Notorious in a Kilt

by Anna Durand

  I pushed away from the fence. "Isn't sex supposed to make us more comfortable with each other? Not feeling that yet."

  "Cannae be comfortable after the conversation we've had."

  "Guess you're right. Ripping open old wounds is bound to put us both on edge."

  He roved his gaze up and down my body, admiring every curve, his lips kinking into the start of a sensual smirk. "We need to take the edge off."

  The heat in his eyes and in his voice ignited a smoldering fire inside me. How he could make me so hot with one look, I had no clue. I didn't care why, though, only that he made me feel this way.

  I stepped closer and flattened my palms on his chest. "Let's smooth out those edges right now."

  He whipped a condom packet out of his pocket and grinned. "On the grass or in the barn?"

  Laughter bubbled out of me like champagne fizz. "Do you always have a condom in your pocket?"

  "You are a randy lass. Pays to be prepared."

  I plastered my body to his, linking my arms around his neck, rubbing against the hard lump inside his pants. "Hurry up and fuck me, Dr. MacTaggart. Show me how notorious you really are."

  His breaths came faster and heavier. His gaze, hooded and stormy, blazed into me even as his cock grew harder. The knowledge of how much he wanted me got me even hotter, my body throbbing and tingling in all the right places. When I wriggled against him, the granite line of his erection scraped against my belly and my nipples raked over his firm chest. The fabric between us couldn't dampen the sensation — or my ravenous hunger for him.

  "Please," I moaned, rising onto my toes to nibble his ear. I dragged my tongue down his throat, earning a deep groan from him. "Do it now. I want it quick and hard and dirty."

  "Fuck, Rae, yer the sexiest — " His words choked off when I, boosted up on my toes, ground my crotch against his cock. "Verdammt nochmal."

  He swept me up in his arms and carted me into the barn. Just inside the doors, he hesitated, glancing around like he was searching for the perfect spot in which to fuck me. His chin lifted, and he flashed me a smug smile.

  Then he carried me toward one of the empty horse stalls and set me down on my feet, positioned to the left of half door to the stall. Cheeks ruddy, eyes blazing with need, he drank me in for a moment, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

  I reached for him.

  He grasped my waist and flipped me around, mashing me to the wall with his body. "Do ye trust me, sunshine?"

  "Yes," I breathed.

  Pinned like this, I could see him only in my peripheral vision, glimpses of his movements. Sounds told me what he was doing. The metallic zing of his zipper when he tore it open. The whump of his pants falling down to his ankles. The ripping of a condom packet.

  One of his big hands slid around to my navel, and he found the button of my jeans, tearing it open. He jerked my zipper down, and with both hands, yanked my jeans and panties down to my ankles.

  "Still trust me?" he said, his mouth on my ear, his entire body covering me.

  "I do."

  He kicked my feet apart, grasped my hips, and drove his cock into me.

  A gasp exploded out of me. The thrill of him consuming me, the pressure of his length buried deep inside, it had me shuddering with need. When he pinned my wrists above my head with one of his hands, I rocked my hips backward in a desperate attempt to take him even deeper. His body secured me to the wall, the heat of him penetrating my clothes, his every movement flexing all those muscles against me. I rocked back again. A long, low groan rumbled in his chest and vibrated into me.

  He thrust hard and fast, ruthless in his lust. I had little leverage to move or touch him, and so I gave in to the dominant man pinning me to the wall. He shoved a hand between my body and the wall, found my clit, and rubbed it with merciless vigor. A sharp cry burst out of me. I had no time to consider the fact he'd squeezed a noise out of me for the first time because his relentless, punishing thrusts drove me beyond reason, beyond thought, beyond caring about anything except him and the way he made me feel.

  Wanted. Needed. Worshiped. Gloriously sexy.

  That finger rubbed my clit faster, harder. His cock plowed into me again and again. The scorching pleasure robbed me of breath, set my heart to pounding like a giant drum inside my chest. Whimpering cries tumbled from my lips, but I didn't give a damn. Even the wet sucking sounds every time he drove into me barely registered in my fevered mind.

