Scandalous in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 3)

by Anna Durand

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Seated cross-legged in a chair by the window, I reflected on the view of the castle wall and the woods beyond. The morning sun painted streaks of gold on the trees and the stone wall, and it shined through the window to warm my face. I might've gloried in the morning, if I hadn't been so pissed at my husband.

  Every thirty seconds or so, I'd shoot a glance at Rory passed out on the bed.

  Green numbers glared on the bedside clock—seven-fifteen, far past Rory's usual five o'clock wake-up time.

  I propped my chin on a raised fist and stared out the window again. My thoughts had been scattered since I woke an hour ago to discover Rory still asleep, still clothed, and still lying sprawled atop the covers. He hadn't budged since his brothers dumped him there last night. His intermittent snoring assured me he hadn't drowned in his own drool.

  What had happened yesterday baffled me. Something scared him. He'd seemed okay until he saw me walking down the aisle. What about me had freaked him out? I'd hashed and rehashed the options so many times the words in my head had stopped seeming like words. The night before, the last time I'd seen him before the ceremony, Rory had kissed me good night with all the scorching sensuality I'd come to expect from him. Nothing had been amiss then.

  I frowned at his large, inert body and sighed miserably.

  Answers would have to wait until he roused from his whisky coma.

  The shapes of two suitcases positioned by the door caught my eye.

  Would we make it to Skye? Or would our three-day honeymoon be canceled? Depended on the strength of his hangover, I guessed. Based on his behavior last night, he might not want to celebrate our marriage.

  Clothing rustled. The bed creaked.

  I targeted my sharpest gaze on Rory.

  He grimaced, eyes closed, and rubbed his forehead.

  "Good morning," I said with extreme, and extremely sarcastic, cheer. Jumping up, I padded around to his side of the bed and assumed a smile to match my phony tone. With a hand on the tall post at the foot of the bed, I spoke to my bleary-eyed husband. "Congratulations. You slept in for the first time ever."

  He peeked at me between his fingers, with his hand clamped to his forehead. "What happened?"

  "Are you serious? You don't remember?"

  "Remember what?" He dropped his hand, his brows cinched tight over his nose, and peered at the canopy of the bed. Understanding dawned on his face like a blood moon inching over the horizon. "Bod an Donais."

  I flopped my butt onto the bed near his feet. "Yeah, you are a devil's dick."

  "Emery…" His voice trailed off as he fixed his bloodshot eyes on me. "I ruined our second wedding night, didn't I?"

  "Yep."

  He spewed a string of Gaelic curses. "Christ, I'm an erse. Please believe me, I'm sorry for letting you down again. You have every right to be angry, so go on and shout at me. I deserve it."

  I folded my arms over my belly, one hand atop the other, and rubbed my wrist furiously. "Not interested in yelling. Doesn't fix anything. You keep doing stupid things and then saying you're sorry. An ass you might be, but your apologies are wearing thin."

  "What can I do?"

  "Don't know." I scrutinized his face, the shame there making my heart hurt for him. Dammit, I did not want to feel tenderness right now. "I've got a revolutionary idea. How about you stop doing stupid things, then you won't need to apologize for them."

  My wrist-rubbing mutated into scratching.

  Rory pushed up on his elbows, his gaze drawn to my wrist. "You're not angry, are you?"

  "No. Well, yes, but that's a minor issue at this point."

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his body caving in. "I hurt you, again. Last night you said you accept me as I am, but I donnae see how you can overlook this. I behaved—I'm a selfish bastard."

  "I don't overlook your faults or your behavior. I forgive it, usually, but—" I bit down on my lower lip. The first blur of tears in my eyes paid no attention to my command to cease and desist. "Not sure I can do it this time."

  "Cannae blame ye." He winced as he shoved up into a sitting position and swung his legs over the bed's edge. His boots hit the floor with a thunk. He stabbed a hand into his hair and scrubbed his scalp with his nails. "I realize it isn't worth much, but I am so sorry, Em."

  My heart sped up at his use of my nickname. No, no, no, you are not melting for him because he called you Em. Right, yes. No melting. None whatsoever.

