Hot for the Scot

by Janice Maynard

  His jaw slanted. A weak grin tipped up the corners of his beautiful mouth. “A shot of whisky would be nice.”

  “I’m sure you’re joking.” I frowned at him. The poor man couldn’t even stand up straight. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave you,” I said.

  He nodded, managing to look both ill and horny at the same time. “Ye probably shouldn’t,” he said soberly. “I might take a fall in the shower.”

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “Aye. A wee bit. Quit your bletherin’, woman, and get ready for bed. I’ll do the same. And not to worry. I won’t keel over. Not before I’ve had a chance to share my bed with such a beautiful Sassenach.”

  I knew nothing was going to happen tonight. If Angus had an orgasm in his current state, he might never recover. Still, I was eager to get back to him.

  Since I had showered before dinner, all I had to do was brush my teeth, change into the soft T-shirt I liked to sleep in, and slip my arms into the thin knit robe that would protect my modesty.

  On my way back down the hall, I felt no need to skulk about. A light under Annis’s door told me she was safely back in residence. And Màiri had actually begged me to watch over Angus. I was on a mission of mercy, not a midnight booty call.

  When I reached Angus’s door, I knocked quietly. The house was eerily silent. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. When he didn’t answer, my imagination went haywire. Had he passed out? Was he lying in a pool of blood, unconscious?

  I was ready to burst into his room and perform CPR when the door swung open. A whiff of masculine-scented soap made me woozy. Angus was fresh from his shower, his reddish-brown hair damp and disheveled. A clean white bandage adorned his temple. He wore navy cotton sleep pants that rode low on his hips and nothing else.

  “There you are,” he said. “Come away in. I’ve got the bed all ready.”

  I couldn’t imagine what he meant until I saw the wall of pillows neatly aligned down the center of the mattress. I glanced at him to see if he was smiling. But instead, the set of his jaw was grim.

  “Is this really necessary?” I asked.

  “Aye. ’Tis all I can do not to drag you down on the carpet and take you hard and fast. But I’m dire afraid the top of my head will shatter if I try it.”

  When I realized he was completely serious, I felt a lick of heat low in my belly. No one had ever wanted me like this. Ever.

  “Which side is yours?” I asked, pretending that sleeping with a man was no big deal.

  “The left.”

  I nodded, glancing at the clock. “It’s time for medicine.”

  “Already took it. Get in, Hayley, so I can turn out the light.”

  I walked around the large bed and flipped back the covers on my assigned spot. Though the bed itself was rustic, Angus had outfitted it with whisper-soft sheets and a thick duvet, all in a masculine palette of umber and taupe. When I climbed onto the mattress and laid my head on the feather pillow, I felt like a princess in a fairy tale.

  Angus turned off the lamp. I heard him rustling about as he tugged at the covers.

  I whispered in the dark, “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Aye.” He sounded sleepy.

  “Why did you take me to the crofter’s cottage that first day? Why not bring me here? And why did you let me think you were a farmer or a shepherd or a common laborer?”

  Several seconds ticked by. “That’s three questions.”

  “Angus…” I said his name with a warning. We were in the same bed. In the dark. It was the perfect time for confidences.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said. “But then I get to ask you a few questions as well.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He sighed. “The answer to your first two questions is easy. The cottage was closest. You were wet and scared and in shock. And as for your assumptions…”

  He trailed off, leaving me in the dark. Literally. “Angus?”

  “I like spending time at the cottage,” he said quietly. “If we’re speaking the truth, I feel more at home there than I do here. It embarrasses me sometimes that I have all this money. I’m the bastard son of a woman whose family cast her aside. I’ve naught to be high and mighty about. No matter the size of my bank balance, I’m really just a lad from the village who happened to get lucky.”

  At that moment, I knew my earlier revelation was solid fact. I wasn’t falling in love with Angus Munro. I was already there. Knee-deep in emotion that closed my throat and made my eyes burn with tears. Besotted with this man who was such a wonderfully complicated combination of humbleness and arrogance.

