A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors)

by Randi Alexander

  “Dinna stop. Please.” His thighs tightened around her waist.

  She moved back to the head of his cock. Another pearly drop appeared there, dribbling down the side of him. She licked it away, then opened wide to take him into her mouth.

  “Yesss,” he hissed.

  She reveled in it. Making him so hard, making him beg for her mouth. Bringing him such pleasure. It made her whole body tight. With a sudden surety, Aileen knew that if she reached down between her thighs and touched herself, she would find her release.

  But she didn’t need it. She wanted to gain her own pleasure by pleasuring him tonight. Her own satisfaction paled in comparison. Years from now, she could draw on the heady feeling of the power that this moment gave her. She would remember him moaning her name, gasping beneath her touch, under her lips.

  She slid up and down, squeezing with her mouth, licking with her tongue, stroking with her hands, emulating the long, deep thrusts he made when he moved inside her.

  He was solid and hard beneath her, strong and masculine, flowing beneath her lips, tongue, and fingers. And she could feel him flowing, his seed boiling, rushing upward from his sac to the slit at the top of his cock. His hands suddenly tightened over her shoulders. “Dinna stop,” he ground out. But she was hardly moving. He was doing all the work, thrusting his cock deep, touching her throat but retreating just before she started to choke.

  “Oh…Christ.” And then he pressed the back of her head down over him, and she was locked into place, helpless, as his seed pumped into her mouth.

  Moaning, she swallowed his seed as it invaded her throat. Lust consumed her; she was mad with it. When the contractions began to subside, she milked him again, prolonging his climax, loving the feel of him releasing helplessly into her mouth.

  When at last it was over, his grip loosened. Then his big hands wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up onto his lap.

  Holding her close, surrounding her with his big, strong body, he feathered his lips over her ear. Once again, she felt ensconced by him, protected and small.

  “Did you like it?” she asked, gazing up at him. He looked amazed, humbled, overwhelmed.

  He squeezed her tighter, nuzzling his face in her hair. “Aye.”

  Aileen pressed her forehead against his chest, smiling. “I’m glad.”

  He shifted so she sat beside him on the edge of the cart and whispered against her cheek, “Your turn.”

  “We ought to go back.”

  “Not yet. We’ve a few moments.”

  “There’s no time. Iain’ll be worried.”

  “I’ll not be letting you go until you’ve come for me, Aileen.”

  “But—” Her words were cut off as he clamped his mouth over hers and yanked up the hem of her dress. He held her firm, helpless. And though she knew Iain would come looking for them soon, her legs fell open.

  She wrapped her arms around Niall and clung to him, feeling his heat and hard muscle through the wool of their clothing. Burying her face in his neck, she gasped as his fingers slid over her, then parted her inner lips and dipped inside. His free arm moved down her back, pulling her closer as his tongue curled with hers and his fingers pumped inside her.

  A twig snapped outside.

  Aileen gasped and tried to jerk away. “Someone’s coming!”

  “Shh.” Niall held her even more tightly against him. “There’s time. Come for me.”

  He pressed his thumb to that oh-so-sensitive spot above her sheath, and she squirmed.

  “Let go, Aileen.”

  “Someone’s coming,” she moaned.

  “You are.” He circled his thumb, pressing his fingers in deeper, curling them so they slid against a place that nearly made her jump out of her skin.

  “Oh!” she breathed.

  She heard shuffling noises outside. A horse whinnied from one of the stalls.

  But Niall was thrusting into her, touching her, kissing her. Taking her higher and higher. Her whole body vibrated like the strings of a lute.

  Shuddering, she ground against his hand. Her head dropped back. And then he skimmed his thumb over that spot again. Powerful tremors raced through her, down her legs. She rippled around his fingers. Niall whispered words of encouragement in her ear.

  The door to the barn creaked loudly.

  Niall slowly withdrew his fingers from her shuddering center. And drew away, pulling her skirt down.

  He jumped from the wagon bed. Aileen looked up, her vision fuzzy around the edges, as Iain approached.

  “Are you all right, milady?”

  She smiled at the worry in his voice.

