Lord of the Isles: International Billionaires VIII: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

  She grabbed the brown bar of soap and held it in front of him. “See this?”

  “Aye.” His smirk grew sly. “It’s my soap.”

  “What did you say about it?” She tapped the bar on her chin, letting the tease settle around them. “Something about oil and moisturizing?”

  “Aye.” This time the word was husky.

  Lilly glanced at him and decided to risk a question. If he got all uptight, she’d merely switch back to her sexual teasing. “Why is this soap important to you, Iain?”

  His mouth puckered and his eyes went dark.

  Crap. “Never mind—”

  “Naw.” He shifted under the water, the muscles of his arms and chest growing rigid. “I’ll tell ye.”

  She teeter-tottered in indecision. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He reached out and grabbed the bar from her hands. “This was the soap my team used.”

  “Team?”

  “My men.” Staring at the soap, his nostrils flared as if he found the scent too hard to take in. “We all used it as a sign of unity.”

  “So you still use it to remember them.”

  He glanced up and the tortured look in his eyes told her he’d had enough of this topic. She needed to lighten the mood. And yet, she was glad she’d asked the question. Because Iain had been willing and able to tell her something about his past that was obviously a painful memory.

  Trust. That was a sure sign of trust.

  “Hey.” She snatched the bar from his hands and gave him a sexy grin. “I think I was about to use this on you.”

  “Use the soap on me?” His eyes lightened and his mouth turned sly again, much to her relief. “What do ye mean by that, lass?”

  “Let’s see.” She lathered the soap in her hands while running her gaze over his big body. “There are so many places I could start.”

  His smirk flashed. “Go wherever ye want. I’m not complaining.”

  Chuckling, she slipped her soapy hands across his wet shoulders, before letting them drift across his chest, tweaking his nipples.

  He grunted, keeping his gaze pinned on her face, the smirk sliding off his own.

  Lilly curled her lips. “Let’s wash this off now, so I can do other things.”

  “Other things?”

  She sliced the water over his body and leaned in to nibble.

  His grunt turned into a groan.

  The nipples went tight under her mouth, and his chest heaved under her hands, before going still in a breathless hold.

  “Lilly,” he whispered above her.

  In response to his unspoken plea, she bit one nipple and twisted the other.

  He arched in surprise, gasping out his pleasure at her aggression. He moaned a mumbled curse. Before he could find his brain again, she smoothed her hands down his sides to his waist and then around to his pelvis.

  His cock surged into her hands, his hips pumping off the stone wall in an instinctive entreaty.

  She kneeled in front of him.

  “Donas,” he croaked in surprise.

  Looking up, she met his dazed stare.

  She smiled.

  “Shite.” His mouth went slack. “You’re determined to destroy me, aren’t ye?”

  Destroy his agony, decimate his regrets, drive away his ghosts.

  Leaning into him, she placed a string of kisses from his hip, over the front of his thigh, down to his scars.

  “Ah, Jesus,” he sighed above her.

  Her lips and tongue traced each ridge of pain. She let her fingers run across the coarse hair of his calves, past the sharp cut of his knees, up to where her mouth touched his torn skin.

  His hand came to cup her head. “I need ye. So much.”

  With one last kiss to make him better, she switched her attention to his straining cock. One of her hands cupped him, too—rolling his balls in her grasp as her lips puckered around the head.

  “Ah!” He tensed and his hips bucked.

  The taste of him, salty and thick, coated her tongue. Lilly moved her mouth on the head and then down the length of him. Over and over. More and more. Pummeling him with pleasure.

  He went incoherent.

  He gasped and groaned. He muttered incomprehensible syllables while his hands fisted her curls in a hard grip. His body went as stiff as his cock before arching in a mindless rhythm into her.

  “I can’t,” he panted. “I can’t stop—”

  She didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want him to hold back anything. She wanted everything of him.

  Pulling him deep into her mouth and throat, she sucked hard.

  His cry of complete release filled the stone and glass sanctuary. A cry of helpless need and fiery desire.

  The cry of a man who’d fallen apart and been put back together by a woman.

  By her.

  Lilly slept so intensely, in a curled bundle, her blonde curls fluffed around her face, her delicate hands fisted by her pretty mouth.

  Iain brushed one curl from her cheek, letting his fingers linger in the softness. In the quiet light of early morning, her hair shone, a mix of cream and sunshine, a fusion of soothing warmth and exuberant joy.

  The exact combination she gave to him when he most needed her.

  He’d fallen apart last night, torpedoed by expectations, both his and his people’s. He’d taken on the role he’d left behind in the sands of Arabia out of necessity. A role he’d thought he’d never go near again. But there’d been no one with his skills and no one who could do the job as he could. He’d known that in one quick instant, with only a few short questions. So he’d done it.

  Been a hero.

  Iain, you did it. You saved them.

  Tracing a rough finger along her tender mouth, he remembered her words, the punch of them straight to his gut. He remembered the shock of entering the hall to find a cheering crowd. The immediate claustrophobia clawing at his control. The present had merged with the past, bringing back the memories of how his men had cheered when they’d accomplished a hard-won victory. The memories of their dead bodies surrounding him. The memories of the horrific meetings with their grieving parents when he’d been released from the hospital and had dragged himself across England and Scotland to do his duty to his men’s families.

