Must Love Kilts

by Angela Quarles

  “Yes. You and your brogue, and your…your muscles…”

  “And my kilt?”

  Now she did shove against his shoulder, and he grinned, some of his anger, his worry, his frustration ebbing away at their familiar banter. Leaving only determination.

  “Yes, you and your stupid manly muscles in that kilt. Happy?”

  He glanced down at the tent in said kilt. “Aye.” He looked back up and winked at her.

  “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

  “I like to think so.” He stepped forward.

  “Wait. Hold up, big boy. I need to tell you something.”

  That fae premonition returned, trickling down his spine, and suddenly he didn’t want to hear what she had to tell him, because he knew what it was—she had found her sister, and she’d be gone soon.

  “What do you need to tell me? You’ve already confessed you find me… What was it? Ah, yes. Hot. In my kilt.” He threw another grin at her, but even he could feel the desperation in it.

  “Can you not have a serious conversation?”

  “Not where you’re concerned.” He slipped his hands up her arms and cupped her shoulders, and again she trembled slightly. “My brain, as I’ve said, is addled. We’re both edgy. But I’ll tell you what little my wee brain has been able to figure out.” He brushed his hands up the delicate column of her throat until his thumbs framed her face, his fingers cupping her jaw.

  “What’s that?”

  “We need to give into this attraction we feel toward one another.”

  Her breath gave an endearing hitch. “Oh yeah, why is that?”

  “We’re edgy. Unable to think clearly. We need to give in for the good of the mission.”

  She smirked. “The good of the mission, is it? You’d be willing to make that sacrifice, huh?”

  “Oh, aye. For your sister, I think it’s important we’re able to face this with a clear head.”

  “And you think…” She stepped forward until her hips bumped into his, and his hard cock juuusst barely nudged against her belly. The barest whisper of pressure against it, and his lust ratcheted up another notch. “You think if we indulged—if we had wild monkey sex—it would help us find my sister faster?”

  “Aye. I don’t know how monkeys do it, but the wild part sure sounds enticing.”

  “And you’re willing to make this sacrifice. For me?” She pushed her hips closer and eased away, the tease.

  He grinned, but it was a desperate grin for he wished to not be silly. What he felt was nothing close to that emotion. He was helpless, trapped with this banter because it was what he knew. But it was a cage of its own, wasn’t it?

  He brushed his lips across her jaw until he reached her ear. “Aye. I’m willing. It’ll be mighty hard…” He nudged her back and withdrew. “…but I’m more than willing. For your sister, you see.”

  “Mighty big of you.”

  He stroked his hand around her waist and gripped her delicious rump. He tugged her closer until he’d pressed her fully against him. The pressure-pain was sweet as his cock pulsed between them. “I’m glad you noticed.”

  She groaned. “Oh, that was bad. But I walked right into that one,” she whispered.

  “Aye, you did.” He walked her backward until she bumped against the wall of the stables. She hit the side with a soft oof.

  He pinned her against the wall with his hips. Her eyes latched onto his, and he gently stroked his knuckles up her neck, along her jaw, and across her soft cheek. Her pulse jumped in her neck, and their breaths grew ragged.

  Aye. He was done with holding back. If she wasn’t staying, if she couldn’t—wouldn’t—admit her feelings, he’d show her what she’d be missing. Show her what she could have with him. And selfishly, no way could he let her leave without touching her, tasting her one last time.

  “You’re so…” Beautiful. “…smart to recognize what needs to be done.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Her voice brushed against his cheek as he lowered his mouth.

  “Aye. Brilliant,” he murmured.

  “I suppose that makes you brilliant too.”

  He brushed his lips against hers, and his heart soared at her sharp intake of breath. “If you say so.” Another brush of his lips, but that wasn’t enough. Not enough at all. He bent his head, nibbled at her lower lip, and took her mouth more firmly, tasting her, treasuring her. Oh, God, her taste. He’d been right—he could taste the heat of the day’s sun on her skin.

