Kilting Me Softly

by Persephone Jones

  “Today,” she answered without hesitation.

  The Scot gave a convincing performance of devastation and dropped his head on the bar in theatrical surrender as if one word from her could reduce him to a state of absolute powerlessness. To add to the dramatic irony of the situation, the pub patrons roared with hoots and applause at the football game playing on the television over the bar.

  If only it were that easy, she thought. Suddenly she felt exquisitely powerful. And since no one would ever know except her, very sexy. Her heart fluttered in her breast like a restless bird in its cage.

  Conall straightened in his seat and asked in a softened tone, “How long are you here for, Ms. Morgan?”

  The sound of her name on his lips rendered her momentarily incapable of thought. Luckily, her mouth still worked.

  “However long it takes.” She didn’t smile when she said it because she meant every syllable. When the judge refused to consider him a flight risk, she knew he’d run. That’s when she knew he was guilty. The law would never recognize the danger he presented to the unsuspecting world until it was too late. It was up to her to stop him.

  He had to clear his throat before he spoke, boosting her confidence, as he ran his thumb down the side of his glass. “Where will you start?”

  “The local hall of records.”

  “Let’s see…” From his sinfully soft leather jacket, he pulled out a pen and picked up his coaster and pretended to write on it. “Destroy hall of records tomorrow eight a.m. sharp.”

  Morgan found it easy to play along. “You wouldn’t.”

  He looked her in the eye and didn’t blink. “I will.”

  For a full minute, the clamor of voices, merriment and Roberta Flack’s Killing Me Softly on the jukebox faded away. She had too much to drink and now she was intoxicated. But vodka and rum weren’t the only things coursing through her veins. The man whose knee brushed hers was all the drug any woman needed. Worst of all, she was aroused, her blood alive with a hum that throttled dangerously high. “In that case, I’d better be off to bed so I can get up in the morning and stop you.”

  Conall winced in what appeared to be authentic disappointment. “So soon?” His face could have charmed every sentient female on the planet out of their panties. At once.

  “Afraid so.” Morgan nodded at the bartender a silent “thank you” and slid off the stool. Then with calculated premeditation, she paused squarely between his legs and took him by the cheek. The stubble-covered flesh beneath her hand was warm with life and tickled her palm as she stroked it. Standing on her toes, she planted a light kiss on the bare skin above his cheek line and moved to leave. The speechless male watched her every move in stunned silence.

  Feeling his intense gaze on her, she retrieved her coat. She took her time in buttoning it and situating the matching scarf under her chin. She buried her fists in her pockets and felt the trusty dagger slide into the palm of her left hand like an extension of her body. It had to be a dagger. She wouldn’t have gotten a gun to pass through Customs. And a gun would only wound a monster like him. Silver bullets would have had to be made special. But it had to be silver, so a dagger was her only choice.

  Megan. Her mind reeled with renewed purpose. She was here in Scotland with the man, the thing who murdered her sister, her twin sister, the girl who shared her mother’s womb with her, who looked exactly like her, born two and half minutes after her. She’d let him buy her a drink, sit next to her, talk in her ear, flirt with her.

  Make her wet.

  Everything that mattered now hinged on what happened next. “Thanks for the drink, Conall. G’night.”

  Comforted by the heavy warmth of her coat, she took a few steps when he took hold of her arm. If her heart skipped a beat when she laid eyes on him, now that he was close enough to kiss her she felt positively faint. “Don’t go…”

  As if commandeered by the mere sound of his voice her body betrayed her and wavered in his grip. It took a moment for her to realize he’d taken hold of her, looking at her as if she were precious, sacred. And completely his. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he attempted to swallow. “Don’t go somewhere alone when we can go there together.”

  Sonofabitch. She had him.

  Without saying another word, she let him open the door and lead her out into the cold winter night.

  Thank God she didn’t give him the brush off in the parking lot. Thank God twice for letting him wrap his arms around Morgan and put her against his truck. His cock was about to tie itself in a knot he wanted her so badly. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Caledonian.”

