Lord of the Isles: International Billionaires VIII: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

  Just as she’d asked for.

  Something almost like anger twisted inside his need. Because she demanded too much. She demanded he come back to life and come back to his responsibilities. She demanded he confront the ugliness of his past and challenged him to look at his future. And now, with an instinct as old as his island, he knew she demanded all of him and he realized he was willing to give.

  Give everything.

  “Lilly,” he said again, this time with intensity, almost fury.

  Her gaze focused in on him and her arms and legs tightened around him. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m right here with you, Iain.”

  Was she? Was she as desperate and needy as he? Could she possibly feel like she was falling apart and coming together at the same time—just like he was?

  His heart beat, a furious, frightened tattoo in his chest.

  But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t.

  He ran his hands down her writhing body, taking in her passion, her sweat, her heat. Tightening his grip on her lush arse, he pulled her into him, letting her wet, tight, hot hold on his cock take over.

  He pounded and gasped.

  She arched and groaned.

  This was no dance of love. This joining wasn’t about magic and fairy dust and sparkle. This connection they were forging was far deeper and stronger. Something like the creation of a world—harshness and gloriousness combined.

  Iain felt himself losing, losing his tenuous control over his lust, losing his mind in the ravaging agony of carnality, losing himself inside this woman.

  She cried out, her face grimacing in pleasure, her glowing skin misty with his sweat and hers.

  He came.

  Into her, his muscles like a taut bow above her, his cock pulsing in her depths, his panting breath brushing across her face.

  Rapture, bliss, ease.

  His eyes closed as he sank onto her soft, warm body. His mind shut down, too overwhelmed by the pleasure still coursing through his veins to snap back to attention. Too baffled by the knowledge of what Lilly Graham was to him and for him to command his body to become a machine once more.

  At least, for right now.

  And maybe, God help him, forever.

  Chapter 22

  Iain McPherson weighed a ton.

  Lilly stifled a giggle at the thought, sweeping her palm across his sweaty shoulders, relishing his heat and his weight. Because this was her love. Her man. And she didn’t want this moment to end for quite a long time.

  Maybe forever.

  That thought popped her amusement and replaced it with a wonderful, fearful knowing. She’d often thought finding a one true love was foolish. Look at her mother, who’d jumped into two marriages, dazed with love, and found only unhappiness. Look at several of her friends, who’d married in giddy delight straight out of college and were already facing divorce. Look at the way her sisters kept dreaming of the one perfect guy who’d make every dream come true while all along, they should be making their own dreams come true.

  She’d thought true love was a complete fantasy for most people. Something that led them down wrong roads with bad loves. She’d thought eventually she’d merely find a nice guy and have some kids and it would be good.

  Not earth-shattering.

  Only satisfying, in a comfortable sort of way.

  She hadn’t wanted a one true love for another reason too. Because she was pretty sure her mom had been her dad’s one true love and look how that had turned out for him. All alone for almost his entire life. Unable to move forward with another woman who might have made him much happier than her crazy mother.

  True love was a fantasy, or a nightmare, and she hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.

  Until now.

  Until Iain.

  He snuffled into her hair and ear, an adorable sound that made her want to cry. The rough scrape of hair on his chest brushed her breasts as he nestled closer. His hands still held her butt as if he were not planning on letting her go. For now.

  Maybe forever?

  She let her hand move over his fabulous ass and squeezed, exactly as she’d wanted to do a hundred times since she’d seen it naked.

  He rumbled something unintelligible.

  The giggle came once more and this time, because she was so happy and scared and excited, she let it go.

  “Laughing,” he grumbled. “Again.”

  The giggle obliged him and turned into a true laugh.

  His head reared up, and his sky-blue eyes pierced her own. The happiness inside her switched to joy because his brilliant gaze didn’t have a cloud of pain or a storm of hurt anywhere. Pure, clear impossibly blue, his gaze told her something had healed inside him.

  Maybe forever?

  Maybe because of her?

  “Donas.” His mouth formed the word, firm and commanding.

  “Your Majesty,” she rejoined.

  His eyes went sparkly at that. Silver and bright and lustrous. “Donas,” he repeated. “Don’t ye know it isn’t a good idea to laugh at a man after making love?”

  Making love.

  The two words bounced between them. Lilly went tongue-tied and her brain scrambled around for an answer that would let him know, yes, yes! and at the same time, don’t worry about me and my feelings.

  The blue of his eyes went opaque before he moved off her with a jerk.

  Well.

  She stared at the blue sky above her. It or God or fate didn’t give her any suggestions or answers on how to deal with a man who was withdrawing in more than a physical way.

  She could feel it.

  The walls slamming down. The drawbridge pulling back.

  “We’d best get going.” He surged to his feet and reached for his clothes and hers. Her shirt and jeans plopped on her stomach.

  “There’s a storm coming,” he continued, his voice mild, giving her nothing.

  She glared at the clear sky. “There’s no storm coming.”

  Except maybe between them.

  “There might be.” The sound of him tugging on his jeans echoed from the rock surrounding them. “Ye never know with the Hebrides.”