  He pushed his fingers up the back of her neck until they dug into her luscious hair. He cradled her head more firmly and tilted it to that wonderful angle he’d discovered before. Her mouth parted.

  Needing no further invitation—he wasn’t that daft yet—he swept his tongue inside. His knees nearly buckled with the tasting of her again. More. Dhia fhèin, he wanted, needed more. She brushed her hands across his back and held him tighter against her body. Their mouths grew more urgent as they stroked and tasted and feasted on each other, all their pent-up longing finally finding expression.

  Her hips undulated against his, and his urgency spiked.

  Oh God, he had to feel her sweetly gripping him again as he plunged inside her. His hands dropped to her hips to shove her higher against the wall and do exactly that when some vestige of sanity screamed at him.

  He tore his mouth from hers, and they were panting, her eyes wild on his.

  He snatched her hand and tugged her toward the back door of the inn. He’d get her to their bed, show her what she’d be missing, and beware anyone who stood in his way.

  Except for that small puppy in his path licking his own underparts. He stepped gingerly around the fellow and tugged on Traci’s hand as he once again aimed for the back door.

  Traci stumbled up the path behind Iain and bumped into him as he pushed open the heavy oak door. Her hand clutched in his larger one, she followed him into the dim hallway of the inn. Already, she’d swear that his skin was drying off from the sheer amount of heat he put off. Urgency and need raced through her, pulling her emotions along in their wake until she felt caught up in a giddy rush—for this felt personal. As they’d bantered by the barn, it seemed to hold a different edge, and she got the distinct impression it was her he wanted to be with. Her he cared about.

  If she was right and her sister was the gruagach, they’d find her soon and she’d leave. The heady giddiness morphed into panic.

  No. She shoved the panic and the other emotions to the side. She was indulging, that was all, because she wanted to and, yeah, because she’d gone and let her imagination run a bit ahead of itself earlier. This was an indulgence. For both of them. Nothing more. And because of that, she was on safe ground. She knew the rules from the outset. This meant nothing.

  They’d reached the foot of the stairs when Duncan stepped out of the tap room. “Iain. A moment, please?”

  Iain practically growled at Duncan. “Be gone.”

  Duncan reared back, surprise written across his face, but a sly smile stole across his rugged features. He held up both hands and stepped backward.

  Iain tugged on her hand again, and they bounded up the short flight of stairs to his room. Her heart beat so hard, it felt as if it was as loud as the pounding of their feet on the wooden stairs. Yep, pure indulgence. That was all this was. He shoved open the door so hard it banged against the wall and sprang back to his palm with a resounding smack.

  Inside the room, a maid was straightening the bed, and she yelped in surprise. One look at Iain, and she ducked her head and power-walked out of the room.

  Traci snorted. It was just too delicious, seeing this Highlander go all He-Man, scaring the staff. Even more so because it was so unlike Iain. Normally, he slipped through the world with a wink and a soft laugh, putting everyone around him at ease.

  He kicked the door shut and lifted her clear off her feet and into his arms. “No laughing, my wife.”

  “I’m not.”

  “So you randomly snort like a pig?”
Humor laced his voice.

  She gave him a mock punch in his pec, which was, yeah, right by her cheek. Sigh. “Hey, who you calling a pig?”

  “So you were laughing…” In two long strides he reached the bed, and then she was airborne and weightless for about two seconds until the bed’s soft covers poofed around her, cushioning her fall.

  He landed on the bed beside her. “I might have to punish you for that.”

  “You don’t like to be laughed at?”

  “No man wants his woman snickering as he’s wooing her.”

  “So…what moves have you got, big guy?” She nudged his hip with hers.

  “Patience. Patience. I’m still wanting to discuss your punishment.” He swung a leg across hers and planted his hands on either side of her shoulders. He arched back, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her hip. She tried to scoot sideways a tad to get that delicious weight resting right where she wanted him, but he was like a solid mountain.