  “Come home with me.” And then come. The thought of it made him want to bay at the moon. Most of the time, he had control over her inner beast, but arousal this strong was new to him. She was the most exquisite creature he’d ever seen.

  “Yeah.”

  She was accepting his invitation. As in, let’s go. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Conall groaned an earthy male sigh as he shut the door of the old Land Rover, securing the beautiful Morgan inside. The beautiful Morgan, he chuckled to himself as he made his way around to the driver’s side. He hadn’t even asked her full name. Not that he cared. It wasn’t her name he was interested in at the moment. The perfect gentleman in him had opened the door and let Morgan in first, but the beast slumbering within wanted to put her against the truck, hike up what there was of that tiny skirt over the rounds of her delicious ass and fuck her right there in the parking lot. Slain Maiden’s patrons be damned. He’d show them what a real mating looked like.

  After a stressful clan meeting on the subject of his twin brother Ciaran and the murder of the American college student, he was in the mood to misbehave. Bastard was always getting into trouble. This time he’d really done it with a murder charge. Conall had posted bail for him. God only knew why. Maybe because even after everything he’d witnessed firsthand of his brother’s bullshit, he still loved him and wanted to believe he was decent and incapable of what the American authorities had accused him of.

  A visit to the pub was exactly what he needed to take his mind off things for a while. With any luck, he’d hoped to get shit-faced and pass out. The woman in his truck was more than he could have hoped for.

  With a twist of a key, the engine growled to life. Like the dastardly villain in a cartoon, he rubbed his hands together and cranked on the heater. He gazed at the woman in the passenger seat, gloved hands buried in her lap, shivering, and was once again mesmerized by the sight of her. The view of her shapely legs wrapped in black silk stockings had him panting like a crazed dog.

  What was it about her that seemed so—familiar? Did she resemble a movie star? She was certainly pretty enough. Pretty wasn’t the half of it. Beautiful didn’t do her justice either. No, it was something else, far more intangible. Had they met before? Maybe in an x-rated dream.

  He’d never picked up a woman in a bar before. It wasn’t his style. But a glance over at the petite beauty beside him gave him pause. Maybe he hadn’t been so undeniably turned on until now. God, where the hell had she come from? The truck couldn’t warm up fast enough. Getting her to his house and in his bed was all he could think about. The lust-crazed beast within had come awake and now it was ready for her. He eyed the moon out the dingy window. Almost full and glowing neon bright, the pearl orb demanded he acknowledge its power. But the power of seduction was greater.

  Fucking curse, he thought. Shit luck, that was. His father wasn’t the first man to have an affair, but he was, as far as Conall knew, the first one whose sons paid for their father’s sins in quite this way. Children got abandoned by the wayward parent or adapted to new family situations. Their parents got divorced and remarried. But he and Ciaran got the short end of a short stick. They sprouted hair, claws and fangs every month. Every month since puberty, that is. All because his father was a lying dog. It was enough to put most men off women entirely. And that included him as well, for the most par
t. With secrets like this, he was careful whom he let into his life. Or bed. He just hoped Morgan was worth the risk.

  “Cold?”

  “J-just a lit-tle,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  It was obvious she was freezing. A rush of male bravado stoked the fires of his confidence. He could have her sweating if given the chance. “C’m here.”

  He sighed with relief when she shimmied across the seat and let him take her womanly shape against his body. “This is better,” he whispered, the truck growing instantly warmer at their proximity.

  Without prompting, she wrapped her arm around his waist and purred, her face fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck where she nuzzled him. “Mmm.”

  He was hard in an instant, shifting in the space beside her, desperate to get closer still. Hunger drove his hand onto her near-naked thigh, rubbing it in attempts to warm her. Though all it did was make the ache between his legs more painful. He didn’t want to wait to fuck her. He wanted her now.

