Scandalous in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 3)

by Anna Durand

  By the time we finished our evening meal and retired to the bedroom, Rory had long since shed any traces of the melancholia he revealed on the shore. His revelations had seemed like a momentous occasion, but I shied away from pestering him for more info tonight. The last thing I wanted was to spoil our final night on Skye.

  He'd opened up to me, more than ever before. That was enough.

  Those ex-wives of his…Grr. I wanted to hunt them down and give them a piece of my mind, or maybe a punch from my fist. I supposed Lilias hadn't meant to hurt Rory with her update on the lives of his former wives. She had, though, and I couldn't help feeling protective of him.

  I sashayed out of the bathroom wearing my black nightie and twirled in front of Rory, who lounged nude on the bed with the covers thrown back.

  "Here I am," I said. "You seemed to like this nightie the first time I wore it. Thought an encore might be in order."

  "Mo gaoloch," he said with sultry conviction, "you are a masterpiece of sensual beauty."

  "You said that the night we met. I assumed it was a come-on line."

  "It wasn't." He pushed up on one elbow, proffering his hand to me. "Come, and let me show you what I mean."

  I crawled across the bed to kneel beside him, as I'd done last night.

  "Emery," he purred, as he skated his palms up my thighs, under the hem of my nightie, and swept them higher to cup my hips. "Even your name is sensual."

  He slid his hands down, caught the edge of my nightie, and flipped it up and over my head. I raised my arms to let him pull the garment free of my body. He tossed it aside.

  While I'd been focused on his face—on those scorching eyes, on the intoxicating depths of them, and on the suggestive curl of his lips—his dick had become engorged.

  He lay back, raising his arms above his head. "Take me."

  Liquid heat rushed over my sex, tingling and slickening my flesh. No man had ever asked me to take him. His deep and husky request had made my nipples go hard and my stomach flutter with excitement.

  "Please," he said, his chest swelling with each heavy breath. "Take me, Emery."

  How could I deny that request?

  I mounted him, positioned astride his hips, and took his shaft in both hands. "Sure you can handle me being in control?"

  "You've been in control since the night we met." He sucked in a breath when I palmed his sac. "I surrendered to you then, and I'm done pretending it's not true."

  Was he about to say…No, no, no, I did not want to hear it while I had his dick in my hand.

  I relinquished his balls to place two fingers on his lips. "Shh, baby."

  He captured my fingers with his mouth, suckling the tips.

  So I skated my thumb over the head of his cock.

  "Ah," he hissed. "Stop torturing me, will ye? I need your soft, wet—"

  "I know what you need." Another flick of my thumb. I took his sac in my other hand and tugged, grinning when he made a strangled noise. "Trust me to give it to you."

  "Hurry, love. Ahmno strong enough to withstand your teasing."

  Towering over him, I closed my hand around his shaft and lowered my body onto his length, inch by sensuous inch. He groaned when I'd taken him all the way inside. I couldn't catch my breath, with his cock deep inside me and my sex drenched in anticipation. I laid my hands on his chest. It rose and fell beneath my palms, his skin hot and dappled with a pink flush.

  His hands caught my hips.

  I rode him slowly, rising up and sliding back down his shaft, rocking my hips to make him gasp and grip me harder. My cream glistened on his skin and dribbled down my inner thighs. The scent of my arousal intensified my need, and when he thrust a finger between my folds to tease my clitoris, I cried out.

  He muttered in Gaelic, between panting breaths.

  The pace quickened with our desire, my body slamming down on his length while he pinched my nipples and rasped his finger over my clit. I moaned and rode him harder, faster, our bodies pounding into each other, and he arched his hips up every time I sank down on him. My moans became a litany of "Rory baby, yes, oh God, Rory baby, yes, Oh God."

  "Emery," he said, his voice strained and his face wrenched in desperation to come. "I love ye, Emery, I love ye."

  No time to process his declaration. I came in an explosion of white-hot pleasure, robbed of my voice by the power of my release. My nails scraped his chest. My body clenched his cock in ferocious spasms.

