Wild Irish: His Wild Bride (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 11)

by LJ Garland

  Dear God. He’s crazy.

  He walked toward her, his bare feet almost silent on the carpet. When he reached the foot of the bed, he stopped and stared at her, the fingers of one hand flexing and unflexing at his side, the other clutching the rose. “I can’t believe you’re here. With me. You know, when you first entered the animal shelter and asked to interview me, well…I’ll be honest. I thought you’d be like all the other women who came there to pick out an animal companion or to check if their missing furry friend had turned up there. A self-absorbed, snobby bitch.” He shook his head, his gaze never leaving face. “But not you. You smiled at me. You looked at me like…. Well, you know.”

  “Um, sure.” She didn’t. She’d treated him like she had every other person she’d interviewed. Probably not wise to tell him that, though. She tugged at her restraints. “So, why not release me?”

  “Because”—he winked—“it’s sexier this way.”

  Ice balled in her tummy. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. “W-what are you going t-to do?”

  “First, I need to see you.” He grabbed the bottom of the comforter and pulled. Slowly. Inch by inch, he dragged the cover from her body.

  Cool air brushed her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. She shivered then glanced down. Her olive-green satin bra covered her breasts. Ohmigod! No shirt? The more the comforter descended, the more of her bare skin it revealed. Only panties! Terror rocked through her, and tears stung her eyes. She looked at him as he drew the last bit of cover off her. He stared at her with a sick reverence that brought acid rolling up her throat. He undressed me? How dare he!

  “Rex, you need to stop this. Now.” She attempted to put as much authority into her voice as she could muster.

  “So beautiful.” His words came out almost singsong. He came around the side of the bed. “So lovely.”

  “Let me go, Rex.”

  His gaze roved over her, and then he extended his hand, the rose stem caught between his forefinger and thumb. He twirled rolled the stem. The rose twirled. Slowly. Back and forth. “So enchanting.”

  “Rex.” She jerked at the ropes. “Stop.”

  He lowered the flower to just below her chin, the soft petals grazing her skin. Sophie jolted as though she’d been given a shock of electricity. He skimmed the flower over the hollow of her throat and down, down, down between her breasts. Twirling the rose. Over her tummy. Slowly, lower and lower. The petals brushing over her panties, where he paused at the juncture of her legs.

  He licked his lips. “Soon. Our dreams will come true.” He trailed the petals along the inside of one thigh and then the other. “You’ll be mine.”

  ***

  Sophie! By the time the ambulance pulled up to the curb, Dawson had jumped into his rental car and was backing down the driveway. He was sorry about Hugh, but, with the paramedics there, he’d be all right. At the moment, he had bigger problems to worry about—the woman he loved was missing.

  He checked his cell phone’s GPS locator app that was tied to the tracker in the ring he’d bought Sophie. It showed her twenty-two point four miles away. Someone took her. That’s the only answer. But who?

  It didn’t matter. He’d find her and get her back.

  When he got on the highway, he dialed the police.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  His fingers tightened on the cell. “I need to report a kidnapping.”

  “Sir, what is your name?”

  He rattled off all the details, told her about the tracking device, and which way he was headed on the highway.

  “And the person who’s been kidnapped? What is their name?”

  “It’s Sophie O’Neill.”

  A long pause followed. “Sir, is this a joke?”

  “No.” He gripped the wheel. “This is real.”

  “Sir, Ms. O’Neill is on a list—”

  “I don’t give a shit about any list. She’s been taken.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “Look, I’m going to save her. Please, send some officers.”

  “Sir—”

  He ended the call. They weren’t going to listen. Maybe hanging up like that would grab their attention. Or maybe not. Who the hell knows?

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a neighborhood. Middle-income, ranch-style houses. Low-key. He checked the app on his phone then wound through the streets and came to a stop in front of a simple, one-story house with a white picket fence.

  The dot on the map displayed on his phone showed she was somewhere inside the house. Hope and fear warred inside his chest. God, what if I’m too late?