  “It’s more than luck, Angus.” I left it at that. Because I understood what he meant. He possessed phenomenal talent and he worked very hard. But there were other men like him, gifted athletes, who never made it to the level he had achieved. Part of success was luck…being at the right place at the right time.

  And Lady Luck was a capricious beastie, as the Scots would say.

  “My turn,” he said, the words husky with sleep. “Tell me why you became a teacher.”

  Unfortunately, he had picked the one question I had asked myself a thousand times. With no clear answer. But I could at least explain the rationale.

  “I was a good student in school,” I said. “But I never had a burning passion for medicine or law or accounting or any other clear-cut career path. In order to earn a teaching degree, I knew I would be required to take subjects in a wide range of fields, everything from economics to geology. I liked the thought of exposing myself to all those interests. Plus—and this is what tipped the scales—I liked children. I think the fact that my mother ran a daycare in our home all those years taught me how to deal with little ones. I grew up around kids, even though I had no siblings.”

  “I can see you as a teacher,” he said. “You have a gentle spirit.”

  I fought the urge to tell him I wasn’t feeling particularly gentle at the moment. Despite my calm explanation of why I had chosen an education major, all I could think about was that the man of my dreams was in touching distance. Only his injury kept me from pouncing on him.

  When I didn’t respond to his last comment, the room grew quiet. I could hear his regular breathing. The sound reassured me. I didn’t trust Angus to admit weakness. He’d be half dead before asking for help. If I’d had my iPhone, I would have set an alarm to check on him every couple of hours. But it was in a drawer in my room and off-limits to me.

  I had forgotten to turn it on and check for messages. I was too tired now to go back and fetch it, and I didn’t want to bother Angus. He needed his rest. So I closed my eyes and courted sleep.

  Chapter 24

  I awoke with a start, completely disoriented. I wasn’t in my bed at home. I wasn’t at Annis Pottinger’s house. I wasn’t even in my beautiful room at Angus’s place. Where was I?

  It took only seconds for the truth to dawn. I was in the Highlander’s bed. I lay there not moving, wondering what had roused me out of a deep sleep. And then it came again…the sound that awakened me. A groan. A masculine sound of pain.

  Instead of trying to scale the mountain of pillows, I slipped from the bed and tiptoed around to Angus’s side of the mattress. He was thrashing about restlessly, maybe even dreaming. Before trying to wake him, I found a switch in the bathroom and flipped it on so the light wouldn’t bother his eyes.

  His bed was high. Perching beside him was not an option. Instead, I leaned over and put my hand on his shoulder. “Angus.” I whispered his name. “Angus.” No response.

  I brushed the hair from his forehead. “Wake up, Angus. You need to take your medicine.”

  Without warning, he sat straight up in the bed, his arm flailing outward. The back of his hand caught me square in the nose.

  I staggered backward and fell on my butt. “Wake up, you hardheaded Scotsman.” Now I was aggravated and in pain myself. When I put my hand to my nose, I felt something wet and warm. I’d suf
fered enough nosebleeds as a child and adolescent to know the signs. Good grief.

  Angus flipped on the bedside lamp and stared at me aghast. “What happened to you?”

  I held the back of my hand to my nose, trying not to get blood on his beautiful carpet. “You hit me,” I said. “Are you always this combative in the middle of the night? If so, I may rethink this sleeping-with-you idea.”

  Horrified, he climbed from the bed and crouched beside me. “Let me see, wee Hayley.”

  I’d come to understand that the appellation wee was not so much a description of my size as it was a term of affection. “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a nosebleed.”

  Despite my sputtered protests, he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bathroom where he sat me on the granite countertop. “Don’t move, lass. I’ll go get some ice.”

  I grabbed his hand. “I don’t need ice. But if you have an old washcloth, I’d appreciate it. The bleeding will stop in a couple of minutes.”