  His body went rigid, then he thrust into me so hard I bounced on the bed. He bellowed my name as he spilled himself inside me.

  Rory rolled us onto our sides, running his hands over my body as we recovered from the bliss. When our breathing had normalized, he eased me onto my back with his body covering mine and his arms framing my head. I tried to speak, to talk about what he'd said, but he sealed his mouth over mine.

  And he kissed me. Forever and ever.

  When at last he yielded my lips, he shifted to the side so he could run his hands over my whole body.

  I cradled his head in one hand and murmured, "You're not alone anymore."

  His eyes blazed into mine, the emotion in them fierce and indescribable.

  Ask him if he meant it. I knew I should. I tried, but my voice refused to cooperate. If he disavowed his words, if he claimed he hadn't known what he was saying, I didn't know if I could handle it. Not tonight. Not after everything we'd shared today.

  I let him enfold me in his arms and listened as his breathing shallowed. He fell asleep long before I could. Hours elapsed while I held him close, praying for the strength to deal with whatever came next. I wanted him, even if he never allowed himself to love me. I would stay, for as long as he'd have me.

  Because I loved him that much.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Two days later, I lay across the foot of the bed while Rory packed a suitcase, which sat near my head. Rory kept his head down and concentrated on folding his clothes in neat stacks. As usual, he performed the task with purpose and precision, spreading each garment on the bed so he could fold it properly.

  I would've done a slapdash job to get it over with and worried about steaming away the wrinkles later. I admired his precision, though, and had come to find it rather sexy. He applied the same skill and determination to every aspect of his life. Every aspect.

  Applied to sex, that attention to detail was astonishingly erotic. Watching him prepare to flee the country…not so much.

  The third day of our honeymoon had been bizarre. Rory acted like nothing had happened that night on Skye, like he'd never declared his love for me. I tried—really, I did—to participate in the sightseeing on that last day. He must've sensed my unease, though, because after lunch yesterday he'd suggested we go home right away.

  And this morning, he'd invented a reason to leave.

  I supported my head with one hand, and with my other one I twiddled my fingers on my thigh. "We only got home yesterday, and this morning you announce you've got to leave the country on a sudden business trip to France."

  "Thank you for the summary," he said without inflection and without glancing at me, "but I recall what I said to you twenty minutes ago."

  "Do you realize how it sounds?" I sat up and tucked my feet under me. "On Skye, you told me about a painful time in your life. And oh yes, I said I love you." And you said it too. "Are you running away to avoid being around me?"

  "Of course not." He finally lifted his head to frown at me. "I am not a coward."

  "No, but you are freaked out. I can tell. You go all Robot Rory when you start to worry you've let me get too close."

  "This is a business trip." He clapped the suitcase shut and fastened the latch with a sharp click. "Two days at a conference, followed by two days working with a colleague to learn about the French legal system."

  I clambered to my knees and waddled closer. "Take me with you."

  "To a conference on international law? You would be bored."

  "Have you noticed boredom being a pro
blem for me? I know how to entertain myself." I leaned across the closed suitcase to grasp the lapels of his suit jacket. "If you take me along, I can entertain you every night."

  "Despite what you may think," he said, grasping my hands to pry them away, "I can survive four days without you."

  He guided my hands to my sides and released them.

  "Maybe that's true," I said, "but can you go four days without sex?"

  "Yes."

  "At least let me drive you to the airport, instead of making poor Tavish go all the way to Inverness."

  "He'll be visiting his mother, who lives there."

  Rory snatched up his suitcase and marched to the bedroom door. He turned slightly, and the sun filtering through the clouds and windows cast him in a desolate light. A white shirt set off his dark-blue suit, but as usual, he wore no tie and let his shirt collar hang open. He looked glamorous and sexy, not like a husband about to abandon his wife because he'd inadvertently admitted he loved her.

  "I'll see you in four days," he said. "Goodbye."

  With that, he spun on his heels and clomped out the door.