  No. Can’t think like that.

  He dialed the police again.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Hey, this is Dawson MacKay. I called earlier.”

  “Mr. MacKay, where are you?”

  He rattled off the address. “Okay. Sophie wouldn’t be here of her own free will. So, send police or don’t. But if you don’t and anything happens to her, I will personally sue the Baltimore PD.”

  “Sir, you don’t need to make threats. We’re here to help.”

  He looked at the house. She’s in there. Somewhere. “Good to know, and I hope you are. Either way, I’m going in to save her.”

  “Sir, stay where yo—”

  He hung up. He’d wasted enough time. Right now, he needed to go find Sophie and bring her home.

  He stole across the yard, sticking to the shadows, then sidled up to the corner of the house. He snuck down the side to a wood privacy fence and let himself into the backyard. Light glowed from several windows, chasing off the darkness—a making it a little more difficult to get close and locate Sophie. I’ll just have to watch my ass.

  He eased up to a window and peered inside. Dining room. A bowl of fruit on the table. Otherwise, empty.

  The next window overlooked the kitchen sink. Nothing.

  Farther down, he peeked into another window. His breath caught in his throat, and his hands balled into fists. No!

  Sophie lay tied to a bed. Bra, panties. Nothing else. Terror assaulted her lovely face while some skinny guy stood next to her.

  A flash of red. His heart clenched. Oh shit! Blood?

  But then the guy turned and walked toward the foot of the bed, revealing a red rose lying on Sophie’s stomach.

  Not blood. Roses. A slight relief dashed through him. Someone has been sending them to her at her office. He gritted his teeth. Her real stalker.

  Dawson dragged his gaze from Sophie to the guy who’d kidnapped her. He’d moved to the dresser then turned, and something glinted in his hands.

  Scissors? Dawson backed away from the window. Oh hell no.

  Hurrying to the back door, all he could think about was getting to Sophie before the guy stabbed her.

  He tried the doorknob. Hell no, he couldn’t be lucky enough to find it unlocked. Shit. Windows. He managed to pop out a screen on the second window, and Fate was kind, leaving the sash unlocked. He shoved the window open and crawled inside as quietly as he could. On his way past the table, he grabbed a couple apples and an orange.

  He crept down the hallway, his shoes whispering on the carpet.

  Please, God. Please, let her be okay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sophie’s gaze locked onto the scissors Rex held. What is he going to do?

  “Soon,” he crooned as he walked toward her.

  She tugged at the ropes holding her captive. Tears welled in her eyes.

  He leaned over, the icy steel scissors sliding up from her tummy to the bottom of her breasts. She arched her back into the bed, trying to sink as far as possible into the mattress.

  “Hold still. This won’t hurt a bit.” He smiled. “I need to see all of you before I take you.”

  “W-wait.” She desperately tried to twist away from the steel points gliding over her skin. “It’s not fair.”

  He paused, his gaze meeting hers. “What?”

  “I’m lying here in just my underwear.” She lifted he
r chin. “You’re still dressed.”

  A cocky grin twisted his lips. “You’re right.”

  He set the scissors next to her on the bed then straightened and pulled his shirt off. He flexed his arms, showing off his ropey muscles. Sophie wanted to throw up. After toeing off his sneakers, he undid his belt and shucked his jeans. He struck a pose, his twiggy body verging on anorexia.

  “Now we’re even.” He struck a pose—for her benefit, she guessed—and when he turned full-frontal, his display of manhood was evident in his white cotton briefs.

  He picked up the scissors again. Slid one point between her breasts.

  Snip!

  She gasped. He’d cut her bra in half.

  But instead of flipping the fabric off her breasts, he moved lower, the tips of the scissors trailing over her tummy, back and forth in sweeping arcs. A shiver assaulted her. How can I get him to stop? She could insult the size of his dick, but, with the scissors scraping over her stomach, she didn’t want to risk it. Free. I’ve got to get free!

  He slid one point under the left side of her panties’ waistband.

  Snip!

