Hot for the Scot

by Janice Maynard

  To be honest, I’d often wondered if I even possessed something so fanciful as inner fire. Thankfully, in Scotland I had discovered beyond doubt that I wanted to throw off the bonds of ordinary and embrace the possibilities of each coming sunrise.

  For a long time, I drowsed, listening to Angus breathe, inhaling the scent of shower soap on his warm skin, learning the small scar high on his cheekbone, tasting the urgent flavor of wanting a man with every fiber of my being.

  At last, moving stealthily, I reached out an arm and turned off the lamp. For the moment, I had Angus to myself, and I didn’t want it to end.

  Hours later, I awoke with a start. Pale light washed into the room. I had forgotten to close the drapes the night before.

  Angus was still in my bed. I don’t think he had moved more than an inch the entire night. Poor man had worked himself to death this week. I badly wanted to go back to sleep, but I knew he hadn’t intended to stay. Waking him seemed the only choice.

  I whispered his name. “Angus.”

  He stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.

  “Angus.” I gave it a bit more oomph.

  This time he muttered and slung an arm over his face.

  “Angus Munro. Open your eyes.” It was the voice I used with my students when dire measures were required.

  Finally, he yawned and stretched. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. The clean clothes he had donned before coming to my room hours before were wrinkled beyond repair.

  At last, his eyelids lifted and I looked into those beautiful whisky-colored irises. His lips curved in a smile. “Am I dreaming?” he asked playfully. “Or maybe I’ve died and crossed over and you’re an angel come to welcome me.”

  The urges running through my body were definitely not sublime. More like carnal and desperate. “It’s morning,” I said.

  “So?”

  “So you need to leave before your mother or Annis sees you.”

  “We’re adults, Hayley. This is my home.”

  “But you were the one who said we needed privacy.”

  He took my wrist and pulled my hand to his mouth. Slowly, he nipped each of my fingertips, scraping the pads with his teeth. “Privacy so you can scream my name. Do you think you will, Hayley? Scream, I mean? Or are you one of those quiet, intense women?”

  “I don’t know what I am,” I muttered. In truth, I was a woman who’d had more success with solo orgasms than with a lover. “We’ll find out later. But please go, Angus. You may be sophisticated about all this, but I’m not. I can’t look at your mother over the breakfast table if she thinks you and I have been intimate all night.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “All night? You’ve set the bar high, but I’ll do my best.”

  “You’re a scoundrel and a rascal. Quit teasing me.”

  He rolled to his side, leaning over me with mischief on his face. “If I take you away to Oban, they’ll know we’ve more than sightseeing on our minds.”

  “But at least they’ll be back in their own houses when we return. Won’t they?”

  “Possibly…”

  His eyelids hovered at half-mast. His mouth was a thing of beauty. I wanted to trace it and taste it and bite it until he did something to appease the gnawing arousal in my belly.

  I saw in his sleepy-eyed gaze that we had entered the danger zone. He slid a hand beneath my top and cupped my breast. “Ah, sweet lord,” he muttered. “You’re soft, lass. Soft as my dreams of you last night.”

  “Kiss me, Angus.”

  Against my hip he was hard. Did he even realize he was pumping slowly, his erection riding up and down my leg?

  My nipple budded at his touch, painfully sensitive. When he tugged at it, moisture bloomed in the folds of my sex. Exhilaration flooded my veins. Here it was at last…that wild, extravagant pleasure the poets and musicians lauded. The insane, wonderfully urgent connection I had longed for.

  I struggled with the covers. “Let me undress,” I panted. “Please. I want you. Now.”

  His eyes glazed. His breathing harshened.

  Just as I knew I had won, someone knocked on my door.

  “Hayley. It’s Màiri. Have you heard from Angus? Do you know where he is? I found his phone in the kitchen ringing and ringing.”

  Angus looked at me and shrugged, his pained smile unrepentant. He was leaving this entirely up to me.

