The Play

by Karina Halle

  “That’s fucking stupid,” Kayla says, reaching for the hand that I’ve balled into a fist. She uncurls it and lets her fingers slip inside. My heartbeat slows.

  “It is fucking stupid,” Amara says, nodding and angrily shoving a piece of hair behind her ear. “The law was introduced in the seventies when dog fighting was a problem. It needs to be bloody updated, but the government is a bunch of ignorant cunts. We’re working on it though, trying to educate that it’s the people who do that kind of shite that should be banned, not the breed.”

  I exhale harshly through my nose. “Let’s not discuss this too much today. I need to stay in good spirits,” I tell them honestly.

  Kayla gives my hand a squeeze and nods. She looks to Amara. “What are you doing now? Did you want to go out for a late lunch or dinner with us?”

  We hadn’t even discussed a late lunch, so the fact that Kayla is already opening up to Amara and inviting her in warms my heart like a tonic.

  “Thanks,” Amara says. “I’m good though. Going to head back to work. Maybe tomorrow, Lachlan. You can bring her by and show her what we do.”

  “Aye,” I agree. “Before practice. That would be perfect.”

  She waves goodbye and hurries off. I know that she doesn’t have to go back to work until later, so I get the impression that she’s trying to give us some alone time. I guess I am in just a towel.

  I peer down at Kayla. “So about that lunch,” I say. “What other plans do you have in store for us?”

  She gives me a grin and a saucy tilt to her head. “Not telling,” she says. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

  She sashays her way into the drawing room and I watch her go.

  Though she’s trying to look seductive, shaking that delectable peach-shaped bottom of hers, it only lasts about two seconds before Lionel comes bounding out of nowhere, jumping up on her legs, and enveloping her in a flurry of kisses.

  She yelps, and if she was ever fearful, it’s faded into laughter. Lionel is merciless in his love and need for affection, and Kayla shrieks playfully as he chases her around the room, tongue hanging out if his mouth, wanting nothing from her but attention.

  I know how you feel, old friend, I think to myself before following suit and joining the chase.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Kayla

  I’m dreaming. I’m drowning. Everything is wet.

  My face is wet.

  Smelly.

  Dog breath.

  I flinch, fully coming awake just in time to see a long pink tongue slide over my face, leaving a trail of drool behind.

  “Oy, Lionel,” Lachlan mumbles, throwing his arm out and pulling the dog away from my face and back in between us. “Have some manners.”

  I slowly sit up, running my hand over my cheek and wiping the dog drool off of me. I look down at Lachlan who’s holding Lionel in a hug and grinning sheepishly up at me.

  “Sorry about that,” he says. “He likes to wake you up with kisses.”

  I raise my brow, totally fucking charmed by the sight of Lachlan and his tattoos and muscles, holding the sweetest, drooling dog against him, nestled in the white sheets. “I’m not complaining, but I would rather you wake me up with kisses instead.”

  He grins at me, looking absolutely adorable, a lock of bed-mussed hair flopping over his forehead. “That can be arranged.”

  I already arranged it last night. Though somehow I was able to make it through the day and most of the evening, when we turned in at eleven o’clock after taking Emily and Lionel for their last walk around the quaint neighborhood, I was absolutely exhausted. Despite that, I woke up at three a.m., wide-eyed and ready to go. It probably hadn’t been such a good idea to take that nap, but I don’t regret the sex it led to after. And, of course, when it’s the middle of the night and you have a Scottish sex god in bed with you, you wake him up with a blow job.

  Thankfully Lionel wasn’t in bed with us at the time. He must have snuck in when we were both sated and passed out.

  Emily barks from the other room, and that steals Lionel’s full attention. His ears perk up and his forehead wrinkles in the exact same way that his master’s often does, and he jumps off the bed, burning it into the living room.