  Good plan, until he swiveled his face toward me.

  Raw anguish, exposed by the faint quivering of his bottom lip and the starkness in his eyes.

  Oh God, why did he have to look so pitifully apologetic? The pain of three failed marriages had carved deep scars in his heart. He needed my help, so maybe…

  No melting, remember? Noooooo melting, no way.

  My shoulders sagged, and my body angled toward his.

  "Why did you do it?" I asked, my voice gentler. So what if I'd melted? I loved him too much to grind salt into his old wounds. "I suggested we have sex, and you scurried to the bar to drown yourself in whisky."

  "I wanted one drink, but it…escalated."

  "Why? Something scared you yesterday. Why you chose to deal with it by getting soused is beyond me."

  His chin dropped to his chest. "I don't know why I did it."

  "You mean you don't want to tell me." I slid off the bed. "Total honesty. You promised me that. Remember?"

  Bleak brown eyes beseeched me. "I remember."

  "Honesty means no lies, no evasions, no secrets. Lately, I feel like I'm getting all three from you."

  I hadn't told him I loved him. Maybe I was guilty too. Though I longed to share my feelings with him, telling him now seemed like a recipe for disaster.

  "Should I assume our honeymoon is off?" I asked.

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  "Right." I spun toward the bathroom door. "I'm taking a shower."

  I made it halfway there before he finally spoke.

  "Wait," he said, heaving his body off the bed. "Have a bath instead."

  "Why do you care if I take a shower or a bath?"

  "Please, Emery." He shuffled toward me, grasping my upper arms. "Have a bath. Downstairs."

  "Downstairs? Why?"

  "The ground-floor bathroom. Please."

  "Wh—" My will to argue crumbled away when I beheld the earnestness on his face. A torrent of meltiness gushed through me. He really, really wanted me to take a bath. On the ground floor.

  "Ground floor bathroom," he pleaded. "Will you do this for me, even though I bollocksed everything badly and haven't earned the right to ask anything of you?"

  "Oooh-kay," I said. "I'll take a bath on the ground floor. Happy?"

  "Not yet, but I am grateful." He lighted a tentative kiss on my forehead. "Thank you."

  "Sure, whatever."

  On my way to the bedroom door, I tossed confused glances back at him, unable to decipher his motivation for this request. I had to take a bath. Downstairs.

  Why was I doing this? No mystery about that.

  I loved him so much I would've done almost anything he asked.

  ◆◆◆

  Immersed in sultry, steamy water, I leaned back against the claw-foot tub and savored the arousing sensation of water lapping around me.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  I unleashed a whiny moan. "Who is it?"

  "Your husband."

  "Which one? I've got so many, you'll have to be more specific."

  "Rory," he said, over-enunciating the syllables. "May I come in?"

  "You may."

  The door pivoted inward, and Rory sauntered inside wearing a dark-blue terrycloth robe. As he neared the tub, he shed the robe. It crumpled onto the tile floor, granting me an obstructed view of his nude body and his thickening penis.

  I waved at my body, submerged in the steaming water. "Your wish is my command. I'm bathing on the ground floor. Care to explain why?"

/>   "This is the only tub large enough."

  "For what? This thing swallows me—"

  He leaped into the bathtub.

  Water sprayed up around us, flooding over the rim and deluging the floor. He landed with his feet straddling my legs, then fell to his knees amid the swirling, sloshing water.

  He smirked.

  I grinned. "Rory baby, you're in the tub with me."

  "Twice you asked me, and twice I said no."

  His hands curled around my calves, exerting slight pressure, encouraging me to bend my knees. I drew them toward my chest. He lowered onto his butt, knees bent in front of him, our toes touching. "I wanted to join you in the jacuzzi that morning in New Orleans. I wanted it badly. And when you asked me to join you in this tub, I wanted it even more."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "It felt too intimate." Wrists balanced on his knees, he met my gaze without flinching, his eyes clear and bright. "Yesterday, when I saw you walking toward me in that dress…You were more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen, more beautiful than any masterpiece of Renaissance art. With the sun on you, your hair a glowing halo, you looked like an angel come down from heaven to bless this world with your incandescent beauty and life."