  On unsteady legs, I went to the door and opened it a hospitable crack, but not enough to reveal the bed and its inhabitant. “Good morning,” I said, shoving my unmanageable mop of hair from my eyes. “I’m sure he’s probably out for a run. Are you hungry? Shall I make us some oatmeal?”

  “Och. I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Hayley. You go back to bed. I’ll see you in a wee bit.”

  I closed the door and leaned my back against it, my heart drumming loudly in my ears. I could barely speak. I didn’t have any experience with clandestine assignations. Was it even an assignation if nothing happened?

  Angus snapped his fingers. “Hayley. You’re in shock, love. Clearly I’m going to have to teach you how to skulk around hallways and have secret rendezvous with a lover.”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s not a skill I’ve ever needed before I met you.”

  “Come here and let me warm you up.”

  It was August. And even though Scottish mornings could be cool, I was in no danger of frostbite. But I let myself be persuaded.

  This time, I joined him on top of the covers. He pulled me close, tucking my head beneath his chin. My arm curled around his waist. One of my legs tangled with his. As he played with my hair, I sighed, replete with pleasure even without sexual satisfaction. If there had been no flood, I could have stayed here with Angus all day. But then again, without the flood, we might not be so close.

  “You should go,” I said finally. “The day is upon us. We have lots to do.”

  “Ye’re a slave driver, woman,” he complained.

  “The sooner those two houses are shipshape, the sooner you and I can play hooky.”

  “‘Play hooky.’ I’ve heard that expression before,” he said. “It’s very American. Is it as dirty as it sounds?”

  “Depends on who’s saying it.” I sat up and corralled my hair over one shoulder, finger combing the knots. “It’s an innocent term for skipping school. But we use it in other contexts as well.”

  “So now we’re back to ‘secret rendezvous.’”

  “A more twenty-first-century reference would be ‘having wild monkey sex.’”

  “Och…” he said, his expression arrested. “We’re no’ overrun with monkeys in Scotland, but I’ve got a mental picture.” He moved to the side of the bed and stood, groaning. “I’m no’ as young as I used to be, lass. Ye’ll have to be gentle with me when we get around to this monkey business.”

  I had a sudden vision of myself handcuffing Angus to a bed and torturing him in inventive ways. Heat swept from my throat all the way to my hairline.

  He noticed. Of course.

  With a wicked smile, he swooped in for a quick kiss and then released me before we could get in trouble. “Hold that thought, whatever it was. I love the way your eyes get all cloudy and addled when ye want me.”

  I would have liked to protest, but he had pegged my current state accurately. “See you at breakfast?” I said, wondering how we would get through the meal without giving ourselves away.

  Angus yawned and braced his hands above the doorframe, stretching that long, muscular body until my mouth watered. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyelids still drooping with sleep. “Ye can bet on it, lass.”

  Chapter 21

  I think I would sooner have eaten an entire serving of haggis than sit across the table from Angus while I tried to choke down scrambled eggs and toast. I’d been hungry until I appeared in the kitchen and saw Màiri eye me with a look of speculation.

  She couldn’t know anything…could she? Or had she cornered Angus when he finally appe
ared and cross-examined him? Annis, dear woman, was oblivious to any byplay. She ate four pieces of toast and an orange and three cups of tea. For an octogenarian who looked as if one good gust of wind could blow her away, she had a hearty appetite.

  Today was Saturday. Angus had booked our reservation for Sunday night. Only a few more hours and I’d be off on an adventure that would rival anything I’d ever read in a romance novel. Me. Hayley Smith. Planning to run away with the world famous football star, Angus Munro.

  I wondered how he would act in public. Would he wear his hat-and-sunglasses disguise again? Or was Oban a big enough city that no one would notice us?

  My personal agenda had to be put aside, of course, to make way for another full day of work in the village. Both houses were in pretty good condition by now, but the last step was the floors. Neither house was modern and, at the very least, the wood needed to be cleaned and sealed before anyone moved back in.

  Fortunately for Màiri, Angus chose not to wait for an insurance claim. He’d helped his mother select hardwood to be installed immediately. Having money wasn’t everything, but it was a plus in situations like this.

