Scandalous in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 3)

by Anna Durand

  I shuddered with need, helpless to stop my hands from reaching for him.

  Rory captured my wrists in one hand, pinned them above my head, and braced his other hand alongside my shoulder. "Ye want to be fucked, aye?"

  "Oh yes, please."

  He drove into me with a single, all-consuming thrust—and paused there, buried inside me to the hilt.

  My protest came out as a squeak.

  That grin, the one imbued with wicked intention, flashed across his face and devastated my willpower. I surrendered to him completely, relaxing into his hold on my wrists, awaiting anything he might do to me.

  He rolled his hips in a circle, his cock penetrating me deeply, his unhurried motions connecting with parts of me no one had touched before. Bound by his hands, I couldn't clutch him with my hands, so I clutched him with the leg I had locked around him. Mindlessly, I rocked my hips in time with his movements, luxuriating in the feel of this new position, how it seemed to unite our bodies with exquisite intimacy.

  I nestled my face against his neck and inhaled the masculine scent of him, mixed with the scent of sweat.

  With a groan, he impaled me in lush, vigorous strokes. His pace accelerated as he thrust harder each time, pounding into me until we both bounced on the mattress from the force of his passion. I shut my eyes, helpless not to, grateful my face was mashed against his neck where he couldn't see. The need for climax tortured me, the promise of bliss a magnificent agony.

  He pistoned his hips, his flesh scraping my clitoris.

  My body went rigid. I came like a firework bursting in the sky, scorching and brilliant, ripped apart by explosions of color. My body convulsed, my muscles pulsating around him, frantic to milk his release. His climax hit while I thrashed under him, my orgasm rolling on and on, and he kept thrusting lazily until, at last, the riot of pleasure calmed inside me.

  He disentangled our bodies to lie beside me.

  My heart thudded, and I gasped for air.

  "Shh," he whispered to me. "Breathe slow and easy."

  His chest heaved against my side, rendering him as breathless as I was, yet somehow he managed to speak. I couldn't have mumbled, much less formed intelligible words. Unlike our first time together, he hadn't lost control. Yes, he'd taken me with the same passion and vigor as before. Yet he'd retained dominion over his senses.

  Unlike me. My sanity had flown through the roof, spiraling out into the universe.

  I enjoyed the loss of control, whereas he saw it as a character flaw in himself.

  He rubbed my tummy, the gesture achingly sweet.

  Little by little, I gathered my wits and calmed my breathing. "I love your ingenuity. That position was amazing."

  "I'm not ingenious." He ceased rubbing my belly, fanning his hand over my skin. "That position appears in numerous books about sex."

  I shot him a sidelong look. "You read sex manuals?"

  The most adorable blush tinted his cheeks. "I, ah…bought a few of them over the years."

  For his ex-wives? Maybe I'd ask him another time, when the question might not embarrass him. If I'd printed out my list of questions about his previous wives, it would've outweighed an unabridged dictionary.

  I wriggled to lie on my side facing him. "Nothing wrong with looking for ways to spice up your love life. I've read sex books too, even the Kama Sutra."

  He raised his eyes to peek at me through his thick lashes. "I wasn't brave enough to read that one."

  "It's not as lewd as most people think." I placed a light kiss on his lips. "We could look at it together sometime. If you want."

  "Perhaps," he said cautiously.

  "No rush." I skipped my fingers along the rippling curves of his bicep. "Are we done for the night?"

  "Aren't you tired?"

  "Nope."

  He draped a hand over my hip. "Should we go again?"

  "Oh yes, baby. Yes indeed."

  Chapter Thirteen

  I woke to the fluttery sensation of Rory's lips on my throat and his hair tickling my cheek. As my lids struggled to open, I noticed his hand on my belly and the silky texture of his long-sleeve shirt on my skin.

  Shirt? My eyes popped open. He was fully clothed.

  "You're dressed," I said, a tad peeved about it.

  He trailed the backs of his fingers across my belly. "I don't generally board an airplane in the nude."