  His hips pumped wildly, crushing me into the wall. His hoarse grunts escalated into shouts and roars.

  My climax seized my entire body, and I screamed. "Iain!"

  I rode out the pleasure, my sex clenching and releasing around his shaft, while he pounded into me several more times. At last, his body went rigid, and with a throaty bellow, he came inside me, his release pulsating and drawing one last spasm out of me.

  We held still, bound to each other in the most intimate way, reveling in the afterglow of incredible orgasms. I fought for breath, and so did he. In our mutual state of speechlessness, neither of us seemed willing to move even one millimeter. I felt him inside me, softened but not flaccid. If I could've spoken, I would've begged him to never pull out, to stay with me forever.

  He kissed my neck, his stubble tickling my skin.

  I moaned, limp and sated beyond belief.

  He shifted his mouth to my ear. "I love you, Rae."

  My heart thudded, my mouth went dry.

  Iain stepped back, leaving me empty and alone. He pulled up my panties and jeans, zipped them, and hooked the button. Patting my behind, he said, "That took the edge off, eh?"

  The smirk I couldn't see colored his voice.

  Spinning around, I jabbed a finger at him. "You can't say that right after sex and then act like you didn't say it."

  He angled his head, eying me with a twinkle in his eyes. "Say what, sunshine?"

  "That you…love me."

  "Ahhh, that." He gave me his Buddha smile. "Since you don't want me to say it at all, why does it matter when I say the words? I do love you, and I won't pretend otherwise."

  I was being irrational, and I knew it. Every time he called me "sunshine," I got confused. When he said those three words, I panicked. Why?

  Dammit. I knew why. I was terrified I might be — possibly, maybe, only a smidgen — falling for Iain all over again.

  Falling for the man who'd left me once before? Bad idea. Falling for the father of my child who had no idea he was a father? Monumentally bad idea. Falling all over again for the only man I'd ever loved? That was dangerous.

  Iain watched me with that infernally serene expression, his pants still lumped around his ankles, his half-erect penis dangling. How on earth could the man look so relaxed with his dick hanging out? He really didn't care a fig about exposing himself. Iain MacTaggart had always had no shame.

  Me, I had big old steamer trunk full of mine, like a dead and dismembered body stuffed inside that trunk and waiting to be discovered.

  I shoved a hand into my jeans pocket, relieved to find my phone still there and undamaged. Yanking out the phone, I waved it at Iain. "Gotta call and check on my daughter."

  Shoulders back, head high, I marched out of the barn and left my half-naked lover alone.

  Chapter One

  Rae

  The sun burned low in the sky, weary from holding itself up all day, a condition I understood all too well. My skin was coated with dried sweat, and my clothes sported dirt smudges and—what was that? I picked at a stain on my jeans that swiped across my thigh. Sheep shit, naturally.

  No, I would never pose for the cover of Glamour magazine.

  The grinding sound of an animal chomping hay originated from the barn to my right. I couldn't see Sunny, my horse, or her best buddy—my daughter's horse, Ariel. They'd finished off their alfalfa pellets hours ago but kept nibbling on their hay.

  I braced my boot on the lowest wood slat of the paddock fence, my toe tw
anging the woven wire above it, and tapped the envelope in my hand on the top slat. The movement made the handgun strapped to my belt nudge my hip. The sun painted the sky with stunning shades of salmon and gold, the color streaking across the heavens on the tails of fiery cirrus clouds. On the far side of the paddock, in one of several fenced pastures, my sheep grazed amid the gently rolling grassland of my ranch. I held my hand over my eyes like a visor, scanning the land for any signs of trouble. The coyotes had gotten bolder this year, but so far, my perimeter fencing had kept them at bay.

  Last year, I'd lost three sheep. My daughter, Malina, had been devastated—and we'd cried about it together. Not for long, though. We Everhart women knew how to suck it up and keep moving. I hated losing sheep, but it couldn't compare with the losses I'd suffered in the past. Every time I doubted whether I could keep going, I'd look at my twelve-year-old daughter and realize she was the proof I could survive no matter what. In a way, she had saved me. I might never have built this ranch into a profitable business without the motivation of caring for my daughter.