  All the furniture that we had removed at the beginning of the week had been stored at Angus’s house in a finished basement built into the side of the hill. I wondered how Annis would react without her piles of stuff all around. Would she see it as turning over a new leaf, or would her small abode seem alien to her?

  My task today was to help the frail but spunky woman purchase some new-to-her but secondhand rugs at the Oxfam shop. Much like our Salvation Army or Goodwill Industries back in the States, the small storefront in Drumnadrochit offered merchandise at reasonable prices.

  Màiri had planned to go with us, but after breakfast, she and Angus exchanged sharp words. It was the first time I had ever heard them argue. Though they had moved down the hall to Angus’s bedroom, their raised voices carried.

  The confrontation was heated and passionate. Angus had already told me about wanting to build his mother a new house when he retired and came home. And that she had refused. Now he was putting his foot down about furnishings for Màiri’s place.

  “I won’t have my mum shopping at a secondhand store,” he roared.

  Màiri’s voice was equally loud. “Ye may have money in your pocket, my lad, but it won’t last forever. I’ve no need of fancy things.”

  I half-expected them to come to blows, but Angus disarmed both his mother and me with his next plea.

  “Let me take care of you,” he begged, his tone now cajoling rather than combative. “Let me do for you what my father should have done. You deserve nice things. Lord knows, you did without plenty over the years to pay for my uniforms and school fees. Please, Mum. It would make me very happy.”

  “Och, get away with you, boy.” I heard the tears in her voice. “If it means that much to you. But wee Hayley will have to help me pick out some things. I’ve no experience with fancy decorating.”

  When they reappeared moments later, Angus had his arm around his mother, and she was dabbing her eyes. “There you are, Hayley,” she said. “Angus here insists that I buy all new things to replace the items that were ruined. Will you help me use Angus’s computer and look for this and that?”

  Suddenly, my vow came back to bite me. “I wish I could, but I promised my friends I wouldn’t use any electronic devices for the month. No phones, no iPods, no computers.”

  Mother and son wore identical expressions of puzzlement.

  Angus scratched his head. “Is this some sort of Amish thing?” he asked in all seriousness. “I visited that area of the U.S. when we played in Philadelphia two years ago. ’Twas quite interesting.”

  “Nothing like that,” I said. “Willow and McKenzie and I decided to immerse ourselves in Scotland and take a step back in time to a simpler, less frantic pace of life.”

  “Because of that television show you told me about?” Angus’s expression was perplexed.

  “It’s hard to explain,” I said. “But I made a promise.”

  He appeared to physically shake off his confusion. “No matter,” he said. “You can go down to the pub, Mum. They’re offering free Internet to anyone who’s been displaced by the flood. Ask someone to help you get started. Print out pictures of what you want, and then show them to Hayley at lunch. We’ll place an order online tonight.”

  It was a workable solution and one that seemed to satisfy all parties concerned. I knew that neither of the Munros really understood my predicament. But a vow wasn’t a vow if you broke it at the least sign of difficulty.

  As had become our custom, the four of us loaded into the SUV and headed down the mountain. I was relieved not to be facing the prospect of more wet, mucky paper today. Thankfully, I had finished emptying the downstairs of Annis’s house earlier in the week. We had installed large fans to circulate fresh air, and the last we checked, things were drying out nicely.

  Shopping with Annis at a thrift store would be a lark compared to what we had accomplished so far.

  Angus dropped the two of us at Oxfam and he and Màiri headed on their way. Once Annis and I had made our selections, they would be delivered to Angus’s house until we needed them. I was torn between being practical and wanting my dear landlady to have whatever caught her fancy. I managed to talk her out of a leopard print ottoman that showed a distinct inclination to molt at the slightest touch. But I held my tongue when she picked out a purple taffeta tablecloth and a matching tea cozy, both embroidered with gaudy orange and white flowers.