  "Maybe I will." Laughing at his horrified expression, I slapped the back of my hand on his chest. "That was a joke. I'm not an exhibitionist." I toyed with a button on his shirt. "Unless you want me to exhibit myself for you."

  "Not at the moment." He sat up and spanked my behind. "Time to get dressed. We leave for the airport in thirty minutes."

  "Thirty—" I sprang into a sitting position. "I need a shower and breakfast and—What time is it?"

  "Five o'clock. You can freshen up in flight." He rose from the bed and flapped his hand. "Up, Emery."

  Mumbling curses under my breath, I clambered out of bed and reached for the robe laid over the foot. As I pulled it on, I gave him a mulish look. "Just so you know, bossiness at five a.m. does not turn me on. Why the stampede to get outta Dodge?"

  "I want to take you home, and I'm not known for dawdling."

  I rubbed my forehead. "Jeez, Rory, it's still dark out. I need a shower to wake me up and food to keep me from passing out from hunger."

  He fisted his hands, then stretched his fingers taut. "I will feed you on the jet, which as a full bathroom. A bed too. Please, may we get on the plane quickly?"

  "You're super anxious to get home, hey?"

  "Aye."

  "Why is that?"

  He dropped onto the foot of the bed, slumped forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "I've been gone for ten days, the longest period I've ever been away."

  My heart melted at his miserable expression, and I took a seat beside him. "This seems like more than missing home. What else is bothering you?"

  He frowned at the floor. "My family is anxious to see you. I convinced them not to meet us at the airport, but they insist on coming to the house tomorrow."

  "They want to check out the trophy wife."

  "You are not a trophy."

  What was I, then? Not his soul mate, for sure.

  "I can deal with meeting your family," I said. "And I promise not to embarrass you, if that's what you're worried about. Your family will meet a well-behaved American."

  "Not worried about you." He unfolded his torso to the upright position, as if preparing for takeoff. "You can handle yourself. My family…They don't understand what I've done."

  I supposed it didn't help I wasn't the kind of girl an uptight solicitor would take home to his mama.

  His words from last night echoed in my mind. What have I done? he'd muttered.

  "Do you regret marrying me?" I asked. "This wasn't exactly a well-thought-out decision. You were lusting after me, and you got this crazy marriage idea in your head. I'd understand if you have buyer's remorse."

  "I haven't bought you."

  "You kinda did. Half a million dollars after a year, remember?"

  He ground his teeth. "I haven't bought you. All of my ex-wives received generous settlements when we divorced."

  But you loved them, I wanted to point out. I swallowed the words.

  "My family can be overly protective," Rory said, "particularly my brother Lachlan. He almost frightened away the woman Aidan married. He terrified my first two wives, and the third kept her distance from him."

  A smile tugged at my lips, though I tried to suppress it. "Are you afraid your big brother will have me fleeing in terror? Your concern is adorable, but unnecessary. I'm not that easy to get rid of, baby."

  His mouth cinched up at one corner. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

  "What?"

  "Baby."

  "Don't know. Didn't realize I was doing it." I bumped my shoulder into his. "Guess it means I like you. Which is a good thing, since we'll be living together."

>   Rory launched his body off the bed. "You'll change your mind about that soon enough."

  He stalked out of the bedroom into the living area, out of my sight.

  Did he mean I'd stop liking him? I couldn't see that happening. The more time I spent with him the more I liked my husband. He must've liked me too, despite swearing he would never care for me. Why did he think I'd wind up disliking him?

  Maybe I'd find out he was a perv with a sex dungeon full of medieval torture devices.

  Rory? Mr. Law and Order? Nah, I couldn't believe it.

  I cleaned up and got dressed, then headed into the living area.

  Rory perched on the sofa with his computer on his lap, typing away. When he noticed me, he clapped the laptop shut. "Ready?"

  "Yep." I ogled his muscles as he levered his body off the sofa while holding the laptop in one hand. My thought from a few minutes ago resurfaced, and I had to ask. "We don't know each other very well, so I need to ask you something. Are you a pervert who's into BDSM—bondage, sadism, that kind of thing?"

  "No." He made a face that said dumb question, you silly American.