  Oh, like hell he was getting away with that crappy goodbye.

  Barefoot and wearing only leggings with a long flannel shirt, I raced through the house to catch up to him. Damn, the man could outpace me. His long legs let him take the stairs two at a time, while I had to hop and skip down them to keep his head in sight. He'd reached the Mercedes parked in the driveway before I got out the vestibule door.

  Tavish observed us from the driver's seat, worry in his eyes.

  "Rory!" I shouted as I sprinted across the lawn, the most direct route to the car.

  He hesitated, his hand on the passenger door.

  I hurtled through the air, colliding with him, latching both arms around his neck. My feet suspended above the ground, I mashed my mouth to his. He turned to stone against me, his posture giving the impression he didn't give a hoot about me plastering my body to his. His mouth told a different story. His lips yielded to mine, and he parted them in invitation.

  His cock jerked, its length distending.

  I smiled against his lips. Oh yes, I'd leave him with a perfect reminder of what he'd be missing the next four days.

  Reluctantly, I gave up his mouth. "Call me when you get to your hotel, okay?"

  He nodded.

  I let my body slide down his, withdrawing my arms only when my toes had touched the ground. "Have a safe trip, baby. I'll miss you."

  With a grunt, he swung the car door open and dumped his suitcase over the back of the seat into the rear. Once he climbed into the passenger seat, Tavish drove the Mercedes down the driveway.

  Rory moved his fingers in a hesitant wave.

  I blew him a kiss.

  His gaze stayed on me until the trees obscured his view.

  ◆◆◆

  Rory called three times a day—morning, lunchtime, and evening. We talked about nothing of real consequence, just chatting and joking, though his sense of humor seemed to have waned a bit since our trip to Skye. I longed to talk about what happened there, about what he'd said during sex, but I couldn't do that over the phone. I needed to see his reactions and gauge his freak-out factor.

  So, we chit-chatted. It was nice, but I wanted him home.

  On the second day of his absence, I spent more time with Calli learning about cataloging. When we delved into the topic of electronic library catalogs, I felt at home with the coding aspects of library work. I wound up fixing Aidan's computer at his office, earning heartfelt thanks from both him and Calli. After that, word got around I was a computer guru.

  Please. I was a programmer, not the messiah of computerdom.

  Lachlan called and begged for my aid. I agreed to stop by the next day and see if I could cure his computer of a malware infection. MacTaggart cousins called, friends of MacTaggarts called, and finally clients of Rory phoned to talk to me.

  "They act like I'm Steve Jobs," I told Rory that night. "I could make a career out of resuscitating hard drives in the Western Highlands."

  "Is that what you want?"

  "Not sure. Finding your true calling in life is harder than it sounds."

  "You'll figure it out. You're intelligent and determined." He added in a teasing tone, "Stubborn, some might say."

  "Says the pigheaded Scot."

  "Taking my stubborn wife is my favorite pastime."

  Our phone conversations inevitably turned to flirtation. I loved it. The more flirtatious he got, the happier he was. Not that I wanted him to feel too happy without me, but I didn't want him despondent either.

  "Wanna have phone sex?" I asked.

  He spluttered, as if he'd taken a sip of a drink right before I spoke. "What did you say?"

  "Oh, I think you heard me just fine."

  "While I appreciate the offer," he said, "I prefer the real thing. Besides, I'm not the sort to…do that."

  "You're exactly the sort." I toyed with a lock of my hair. "You're an exciting, adventurous man."

  "Emery, you are the only person on earth who would call me adventurous."

  "Nobody else knows you like I do."

  After a hesitation, he said, "You may be right."

  "So, phone sex. Yay or nay?"

  "In a minute." He paused, his breaths audible. "Emery, I noticed you transferred money into our bank account."

  "Closed out my account in America."

  "You're meant to spend money, not add it. All you've paid for is petrol."

  "And the wedding dress." I twisted a lock of my hair around my finger. "That's all I've needed. Had to buy gas when I drove into town. If and when I need something else, I'll tap into our account."