  The past and present and future had robbed him of breath, stolen his mind, flung him around, and overwhelmed him with grief and stricken realization.

  He’d been a hero once more.

  He’d also remembered it could go wrong, did go wrong.

  She shifted, murmuring low. The line of her brows furrowed like some slight ghost had whispered through her dreams.

  Leaning down, he kissed her forehead.

  She’d saved him last night just as surely as he and the team of men he’d picked had saved those lads. If she hadn’t taken him by the hand and led him to his castle and his sanctuary and immeasurable pleasure, he’d have slid down the mountain of despair and straight back into the whiskey and his own personal hell.

  He had no interest in whiskey. No interest in despair.

  Because of Lilly. And also because of himself.

  He needed to get well for her, but also, for himself.

  Throwing off the covers, he jumped from the bed and padded into his den. He switched on his laptop and sat on the rough oak chair, not caring about the cool wood on his naked arse.

  He needed to make some changes.

  He needed to find a way to get well.

  Last night proved to him he had a long way to go before he’d conquered all his nightmares. And he needed to conquer them before he could offer himself to her.

  Skimming through various websites, he hit on one connection after another until he found what he thought he’d need. In-house treatment for six weeks, then twice-weekly counseling sessions he could easily fit in between the plans he had for his islands.

  He needed to show her he was worth saving. Worth sticking with for the future.

  “You’re up early.” Her voi
ce came quietly from the arch of the bedroom.

  Flipping the laptop shut in an instinctive move, he twisted around.

  Her curls were squashed on one side of her face and in a whirl on the other side. She’d thrown on one of his many T-shirts and it covered her down to her elbows and almost her knees. Her sea-green eyes were still blurry with sleep.

  A fervent, intense reverence for her washed through him, so strong he nearly cried out. The feeling swept into him, making his heart buzz with love.

  She deserved the best.

  The best of life and the best of him.

  Laying a hand on the closed laptop, he decided. He didn’t want to show her anything until he was sure of where he was going and where he’d end up. “Good morning.”

  “Is it?” She drifted to his side and stared at him with concern. Then her face lit with a smile at what she apparently saw. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Aye.” Snaking an arm around her cotton-covered waist, he patted her hip.

  Her fingers slid through his hair, making him shiver with pleasure. “Because of us together.”

  The words zinged through him, ricocheting from his brain to his gut. What she said wasn’t true. He’d done nothing last night but break apart. She’d been the one who put him back together. “Naw, naw, lass.”

  Her body stiffened in his grasp. He tried to think of a way to describe to her that it was her joy of life that saved him, not anything he’d done last night. He fingered the laptop, wishing he was already well and could offer himself to her with confidence. Looking up at her, he opened his mouth to explain. Something. Anything.

  Her attention was not focused on his face. It was focused on his hand lying on the closed computer. Her pretty lips firmed and her blonde brows arched. “What were you looking at when I came in?”

  “Nothing much.” He skidded from the thought of telling her the broken part of him needed therapy. That he’d need help for a while before he’d be well. Even though she’d suggested it herself, he still didn’t like the thought of confiding how far he had to go to the woman he’d fallen in love with. “Nothing ye need to fash yourself about.”

  “Really.” Her gaze narrowed as she swung to look him in the eye.

  Iain struggled to find the words that would tell her she shouldn’t worry. He’d figure this out, figure himself out and prove to her his worth. He couldn’t meet her gaze, so instead he stared at the laptop. “Just doing some research.”

  Her hand dropped from his hair. “Some of your plans for the islands?”

  He glanced at her again, the sudden coolness in her voice startling him. Her face was blank, a look he’d never seen before. But he didn’t want to drag her into this shite he’d have to go through to get well. She’d already suffered enough with him. She deserved better. She deserved the best. “Some plans on certain things.”

  Lovely Lilly stepped away from him and pinned a fake smile on her face. He knew it was fake because her eyes didn’t light like they usually did when she smiled at him. “I think I’ll get dressed.”

  “Um.” He glanced down at his naked self, trying to lighten her mood. “I guess I should, too.”

  She laughed. Yet, that was fake, too. It held none of her usual merriment or delight in life, in him, in herself.

  “Lil—”

  Her abrupt twist from him cut off his fumbling attempt to fix whatever was wrong. Because there was something wrong. He sensed it.

  She marched around the arch, disappearing, her spine straight, her shoulders stiff.

  “Lilly.” Following her, he couldn’t help the inevitable erection as his gaze drifted to the swing of her hips and her long, graceful legs. The lust pulsed inside him, scrambling his already-confused thinking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing much.” She strode to the armoire where she’d taken over a small corner with her collection of clothes. Pulling out a pair of jeans, she stared at the floor as she pulled them on. “I think I’ll go see how dad is doing after the storm.”

  “Um. Okay.” He shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of his nakedness. Pacing to his own stash of clothes, he grabbed a pair of his jeans. “I’ll go with ye.”

  “No.” Her sharp rejection made him wobble back on his heels. She didn’t even glance his way. “You should stay here and make your plans.”