  His expression said he was dubious about my first aid skills, but he rummaged in a drawer and handed me a rag. “Och. My poor little Georgia peach. Drumnadrochit and I have ruined your grand vacation. I’m more sorry about that than you know.”

  “It’s not ruined,” I insisted, sounding nasal and dopey. “And it’s not over.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I swear we’re going to enjoy the time you have left.”

  That promise did nothing to lighten my heart. Angus clearly saw an end to our relationship…and sooner rather than later. It was one thing for the man’s mother to point out the obvious roadblocks. But my beautiful Scotsman had given no indication at all that he wished I could or would linger.

  Though my heart was heavy, I managed a smile. “Of course we will.” He stood between my knees, the two of us so close we would look like lovers had anyone peeked in on us. But we weren’t lovers. And maybe fate intended to keep us apart indefinitely.

  “It’s almost morning,” I said quietly. I was rumpled and bleeding and not at all sexually alluring. I had seen myself in the mirror as we entered the bathroom, so I was under no illusions. “I should go back to my room now. You need your rest.”

  He took the bloody rag from me and examined my nose. “It may bruise,” he said, his tone troubled. He rubbed his thumb across my cheekbone, inexplicably igniting little pulses of fire elsewhere in my body.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “I was trying to wake you. It sounded like you might be having a bad dream.”

  “Aye. I was. It was a football match. An important one. I was trying to take a shot at the goal, but every time I kicked the ball, it turned into an eagle and flew away.”

  “Good heavens. What does that mean?”

  He shrugged, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Damned if I know.” He leaned his forehead against mine…ever so gently. “Stay, Hayley. Please. I promise not to assault you again.”

  I wanted to. Very badly. But I was getting in too deep…to the point I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Which made no sense at all, because I was a visitor here. My life was in the United States. There was nothing permanent for me in Scotland. Nothing but my wild infatuation with Angus.

  In battles of the head and the heart, the heart often wins. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll stay.”

  He scooped me up and held me close to his chest as he traversed the short distance back to the bed. “Together, this time.” After depositing me on the mattress, he scooted in beside me and pulled me against him, spoon fashion. “I’ll sleep better like this,” he swore.

  “You forgot your medicine.”

  “Don’t need medicine. I only need you.”

  The next time I awoke, it was dawn. And Angus had his hands under my shirt. I sucked in a startled breath when he lightly pinched my nipples. I might have done a little moaning myself.

  After a half-hearted effort to stop him, I arched my neck and closed my eyes. The tiny whimper that escaped was embarrassing but totally unavoidable. “I thought we were waiting for your head to get well,” I gasped. “And for our trip to Oban.”

  He slid his fingertips inside the waistband of my cotton undies. “I don’t want to take anymore chances. You’re here. I’m here. I say we go for it before anything else happens.”

  I was more than willing to be persuaded. But one last bit of good sense remained. “What about your concussion? This might make it worse.”

  With my shirt rucked up beneath my armpits, he kissed my tummy. “It won’t, lass. And even if it does, ’twill be worth it.”

  After that, our conversation was limited to soft sighs on my part and groans on his. I could only hope they were groans of pleasure.

  Rapidly, we undressed each other. The pale gray light filtering in around the drapes allowed me to see him. I cupped his face, slid my hands to his shoulders, and finally urged him onto his back so I could hold that part of him that was rigid with need…his need for me.

  His sex was a thing of beauty, warm and pulsing with life. With my hand cupping his sac, I asked the question that had haunted me. “Were you serious?” I said. “Has it really been that long since you’ve had sex?”

  He grimaced, his expression half embarrassment, half defiance. “Aye. Men are randy creatures, so I don’t expect you’ll believe me, but it’s the truth. I was doing penance for all my skulduddery.”

  “Don’t you mean skullduggery?” I tested the head of his shaft with a fingertip, collecting a drop of fluid.

