Santa in a Kilt

by Donna Kauffman

  He met her gaze squarely. “I keep a change of clothes at the office,” he explained, before she could ask.

  Kira happened to know, as did everyone, that Shay’s offices on Kinloch were on the floor above Roan’s, in a small three-story stone building perched at the north edge of Aiobhneas, the only established village on the small island. She imagined his offices in Edinburgh were far more posh—they would almost have to be—but it wouldn’t surprise her to think that he had amenities such as a shower in his office here. He wasn’t a prig by any stretch, but Kira couldn’t exactly imagine him in worn dungarees, muddy Wellies, and disheveled hair, either, which was fairly standard for most hardy souls who made their living in the Outer Hebrides.

  “Well then,” she said, feeling even more the ratty wretch now that she’d taken in all of his glory.

  Shay stood for another moment, then nodded again. “I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  Again, he was almost at the end of the stone walkway, leaving her clear to close the door . . . but no. An apparent glutton for punishment, she blurted, “Can I ask you something?”

  He paused again, waited a beat, then turned to look at her once more. Again, eye contact was direct, as it had been during their roadside interlude. And if he found anything about her appearance off-putting, it certainly wasn’t conveyed in the way he kept his focus utterly riveted on her. “Aye,” he said, at length. “Anything.”

  Kira felt somehow . . . pinned, by his direct gaze. Right there, in her own doorway. “I made something of a fool of myself yesterday. After the ceremony, I mean, by the roadside.”

  “It was a day of celebration,” he said. “You were happy for your best mate. It was normal to be excited.”

  “That’s very gentlemanly of you,” she said, a surprising smile working its way to the corners of her mouth. “You’re being quite gentlemanly now, too.”

  “Other than the early hour of my unannounced visit, you mean,” he said. His expression remained smooth, but there was something else there now . . . hovering about the corners of his mouth.

  Her smile became more of an actual curve of the lips. “Was that dry humor, coming from you, Mr. Callaghan?”

  “I believe it might have been, Miss MacLeod,” he said, and she spied the smallest hint of a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

  Her heart might have stuttered a bit at that, but what made it skip a full beat entirely was when she spied the hint of a dimple the slight twitch etched into his cheek. She knew his every expression—not that she’d been studying him while in town, not at all, she just . . . knew them—and couldn’t say as she’d ever once seen that before. It wasn’t as if Shay Callaghan was a dour man, not by any means. But he wasn’t one for loud laughter or back-slapping good humor. In fact, come to think of it, he didn’t seem to smile much, but neither did he ever frown. He was always just . . . smooth, steady-as-you-go. Solid. Sturdy. Someone who could always be counted on to be the calm head, the pillar of strength.

  Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him. He was loyal and steadfast and true. The very things she’d thought she’d had in a husband. All of which, in the end, turned out to be fiction.

  But now there was this glimmer of humor, and a dimple, for God’s sake . . . and it did crazy things to her insides. Like he didn’t already do that just by, well, by being him.

  “What was it you wished to ask me?”

  He’d taken her off her guard now, making it easier to go forward with her question. After all, she hardly had anything to lose at this point. “Nothing important, just . . . you seem like a very direct man, as you were with me after the ceremony yesterday. As you are right now.”

  “Aye, I believe I am.”

  “So . . . how do you explain why you went so far out of your way during the reception celebration to avoid so much as looking in my direction? Was it something I said or did? Or is it that you can only hold my gaze out of the public eye?”

  She thought he might find some polite way of sidestepping her question, or pretending not to understand her meaning.

  He did neither of those things. Instead, he walked back toward her, which made her heart skip again, then start beating in double time. He stopped just in front of the porch step. And he had no trouble holding her gaze now. “It was something you said, aye, but no’ in the way ye mean. It wasna a bad thing. It was . . . the opposite of that.”

  Her brows knitted together. “What do you mean, then? If what I said was a good thing, then why avoid me? I had—I had hoped we’d have the chance to dance together.” There. She’d said it. Put it right out there. Bad-ass non-hider, that’s what she was. Tessa would be ever so proud.

  She thought she might throw up. Her stomach was in complete riot as she waited what felt like an eternity for his response.

  “And that is precisely why I avoided ye.”

  She pressed a palm over the stab to her heart. “I see.”

  “No,” he said. “I dinnae believe ye do.” He stepped up on the porch then, and came quite close. So very close, in fact, that she had to grip the edge of the door to keep from stepping backward. If her heart had been beating quickly before, it was in full gallop now.

  His gaze searched hers and she felt . . . absorbed into the brilliant depths of it. If she’d thought they’d shared a moment yesterday, it didn’t come close to competing with the moment they were having right now.

  “You were the brightest light yesterday,” he said, as serious as if he were standing in front of a judge. “Your eyes shining, your smile so merry. I confess I was blinded by it. By you. And I have been for quite some time now.”

  Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. Had he truly just said that? Or was she dreaming again? “What are ye say—?”

  He placed a finger to her lips, and the merest brush of that warm skin to such a sensitive part of her about sent her straight to the floor in a pool of want.