  All in all, it was a productive couple of hours. I had decided to treat Annis to lunch at the pub. We were getting tired of the sandwiches and apples that had been our usual fare as we worked. Màiri arrived and the three of us commandeered a table by the window. We poured over the selections Màiri had made.

  Unlike Annis, Màiri had a more modern sense of style and an eye for colors that complemented each other. I suggested a few tweaks along the way, but for the most part, my expertise—such as it was—turned out to be unnecessary.

  “Where’s Angus?” I asked, when the server brought our lunches.

  Màiri shook her head. “The lad thinks he’s Superman. Now that my house is mostly back to rights, Angus is offering a hand hither and there and yon. I think it was the library today. Something about hanging new lighting. It shorted out when the water rose.”

  We ate our lunch in stages, pausing to chat with friends of Màiri’s and Annis’s who stopped by our table to say hello. Social life in Drumnadrochit was beginning to return to normal. People mingled out on the streets, enjoying the sunshine. Children played in the small park. Despite the loss of property, everyone understood that it could have been worse.

  We were lingering over slices of spice cake when a young man rushed into the pub, his pale freckled face mottled with color as if he had run a race. He could barely catch his breath. “Ms. Munro,” he said. “It’s Angus. He fell off a ladder and hit his head. Ye need to come quick.”

  My heart stopped dead in my chest for a full three seconds. Angus. My Angus. He couldn’t be hurt…

  We rushed down the street, leaving Annis behind. The library was half a mile away; she wouldn’t have been able to keep up. She assured us she’d find a ride home with a friend. When we arrived and burst through the double doors, we found a crowd of people huddled in a circle. Elbowing our way through the onlookers, we spotted a white-faced Angus lying on his back on the flood-damaged carpet.

  Màiri knelt on one side of him, I on the other. We each took a hand. A nasty-looking gash on his right temple oozed blood.

  “Oh, Angus,” I said softly. “Are you okay?”

  His mother looked at me as if I was daft. Of course he wasn’t okay. All I wanted to say to him was jumbled up inside me.

  Angus grimaced. “Don’t make a fuss, lass. I’m hardheaded.” But when he made no effort to sit up, I knew it was bad.

  Màiri didn’t say much. She pe
tted his hair as if he were still her little boy. Her eyes were wide and her lips were bloodless. How many times over the years had she worried over a rambunctious son and his injuries?

  The teenager who had come to find us at the pub blurted out a confession. “It’s my fault,” he cried. “I was supposed to be holding the ladder, but one of the steps broke and I couldn’t grab Mr. Angus fast enough.”

  Angus shook his head in denial and then groaned when his instinctive move clearly gave him pain. “’Twas an accident, nothing more.”

  I glanced at the offending ladder that lay strewn in pieces a few feet away. It looked as if it had been in use since the last World War. Who on earth still used wooden ladders nowadays? Small libraries with equally small budgets, obviously.

  “We need to get that cut seen to,” I said. “And he may have a concussion.”

  One of the men who had been volunteering with Angus spoke up. “My son has gone to fetch a car. We’ll let Angus stretch out in the backseat.”

  The fact that Angus didn’t protest our taking charge of the situation made me worry. I expected him to jump up and disperse the crowd. Instead, he lay perfectly still, his tanned skin an odd shade.

  When the car arrived, Angus insisted on walking under his own steam. I was pretty sure, however, that he almost passed out by the time we got him horizontal again. Màiri and I squeezed into the front seat with our young driver, and we were off.

  The medical center in Drumnadrochit was brand new. It wasn’t particularly impressive in terms of size, but was outfitted with all the most up-to-date technology. I was reassured that Angus would receive top-notch care. His mother and I paced in the waiting room as our patient was whisked away to Emergency.

  At last, we were allowed to go back and see him.

  A pleasant female physician, probably in her early forties, had just finished stitching up the gash on Angus’s temple. Though the blood had been cleaned up and the wound was closed, Angus looked worse than ever.

  The doctor placed her hand on his shoulder. “Do ye need a basin, Mr. Munro? Do you feel sick?”