in front of Fern!”

  “Who?” I asked, scratching my head, racking my brain for answers.

  “Fern, the intern.”

  “Ahhh! The intern. Dinna worry, Samhain, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

  “Of course he doesn’t, but I do! Can you try not to fall asleep next time? You were snoring. It was embarrassing.”

  I pressed my eyes shut, still trying to wake up from the involuntary nap that had put me in a comatose state.

  “Okay, okay. I promise I won’t do it again. Now, what am I supposed to do next? Do they need me back on set?”

  Her harsh glare told me I wasn’t back in her good graces yet, but I knew it wouldn’t be much longer before I’d make my Sam smile again, because that was what we did. I grabbed her left hand and brought it to my mouth, kissing her knuckles, running a finger along the sensitive skin of her wrist. She squirmed under my touch and laughed. I smiled at her, and when she realized it had been a ploy to get her to be nice to me, she shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

  She let out a huff and playfully grabbed my chin in her hand then leaned down and gave me a small peck.

  “What am I going to do with you, Hugh MacLeod?”

  “Forgive me for falling asleep?”

  “Maybe, but when we get home, first you worship me like a queen, and then you go straight to bed, understood? No sports channel for you tonight.”

  I nodded and gave her a tight-lipped smile. I was trying to get her to crack out of her serious mood, but her eyes remained unaffected—not even the smolder could win her over. Maybe it was time for new weapons of seduction, and I had a few in mind.

  What I didn’t expect when we got home was to find the entire place upside down.

  SAM

  “What’s all this?” Hugh asked as he surveyed the new furniture.

  “Well, we were going to be at work, so I told Gordon to let them in.” Gordon was the previous owner of the cottage. He lived in St. Martin and used to rent the cottage out, but he wasn’t social media savvy—his words—so he hardly had any customers these days. Plus, at seventy-seven, the upkeep had become too much for him.

  Ever since Hugh bought the place, he’d given him work to do. He’d been surveying the work on the cottage when he was away, and according to Hugh, he’d keep an eye on things whenever we weren’t in Scotland.

  “Let who in?” he asked.

  “The delivery guys.”

  “Did you buy the entire store?”

  “Ha ha. I was tired of sitting my ass on that old sofa we got from Gordon. It was a nice gesture, but that’s one of the most uncomfortable couches I’ve ever sat on. Luckily IKEA offers delivery and installation. You should be thankful I didn’t ask you to do it. I had Rob put together all my furniture back in LA—in exchange for money, obviously.”

  During the last few weeks, we hadn’t had that much time to shop for furniture. We had ordered an expensive bed online and paid a hefty fee for expedited delivery. I had gotten a few things for the kitchen, including a small table and chairs, and Hugh had made the time to order a big flat-screen TV and have it installed—of course.

  But, we hadn’t gotten any living room furniture yet, since we rarely had time to browse and decide on something. So, I just went online and added to the cart whatever we needed. My ass was begging for mercy—I could only stand to sit on the worn-out floral couch from the 60s for about fifteen minutes at a time.

  The furniture was scattered all over the place, not arranged with any kind of logic.

  They had probably left it that way since they had no idea how I wanted it, but still.

  Men.

  “Babe, help me move this couch over here,” I asked him.

  He lifted the couch on his end and I did the same on mine, and we placed it in front of the fireplace.

  “Why didn’t you try to get something different?”

  “Different? You mean something that isn’t mass-produced?”

  He gave a slight shrug.

  “Well, anything else would have taken weeks, if not months, so ease of access and availability of product, for one, and ease of delivery and assembly, for two. Plus, it’s durable and affordable. Honestly, I see no point in buying expensive furniture, especially with kids.” I grabbed some throw pillows and arranged them on the couch.

  Hugh was in the kitchen, grabbing a drink, and I heard the thud of something falling
to the floor.

  I glanced at him, his eyebrows pulled in a frown, his mouth slightly ajar. He was staring at me and didn’t seem concerned about retrieving whatever he’d dropped.

  “What was that? Did you break something?” I asked, not understanding what his confused look was due to and why he kept staring at me.

  “Sam,” he said in a low voice. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “About what? The furniture? Yeah, I like it. I’m sorry if you don’t approve. I think it’s functional.”

  “Do you realize what you just said?”

  “That it’s mass-produced but well done and functional? What did I say?”

  “Are we having kids now? Is there anything I should know?”

  Oh. Oh. Oh.

  I felt my cheeks redden—scratch that, felt my face flare up.

  “Oh, that. That came out, huh? Those words came out of my mouth,” I said, half to myself.

  He nodded, walking my way and closing the distance between us. The look in his eyes was a mix of marvel and confusion.

  “So, you were saying . . . there’s no point having expensive furniture with kids around?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “There isn’t. It’s a waste of money. Better to have something cheap and replaceable for the first few years,” I said, almost in a daze. His expression was serious and solemn, but his blue eyes sparkled and hypnotized me. He let out a deep breath through his nose and then wrapped his arms around me.

  “So, kids?” He gave me a small grin and my body relaxed in his embrace.

  “Yeah, kids. Someday?”

  He wrapped his arms tighter around me.

  “Yeah, someday . . . someday soon?” he asked, his accent more pronounced.

  “Soon-ish?” I replied with a tentative smile.

  A bright smile stretched across his face, and it made his eyes look even more beautiful. Actually, his entire face looked gorgeous. He looked . . . radiant.

  If happiness had a face, it would look the way he did right then. He was beaming.

  “Soon-ish sounds good, but let’s not wait too long. I don’t want to be an old dad.”