  We loved this place.

  My fingers clenched around the envelope in my hand, crinkling it. The ragged edge where I'd torn the thing open scraped my palm. Now, I might lose the home I'd fought so hard to create, all because of one jackass with a grudge. I crumpled the letter and stuffed it in my jeans pocket. This land belonged to me, and one day it would belong to my daughter. At that point, she could sell it if she wanted. I'd be dead, so what would I care? Today, however, I did give a damn. One little strip of land would not be my undoing, not after everything I'd survived.

  I turned away from the pastures to face the gravel driveway and the house on the other side of it. The driveway carved a straight line of brown through the grassland, half a mile to the paved highway. My perimeter fence cut across the driveway, where a gate fashioned from metal and woven wire stood closed. Since the perimeter fence kept the sheep in their pasture, the fencing around the house and barn served as only a privacy measure.

  Movement caught my eye, and I blinked rapidly, lifting my hand to shield my eyes again. Was that a person traipsing down the driveway toward me? Nobody walked all the way from the road. Nobody.

  The figure drew closer and closer.

  I squinted, resting my hand on my holstered gun, flipping up the safety snap, and shuffled forward two steps. The figure approaching the gate looked like a man, based on his sturdy frame and the way he strode toward the gate with masculine purpose and certainty. A hat squatted on his head, its brim casting his face in shadow. No, not just a hat. The nearer he came, the more detail I could see. He wore a fedora like Indiana Jones. His T-shirt was blue and short-sleeved. His khaki pants hugged his hips and clung to his thighs, getting looser below the knees and flaring slightly around his hiking boots. Over one shoulder, he carried a brown duffel bag. He kept his head down, so I couldn't make out his face even as he reached the gate.

  He lifted the latch, swung the gate open a few feet, and stepped through it. After replacing the latch, he strode in my direction.

  I started to pull out my gun but hesitated. Something about the man seemed oddly familiar.

  "Hey!" I shouted. "Stop."

  The man halted, removed his hat and plopped his bag down, and ran a hand over his light-brown hair. The glow of the sunset kissed his face, illuminating it with golden tones tinged with pink.

  I drew back, frozen in place. It couldn't be. No, no, no, I had to be hallucinating. The heat had gotten to me, and my brain decided to harvest a memory from the distant past and bake into a bizarre hallucination.

  The man resumed his leisurely, purposeful stroll toward me. His mouth curved into a smile.

  My feet refused to budge. My vocal chords refused to function. My tummy fluttered, my pulse sped up, and a ridiculous anticipation zinged through me.

  Iain MacTaggart halted an arm's length away. His smile had crinkled the tiniest lines at the corners of his eyes, but otherwise no one would ever have guessed he was…How old now? He must be fifty.

  And of course, he looked as hot as ever. Young. Virile. His hook nose had never detracted from his appeal, rather it had always given him a dangerously seductive air. That and his smile. And his voice. Oh dear God, his voice. That Scottish brogue. He hadn't even spoken yet, and my body had already come alive at the memories.

  "Rae Everhart," he said as if savoring the syllables. "It's been a long time, but I found you."

  My throat had gone dry and tight, but I managed to squeeze out one word. "Iain?"

  Duh. Like I wouldn't have recognized him in an instant, even after thirteen years. My brain seemed to have shut down, though, leaving me to fend for myself in the presence of the only man who'd ever made me weak with desire. Hearing his voice again after all these years, that deep and smoky voice, my body flashed back to the last time I'd seen him. Felt him. Kissed him. And oh, so much more.

  Slack-jawed and immobilized, I stared into his pale-blue eyes. The breeze knocked a wavy lock of his hair over his left eye, but he seemed not to notice. His gaze was fixated on me.

  "I've waited thirteen years for this," he said. "Cannae wait a second longer."

  He closed the distance between us, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his hard body.