  “When you followed me to my car . . . I . . . wasn’t prepared for that. Then you looked me straight in the eye and declared that you needed me, and my thoughts being where they were, regarding you—”

  “I—”

  He pressed his finger more firmly, and her heart wobbled along with her knees. There was such intensity in his gaze, as if he were willing her to understand him, to truly hear what he was saying. As if he wasn’t doing a fine job already of finding the words.

  “I wasn’t prepared for my reaction to that. To you. Now that you’re . . . free.”

  She covered his hand and pulled his finger away, but didn’t let go. “I’ve been free since I came back to this island nigh on two years ago.”

  “You were the subject of interest of my closest and dearest friend.”

  “What? Oh, you mean Roan? Aye, but he was ne’er going to do anything about it. We’re simply friends. That’s all we were ever meant to be.”

  “Aye, but that’s no’ something he realized until he met Tessa. And friends—”

  “Don’t poach,” she finished. She started to let go of his hand, but he curled his fingers around hers and kept them, joined, just below her chin. “So,” she said, shaky now, “why not follow up at the reception? What better place to make your wishes known than by asking me to dance?”

  “At a wedding reception, with the entire village watching, romance and happily ever after brimming in the air? No. I wouldn’t have done that.”

  She frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why?”

  “It’s no’ happily ever after I’m searching for. It doesna exist. No’ for me.”

  “Do you really belie—”

  “Kira,” he said, and the wobble was now accompanied by the most delicious shiver at the sound of her name on his lips. “It doesna exist for me. And seeing you after the ceremony, so flushed with happiness, I realized that it will exist for you. Just no’ with me. And so . . .”

  “You avoided me.”

  “I did. It seemed the right thing to do. The only thing. As it turned out, you
weren’t at a loss for partners, which isn’t surprising in the least, and I do apologize if I seemed rude, but it seemed enough that I was leaving you to your entertainment, I didn’t need to watch you enjoying it.”

  So, he was saying he’d been . . . jealous? Really? It shouldn’t have made her feel that good. But, after the night she’d put in and how utterly rejected he’d made her feel . . . she might have reveled a wee bit at his confession. “But you’re no’ avoiding me this morning. Or have you regrouped now and we’re back to strictly business?” She honestly had no idea how she was conducting such a civil, rational conversation when her hormones were rioting and her entire body felt as if it were about to explode from overstimulation. It was simply too much to take in, all at once.

  “That’s what I told myself when I turned in to your cottage, aye.”

  She held his gaze, his confession giving her the strength and confidence to do it. “And now? Because this doesn’t feel like business. Strictly.”

  “And now the desire to kiss ye is stronger than I ever believed possible.”

  She trembled at that. “But?”

  “But nothing. It’s the truth.”

  She held his gaze for what felt like the longest time . . . then took the next step. “So, then, why are ye still standing there, Shay Callaghan?”

  Chapter Four

  Shay thought his heart might drum clear through the wall of his chest. How had this moment come to pass? It had not been his plan. He always had a plan. He could barely hear, much less think, with all that thrumming reverberating in his ears. And his body surging to full, rigid attention wasn’t helping rational thought, either.

  “Because I’ve nothing else to offer ye,” he managed, throat tight, body even tighter.

  “I don’t believe I asked for anything else.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Ye didn’t. But surely, ye want—”

  “What I want,” she said, surprising him then by leaning still closer, “is to feel your mouth on mine. It’s what I’ve wanted for quite some time now,” she added, echoing his own words.

  He swallowed. Hard. “Have ye now?” Contradicting bolts of bone-jarring terror and raw, swamping lust blasted clear through him, making it impossible to determine what was the right path to take, the right step. He knew what he wanted, but what a man wanted in the moment, especially one as heated as this, was often not what he needed in the long run. Or what was good for either of them.

  “Aye,” she said, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.

  Then, any hope he might have had of reclaiming his place as a gentleman, putting what was best before what was desired, fled when her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  “ ’Tis,” she breathed.

  Damn Graham and his bloody predictions, but Shay was well lost to it now. He slid his free hand to the back of her neck and had the sweet taste of her on his lips, invading his every cell and pore, a mere breath later. Och, but she was like the finest of champagnes, sipped in front of the coziest of fires. Bubbly and sweet, yet warm and inviting. She was the embodiment of his wildest fantasy come true . . . yet somehow all grounded in the warmth and comfort of home and hearth. She drove him to want to take her, right there, up against the wall, like a rutting, wild beast . . . while simultaneously wanting to cradle her in softness, sip from her, and take her as slowly and thoroughly as it was possible for a man to take a woman, to show her everything that was or could be inside him.

  And he thought he could stand right there and kiss her lush, sweet mouth until the end of time . . . then die a happy man. It was a single moment of pure contentment the likes of which he’d never once experienced before, and would have sworn, in court, under oath, was beyond him to ever feel.

  Only now . . . he had. Now, he knew.