  Holy shit. I struggled to sit up straighter, my insides quivering with anticipation.

  "That was almost poetry," I said. "But I'm still confused about why you went all deer-in-the-headlights instead of telling me how beautiful I was."

  "Are, Emery. You are beautiful, always, on the inside and the outside."

  I couldn't speak for a moment, overwhelmed by what he'd said and by the maelstrom of emotion it incited. "That's the best compliment ever."

  He shimmied forward until his feet were wedged between my hips and the tub wall. "I should've told you yesterday. But the enormity of the day—you, the ceremony, the guests—it overwhelmed me. I overreacted, for reasons I don't fully understand."

  "Graham showing up didn't help." Why was I making up excuses for him? He'd called me an angel, said such beautiful things, and I couldn't hold onto the hurt in the face of his honesty. Honeyed words like those coming from any other man would've struck me as contrived. From Rory, they sang with truth.

  "Never mind Graham," Rory said. He clasped me around the waist and lifted me half out of the water, only to set me down astride his lap. "Let's have fun in the tub."

  I draped my arms around his neck. "Yes, please, let's."

  He buried his face against my neck, showering feather-light kisses on my skin. "The honeymoon is not off. Once we've had a bath and a breakfast, we will get in the car and drive."

  I strapped my arms tighter around him, smiling into his hair. "Remember when I said your sister worships you?"

  "Mm."

  "I was wrong." Tunneling my fingers through his short hair, I mashed my breasts to his wet, naked chest. "Worshiping you is my job, exclusively."

  "You've got it backwards. Your body is my temple, and I worship inside you."

  "Prove it."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The road unreeled before us in curves and straightaways, through countryside and villages, on a journey to nowhere in particular. Well, we had a destination in mind—Skye, and Rory's house there—but we had no specific plans for where to stop along the way. I drove this first leg of our sightseeing tour, so Rory could take it easy in the passenger seat.

  "Enjoying your wedding gift?" he asked.

  I inhaled the scent of new leather as I steered my red Jaguar F-Type convertible around a curve. With the top down, wind whipped through my hair. "I love-love-love it. And I'll give you a proper thank-you tonight."

  "Amazed you're not violating the speed limit."

  "Saving that for later."

  For my uptight husband to relinquish control, letting me drive and agreeing to no set itinerary, showed how much progress he'd made. Our playtime in the tub had proved it.

  Mm, the tub. While the Jag cruised down a straight stretch, I permitted my thoughts to travel back to the noisy, impassioned sex we'd shared in the bathroom. We'd splashed more water out of the tub than had stayed inside it, and we'd ignored the getting-clean aspect of bathing in favor of orgasms. Afterward, Rory had glimpsed the wet mess on the floor and responded by tossing every towel he could find onto it to soak up the water.

  "Good enough," he'd said, then carried me to the large, multi-head shower. "Not done yet."

  We'd gotten clean in the shower, sort of—but only after more playtime.

  His throaty laughter, decadent and sensual, echoed in my mind.

  "Emery." Rory's stern voice shattered my reminiscence. "Pay attention when you're driving, please."

  I blinked at the road, but I hadn't veered off the edge or anything. "What's the matter? No bodies scattered on the asphalt, so I think I've done fine at multitasking."

  "Not murdering innocent bystanders," he said, "is hardly an endorsement of distracted driving."

  "You're right. Sorry, I'll keep my mind on the road."

  "Maybe I should drive. You've been at it for more than an hour."

  I pulled over so we could switch places, and so he could retake control of the situation. That left me free to relive our recent escapades of the erotic variety, from the kitchen incident to the splash-fest in the ground-floor bathroom. I also recalled our breakfast with my family, when everyone had been cheery, joking and sharing raucous stories from my childhood.

  We'd reached Loch Linnhe before my mind drifted back to the present. We were preparing to board a ferry for the next leg of our journey.

  "Where are we going?" I asked, leaning forward to watch the loch's waters go by.

  "You wanted to see the ocean." Rory braced an elbow on his open window, the light glinting off his sunglasses. "I'm taking you there."