  Receptive to his caress, she rotated toward him, her leg over his. In the moonlit darkness, he made out the lace trim on the top of her stocking and silently thanked God. He loved a woman in stockings. His face tilted downward as she looked up and their lips met in the small space between. His mouth brushed hers in an all-too-brief sampling, their lips parting for more.

  Her hand snaked into his lap, palmed the bulge of his erection and gripped it with blatant intent. He wondered if she knew Scottish men wore nothing beneath their kilts. Their mouths rejoined for another kiss, this one longer but no less satiating. The sensation of their tongues entwined brought such pleasure in him that he pressed the balls of his feet to the floorboards, careful not to grip her too tight. Despite every cell in his body commanding him to rip her clothes to shreds and bury himself inside her. He took quick possession of her hand and guided it under his kilt. If she was going to touch him, he wanted it uncensored. Without transition, he secured her fingers around the thick shaft of his cock. Morgan’s feminine gasp made him twitch in her hand. He couldn’t recall being more aroused than he was right now. Thank God she didn’t pull her hand away.

  Enthralled with her methodical upward strokes, he returned his attention to her. Sliding his hand between her thighs, he reveled in her beckoning heat. His heart slammed into overdrive when he found her pussy naked in his hand. She was every bit as unfettered as he was. He sampled her nectar and sighed into their kiss. She was wet and ripe, eager for the taking.

  The feel of her body’s receptivity made his heart thud wildly. Nudging her pelvis against his hand, she coated his fingertips with a liquid passion that threatened to snap him in half. Jesus, how long had she been primed and ready for him?

  Their moans of pleasure were all the encouragement needed. If they didn’t leave now, he was going to fuck her right there. Conall McCade pulled his arm from around her, shifted the idling truck into reverse and floored it.

  Fuck the moon. Fuck the curse. He was going to get laid.

  Chapter Two

  Neither of them spoke during the moonlit drive. It was a windy night and despite the weighty burden that perched like a buzzard on Morgan’s conscience she couldn’t help but enjoy the brisk night air after drinking so much. Normally she would have cause for worry, letting a perfect stranger drive her into the remote countryside. But the man behind the wheel was not exactly a stranger. Having glimpsed her sister’s crime scene photos, she’d seen enough to know what to expect. The way she figured, that was more information than most women had about any man. Her cynical view was that all men were capable of extreme violence, but some were less skillful at hiding it. Thinking the way she did, the razor-sharp weapon in her pocket was a real comfort.

  In truth she would rather have a gun. But with airport security being what it was, shooting him was not an option. That left her with few choices, considerably more dangerous ones, choices that required she get closer than she wished. So upon setting foot in the United Kingdom, she visited a gift shop specializing in medieval trinkets and found a suitable dagger. The clerk hadn’t suspected anything of her motives except a love for history.

  Throughout her months of travel following Ciaran McCade’s trail, she practiced with it until the sharpened blade became a part of her. But Morgan realized that despite her weapon, her skill in wielding it or the benefit of knowing the physical composition of her adversary, she could not forget the simple fact that she was small and female. Nor could she forget her enemy was male. The differences in size and strength put her at a disadvantage. Hopefully she had enough feminine wiles to put him in a state of defenselessness. While he was looking her body over, she would be wreaking havoc on his.

  She didn’t let the fact that he wasn’t exactly human escape her mind either. When the time came, she would have to tamp down on her surprise, her fear, her shock. He would be counting on it to overtake her. She simply had to keep her wits about her, do what she had to do, without Ciaran scratching or biting her in the process.

  Ciaran. Conall. Whatever he claimed his name was. If this man knew half of what lurked in the corners of her mind he would be the fearful one. In mere moments she would deliver a fatal blow to his heart or where one should have been and leave him to bleed to death as he had her sister.

  “Dead deer.”