  Then the right side.

  Snip!

  Turning, he set the scissors on the dresser then faced her.

  Instinct screamed “Fight!” but her brain told her if she dared move, she might expose herself. And then what he planned would happen even faster.

  “So beautiful.” He began his singsong chant again and moved to the side of the bed, lust filling his glassy stare.

  “P-please, Rex.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “Don’t do this.”

  “So lovely.” He bent over, reaching toward her bra.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Hey, asshole,” a deep voice bellowed.

  Sophie turned her head and looked across the room. Hope rocketed through her. “Dawson!”

  Dawson reared back, knuckling the orange as he had thousands of baseballs.

  Sophie’s attacker spun to face him. “What—?”

  As if on a baseball mound, Dawson wound up and threw the orange at the guy’s forehead.

  Smack!

  His head snapped back from the impact. Rex growled. “You son of a—”

  Dawson pitched the two apples in succession.

  Smack! Smack!

  One slammed into the guy’s chest, the other into his breadbox. Seemed all those years of being a baseball pitcher came in handy. The dude doubled over, coughing. Not waiting for him to react, Dawson bolted across the room, got the guy from behind, and wrapped his arm around his throat in a choke hold.

  “Go to sleep, asshole,” Dawson demanded and tightened his arm against his carotid artery. The guy seemed to grow weaker, his fight, as well as his legs, giving out. Dawson rode him to the floor. “Go to sleep now.”

  Releasing the guy, he turned to the love of his life. “Are you okay?”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she nodded.

  He hugged her then kissed her face several times, relieved she was still alive. Shoving to his feet, he grabbed the scissors from the dresser and cut her loose then wrapped the comforter around her.

  “I need to tie him up.” Finding more rope in one of the dresser drawers, he restrained her kidnapper. Then he paused, noting the dark-red lump forming on the guy’s forehead that would no doubt turn into one hell of a goose egg. In college, Dawson had been clocked pitching at 82 mph, but, with adrenaline coursing through him, he’d be surprised if he hadn’t cracked the dude’s skull. He set two fingers to the side of the kidnapper’s neck. A slow pulse tapped his fingertips. “Strong beat. He’s okay,” he told Sophie and sat next to her on the bed. “But he’ll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up.” Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her close. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m all right.” Her words belied her body which trembled like a leaf. “He didn’t…do anything to me.”

  Relief unwound his nerves, but then guilt jumped on his back. Staring at the trussed-up perv, he curled his fingers into fists, wanting to do serious damage. Instead, he growled. “I should’ve gotten here sooner.”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine…or I will be once I get some clothes.” She burrowed against him. “How did you find me?”

  “This.” He lifted her hand, and the “diamond” sparkled in the room’s light.

  “You tracked me.”

  “I did.” He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the scents uniquely hers. “Putting that ring on your finger was the best thing I ever did.” And if I have my way, I’ll replace that crystal with a real diamond.

  The faint sounds of sirens wailed outside.

  She straightened and looked up at him, her face pale but still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You called the police?”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “How did you get them to come?”

  “I told them how much you meant to me.”

  Epilogue

  Cedar Valley, California, six months later….

  “You ready for this, son?” Dawson’s father stood before him. Mom and Dad had flown home from Australia to be here today.

  Dawson met his father’s steady gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  “She’s lovely,” his mother gushed then leaned in to hug him, whispering in his ear, “and perfect for you.”

  He knew how lucky he was. Sophie was the one. He’d never admit to anyone—except Sophie, of course—but he truly believed destiny had brought them together. His heart whispered it was true.

  Even after the police and the ambulance, the questions and statements, and the final days of his stint at Pat’s Irish Pub, Sophie had agreed to come to Cedar Valley with him. She’d fallen for the quaint town the moment she’d stepped foot on Main Street. And that pretty much sealed the deal.