  “I know one thing.” She rose to a sitting position. Tucking her legs into a standard yoga pose, she ignored her nakedness, because she wasn’t ashamed about what had occurred between them, and she wasn’t going to pretend it was nothing. She took her glare from the sky and fixed it on the correct object that deserved it. “You’re ignoring what just happened.”

  “Ignoring?” His hand stilled on the zipper of his jeans, his straight brows furrowing. “What the hell do ye mean by that?”

  “I mean,” she took her heart into her hand and placed it right on a platter for him, “we made love.”

  “I just said that, didn’t I?” He picked up his sneakers, shielding his face from her glare. “It was great.”

  “Great.” Her heart withered on the platter.

  “Aye, great.” He jerked on the laces, tying them tight. “I’d say it was the best sex I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Best. Sex. You’ve had.” In a long time. She couldn’t make herself say the last of his words.

  “Right.” He straightened his shoulders as if he were about to go to war and stared at her. His gaze strayed to her lap and his mouth pursed. “Ye might want to get dressed.”

  Could she have misread every clue? Could she have really been that delusional?

  The sick thought swished inside, making her slightly nauseated. The last thing she should do was climb into a canoe and hit the water. “I don’t think so.”

  “Eh?” His gaze tugged back to her face, yet it slowed when it got to her breasts, and for some reason, that gave her courage.

  “I think we need to talk.”

  He groaned and twisted from her, heading for one outcrop of black and gray granite. “Talk,” he threw the word at her. “Ye never want to do anything but talk.”

  “Not true,” she chirped, trying to keep her spirit
s up. “I didn’t do much talking a few minutes ago. You seemed to appreciate that at the time.”

  Stopping at the wall of rock, he stooped and focused on the stone face, ignoring her again, ignoring what had happened between them.

  She took her flash of anger in hand and managed to give him a reasonable way back into her good graces. “What are you looking at?”

  His shoulders tensed like she’d thrown a rock at him and hit the target. “Nothing.”

  “Do you often stare at rocks in your spare time?” Anger swell and she let sarcasm lace every word.

  Swinging around, he stared at her, challenge in his gaze and a defiant, almost frantic air about him. “Put on your clothes then, and I’ll show ye another part of my past.”

  Now that was too good of an offer to pass by. She scrambled into her jeans and shirt while he watched. A flush of embarrassment or happiness made her warm, she didn’t know which. She loved it when he eyed her like he was about to eat her up, and there was certainly that look in his eyes. And yet, there was a coolness there too, as if he were weighing her worth or wondering if he could trust what he saw.

  “Okay.” She bounced to his side, barefoot, because she couldn’t wait any longer to find out what was on the rock. “Show me.”

  “There.” One of his fingers pointed.

  Peering down, Lilly couldn’t see much, other than there seemed to be some etchings dug into the hard surface.

  “The first one I did as a lad, for my mum.”

  The stem swirled into layers of petals. “A rose.”

  “Aye.” He leaned over her, his hand tracing the first etching. “My mum loved her roses.”

  Frowning at the etching, she thought back. “I don’t remember any roses around the castle.”

  “There’s a place, behind the beach. My da made a garden for her and her flowers.” His hand paused on the heart of the petals and his voice hesitated before continuing. “I’ll show ye if ye like.”

  She knew, deep inside, she’d just been given something very special. She didn’t know what, but she knew enough to turn and kiss his rough cheek, letting the last of her anger slide. “I’d like to see your mom’s garden.”

  That got her a male grunt, but he didn’t pull away and she didn’t hear any gates crashing closed. “This one,” he traced the next etching, “I did when I was fifteen.”

  The year they’d met and he’d driven her away. This rose was bigger, the petals seeming to reach out for the sun above. “Who did you do that one for?”

  “And this one.” Ignoring her question, he slid his finger across the last etching, one that didn’t resemble a rose at all.

  “This one?” She decided to give him another pass for ignoring her again, too interested in what this meant to him to start a fight.

  “This one I did the day before I left for good to join the Marines.”

  “For good?” She glanced at him. “You didn’t leave for good, Iain. You’re standing right here.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, his focus intensified on the last etching. “It’s a thistle.”

  Staring at the rock, she tried to figure out the meaning. “Your family’s coat of arms?”

  He laughed, a bleak rumble that wasn’t filled with any kind of happiness. His finger went back to the last rose.

  “Who’s that rose for?” The roses seemed to make him happier than the thistle. She snuck her hand into his and squeezed.

  “No one in particular at the time. Only a dream.” He yanked away, his hand dropping, his body withdrawing once more. “So there ye have it. I was a fanciful wanker as a boy.”

  She faced him, anger brewing again. But this time, the frustrated irritation was directed at whoever had pounded out the dreamer in this boy. His da? The Marines? A combination of both? “Iain.”

  “Iain, she says.” He paced off across the plain of grass, heading for the beach and the canoe. “Come on. Time to get on the water.”

  “Hey.” Running over to her sneakers, she grabbed them before following him down the sandy path. “Wait.”

