Flipping the latch, he turned and pushed her gently back against the gate. He caught the bag she still carried and tugged it free. “My flat. You can let this go for a bit, love.”
She still held on, then reluctantly uncurled her fingers from it.
He put the backpack on the stones next to them and then reached up, hooking his hands over the top of the gate, caging her in. “If I was one to believe in such things, I’d swear you’d gone and bewitched me.”
She laughed, the sound shaky. “Ain’t that just like a man … blaming the woman?”
“Oh…” He moved a hand from the fence, trailing it down the sensitive inner skin of her arm, watching as she shivered. “I’m not blaming you, love. I’m thanking you. You’re already turning my brain into jelly, and I haven’t done much more than kiss you.”
He touched his lips to her neck. “I want to do much, much more—wanted it even when I saw you standing in the door of me pub.”
* * *
That accent of his was going to do her in. Neve had always had a thing for Scots—with a name like McKay and the history her family had, who could blame her? His brogue, though, was pure sin.
She reached out, skimming her hands down the snug cotton of his shirt.
It fit like a second skin, right down to the waistband of the kilt he wore. It wasn’t the same style as the ones everybody else had worn—it was a simple, utilitarian khaki. But the T-shirt had the logo of the pub on it, including the tartan that matched the kilts the servers had worn.
“I’ve been to Scotland,” she murmured, turning her head to meet his eyes. “Do you know … I can count on one hand how many times I saw a man wearing a kilt while I was there.”
A grin split his face. “Is that a fact?” He leaned in and nuzzled her neck.
It sent shivers of sensation running through her. She angled her head, whimpering in satisfaction when he followed her cue and raked his teeth down her skin.
“It’s a fact,” she agreed. Her breaths sounded ragged even to her own ears. “Since none of them looked as good in one as you do, I’ve decided not to smirk over the fact that you’re wearing one in a pub called Treasure Island.”
He laughed, the sound low and husky. “It’s a terrible name for a pub, Scottish or no. And I’ll thank you for not laughing.” He caught her earlobe, bit lightly. “I don’t think my pride could handle it.”
He rocked against her as he said it, and a wave of want swamped her.
His pride throbbed against her. She had to wonder if she could handle it.
He slid a hand down her side, toyed with the hem of her shirt. “Since we’re in a sharing mood, can I tell that when I first saw you, I thought you had to be the sexiest fucking woman I’ve seen in a long while—maybe ever?” he murmured as he slid his hand under the hem of her shirt.
Neve barely heard him.
The feel of his palm, rough and strong, sent a shiver through her. She dug her nails into his skin and arched against him.
A harsh noise ripped out of him, and he slid his hand lower, caught her hip, tugged her tighter.
When he rocked against her, hard and fast, the hunger stabbed into her. She curled a leg around his hip and he swore, boosted her up. The wood of the gate scraped against her back. She didn’t care.
Everything centered on the fact that he was now rocking against her, and the worn fabric of her jeans, the silk of her panties, and the material of his kilt seemed a terrible annoyance.
Sensation slammed into her.
She gasped as her muscles clenched, the need drawing tighter and tighter—
And then it stopped.
Her feet settled on the ground and she slammed out a hand to steady herself.
He was talking and the words made no sense.
None at all.
* * *
Her eyes were blind.
Ian clasped her skull in his hands and sucked in oxygen. He felt like he’d run a bloody race.
His cock pulsed, and what he wanted more than anything was to strip her jeans down and drive into her.
He’d almost done it, too.
“Fuck, do you have a bloody condom?” he asked again, rasping the words out. He was so hard he hurt with it, and if he didn’t get inside her …
She moaned again, rolling her hips against him.
The feverish sound had him kissing her again. That taste—he didn’t think he’d ever have enough. Did addiction happen that fast?
Trailing a hand down the middle of her torso, he freed the button of her snug jeans, slid his hand inside, passed the barrier of panties almost as silky soft as her skin. “Tell me you have a condom,” he demanded against her mouth as he slid his fingers through curls already wet.
He trailed his finger around the firm bud of her clit. She gasped.
“Please…”
The broken moan set his balls to burning and he thought he’d die if he didn’t get inside her, and soon.
But …
Well, the sound of her whimpering under his touch was the sweetest kind of music.
He stroked her again, following the cues of her body until he found the right rhythm.
She rose to meet him, her head turning toward him. He caught her mouth just as he pushed one finger inside her. She jerked—
And he felt his own cock jerk, felt the first few drops of precum seeping through when she climaxed, hard and fast. Just like that.
Snarling, he pumped his fingers faster, his movements constrained by the jeans still snug around her hips, but she whimpered and rocked, riding the climax, riding him—
Just not the way he bloody wanted.
“That’s it,” he growled against her mouth. “Ride me … that’s it…”
She whimpered, the sound broken now, almost stunned.
He eased her down, slowly, because when he took her back up the next time, she was going to be wrapped around his dick.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand.