  “The lady was feeling faint, so I led her inside to sit for a moment.” Niall turned to her, his brows drawn together in concern. “Are you feeling better, then?”

  “Much,” she murmured. “’Twas a temporary affliction, I think. I’m feeling much relieved. Perhaps you will escort me back to the inn, Niall?”

  He inclined his head respectfully. “Of course, lady.”

  Iain led the way back. Aileen followed, side by side with Niall, unable to prevent the smile that tipped her lips upward.

  “I’ll petition the laird for your hand,” Niall whispered in her ear.

  “And I’ll offer my lands as a concession,” she murmured back to him. A small bud of hope grew inside her. “Perhaps he’ll agree to our proposal.”

  Yet she knew her brother well. He coveted land, but he also coveted power, especially in his quest to dominate the MacDonalds.

  “We must try.”

  “Aye,” she said softly. Knowing hope shone in her eyes, she glanced up at him. “We must try.”

  Chapter Eight

  Five days later, as another blizzard bore down on them, the party arrived at Ellandonan. After three days taking shelter from miserable weather in the little inn, Aileen had convinced Niall that they must get to Ellandonan, even if they had to dig their way through snow. It had taken two slushy, grueling days before their party made it to the castle safe and hale, but cold and wet to the bone.

  Niall, as she’d expected, promptly disappeared, and to her dismay, Aileen learned that the laird had left Ellandonan a week ago to meet with a Lowland earl. Their party wasn’t expected to return for a few more days.

  She didn’t know what to think when she learned that Gilbert Dunbar had gone with her brother, but it worried her.

  Aileen tried to occupy herself with becoming reacquainted with the laird’s children and his young wife. But Aileen’s outgoing nature had suffered after having been trapped in a lonely, loveless marriage for so long, and she walked alone in the garden today, as she often did, wrapped in a fur cloak and contemplating her predicament.

  What did it mean that Gilbert had gone to the Lowlands with her brother? Had he and John become close? A bit of thyme poked up from the snow across the path, and Aileen bent down to pick it. She crushed it between her fingers, inhaling the sweet, sharp scent, and looked out over the garden. The latest snowfall had dusted the trees and the bushes, and cool sunlight sent a golden glimmer over the white landscape. She turned her gaze up to the blue, cloud-speckled sky.

  Surely John was shrewd enough to see through Gilbert. Surely he wouldn’t force her into marriage with such a blaigeard.

  Her one consolation in the midst of her loneliness was that Niall remained nearby, waiting for the laird as she was. The castle occupants dined together in the great hall, and she saw him there, among his men, last night. She’d fought not to meet his gaze, but it had inexorably drawn her in. The look of raw longing she’d seen in his blue eyes made her heart patter wildly, made the blood rush beneath her skin in a torrent.

  Her primal feelings must be blatant to anyone who cared enough to look. And she couldn’t risk Niall like that. At all costs, she would keep her eyes on more mundane things at dinner tonight.

  “Auntie Aileen!”

  Startled, Aileen dropped the crushed thyme and turned to the source of the voice. A lass approached, giving her a bright, d
impled smile. It was the laird’s daughter, Margaret. The only child born of John’s first marriage, Margaret was a happy, beloved child hovering on the cusp of womanhood.

  Surely a man who cared for his own daughter so deeply wouldn’t offer his sister to a wolf.

  Smiling, Aileen rose. “Good day, Margaret.”

  “Come inside with me, Auntie.” Margaret grasped Aileen’s hand and towed her toward the castle. “We’ve had wonderful news! Papa’ll be back tomorrow. And the courier said he brings good tidings.”

  Aileen’s heart constricted. “That is good news,” she managed to choke out.

  In its own way, it was very good news. At least this confusing state of purgatory she’d found herself in would soon come to an end.

  Aileen dragged reluctantly after her niece and prayed she wasn’t headed for a new kind of hell.

  ***

  Niall paused at the threshold, but the Mackenzie instantly spotted him and waved him inside his bedchamber. Moving forward, Niall sank into a low bow before his laird.

  “Up, up,” the laird said. He was sitting on a high stool, wearing nothing but a rough, homespun tunic, his face covered with shaving soap. A servant stood beside him, swiping a glistening blade over his cheek.