  For several minutes, I labored to convince him I wasn't being overly frugal. He wanted me to spend money, but I didn't need to yet. He eventually conceded the argument.

  The next day, after three sessions of "save my computer," I drove the Jag into Loch Fairbairn to do a bit of window shopping and decompress. Maybe I could start a business providing tech services to locals. I'd liked traveling the area and using my skills to help people.

  Whether I could save my marriage, I had no idea. No amount of coding could overwrite my husband's fears. Being his therapist had turned into more than I'd bargained for, but I'd promised I would never give up on him. What if keeping that promise wrecked me? Every time I thought we'd made progress, he panicked.

  We would talk when he got home. No wriggling out of it this time, Rory.

  After a moment of admiring the window display of a quaint gift shop, I wandered inside to browse their selection of novelty of hats and T-shirts. A stack of newspapers lay on the sales counter. The front-page headline caught my attention.

  Cold washed over me, like I'd dunked my body in a vat of ice water.

  The words, I must've misread them. Backing up a few steps, I edged sideways toward the counter until I could see the newspaper's headline clearly. It was, of course, the Loch Fairbairn World News. The top headline read, "Local Solicitor Marries Prostitute: Rory MacTaggart Buys a Wife to Satisfy His Deviant Needs."

  A rock congealed in my throat.

  I grabbed the paper, unfolding it to read the story. Nausea churned in my stomach and bile burned into my throat. Graham had concocted a wild tale painting Rory as a sexual deviant who performed all manner of twisted acts with his "prostitute" wife. Though he'd wrapped it in fiction, the man somehow knew about the marriage contract and the prenuptial agreement.

  My gorge surged into my throat.

  The article stated, "A former lover of the new Mrs. MacTaggart described the woman's insatiable lust and predilection for perversion. 'Get her in front of a camera and she'll preen like a porn star,' said Sebastian Zegers."

  That bastard.

  Graham's article included a single photo. When I saw it, the room tilted around me.

  The photo showed me. Naked. Posed like a porno actress. It was one of the photos Sebastian had taken of me, vowing it was strictly priv
ate, and then posted online. How had Graham gotten his slimy mitts on it? How had he found Sebastian?

  I slapped the paper down on the counter. My fingers clenched, crumpling the top sheet.

  Rory had told me Graham loved to dive into the muck. He had dreams of grandeur, of his rinky-dink tabloid becoming the next National Enquirer, but his divorce had cleaned him out. With no money to fund his sleazy dream, he'd decided to blame Rory for all his problems. Now, the dirtbag had smeared Rory in a very public way. I prayed no one would believe this trash, because I knew how much Rory's reputation meant to him. How much propriety meant to him.

  Oh God. Rory. I had to tell him right away, before he heard it from someone else—or worse, came home and saw Graham's gossip rag on display around town.

  I stormed out of the shop, intent on one goal.

  Throttle Graham Oliver.

  ◆◆◆

  The door to the offices of the Loch Fairbairn World News slammed shut behind me. I stalked up to the desk behind which Graham slouched, his hair and clothes scruffy, his focus on the laptop computer situated on his desk.

  His head jerked up at the whack of the door shutting.

  I halted at his desk, glaring across it at the man I'd come to ream.

  A smarmy smile crept across his face. "Mrs. MacTaggart, what brings you to my establishment?"

  I thwapped my palms on the desk. "You know damn well why I'm here. You slandered my husband with your slimy lies."

  "Corroboration, sweetheart. Look it up. I've got it."

  "Anonymous gossip is not corroboration." I leaned in, my eyes narrowed. "Who fed you that garbage?"

  He rocked back in his chair, appearing quite pleased with himself. "A journalist's source is confidential."

  "You are not a journalist." I stabbed a finger at him. "You're a sleazy toad with a score to settle. Rory got your wife the settlement she deserved, and you're pissed about it. You are nothing but a petty coward who probably has a dick the size of a green bean."

  The toad shrugged. "It's in the court of public opinion now."