  "Iain—"

  Warm, soft lips silenced whatever the hell I'd been about to say. No clue what that had been, but it probably would've come out breathless and idiotic. He pressed his mouth to mine, holding his lips there without trying for more. Just lips on lips. His mouth. My mouth. The fluttering in my belly melted into a heat that pooled low, and when he slid a hand into my hair, I fought the urge to sag into him and moan. Sense memories, nothing more. Ghosts of the distant past.

  Still, I could not break away.

  He peeled his lips from mine with aching slowness, deliberately letting the contact linger for as long as possible. Once our mouths had separated, he kept his arm around my waist and his hand in my hair, his fingers caressing my scalp and his palm pinning me in his body. Holy shit, he'd grown more muscles since the last time I'd seen him. Hard, powerful muscles.

  Why was it so dark? Had the sun vanished?

  Of course not. I had my eyes closed.

  I forced my lids to part, blinking to clear my gaze.

  His blue gaze seared into mine. In that outrageously sexy voice, he murmured, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Rae. You're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you."

  The last time. The last night. Memories assailed me, shattering the sultry spell he'd woven around me.

  I shoved away from him, wiped my hands on my jeans, and straightened my shirt. "What on earth do you think you're doing? You can't waltz up my driveway, invite yourself through the gate, and then kiss me."

  "Obviously, I can." He plucked his hat off the ground, where he must've dropped it when he pulled me into his arms. Dusting it off, he said, "I came a long way to see you."

  "And that gives you the right to barge into my life?"

  He sighed, ever the patient professor. The Unflappable Iain MacTaggart, that's what he'd been to me. To the rest of the student population at X University, he'd been The Notorious Dr. MacT, Professor of Fuckology. Every girl had wanted to crawl into his bed, and some of the boys too. The rest of the guys hated Iain because he had the kind of mature sex appeal only a man over thirty could hope to achieve. He'd been thirty-seven, two years older than I was now. I'd been twenty-two and awestruck by the sexy Scotsman who made archaeology and Celtic history sound like the hottest thing ever.

  So naturally, I'd slept with him. Once.

  And my entire life had blown up.

  I locked my arms over my chest. "Go away, Iain. I'm way too busy to accommodate whatever midlife crisis you're suffering from at the moment. You are not welcome here."

  My body disagreed, still pliant and steamed up from that kiss. The passion I'd felt for him so long ago seemed to have lain dormant insid
e me, just waiting for an opportunity to erupt again.

  Oh hell no. I had a life of my own these days, one I'd fought like hell to create—for myself and for my daughter. No Scotsman, not even a sinfully hot one, would trample on my carefully crafted life.

  "Iain," I said, striving for calmness, "go home. Turn around and walk back the way you came."

  "No." He slapped the fedora back onto his head, tilted at a sexy angle. "I'm not leaving until you've heard me out."

  I stared at him for several seconds, fascination and annoyance warring inside me, making acid boil in my stomach. He was as pigheaded as ever, but I had no time for this.

  Spinning on my heels, I stalked across the driveway to the front door of the house and slammed it behind me.

  Footsteps thumped on the roofed porch.

  Iain's voice rumbled from the other side of the door. "I'll wait out here until you change your mind."

  And I knew, without the slightest hint of a doubt, he would do exactly that. For days, probably, if I left him out there that long.

  Thirteen years. What did he expect after so much time? That I'd throw my arms around him and praise God for sending him back to me? Like hell. But he wouldn't go away. In the ten months I'd known him back in college, I'd witnessed his stubborn streak on many occasions. Once he set his sights on a goal, he did not give up.

  Shit.

  Talking to him would be a mistake. Letting him into my house would be begging for disaster. Iain could never know the truth, not after all these years and all the pain he'd caused me. He'd lost the right to know when he abandoned me in the midst of a life-altering scandal. What might've been had evaporated the day after I said "yes" when Iain MacTaggart invited me back to his apartment.

  Nothing mattered more to me than my daughter. I would do anything to protect her from the kind of hurt I'd endured when Iain left me without a word, without a trace, without a fucking forwarding address or phone number.

  Iain could never know about Malina.

  Our daughter.

  "Rae," Iain called through the door, "I'm asking for a few minutes, that's all."