  “So why the eagerness to see me, Niall? I gather you’ve brought my sister safely to Ellandonan? Didn’t encounter any damned cutthroats along the way, I hope?”

  Niall tensed. Thank God they hadn’t, though he knew the laird was having a hell of a time keeping outlaws from robbing innocent travelers on the roads. “Nay, milord. We traveled safely. Lady Aileen and her people are well.”

  “Good.” Mackenzie grinned widely. He waved the valet away and leaned forward in the stool. “Have you heard of my coup in the Lowlands?”

  “Nay, I havena, milord.”

  “Well, thanks to some timely negotiation by Gilbert Dunbar, I’ve just come from signing the documents to marry my daughter Margaret to the Earl of Dolphinton.”

  Niall took a step back, raising his brow. To align with Dolphinton would be a coup for the Mackenzie laird. But how had it happened? Who was this Gilbert Dunbar?

  “I am sending her to the Lowlands as soon as can be arranged.”

  “An excellent match, milord.”

  Mackenzie turned his shrewd gaze upon Niall. “’Tis indeed.” He sighed, a smile playing around his lips. “And though the benefits to me are vast and obvious, I canna help but be pleased to have made such a match for my daughter. Now she’ll be a countess, a title she deserves. And I must confess that I’ve taken a wee liking to the earl as well, though he is a Lowlander. He’ll be good to her.”

  Niall nodded. Mackenzie’s affection for his first daughter was no secret to anyone.

  “But you’ve come to ask me something.” Mackenzie motioned to the servant to resume shaving him. “What could it be?”

  Though his mouth suddenly felt dry, Niall couldn’t balk now. “I’ve been your loyal servant for many years. I served you, alongside you in France and Spain during the Four Years’ War—”

  The laird pinned him with narrowed blue eyes. “I know who you are, and I know every deed you’ve accomplished on my behalf. Dinna waste my time by rehashing all of them. Get to the point, MacRae.”

  Niall bowed his head in acquiescence. “I’ve come to ask for your permission to marry your sister.” When the Mackenzie gave him a blank look, Niall added, “Lady Aileen.”

  For a moment, the room was silent. The razor scraped against Mackenzie’s skin. And then the laird pushed the hand holding the razor away and burst into laughter. Niall stared at the floor, forcing his fists not to clench as the laird’s mirth swirled around him, squeezed his chest, and suffocated him.

  Mackenzie wrapped his arms around his belly. Recovering between chuckles, he said, “Do you know how many men have asked me for fair Aileen’s hand? How many of you greedy bastards desire her lands? And she’s fair to look upon, is she not? I daresay having her in your bed appeals as well.”

  Niall met his laird’s eyes, his cheeks burning. He didn’t want to think of any of the other men who’d asked for her hand. He knew their motives had no connection whatever to his own.

  “Eight.” Mackenzie’s hands flew up into the air in a gesture of amazement. “Did you hear me? Eight! And the other seven had much more to offer than you, MacRae. You are lowborn and landless—far less worthy than any of the others.”

  “I have been loyal and faithful to you,” Niall ground out.

  “That you have.” The laird shrugged. “But so have many others. What has that to do with anything?”

  “I care naught for her lands,” Niall said stiffly.

  “Oh, aye.” Mackenzie snorted. “Be that as it may, my answer to you is no.”

  “I will take good care of her,” Niall pressed. “I will prove to be a worthy husband.”

  The laird blew out a frustrated breath. “Sure you realize that there must needs be more to my decision than soothing my loyal warrior’s fancy to bed my sister?”

  “I admire and respect her. Deeply.” Niall’s face was on fire.

  The laird narrowed his eyes. “Admiration and respect mean naught in a marriage. If you be lusting after my sister, then go pound your frustrated cock into one of the castle wenches, and you’ll forget about Aileen by morning. In fact, despite what some might say to the contrary, I’m generous. I’ll send Agnes to you tonight.” His tongue ran over his lips. “You’ll enjoy her, I daresay. She’s one of my favorites.”

  Niall wasn’t moved. “Nay.”