  He felt her gasp, heard her little moan as her lips softened beneath his. She released his hand and slid both of hers to his shoulders, then up the back of his neck and into his hair. Her touch made him feel as if he’d suddenly been plugged into an outlet that sent surges of electric sensation charging over and through him. He’d certainly been touched by a woman before, far more intimately, and quite pleasurably, in fact. So what was it about this simple act, drawing her short nails across his scalp as she urged his mouth more tightly onto hers, that was so overwhelmingly intoxicating . . . he couldn’t rightly have said.

  Lost entirely now, he let himself sink into the moment, allowed himself a release of control—well, he hadn’t allowed it so much as he hadn’t seemed to have much choice in the matter. That alone should have him staggering back, pushing her away, until he could figure out what, exactly, was going on here. He’d never once been the sort to knock on a woman’s door and an instant later have her in his arms, her mouth under siege by his own, consumed with such ardent passion that he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t like not being in control, or shouldn’t have. But there was not a single damn thing not to like about how he felt in that moment, nor any clear argument that could be made for not having himself more of it.

  She made the most delectable whimper when he wove his fingers through the thick fall of her hair and tugged her mouth more tightly against his, and he felt himself tremble in response. Never had he been so in tune with a woman’s every breath and gasp. She dug her short nails into his scalp now even as her whimpers turned to soft moans. He groaned himself, and took the kiss deeper still. Then she teased his tongue with her own and what fragile hold he did have left on his crumbling control shattered completely.

  With a sound more growl than groan, he pulled her tightly against him, taking her tongue, dueling, as he backed them both through her front door, catching it with his foot and slamming it behind them, stopping only when her back came up against the nearest wall. The jarring, abrupt stop did nothing to abate their connection.

  “We shouldn’t, Kira,” he managed, in a desperate last attempt, as he slid away from the sweet, intoxicating depths of her mouth and laid a trail of hungry kisses along her jaw instead, incapable, in that moment, of ending contact entirely. He continued his heated journey, pausing at the soft spot below her ear. “I’m no’ the man for you. I know this, even if you do no’.”

  “I believe that’s for me to decide,” she said, tipping her head forward against his shoulder, allowing him to nudge her hair aside and continue his sweet assault along the silky smooth trail to the nape of her neck. “Who says I’m looking for anything more than this?” she managed, between ragged breaths.

  “You should. It’s what you deserve.”

  “I might think I deserve a lot of things. We all do,” she said, groaning as he nipped at the soft skin at her nape. “Doesn’t mean we get them.”

  He forced himself to lift his head, break free of the taste of her, only long enough to nudge her head back so he could look into her now glittering eyes. “Maybe you should hold out for that.”

  “Maybe holding out only means you get nothing. Maybe this is better than nothing.”

  Her words weren’t intended to hurt, to pinch at his heart, he knew that. She was talking about life, in general. And, after all, hadn’t he just gotten done telling her he wasn’t worth her wait? Yet, the pinch was there, all the same.

  “This is better than anything I’ve had, and I’ve barely tasted you,” he said, hearing the tremor in his voice, and helpless to do anything to smooth it out. In truth, it did terrify him, this utter loss of control, as well it should, and yet he was in the grip of her, and a certain degree of helplessness seemed to come with the territory. It was territory he wasn’t willing—or able—to relinquish. Not quite yet. “If I thought I was a man who could promise you eternity, I’d pursue you to the ends of the earth, and do whatever it took to prove myself to you.”

  He couldn’t believe the words spouting from his mouth, so overwrought, so insanely over the top. And yet no words had ever felt truer coming off his tongue, no closing speech in front of a judge more heartfelt. He couldn’t rationalize them, but neither could he deny them.r />
  And, hearing his enamored pledge, she wasn’t twisting out of his arms, looking at him as one should at a madman, professing himself like that to a woman who, in truth, he barely knew.

  And yet, he did know her. It felt, inexplicably, as if he’d always known her. Now he knew the taste of her, but it seemed like just another element in the long list of what he already knew. And, having her in his arms . . . well, it felt as if she were occupying the exact right spot.

  She steadied her breath then, or tried to, and slid her hands from his hair, until her palms caressed his cheeks. He wanted to rub against them like a cat soaking up the warmth of the sun. In fact, he craved the feel of her skin against his, and would gladly rip off every last stitch of their clothing if given the least bit of provocation. With his teeth, if need be.

  He’d never thought himself a particularly primal man. He had his needs, his wants, his desires, but he’d never been less than fully in control, even in the most tremulous moment of release. He realized then it was because he’d always only been experiencing his own sensations, careful, of course, to be considerate of his partner’s needs. But the connection had ended there, a fact he found entirely normal. What more could a man experience than his own sensations, after all?

  But this . . . the strength of all that he was feeling was intertwined with her in a way that couldn’t be separated into his experience here, and her experience there. He couldn’t even find words to describe the way it all wove together. She made him lust, she made him want, she made him feel . . . carnal. He craved. It shouldn’t feel healthy, it shouldn’t feel . . . normal. And yet it made him want to shout, to howl . . . roar. And to claim.

  Like an out of body—hell, out of mind—experience, it made no sense, and yet, this felt like the first time that everything made sense. An utter sort of clarity he’d never known before.

  She was indeed The One. His heart knew it. His soul knew it. Every last cell that formed him knew it.