Feeling her eyes on him, he lifted his hand to his lips and licked his fingers.
She blushed, staring at his hand as if mesmerized.
“Ah…” She blinked and looked around.
He cut off the question with a hard kiss. “Tell me you have a condom with you.”
* * *
Shit.
Neve blinked up at him. “Um … no?”
He squinted at her, as if the word made no sense.
Then he backed it up.
“What d’ you mean … no?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Just that. No.” Her fingers hurt. The reason why became apparent. She was practically trying to imprint them on the ridged track that made up the sexy Scot’s torso. Uncurling them, she looked around. Embarrassment would probably settle in later. But for now, all she wanted was a damn condom.
Blushing furiously, she stared at him. “I don’t typically pick guys up in bars. I never really have a need to carry condoms around so I don’t have them.”
She didn’t carry a purse anymore. She had her cash and credit cards with her, along with her cell phone. There was pepper spray on a quick release hook on her belt, and her passport was tucked in a concealed flap inside her backpack.
There were definitely no condoms.
As he continued to gape at her, she had to try not to sulk. “What about you? You’re the damn guy. Don’t you have anything?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
“I don’t carry them because I don’t often have a need of them,” he said, looking put out. “But why does logic have to play into this?”
It took a moment for his words to make sense. She was so busy staring at his mouth and remembering how his beard had felt as he kissed her that she didn’t care what he was saying.
“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to go mad.”
She didn’t even have time to breathe before his mouth crushed hers and she was trapped between him and the gate, his hard, heavy body driving into hers, the rhythm unmistakable. His tongue s
ought out hers, echoing the rhythm of his hips, and she reached out, closing her hands around the hard, round curve of his ass.
Thirty seconds later, he had her wrists in his hands.
No—
“Enough,” he muttered, letting go without noticing anything was wrong. He sucked in a harsh gulp of air. “We’re leaving. I’ll go across the bloody square, buy a box of condoms. My flat is just up those stairs—we can be back here in five minutes.”
His gaze came to hers and Neve’s knees went weak as he added, “I’ll be inside you within six.”
She blew out a slow, careful breath, surprised she didn’t just melt into a puddle of useless female flesh right there. Swallowing, she nodded and eased away from the gate. She grabbed her backpack and swung it back into place. “What are we waiting for?” she asked, her voice steady.
It was surprising, she thought, a few short minutes later, how things could go so very wrong, so very fast.
She’d been leaning in the shadows near the mostly vacant building next to the pub.
Back when she’d left, it had been a hardware store—Steve’s Supplies and Lumber, she remembered.
Steve hadn’t gone out of business. Nope. He’d expanded and relocated, across the street.
The building behind her was being fixed up for something else, and while some part of her was curious, it was a detached part.
She was mostly anxious, and filled with a blinding, blistering need.
Or rather, she had been.
Now she was just blistering.
“I knew it was you.”
“Go away, Joel,” she warned, irritation and disgust twining together and spilling up her spine as the boy who’d made her senior year hellish horned in on her personal space. She needed him gone—and now.
One night. She fought the urge to shoot the heavens a look and scream. Can’t you cut me just a little slack? I’ve been trying, haven’t I?
But God didn’t do bargains. She’d figured that out a long time ago.
She was pretty sure He didn’t care what she wanted anyway.
Joel reached out and she knocked his hand aside. He whistled under his breath. “You went and got nasty, Neve.” Then he winked. “Always knew you had it in you.”
He came in so close she could smell the garlic he’d eaten with his dinner—and the fact that he’d doused himself with some nasty male body spray. “Come on. Why don’t we go get”—he slid a finger down her upper arm—“reacquainted…?”
She eased away, moving so that he no longer had her trapped between the building and his body. “Joel,” she said quietly, giving him her best smile. It was a smile hundreds of thousands of people had seen. It was also a smile that would have warned anybody who knew her. The fact that she’d dropped her backpack would have been the second warning.
Joel knew her, but he’d always been an idiot.
“Did you forget what I told you I’d do…” She dropped her voice as he came in closer and flicked a strand of her hair.
She struck, spinning and grabbing hold at the same time. She used his body weight and her momentum against him. It took seconds, only seconds, to put him on the ground and he landed hard. She drove her boot down into his gut.
While he gagged and rolled onto his side, she finished, “… if you ever touched me again?”
“Oi!”
The deep bellow came from halfway across the street.
She looked up and saw the sexy Scot bearing down on her.
But now, so were several others.
The sight of one of them made her smile, even as the uniform had her blinking.
But all the others just made her want to curl in on herself.
Joel shot out a hand and she moved out of his reach and retrieved her pack.
“You … fucking … bitch,” he gasped out.
“Well, well, well…”
At the sound of that voice, she closed her eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
The very last thing Gideon Marshall expected when he woke up this morning was to discover that trouble had come rolling back into town. But, unlike most people, the discovery left him more than a little delighted.
It had been a bitch of a day. He was pulling a double—and handling patrol on a Friday night—something the chief of police really should be able to dump off onto somebody else.