  “Hmm.” His gaze roamed across her chest and down the length of her body and back up again, making her squirm all over.

  How had she resisted him this whole time? No matter. They were here now. And she’d take advantage of it.

  What hot-blooded woman wouldn’t?

  “My punishment?”

  “I’m thinking…”

  Chapter Twenty

  My love’s a bonny laddie, an yon be he,

  My love’s a bonny laddie, an yon be he,

  A feather in his bonnet, a ribbon at his knee:

  He’s a bonny bonny laddie, an yon be he.

  “An Yon Be He,” Jacobite Reliques

  Traci poked Iain in the chest. Any excuse she could take to touch the delicious expanse. “I think you’re taking too long.”

  She wouldn’t dare voice it out loud, but seeing him take up most of her view above her—broad shoulders, tree trunk arms caging her on either side—made her feel simultaneously aroused, protected, and…restless.

  “You do, do you?”

  She shoved against him, and this time he let her. She flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips, making sure to adjust and wiggle and generally take her time getting in the right position on top of him. Already, she could feel his damp kilt seeping through her skirts.

  His eyes slammed shut and his head arched back, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  He groaned. “Ah, woman. Stop your torturing.”

  “You’re a soft one, aren’t you, if this is torture?”

  His eyes snapped open, his blue eyes hooded, piercing hers. “Does any part of me feel soft to you, woman?” His voice was husky, and he punctuated his words with a hip twist.

  She snorted. “No. I have to say, there’s nothing remotely soft about you.” She skimmed her hands up his muscled torso, and his skin bunched and flexed under her palms.

  She brushed across his arms to his hands and raised them above his head until it brought her mouth inches from his, loving how the position sculpted his biceps, pecs, deltoids—heck, all of the lovely muscles that dipped, curved, and flowed from his chest to his forearms. Greek statues had nothing on a Highlander.

  He shifted his hips beneath her, just a subtle I’m-here grind against her most sensitive spot. She sucked in a sharp breath as a jolt of pleasure flowed up her center. His breaths, coming faster now, fanned across her cheeks. She captured his mouth in hers. He groaned and took possession of her mouth, thrusting with both tongue and hips.

  Sensation and pleasure and a restless energy fizzed through her veins, increasing her desperation. This guy revved her up faster than any man had ever done. Taking control like this was how she always approached sex with a guy, her way of making sure he was aware that she was going into this with purpose, thank you very much, with no chance she could be seen as taken advantage of. She was in control, and she knew how these interactions went. She was no one’s fool.

  Iain seemed to love it, though a part of her imagined what it’d be like to submit to this strong Highlander in bed. Warmth shot through her, and she shuddered.

  She nipped his bottom lip and pulled away, catching this gaze. His eyes were dazed, and his chest heaved, each breath he took a slight brush-and-pressure against her sensitive nipples. Oh God, yeah. She released his hands and retraced a path down his arms, moving her body down his.

  When she reached his glorious chest, she circled his nipple with the tip of her tongue. She reveled in not only his flinch of surprise and pleasure, but also in the taste that hit her tongue: hot male skin, still slightly damp from his bath.

  She flicked and nibbled the stiff nub, and he reared up, but he didn’t take control, only skimmed his hands up her back, his fingers pushing into the ridges of her spine. At her neck, he buried his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp, and she dropped her head, resting her forehead against a pec, moaning. It felt so good.

  “You are full of surprises,” he rumbled, but choked on a strangled oath when she again nipped and then blew cool air across his nipple.

  “What? None of your other ladies paid any attention to this poor thing?” She gave his nipple another lick. As soon as the words left her mouth, the dark burn of jealousy flared in her again, and she shoved it away.

  He gasped. “Nay.”

  “Shame on them,” she muttered.

  She darted her tongue down his torso until she reached his happy trail and glanced up. Both sides of her vision were filled by his powerful arms stretching to her head, the muscles bunching in his forearms and biceps. And her horizon was filled by the breathtaking stretch of pecs and the intense look in his eyes. In that instant, awareness of her intentions flashed through them, and he tossed his head back against the pillow and moaned.