  Angus sucked in a sharp breath. “Skullduddery is an old Scots word that means fornicatin’.”

  “Ah. And why have you decided to end your streak of celibacy now, Angus?”

  He shoved me away, his chest heaving as he reached into the nearby drawer and grabbed a condom. His hands shook as he rolled it on. “Because I am fair mad with wanting ye, Hayley. And the good Lord wouldn’t have sent you to tempt me if he hadn’t meant for me to appreciate his wee, perfect gift.”

  The theological explanation was both unexpected and disarming. I did believe him. Though even if I hadn’t, I doubted anything could have stopped me from making love to him at this moment.

  “I want you, Angus.” I was honest with him about that, at least. No need to wear my heart on my sleeve. A woman had to maintain some defenses.

  He shifted his considerable weight and settled between my legs. “Are ye ready for me, love? Next time I’ll give ye your due, but I don’ think I can wait another second.”

  I knew the “L” word was a figure of speech. Men said anything and everything in the heat of the moment. No reason for my heart to jump in my chest. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I am, Angus.”

  I wanted to remember every second of our joining…in case it was our last. He was warm, so warm. When he entered me, our bodies strained together…as if we were each trying to learn the other by Braille. The fit was tight. Perfect. Somewhere along the way I forgot to breathe.

  He muttered my name again and again. “Hayley. Hayley. Hayley.”

  Though I winced, perhaps because I was out of practice, my body stretched to accommodate his girth. He was urgent, half-wild as he had warned, but I never felt a moment’s hesitation or fear that he might inadvertently hurt me.

  With every stroke of his body, he worshipped mine.

  I felt the hair on his chest tickle my breasts. His breath was hot against my ear as he thrust faster and harder. My own climaxes were usually slow to generate…or at least they had been in the past. When Angus reached between us and touched that magical little spot that made me unravel, I cried out as a deluge of pleasure seized me and wrenched me from peak to peak to peak.

  Moments later, Angus came with a groan and a Gaelic curse. I held him tightly, afraid that if I didn’t, I might wake up and find out this had all been a dream. He was heavy and sweaty, and I never wanted to move.

  At last, he kissed my neck just below my ear. I shivered hard, so sensitive to his touch that even such an i
nnocent caress had me humming again. Apparently my libido had been in a sleep state, waiting for me to choose the man who could satisfy me both in bed and out of it.

  I stroked his hair. “How’s your head?”

  “Mmmpff.”

  Though I wasn’t a linguistic genius, I doubted “mmmpff” was a uniquely Scots word. “Angus. Seriously. I’m worried about your concussion.”

  He reared up on both hands, our bodies still joined. His smile made me tingle in places that hadn’t calmed down yet. “I think I may have a cerebral hemorrhage, but no worries. Every other part of my body is guid.”

  “That’s not funny, Angus. I don’t want to be the subject of one of those news stories where the woman has to call the police because the man died during sex.”

  “Well,” he said, rolling onto his back, “it would be a fine way to go.”

  “Men.” I infused the word with indignation, but secretly, I was pleased that he was pleased. After all, if a man breaks a sexual fast after a long dry spell, it’s good to know that all is well.

  I turned on my side and cuddled against him. Though I was content to maintain the status quo for the next half hour, I had no idea what to expect of the day ahead. Angus was under strict orders to rest. But the original plan before his accident was to move all of Annis’s and Màiri’s things back down the hill.

  Some of it I could manage, but the bigger things required a strong back. I spared a moment’s regret that my trip to Oban was being postponed. I was eager to see more of Scotland, but more than that, I loved the idea of having Angus to myself for a couple of days.

  The bedroom was so quiet. I supposed Angus was asleep, though it was impossible to tell. It was all I could do not to ask the verboten question, What are you thinking?

  Men hated that kind of query. From my own limited experience and from things I had read on the Internet, most men weren’t thinking anything in the aftermath of sex. They wanted to be left alone.