  His long legs kept him in front of her, and she was almost running by the time they got to the beach and the remains of their picnic. Lilly looked at the bannock and the cheese and it struck her their eating and sharing seemed like it happened years ago. That whatever connection had occurred on the grass in the middle of his private enclave had changed everything inside her and around her.

  “Help me pack this.” He kneeled on the blanket and she saw her chance.

  Pushing on those broad shoulders, she caught him by surprise. He let out an oath as he landed square on his back with her on top of him.

  “Got ya,” she said right into his startled face.

  “I believe ye got me a wee bit ago.” His beautiful mouth quirked, making her heart sing with relief. She didn’t know what she would have done if she had to have this conversation with the sullen, angry man she’d first encountered.

  “We’re going to talk right now,” she warned.

  His lips slanted into wryness. “Why am I not surprised?”

  His continued humor and the fact he didn’t throw her off him with his superior strength, gave her courage. “I remember you as a boy.”

  The clouds descended into his eyes. “I was a rat bastard to ye.”

  “No, you were not.” She brushed her hand through the wildness of his hair. “You made me happy.”

  “I made ye scared and fearful,” he countered, his mouth tightening.

  “Yes, at the end you did that. Because you were hurting about your mom and I was a stupid kid.”

  Brawny shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know why you’d say that.”

  “I’d say it because I’m not a kid any longer, I’m a woman.” She tucked his hair behind his ear and leaned down to kiss his stubborn chin. “I’ve thought about it and remembered what I asked you right before you got nasty.”

  “I got really nasty.” His porcelain skin flushed like he was playing the scene in his head and not liking what he saw. Blue eyes turned blurry before clearing and focusing on her with pain. “And Lil. I get nasty now.”

  “You do.” Her fingers smoothed across his frowning brows. “But only when you’re hurting. Only when you’re scared.”

  He sucked in a deep breath as if she’d punched him. “Ye reckon?”

  “I reckon.” She kissed the edge of his mouth.

  He let her, not taking control with a passionate kiss, not making his lips sultry and seductive. He merely lay there, bewilderment in his eyes, a wary hopefulness on his face.

  “Iain.”

  “Iain she says.”

  “You were a little bit nasty a while ago.”

  His skin grew ruddy once more. “Was I?”

  “You were and you hurt me.” She gave him another tender kiss on the other side of his mouth. “Again.”

  Silence fell between them, filled only by the gentle waves hitting the shore. Lilly stared at him, watching as his gaze turned dark and his mouth pinched. She’d known this would be his reaction. Because the man carried around responsibility like a modern-day Atlas lugging the world on his shoulders, believing only Iain McPherson could heft the weight. She wanted him right in this place so she could stomp in and take the planet from his brawny shoulders and lay it down once and for all.

  “But this time,” she said. “I’m not going to run away from you.”

  His gaze grew darker.

  “This time I’m staying right here and letting you know,” she laid a tender kiss on his lower lip before continuing, “I forgive you, love. Because you deserve to be forgiven.”

  Chapter 23

  The lass was hopeless at paddling.

  A big, brilliant slap of affection hit Iain across his heart. Her blonde curls bobbed in the wind, her slender shoulders bowed into her work, her lush tush eased up and down on the seat with every stroke.

  Hopeless.

  And completely, utterly delicious.

  Yes, a man could pretend
what he felt for her was lust. Merely a male wanting a willing female. But he’d lost the ability to pretend somewhere along his path through life and he knew it wasn’t lust.

  Making love.

  His words echoed inside him, just as they’d echoed against the rock wall where he’d tried to leave something of himself behind with his pitiful childhood engravings.

  You didn’t leave for good, Iain. You’re standing right here.

  He stared across the waves toward Somairie. Towards the McPherson castle. She was right. He was right here. Right here where he’d grown up. Where his da had grown and died. Where his ancestors had ruled and loved and wept.

  He was still here.

  “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” she piped into his thoughts, driving away any melancholy in her own perky way.

  “You’re not.”

  Glancing over her shoulder at his response, she gave him a fierce frown. Then, she laughed. Her curls bounced, her pretty mouth opened, her eyes danced.

  He felt it rise inside him: the unwanted happiness, the unexpected joy, the delirious reality of being alive.

  He laughed with her.

  Their laughter twined around each other’s, spilling onto the ocean and the land, breaking something free in him so he felt as if he needed to fill himself with something more and better.

  Her laughter finally trailed off and his did too.

  “That’s more like it.” She winked before turning back to look out at his sea.

  He wanted this. He wanted her.

  Yet, what was this exactly?

  And did she want him, too?

  Sticking his paddle into the roll of the water, Iain frowned. Did she see him as a temporary man? One of many men she’d probably danced with and teased and had some fun. Hell, he was probably right—she had a man in every country ready to take her. Ready to do anything she wanted.

  Was he merely one more?

  I mean, we made love.

  She’d said those words so surely, with absolute certainty. As a man, the words and her certainty had shaken him. Scared him with such an immediate punch he’d been an arse and handed her some shite to protect himself until he figured his feelings out.