  Deep in thought, Morgan snapped to attention and craned her neck to see over the hood of the jeep. What she saw made her cringe. A large, four-legged animal lay in the middle of the road, probably slain by a passing motorist as it ventured out from the woods to cross the road. Like a movie in fast forward, full-color crime scene photos of Megan’s mangled body flooded her consciousness much as they had when they’d accidentally spilled to the floor while she was speaking with detectives. Stunned, she watched Conall’s arm extend in front of her like a safety bar as he steered the car off the road, down a slight embankment and back on again.

  They rounded a hill and turned down a lonely dirt road that led to a small cottage surrounded by gently sloping mountains and open sky. The moon was low, heavy and inescapable like a giant white eye watching every move they made. It saddened her to think that at any other time, this would have been the most beautiful place she’d ever been. But now it would be the scene of a crime. No, not a crime. The scene of a wrong made right.

  Wanting to make the most of what remained of the night, she bailed from the car as soon as it came to a stop on the gravel drive. In a dash to the front door, she listened to him get out and follow her, his steps clipping her heels. With a flick of his wrist, the door swung open and they tumbled inside.

  In the darkened foyer, he caught her by the hips and pressed his pelvis flush against her ass, reaffirming his desire had intensified on the drive. She answered him with equal fervor and spun around to face him. Mirroring his passionate touch, she cupped his toned buttocks in her hands, pulling him into her aching heat. At the mercy of her desire, she nipped at his bottom lip as he undulated against her, their kisses a mix of tongue, teeth and sighs.

  Sprawled beneath him at the bottom of the stairs, she let him lift her sweater and kiss along her rib cage and sternum. Over the satin surface of her bra, he drew her nipple to a fiery hot point, conjuring a hungry cry from the back of her throat. Emboldened, she pushed him off and held him in place with her black patent leather high heel. Taking a moment, she basked in the look of crazed sexual famine that dominated his handsome face. Triumphant, she nudged him away and crawled backward up the stairs.

  At the top of the landing, she tore off her sweater and threw it at him, making sure to remain facing him. There were two good reasons for that. To taunt him into following her and to hide the dagger at the small of her back. She’d hid it there while he fastened the lock on the door, her coat discarded on the floor. It was just one of a hundred details Morgan considered when planning how she would kill Ciaran McCade.

  Like a fish on a lure, he followed and directed her to the right room. Acting on the momentum of her fear and excitement, she we
nt to him, delivering a kiss heavy with want as she pushed his jacket from his broad shoulders. She need not understand this strange mix of emotions to act. Now was the time for primal instinct to take the lead. Analysis could come later, under the bright light of day. Once she was on a plane miles from here. Now it was do or die.

  Or do and die, rather.

  Like unwrapping a piece of candy, she removed her camisole and cast it aside, letting him peruse her half-naked body. Morgan took a moment to commit his expression to memory. After tonight, if no man ever looked at her the way this man looked at her right now, it would be enough. Savoring the power of his kisses along her neck, she shivered against him as his hands slid past the tops of her stockings to stroke the sensitive flesh above. Tongues entwined, she unbuckled his belt and pulled it free of his waist. At this point, she might have enjoyed reaching up underneath his kilt to toy with him but she was working to suppress her desire as it was. Swept up in the moment, she undressed him quickly, peeling off his kilt and letting it pool at his ankles.

  In a heated rush, they moved to the queen-size bed, unmade and cool with absence. She kissed his chest, smooth and muscled, taking the time to lick hungry circles around his nipples. His body was like something out of her teenage fantasies, sculpted and shaped to perfection, his masculine scent seducing her to full-blown intoxication. She kneeled and positioned herself in front of him.

  Conall’s body reclined in submission as she eased down the length of him, his rigid member springing forth and beckoning her like a huge road sign promising the way to nirvana.

  He didn’t have to know she had never had sex with a man before. Oral sex, sure, but not full-out intercourse. And she wasn’t about to tell him either. She took hold of his cock and gazed up at him. Assured she had his full attention, she took the silken bulb past her slack lips. Lashing his shaft with enthusiastic flicks of her tongue, she drew from him deep moans of pleasure.