But his police department had a whopping ten cops on the payroll and it was down to seven currently. One of his officers had a very justifiable reason for not being here—she was pregnant, and on Monday, the baby had decided she’d just make an early appearance.
Another officer was on vacation.
What really killed him was the third—Beau Crawford had chicken pox.
Who in the hell caught chicken pox at thirty-six?
Gideon didn’t know. But he didn’t ask anything of his officers that he wasn’t willing to do himself, and since they were scrambling to keep the shifts covered, he was pulling his fair share of doubles, too.
But heaven help the next person to ask for a day off between now and the time Beau recovered from his bout with chicken pox and Tommy got back from his fun and sun down in Jamaica.
Gideon had been this close to losing his mind, and when the call came in about the “drunken reckless hoyden” who’d parked in front of the “den of sin” down on the square, he’d already been gritting his teeth.
Now, though, he suspected he knew who the “hoyden” was.
With the exception of the eldest, the McKays drove like demons, and the piece of shit in front of the pub was from out of state. It didn’t fit Neve at all, but he knew better than to expect anything expected from her.
The aggravation of the day melted at the sight of her, and he found himself smiling even as he prepared himself to restrain her.
And he just might have to—there was an ugly history between her and Joel Fletcher, and while there might be a version that most of Treasure believed, he’d always thought Neve had more sense than to get involved with that dickhead.
Her warning to him only solidified what he’d always suspected.
“Did you forget what I told you I’d do if you ever touched me again?”
“Well, well, well…”
Neve cut a look his way and the grin that lit her face had him flashing one of his own. He’d always had a soft spot for Neve, a hellion of the highest order and the youngest child of the McKay clan.
“Looks like Trouble is back in town,” he said, ignoring Joel as he rolled to his hands and knees.
Neve rolled her eyes and hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. “Am I going crazy or did somebody else go crazy … cuz it looks like there’s a badge on you, Gideon.”
“Well … someone had to take the job after old Crenshaw decided he’d retire.” He tapped his badge idly, aware of the crowd gathering around them, equally aware of Joel as he climbed unsteadily to his feet, a sneer on his lips.
“Damn … bitch,” he wheezed.
Ian Campbell, the bartender, manager, and possible future owner of Treasure Island, moved closer to Joel, his lips peeled back from his teeth. “Easy, Campbell,” Gideon said. “I don’t think Joel is going to do any damage at this point.”
One big hand curled into a fist at Campbell’s side, but he gave a short, terse nod. Turning his head toward Neve, he went to say something.
Joel chose that moment to speak. “I want that fucking cunt arrested, Chief! She assaulted me.”
Ian snarled.
Gideon moved between them, slapping a hand against Ian’s chest even as he said, “Fletcher, you’re either stupid or you think I am. I saw the whole damn thing. If Neve hadn’t taken matters into her own hands, the two of us would probably be having another … discussion. Our discussions usually don’t end well now, do they?”
More often than not, they ended with Joel Fletcher’s sorry ass in lockup for the night.
Fletcher looked at him and his small, ugly eyes narrowed down to slits.
Gideon
just smiled at him and then shifted his attention back to Neve.
“Neve…” Ian said the name slowly.
Gideon glanced at him, saw the odd look he focused on her.
She had her arms crossed over her chest, chin angled up, one brow cocked. It was her princess of the castle look.
“Neve, I take it you just got back.” Gideon recognized that haughty look all too well.
“Ah … mostly,” she said, the look falling away as she grimaced. “Yeah.”
Gideon nodded. “Ian runs the pub now. Ian Campbell, this is Neve. Neve McKay. Brannon’s baby sister.”
* * *
She was still trying to figure it out an hour later.
Gideon insisted on hauling her suitcase into his spare room—that was after he’d spent forty minutes trying to convince her to call her brother and sister. Once he realized it wasn’t going to happen, he refused to let her stay at the single inn the town boasted. There was a nondescript motel near the hospital, but that wasn’t acceptable, either.
So she was with Gideon.
She should be trying to wrap her mind around the fact that her brother and sister probably already knew she was in town. Somebody would have called them. As soon as she was recognized, they would have called. She knew that.
But was she worrying about that? Nope. She was trying to figure out why Ian Campbell, the very mouthwatering Ian Campbell who had brought her to one very earth-shattering climax, had heard her name and gone stiff as a board and rigidly formal.
It wasn’t like her name hadn’t affected people before.
Brannon had chased off more than a few boyfriends. And some guys had tried to hook up with her just because she was a McKay. Then there had been that brief starstruck time in New York City. It hadn’t lasted long, not long at all, but for a short period of time there, her name had garnered looks of envy and awe—and it had been because of her. Not the McKay name, but because of Neve. Granted, it had more to do with her body and the glitz and glamour that had been piled on, but it was Neve who’d caught their attention.
That time had faded all too soon, and then she’d learned just how quickly things could change.
Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) Page 2