  “You can never sleep in with dogs,” Lachlan says, his voice still sleepy in that very sexy way of his. “Which was fine until you came into the picture. Now I think lying in bed with you in the mornings is the best part of the day.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” I say softly. I take the opportunity to lie back down, pulling the soft covers over me and settling into my favorite spot, the nook between his arm and his side. I place my fingers on his broad chest, trailing them over his tattoos. I feel like I’ll forever be marveling at what a perfect specimen of a man he is. Every second that ticks past, I’m looking at him differently. Deeper. And now that I’m here, with him in his home, I don’t think there’s any hope for me.

  Yesterday, when I woke up from my jet-lagged nap and found him crawling on top of me with that look in his eyes that wasn’t just about lust but something more profound, more real, what followed went beyond any fuck I’ve had before. It was raw and I was ravaged. I could feel his urgency with every touch of his hands, feel his heart beating like a wild beast. There was breathtaking honesty in the way he stared at me, as if I were gold dust, precious and able to blow away at a moment’s notice.

  We made love. There was no other word for it, and while it used to make me cringe and laugh when other people used that term so casually, so cheesily, I finally got it. I understood it. It was lust and passion and burning desire for each other’s bodies, for the pleasure, but it was also feverish want for the person inside.

  I didn’t just want Lachlan’s muscles, his lips, his endless skills beneath the sheets. I wanted him, every part of him. The dark bits that were hidden away and only hinted at by tattoos. I desired all of him, like a dying man desires one more breath.

  I’d wanted to bring Lachlan to his knees, and while I could feel him yearning and yielding to me, I was going to my knees first. I had no idea how I was going to pick myself up in three weeks. No idea at all.

  “What are you thinking about?” he whispers into the top of my head, his fingers playing with my hair.

  That you’re the first for everything, I think to myself. “Nothing,” I say.

  “Ah,” he says. “I see.”

  “I guess I’m just trying to get my head on straight.”

  He squeezes his arm against me. I love it when he does that. I feel absolutely protected.

  “If you’re anything like me, it’s going to take you a few days to adjust to the new time zone. I remember when I first traveled abroad to Australia for the Rugby World Cup, I was an absolute wreck. Couldn’t even tie my own laces. No wonder we lost.”

  I smile against him, then turn it into a kiss, my lips brushing the side of his chest. “I have a hard time believing you could lose at anything.”

  He grunts. “Then I shant ruin the pedestal you’ve placed me on, darling.”

  I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, his rhythmic stroking of my hair. I’m almost falling asleep again, dreams coming at me in dark flashes, wanting to bring me under, when his alarm goes off.

  “Can’t we ignore it?” I mutter.

  “We can ignore the alarm,” he says. He adjusts himself just as Lionel jumps on the bed, shuffling his way between us. “But we can’t ignore him.”

  “I just want to sleep,” I say, seconds before I get a paw to the face.

  “Aye,” he says, “but we have a big day.”

  My tired brain jogs over the plans we’ve made. Or plans that he has made for me. He has rugby practice at two, and he wanted to bring me to the shelter beforehand and introduce me to the people that work there. I guess he feels bad about leaving me in the apartment with the dogs all day, though I honestly wouldn’t mind. Lionel is just a big suck and Emily is warming up to me more and more.

  Plus Lachlan’s apartmen
t is absolutely stunning. I never pegged him as someone who would live in such a gorgeous, airy, historical place, but even after glancing out the front window and gazing at all the other stone houses on the street, it’s obvious everyone here lives somewhat like this. It’s kind of like living in a sexier episode of Downton Abbey.

  But Amara, who I met briefly yesterday, seems nice enough, albeit a little quiet, and I know Lachlan wants me to feel important and involved. The last thing I want is for him to worry.

  Somehow the two of us manage to remove ourselves from bed. Lionel is running around the living room like a crazed beast, mouth open in a permanent, gummy smile. While Lachlan slips on running shoes, loose black drawstring pants, a white t-shirt, and a baseball cap, to take Lionel and Emily out for a quick walk, I putter around his sparse, elegant kitchen trying to figure out how to make a pot of coffee. I find a cupboard overflowing with stashes of tea, a small bag of coffee, and finally, a French press.