  I whooped.

  He gave me a perplexed little smile.

  Not long after, I skipped across a sandy beach rimmed by outcroppings of dark rock. The sun drenched me with its enlivening heat, inspiring me to throw my head back and glory in its brilliance.

  "Even the sun can't resist you," Rory said from his position at the beach's edge. "It shows its face more often since you came to Scotland."

  Laughing, I twirled in circles, my bare feet sinking into the sand.

  Rory's mouth cracked open and his forehead crinkled. He tracked my every movement with his eyes.

  I leaped in the air to splash down in a tidal pool. My feet sank in deep. Cold water splattered on my calves, exposed by my rolled-up jeans. I faked an exaggerated shiver for Rory's benefit—his mouth fell open more—then spun and spun with my arms outstretched, laughing through every circuit.

  Brawny arms cinched around my waist, halting me. Rory crushed me to his hard body and jacked me up to level our faces.

  I gripped his biceps, marveling at how they bulged from the effort of holding me off the ground. Suspended in his arms, I grew breathless from more than spinning.

  "The water's bloody cold," he said, casting a pointed glance at his sneaker-clad feet submerged in the tidal pool. "You'll catch pneumonia out here."

  Hugging his neck, I glued my body to his. "Good thing I've got you to warm me up."

  "Are you finished admiring the ocean? You'll see more of it when we make our way to Skye."

  "Let's go. I want to see everything." I tickled his earlobe. "Absolutely everything."

  "May not have time for everything in three days." He waddled as he turned us around, his feet mired in wet sand. "But I'll do my best."

  He carted me back to the car, ever the chivalrous husband, and dried my feet with a towel he'd brought for the occasion. I'd made him promise to show me the ocean. Leave it to Rory to plan for the aftermath. He'd realized I'd want to at least wade in the water, because he knew me better than he had a right to after such a short time together.

  Once he'd settled in behind the wheel, he laid his hands atop it and drummed one finger. "Should we continue up the coast, or go back to Corran to take the ferry?
We could take the interior route to Skye, driving through Fort William and Invergarry."

  "You're driving. You pick."

  "This is your holiday, love. You choose."

  My tummy did a flip-floppy thing that made me lightheaded for a second. He'd called me "love," though I doubted he realized he had. Love. He'd called me that.

  "Um…" I floundered for a response to his question, but my heart had gotten stuck on that single syllable he'd spoken in passing. "Back to Corran."

  After another ferry trip, we journeyed northeast out of Fort William past Loch Linnhe and Loch Lochy. Seriously, that's what it was called. Loch Lochy. Along the way, we stopped at various places to appreciate the scenery. Rory selected detours off the main road whenever possible, though it meant backtracking repeatedly, to let me see more of the Highlands. He described everything, in lush detail that almost made seeing the sights obsolete. I loved listening to his voice.

  On a relatively even stretch of road, I sneaked a hand onto his thigh, down between his legs. "I know you have a wild heart, so let it show. Violate the speed limit, baby. See how fast this Jag can run."

  He flashed me a shocked look. "I'd risk a fine and penalty points on my license."

  I massaged his inner thigh. "How many points have you got so far?"

  "None." He squirmed just a touch and cleared his throat. "Sixty isn't fast enough for you?"

  "Kilometers are longer than miles, so you're not going as fast as it sounds."

  "We use miles per hour here." He collared my wrist and plopped my hand on my lap. "We are going as fast as it sounds."

  "Come on, break the speed limit for one minute. Floor it and see how it feels."

  Rory glanced at me sideways, with a wry twist to his lips. "You are a sexy little devil whispering in my ear, luring me to sin."

  "Is it working?"

  He punched the accelerator. The Jag rocketed forward, engine roaring.

  The sudden momentum pinned me to my seat.

  "Wooo!" I shouted and thrust my arms in the air. The wind battered them, so I locked my hands over the windshield's top edge. "Go, Rory baby!"

  He grinned and laughed.

  After precisely one minute, as gauged by the dashboard clock, he slowed to sixty miles per hour.