  The laird merely snorted. “We’ll see.”

  “I’m in…I’m very fond of Aileen, sir. We’ve known each other for many years. If you recall, I was fostered at Dornoch. She feels the same.”

  “Does she?” The Mackenzie slid to his feet and took a step toward Niall, tilting his head, his eyes glinting dangerously. “‘Aileen.’ So you speak of her familiarly, do you? Are you so well-acquainted with her? Have you been fucking my sister, MacRae?”

  Niall straightened. He couldn’t lie to the laird. Nor did he want to. If he couldn’t have her, he was more than willing to face whatever price the Mackenzie would have him pay for his sins.

  Yet he didn’t want Aileen to suffer for what they’d done.

  As he hesitated, the laird raised a hand. “Wait.” He took another step forward, and now he and Niall were within arm’s length of each other. “I dinna want to hear it,” he said under his breath. “I trusted you with my sister’s life and with her virtue. You know what must be done if ever I learned of such a breach of honor from you.”

  Niall met the laird’s icy eyes unflinchingly.

  Mackenzie continued. “I dinna want to know what happened between you and my sister, MacRae, because I’m fond of you. I dinna want to be forced to punish you.” He took a backward step. “Now get out of my sight before you say something both you and I will regret.”

  ***

  Holding a dram of whisky in his hand, Niall slouched against the wall beside the fireplace, casting angry glances around him, daring anyone to come close enough for him to hit. One was never alone at Ellandonan. All he wanted was to beat the hell out of something, anything, but instead he was forced to drink whisky with his men until the wee hours…until they all lost consciousness.

  This must be hell.

  What he most wanted was to seek out Aileen and drag her from this place. Somewhere where they could fuck each other witless and forget… But no, someone would see him, report him to the laird, prove his betrayal.

  Aileen. Aileen. Aileen. His cock grew to half staff just from the whisper of her name bouncing around in his skull. He could never have her again, and it was tearing him apart.

  Suddenly, there was a hush in the room as all eyes turned to the door. Niall looked up to see a tall blonde hesitating at the threshold.

  “Oho!” cried one of the men. “Looka what we have here. A bonny piece, is she no’?”

  “Och, she be one o’ the laird’
s,” said another, rising to stand protectively beside her. “Leave ’er be.” He turned to the lady and spoke in soothing, courtly tones. “Have ye lost yer way, lass?”

  “Nay,” she stated, her voice clear and confident. She gestured at Niall. “I’m sent for Niall MacRae.”

  Niall eyed her warily, blinking through whisky-bleared eyes. Was this the lass the laird had promised to send him? He didn’t want a goddamned whore. He flung his cup aside, heedless of the whisky splashing over the rushes.

  “Nay,” he gritted out.

  Taking her time, the lass picked her way around the strewn men and pallets covering the floor. All eyes followed her sinuous curves as she moved toward Niall.

  When she stood over him, she murmured, “The laird’s ordered me to escort you to a private room. If I fail in my task, he says I’m to be punished.”

  A sneer flattened his lips. Damn Mackenzie to hell. The laird knew Niall would resist, but he also knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause a woman to suffer.

  Niall released a sigh loud enough to be audible to everyone around him. He knew any one of these men would gladly trade places with him. If only he could send someone else.

  It didn’t matter. The laird intended for him to forget about Aileen by bedding this whore. It would not work—he wouldn’t touch her.

  “Verra well.” He rose on shaky legs, bowed, and held out a gallant arm. “After you, milady.”

  She led him through so many turning corridors, Niall lost his way. When he left her, he would have a hell of a time finding his way back to the men’s quarters. In service of the laird, he had spent many months at Ellandonan, but his activities were relegated to the public halls and the areas set aside for the laird’s men.

  She turned a final bend in the passageway and stopped before a planked door. Smiling over her shoulder at him, she pushed it open.

  A cheerful fire warmed the room. Lush carpets covered the floor, and thick tapestries hung from each of the four walls. The massive bed, covered with embroidered pillows and draped with matching bed-curtains, overwhelmed the space. This was an opulent room—clearly the laird held this woman in favor.