  Hmmm. That was promising. Very promising.

  She dropped a kiss on his cute belly button—a very nice innie—and grabbed his waist. What she sought, though, lay past his belly button—his erection concealed under his damp kilt. She reached down and dragged an edge of the cloth up. And up.

  Iain’s body went very, very still.

  Man, okay. Maybe kilts were sexy as all hell. Instant access?

  His erection was long, thick, and hard, and lay pressed against his now kilt-covered belly. She inhaled his clean male scent, overlaid with damp wool and edged with the slight spice of his arousal.

  She touched her lips to the tip, and it jerked. She gave a more open-mouthed kiss to the head, relishing his salty taste. His skin had that unique combo of coolness on the surface from a cold bath, with a distinct heat pulsing just beneath. She played her tongue along the crease and around the edge, and his whole body stiffened, while a long, low groan filled the room.

  Oh God, there was nothing—nothing—like having a powerful man at her mercy like this. Her nipples tightened, and heat pooled in her sex as she gripped his base and took him fully into her mouth.

  His hands jerked in her hair, and his hips arched up. His fingers didn’t pull or direct—it was more as if the sensations she created made him desperate for an outlet. And oh, she understood. Restlessness and urgency were ratcheting higher and higher within herself, making her movements a bit shaky.

  She pumped her hand and moved back up his length, playing the whole time with her tongue. She gave his head an extra suck. Heart pounding like mad now, she was about to pop free to ask him exactly how he liked it when her whole body was lifted into the air.

  God, he made her feel as light as a down feather.

  He settled her onto his hips, and she undulated back and forth along his hard length, relishing its pressure against her aching core even through her skirts.

  “Enough, woman.” But he was laughing as he said it. “This will be over soon enough as it is, I’m guessing.”

  He grabbed her skirts, and she lifted her hips so he could push the fabric out of the way. She eased back down, skin to delicious skin, though her skirts billowed around them and hid everything beneath their copious folds.

  The sight, and what was hid
den, shot another jolt of pleasure through her. She rubbed her core up his hard length, working herself against him, urgency coiling tighter.

  “Ach, Jesus. You’ll be the death of me, lass,” he said, his voice hoarse with need.

  His hungry gaze dropped to where her plump folds slid along his length. He shoved his hand under her skirt. She once again lifted upward, and when he tantalizingly nudged her core, she eased down, taking him all in, and oh, wow, he stretched her, inch by hot inch, a delicious ache that made her tremble.

  When she was fully seated, she stopped. Their stuttered, heavy breaths filled the room, and he grasped her waist. But he didn’t move her, he just shifted his hips slightly and stilled.

  His heated gaze latched onto hers and, oh God, she didn’t see the flirt she’d expected. His laughter and enjoyment still filled his gaze, but a strange rawness lurched outward and knocked against an element in herself she’d rather not examine. And rather not admit existed. A slow tremble started at her hips and cascaded up her body because it was clear he hadn’t meant to reveal that vulnerability. A vulnerability he was desperately trying to extinguish from his eyes, from the space between them.

  Her throat began to close up. To save them both, she slowly smiled and winked. Then she spread her hands across his muscled chest for leverage and eased back up his generous length, the molten slide inside her—the breathtaking fullness—making her tremble again. Afraid to go up too high and lose him, she eased back down, this time a little faster.

  He grasped her shoulders and slid the sleeves down until her aching breasts tumbled free. She clenched around him as her nipples suddenly craved his calloused fingers, his calloused palm. He groaned and cupped them both in his strong hands and squeezed. Yes. She slammed down, each stroke getting more erratic. Desire tightened and tightened into a ball centered at her core. Where they were joined.

  He started to flip her over, but she resisted, and despite possessing the strength to ignore her, he stopped. Instead, he angled her down until her thrusts stroked her clit against him, and the tips of her breasts brushed his chest with each drag across him.