  His plans included leaving her and his island for at least six weeks. Would she stay while he was gone? Would she stay with him when he wasn’t well, wasn’t whole?

  Should he even ask it of her?

  Lilly was vibrant with life, filled with her own dreams and plans. She hadn’t confided any of that to him, but he was sure she had them. A donas always had her own plans and her own dreams. Self-disgust swamped him. He hadn’t even thought of what she wanted for her life. Hadn’t even asked her one question about what she looked forward to.

  Why the hell would he assume she’d center her life on his?

  She pulled off his T-shirt, dropping it to the floor as if she couldn’t care less. Then, she threw one of her own T-shirts over her head, yanking it into place. Her face had gone stony. “In fact, I think I might stay a few days with my dad. You seem to be fine now. With all your plans and stuff.”

  His hands fisted on his jeans, his heart lurching into a gallop. “I…uh—”

  “After all, I came here to Somairie to visit him.” She gave him a straight look, a hard one, a look she’d never given him before, even when he’d been at his most obnoxious.

  The look screamed at him for answers.

  His brain rushed around in his head, trying to find the words to stop her, stop this, trying to find an answer for her unasked, unknown questions. “Um, maybe ye should—”

  “Right. It’s decided.” Bending over, she tugged her backpack from under the armoire and began to stuff her clothes into it.

  All her clothes.

  “Donas,” he gasped, his skin turning cold, goose bumps covering his flesh. “I don’t think ye—”

  “I have an offer.”

  His stunned brain slid to a halt inside him. An offer? What did she mean?

  “An offer,” he managed to stutter out.

  “Right. A good one, actually.” She swept her pretty hair combs off the top of the armoire, leaving the little bottles of lotion he’d bought her behind. “One I have to leave for soon, if I want to accept.”

  The disregard for his gifts shot through him like sniper fire. Then, her words scattershot across his wounded emotions, leaving only destruction behind.

  Leave soon.

  Accept.

  A good offer from another man? When had she had time for another man? Was it before she’d met him?

  A bright, fierce blast of rage spiked inside him.

  She stopped stuffing her clothes and girly things into her sack long enough to give him a glance so frigid now it ringed his rage in sea-green ice. “Not much to say, huh, Iain?”

  Cold and heat, rage and fear, pride and heartsickness combined in him, freezing his tongue.

  “Guess not.” Her eyes went opaque, leaving him with nothing. “Good to know.”

  Goddammit, he wasn’t going to stand here naked when the woman was leaving him in the dust.

  He’d been temporary. Like a lot of her life apparently.

  Rage turned to raw, bitter fury.

  He yanked on his jeans and punched his arms through a shirt. The only sound she made at his side was the harsh rasp of the bag’s zipper closing.

  Forcing himself to turn and face her, he stiffened inside, made his expression impassive. He’d not hold her down. For all his rage at her offer, he couldn’t blame her. Look at what he’d been like last night. What woman would want to contend with that mess of a man for any length of time?

  She swung her bag over her shoulder and met his gaze with a smooth, unperturbed one of her own. “I guess after I see my dad, I’ll take myself off to New York City and accept the offer.”

  “Absolutely.” He shot the word out of hi
s mouth, forcing it through his clogged throat. “Ye need to do what’s best for ye.”

  New York City. Her home base. This man with his shite offer must have been in her life far before a drunk ex-soldier with his nightmares and issues stumbled into her life.

  Something clouded her eyes, making the green go dull. But then it disappeared, chased away by her usual jaunty smile. “I’ve had a great time, Your Majesty.”

  A great time.

  The words rolled around in his head along with all the other times he’d had with the donas. There had been great times. There also had been times of profound connection. Or at least he’d thought so. There’d been times when he’d bared his soul as much as his body. There’d been times of laughter and joy so intense he’d thought he’d been in a special kind of heaven with a special little demon all his own. A woman who got him and loved him and wanted him—every piece of him, even the broken ones.

  A great time.

  Instead of the soulmate he’d thought he’d found, all he’d really been to her was a fling. He’d merely been this kind of weird madman she’d helped a wee bit until he’d given her…

  A great time.

  “Aye,” he echoed her, his heart going cold. “A great time.”

  And now she was leaving.

  She stilled in front of him and he thought she went pale. His hand reached for her, instinct telling him to grab her, tug her into his arms. “Lil—”

  “Well, that’s all there is to say, isn’t it?”

  His hand dropped before he touched her. “Is it?”

  “You’re not going to go back to the whiskey, right?” Ignoring his questions, her delicate brows frowned and her mouth went tight. “You’ve got your plans to keep you occupied, now.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She wasn’t pale or sad. She wasn’t angry or loving. She was only worried about him. The messed up, beastly man. But even if she were leaving him, he wasn’t going to be that man anymore. He straightened into military precision, put his hands behind him like a good soldier. “I’ve got plenty to do on my islands.”

  “Right. That’s right.” Her gaze hardened for a moment before she walked past him and to the stairs. “Have a great life, McPherson.”

  Iain stood in the silence of his bedroom, the stone walls and ceiling hazy and blurry from his tears.