  "It's not a ridiculous thing to ask," I said. "You told me I'd change my mind about liking you, and I couldn't help wondering if that means you've got a tawdry secret at home. Maybe you'll lock me in your sex dungeon."

  He rolled his eyes, Rory-style. "I may live in a castle, but I don't have dungeon."

  "So, you're not into the twisted shit."

  "I am not." He stowed the laptop in its carrying bag. "Time to leave."

  He snagged my suitcase and wheeled it toward the door, where his bag waited. When he swung the door open for me, I hesitated.

  "You live in a castle?" I asked, dubious.

  "I do."

  He had to be pulling my leg. He had to.

  With a hand on my back, he compelled me to move.

  The journey to the airport rushed by in a blur of activity and motion. As we approached the jet, I stumbled to a halt. The plane was enormous and spiffy and shiny white, with a pointed nose. I'd been on airliners before, but this was something else.

  Rory touched a finger to my chin. "Your mouth is hanging open, lass. Insects might fly in there if you're not careful."

  I shut my mouth, but I did not miss the sarcastic slant to his lips or the gleam in his eyes.

  His ex-wives must've done a number on him to make him so afraid to show his emotions.

  "This is yours?" I asked, pointing toward the elegant monstrosity.

  One of his brawny shoulders lifted and fell again. "I share it with Lachlan. After he married Erica, he wanted a private means of getting wherever he might need to be." The slant in Rory's lips kicked up a little higher into the closest approximation of a smile I'd yet seen. "I think he wanted a flying bedroom so he could ravish his wife up in the clouds."

  "I'm sure you have no such plans." I cozied up to him, looping an arm around his waist. "Did you guys go halfsies on the plane?"

  "It's a jet, but I'm sure what you're asking."

  "Did you each pay half the cost."

  "Ah, no. Lachlan insisted on buying the jet himself. I do pay for the fuel, and I tried to convince him to let me pay a portion of the cost. He wouldn't agree. This was the first of two jets he bought."

  "Two jets?" I rested my chin on his arm, my face turned up toward his. "How rich is your brother?"

  "I'm not certain, but I'd wager it's at least ten times more than I have."

  "Ten times? I suppose your brother Aidan has twenty times more."

  "Aidan is not wealthy," Rory explained, "though he has rebuilt his construction business into quite a success. He nearly lost the company after he was injured in a rock-climbing accident, but he's worked like the devil to bring it back to life."

  His tone conveyed pride in his little brother's accomplishments.

  Rory ushered me up the airstairs into the plane—pardon me, jet. Well-cushioned seats lined both sides of the cabin, their ivory-colored leather pristine. One group of seats faced each other with a table between them, and a sofa occupied one space along the right-hand side. Beyond that, boxes filled up an empty area. Past that, I glimpsed more rooms.

  "Through there is the bedroom, bathroom, and galley," Rory said, gesturing into the jet's bowels.

  "What are those boxes?"

  He looked at me like I'd asked what that yellow ball in the sky was. "Your belongings."

  My gaze flitted to the boxes and back to his face. "You said you'd hire people to pack up my stuff and get it to me. I assumed that meant shipping it. How did you get anybody to do it this fast?"

  "I paid them a great deal of money." He curled his hands around my upper arms. "I'm spiriting you away to a new country and a home you've never seen. You'll feel more at ease if you have your belongings."

  "Thank you. That's unbelievably considerate."

  "Don't thank me. I've asked a lot of you, and this was the least I could do in return."

  A yawn erupted out of me, stretching my jaw to its full extent.

  Rory picked me up, cradling my body in his thickly corded arms. "My wife needs a lie-down."

  I lay my head on his chest as he carried me away to the bedroom.

  He was nuts if he thought I'd get sick of him. How could I ever tire of this man?

  Never going to happen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I slept during the three-hour drive from the Inverness airport to Ballachulish, waking up in time to see the village zip past my window. Even on this cloudy day, Scotland looked lovely. Rory seemed at ease behind the wheel of his Mercedes S-Class, his hands steady and his focus squarely on the road ahead. A large lake stretched close to the road for a long ways, with more land visible in the distance across the waters.