  I sigh loudly in relief, putting the kettle on and taking a moment to take it all in. There’s usually so much you can tell about a person judging by where they live, but Lachlan’s apartment doesn’t give me much. He told me he’s been living here for about five years now, but to be honest, it’s not that much different in terms of personal touches than the short-term rental he had in San Francisco. There’s some art on the walls, vintage concert posters framed extravagantly in the living room, and subdued modern art in the dining room, but none of that really seems to reflect his personality. The same goes for his furniture. While it’s all very nice, the only thing that seems to have any reflection of him is the wood dining table, with its knots and grains and imperfections.

  The bookshelves hold mainly hardcover non-fiction books ranging from memoirs to travel, but there are just a few items and photos held on the shelves and on top of the fireplace mantel. The photos are of him and Edinburgh Rugby, one of him and Lionel, and then one of him and, who I’m guessing are his adopted parents after a game, his hair matted, barely smiling in his uniform. If this was my house, I would have my shit cluttered all over the place. All you need to do is walk inside, look around, and you immediately know that Kayla Moore lives there.

  If I’d met Lachlan on the street, and by some good fortune strolled on home with him here, I’m not sure I could glean anything from his home that I didn’t already know. That said, his flat does have a nice feel to it, just as he does. I’m sure over time it will become more and more comfortable. I’ll adapt to it and it will adapt to me.

  When he comes back from his walk, I hear him in the hallway talking to the dogs in a happy, playful tone. The coffee is ready, so I lean against the counter, slowly sipping from the cup while he walks into the kitchen.

  “Wow,” he says when he sees me, stopping by the door to look me up and down, shaking his head slightly.

  “What?” I ask, wanting to know why he’s staring at me with such awe.

  He runs his hand over his chin. “You. Here. In my kitchen. In nothing but your knickers.”

  I raise my coffee cup. “And with coffee.”

  “Dream woman, that’s what you are,” he says, sauntering over to me with that ever present swagger. While he may be wowed by the sight of me, I’m equally wowed by him, particularly by the way his drawstring pants hang so low on his waist, showing that perfect V and giving me one hell of a dick imprint. I’m glad I can continue to wow him in every way possible.

  He comes over, bracketing me in between his large hands, his body pressed up against mine. He gazes down at me through his lashes, eyes roaming my face, the smallest smirk on his lips. “I think I can get used to this,” he says, voice low and husky and reaching inside me. My spine liquefies at the sound of it, my skin dancing with anticipation because I know, I know, he’s going to touch me and my body is in constant need.

  “What time do we have to head on out?” I ask him, closing my eyes as he leans down and kisses my neck.

  He groans, sending shivers through me. “Where do I have to go again?”

  “To practice,” I remind him. “And you’re taking me somewhere first. To your work. Though I suppose we could do that another day,” I add hopefully.

  He sighs. “No.” He pulls back and peers at my face. “I wish, but if I don’t go back, I’ll be in big trouble.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me. I know rugby is his career, and I know how important it is to him. The last thing I want is for him to feel guilty about it.

  I decide to lighten the mood. I run my hands down his taut waist and gaze up at him sweetly. “What happens when you get in big trouble? Do the other boys pull down your shorts and give you a spanking?”

  He raises his brow. “Filthy, filthy creature,” he murmurs.

  I run my thumb under the waistband of his pants, feeling his warm, soft skin. “Well, don’t spoil my fantasy now.”

  “Right. Well, yes, of course we pull down each other’s shorts and take turns beating each other with sticks. Sometimes we rub butter all over each other and have one big tackle.” He pauses. “Actually, that happened once, but I think we all had a bit too much to drink. It’s not easy to tackle a naked, oily man. Was good practice though.”