  After renting a cabin at the Black Bear Lodge, he’d introduced her to Andy and Maureen—who’d loved her on sight—as well as all his many, many relatives. Somewhere along the way, she met Mary Corbin at the Cedar Valley Gazette, and, as he’d hoped, she had connections. But in the end, an online magazine hired her to do the same job she did in Baltimore. Once they checked out her work at Deep Insights, they couldn’t snap her up fast enough.

  Then, one night while having dinner at Gondola’s, he’d proposed. She’d squealed, said yes, and, after that, everything blurred. His cousins, Kat and Brigit, who loved weddings, came in to lend a hand. They’d gotten the cake from Desserts du Jour—“Jamie makes amazing wedding cakes, and Lily’s decorating is beyond believable.” Or so they said. And Jenna MacKay at the Foothill Inn had agreed to handle the catering, as well as supply her signature homemade ice cream for the occasion.

  Finding a wedding gown hadn’t been a problem. Jackson Jacobi had gifted Sophie the one she’d worn when she ran out of the boutique. It had a few minor imperfections due to her escape, but this time Jenna came to the rescue, recommending a local bridal shop to handle the repairs—Lace and Veils. Caroline not only fixed the gown, but, being a wedding planner, she also helped ensure his and Sophie’s wedding was exactly what they wanted.

  The door opened, and Mac MacKay came in. The patriarch of the MacKay clan and the town’s fire chief scrutinized him from head to toe then nodded. “They’re ready for you.”

  With final well wishes, his mom and dad left to take their seats.

  Outside the back room, Dawson met Andy, his best man, who waited for him. “About time. I swear, you took longer than the bride to get ready.”

  Dawson punched him in the arm.

  Andy chuckled. “Just sayin’.”

  As they headed toward the front of the building where everyone waited, Mac leaned toward him. “The pub looks great. You two offering any special discounts?”

  “To our local firefighters and police?” Andy nodded. “You bet.”

  “Good to know.” Mac entered first and took his seat.

  Dawson and Andy walked to the front where the preacher waited. The main room of the almost-o
pen MacKay’s Scottish Pub was packed, wall-to-wall chairs and flowers and ferns and candles and fluffy white netting. The place looked magical. People lined the walls and filled the back of the room. Looks like everyone in town turned out for this.

  Seemed the people of Cedar Valley loved a wedding.

  Dawson smiled at his mom and dad. And as he scanned the crowd, his gaze landed on Pat Collins. The owner of Pat’s Irish Pub and the rest of his family had made the trip cross-country to see a “bonnie Irish lass marry a Scot.” Dawson nodded at him, and the man he held high respect for returned the nod. Then he mouthed, “You done well, lad.”

  The wedding march swelled. The moment had arrived, and everyone stood, turning toward the back of the room where Sophie’s two bridesmaids appeared. She’d begged Kat and Brigit to stand with her in front of the town. Wearing long Kelly-green gowns and carrying bright bouquets, his cousins walked down the aisle and took their places off to the side.

  The music paused and then…

  There she is. His heart gave a hard thump. She walked down the aisle on Jackson’s arm, and didn’t look the least bit anxious about wearing the white wedding dress and veil. Dawson couldn’t help but grin. A few more steps and she’d be at his side. Forever, as far as he was concerned.

  She looked more gorgeous than she had the day she ran across the pub’s parking lot and fell into his arms. She’s as hardheaded as she is beautiful.

  He wouldn’t have it any other way. She would always be his wild bride.

  About the Author

  Though born and raised in the south, L.J. Garland has lived on both the east and west coasts. She adores traveling, the latest adventures added to her Bucket List: Machu Pichu and Australia’s Rainforest and Great Barrier Reef.

  Married to her best friend for over twenty-five years, she spends her time home schooling three rambunctious boys, editing in the epub industry, and writing stories that she hopes catches her readers’ imaginations as much as the characters and plotlines captivate her. In her spare time (what there is of it LOL), she has a multitude of hobbies, including building archery equipment from scratch and creating stained glass. She and her husband are both rated helicopter pilots and spent their 10th anniversary flying cross-country from East to West Coast—an adventure she highly recommends.