  Popping upright, I squinted at the scene around our car as the village dwindled in our rearview mirror. "What was that lake?"

  "Loch Leven."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Home."

  "Gee, you're so helpful with the details." I fell back against my seat. "We passed the village. I thought you lived in Ballachulish."

  "I said I was born and raised there. I live an hour from Ballachulish, near a village called Loch Fairbairn."

  "This house of yours, is it out in the boonies or close to town?"

  He made a pained face, squirming in his seat. "I suppose that depends on your definition of boonies."

  "Rory, honestly." I twisted in my seat to see him. "Why are you avoiding my question? Will I be living in the middle of nowhere or not?"

  "You will. In a way." He made that face again. "I don't think of my home as remote, but you may have a different perspective."

  "Are you afraid I'll be horrified when I see where you're taking me and flee as fast as I can?"

  "Some women would."

  I analyzed his face while he concentrated on guiding the Mercedes down the winding road. We went over a bridge, with Loch Leven on the right and another lake on the left, or maybe it was still Loch Leven.

  "What's that?" I asked, pointing out the window. "Is it still Loch Leven?"

  "No, that is Loch Linnhe." He sighed with melodramatic annoyance. "Are ye planning to question me for the entire trip? Why donnae ye go back to sleep?"

  Ugh. He'd brought me to a strange land, triggering my voracious curiosity. He'd better get used to my craving for knowledge.

  "What's got you so grumpy?" I asked. "Worried about seeing your family tomorrow?"

  He squashed his lips while trying to pucker them, resulting in a goofy combination. "If I promise to point out every notable place we pass by, will you cease talking?"

  "Absolutely not." I slanted in until my breasts grazed his arm. "If you wanted a wife who doesn't speak unless spoken to, you shouldn't have picked me. You knew damn well what I was like when you practically begged me to marry you. I talked plenty over the weekend in New Orleans."

  "Incessantly, yes."

  "Watch it, buster. I'm this close—" I held my ha
nd before his face, my thumb and forefinger a quarter-inch apart. "—to forfeiting that half-million bucks by refusing to do you for at least two weeks."

  His nonchalant shrug didn't fool me one bit. "I survived without sex for thirteen months before I met you."

  "Thirteen months?" I slouched into my seat. At least the new fact explained some of his pent-up state. "It was six months for me. How many women have you slept with, total?"

  "In my life? Twelve, including you."

  Twelve. Okay, that wasn't an outrageous number for a man his age.

  "What about you?" he asked. "How many men?"

  "Five." I tapped a finger on my leg, mulling his number. "How many one-nighters have you had?"

  "Three."

  "Including me?"

  He threw me an irritated glance. "I've spent more than one night with you."

  "So, three one-nighters, me, three wives…That's seven. You've had five other lovers." Why was I prattling on about his sexual history, tallying the numbers like it mattered? Three of the women he hadn't cared about, hadn't known their names even. At least three he'd loved. "Um, those other five women—"

  "Christ, Emery. What the devil is it you want to know?"

  "Not sure." Tell me about those other five, what they meant to you.

  Rory huffed and steered the car off the left side of the road, alongside a field lined with trees. Mountains hemmed in the valleys and the dark, glassy lochs, but Rory's foul mood distracted me from appreciating the scenery.

  He squinted his face and massaged his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "You want my full history? I fucked a girl in high school, but she preferred my brother Aidan, not that he'd have her. Even Aidan was never that callous. I fucked three more girls in college, before I met my first wife. After she left me, I fucked one woman but she threw me over. Satisfied?"

  I reined in my compulsion to get annoyed at his offhanded listing of past liaisons. His tone had conveyed exhausted irritation with a hint of shame. He was upset about something, but not the question I'd asked.

  "Listen," I said, keeping my voice even, "if you're trying to make me feel like an idiot for asking, forget it. I'm not that easy to cow. For your information, I've had five lovers in my life. One I almost married, another who humiliated me, and two who just didn't give a damn. Oh wait." I waved a hand in his direction. "Make that three who didn't give a damn."