  I study him, unable to figure out if he’s serious or not. “Rugby is a very weird sport.”

  He reaches around me for the mug I set out for him. “You’ll come to practice sooner or later and see for yourself.”

  “I can do that?” I ask, suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing him in action. I step to the side to let him pour the coffee.

  “If you’d like,” he says. “I can’t say whether I’d be playing or at my full capacity, but I’ll arrange it. Hopefully on a good day. I don’t want you to start thinking I’m not the player you thought I was.”

  “Oh, I never thought you were a player,” I tease him. “Gay, maybe.”

  There’s just the slightest roll of his eyes. “Right, well that rubbing butter over our naked bodies didn’t really help now, did it?” He takes a sip of his coffee and closes his eyes. “By the way, love, this is bloody good. If you can make me coffee every morning for the rest of my life, I will die a happy man.”

  There’s brevity in his eyes, but his words still hit me hard. God, could that even be possible? My thoughts trip and suddenly I’m imagining myself right here, in this kitchen, weeks from now, months from now, years from now. What would that be like? To be with someone like him for that long? Contrary to how I used to think, at least with Kyle, that thought doesn’t scare me anymore. Instead, it makes my heart warm, skipping a beat.

  “Only thing is,” he continues, as if he hasn’t just put the most wonderful imagery in the world inside my head, “I wish you could actually be here to see me in action. Our first game starts the week you leave, and I highly doubt I’ll be put on the pitch.”

  My heart may have been skipping a beat but now it’s sinking.

  I swallow hard and grip the edge of his shirt. “New rule. Neither of us are to mention the fact that I’m leaving in three weeks.”

  His eyes narrow and he nods. “All right. That’s fair. What about when you book your flight back?”

  “Leave that to me,” I tell him, knowing he’s already offered to pay for my return. “I’ll take care of it when I do.”

  “Or maybe you could not, and just stay here indefinitely,” he says, focused on his coffee cup until he briefly looks up at me. He shrugs one shoulder. “It might be an option.”

  This man is tempting me at every turn. First it was coming here, now it’s the idea of never leaving.

  “We both know I can’t do that,” I tell him. Then I playfully punch his rock hard shoulder. “And hey, what did I say about that? We don’t mention it, okay? Let’s just…enjoy this.”

  “For as long as we can?” he says, and damn if I don’t see sorrow in the way he scrunches up his brow.

  “For as long as we can.”

  ***

  A couple of hours later, after a quick breakfast of sausage and egg
s, courtesy of Lachlan (and no, that’s not an innuendo), we leave the dogs behind and pile into his car. I’ve never been inside a Range Rover before, but damn if it’s not a perfect car for him—big, tough, and rugged. But instead of taking it out into the wilderness, we cruise through the busy city streets, heading to his organization which is across town.

  I can’t help but ogle out the window at everything we pass. The buildings are so different, so old, so charming and full of character you can’t duplicate. They bleed history, and I find myself getting antsy over exploring the city. Already it feels like there’s not enough time to do everything, and even though I want to soak up as much Lachlan as I can, I want to take in as much of Edinburgh as possible. It’s probably because of my present company, but it already feels like the city is leaving a stamp on my heart.

  We pull up to a stone building near what seems like the outskirts of downtown. I get out of the car, remembering to look right before I’m run over by a car and stare up at the sign above the dark wood door.

  “Ruff Love Animal Shelter?” I repeat. I look at him in awe. “That is absolutely adorable.”

  “Aye. It is. People were surprised how saccharine it was, considering it came from me. But most of these animals can use a sweet bit of PR. Having people view them as cute and adorable is what helps get them adopted.”

  Agh. Once again, this man has found another way to sweep me off my feet. I look down the building, back up at the sign, then over to him, standing there on the street in black boots, black jeans, and a grey t-shirt, looking about as rough and rowdy as they come, and yet from the goodness of his heart he’s managed to do all of this.