Irresistible in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 8)

by Anna Durand

  Yes, I went insane. Briefly. For a few seconds. A minute at most.

  I do not crumble because a woman looks at me like she might cry. I absolutely do not get a pain in my chest because a woman all but begs me to say I loved her once upon a time. No, I don't do anything of the sort. Not ever.

  Until last night.

  Maybe I meant it when I answered her question. Maybe it was an honest response. What if it was? That does not mean I still love her.

  Well, maybe I do. A little.

  Lying in bed with the sheets crumpled in a pile next to me, I rub my eyes and take slow, deep breaths. Catriona is a witch, like her cousins Isla, Kirsty, and Elspeth. Those three, the so-called Witches of Ballachulish, must've woven some sort of insanity-inducing spell over me or taught Cat how to do it herself. It is undoubtedly part of a scheme to drive me barking mad as revenge for what I did to Cat long ago.

  Now I believe in magic? Rubbish. I don't subscribe to the barmy notion Logan's three sisters have supernatural powers.

  I crawl out of bed and shuffle into the en suite bathroom, cranking up the water temperature in the shower until steam fills the room. A good, hot shower, that's what I need. Burn away all the…whatever it is that seeing Cat again has done to me. Placing my palms on the wall of the shower, I rest my forehead on the tiles and let the hot water sluice over me, scouring away all the nonsense.

  Visions of Cat assail me.

  That pantsuit she wore yesterday, it clung to her body in all the right places without being unprofessional. She looked every bit the mature, seasoned professor of archaeology and ancient history. The way her jacket molded to her breasts drew my attention inexorably to those full mounds. And Christ, her lips. I wanted to claim her mouth right then, to nibble and suck on those lips until she moaned and opened for me, begging for a deep, all-consuming kiss.

  My cock hardens.

  Bloody hell. This shower is meant to alleviate my lust and whatever, uh, feelings I might possibly think perhaps I might still suffer from concerning Catriona. Instead, my fantasies have made my dick stiffen until it waves like it's commanding me to act on my desires.

  Only one way to deal with this.

  I turn down the water temperature until it feels cool on my skin. Then I lean back against the wall, right under the shower head, and take my cock in my hand, pumping it slowly. Fantasies commence. Cat in that suit. Me unbuttoning her jacket, sliding it off, unhooking the buttons on her blouse with my teeth. Cat moaning while I remove her blouse, her bra, her trousers, everything. I work myself faster, getting harder, feeling the pressure mounting. Cat spread across the desk in my office, naked, clutching me and writhing beneath me while I thrust into her. Cat's moans growing louder and more desperate, echoing off the walls.

  "Fuck!" I half snarl, half shout, while I come so hard my back bows and I can't catch my breath.

  Someone bangs on the door to my bedroom.

  I pump twice more until I have nothing left to give to the fantasy that torments me.

  "Alex!" Catriona shouts, still banging on the door. "Are you all right?"

  Several filthy curses, unrepeatable in the presence of women or children, spill out of me while I rinse myself off and get out of the shower. Slinging a towel around my hips, I hold it in place with one hand and jog to the door. When I pull it open, Cat's eyes fly wide.

  "What are you on about?" I demand, sounding a bit grumpier than I intended. Getting a leg over with myself isn't as enjoyable as doing it with her.

  I really need to get her into my bed. Soon.

  The outfit she's wearing doesn't help matters. Her loose-fitting blouse should stem my lust for her breasts, but instead, its billowing fabric makes me crave her tits even more. Something about the way the blouse moves this way and that draws my attention to those lovely mounds even more than a tight-fitting shirt might. The worst part of all is what's covering her lower half. The sky-blue material sheathing those shapely legs hardly qualifies as trousers. The garment clings to her body like a second skin.

  And Christ, her shoes. Their heels lift her a few inches higher and give her ankles a seductive curve, and her pink-painted toenails poke out of the sandal-like shoes.

  She blinks several times, rapidly at first, then slower as she runs her gaze over me from head to toe. Her cheeks turn a pale shade of pink, the color speckling her skin. Her attention seems to have stalled on my cock, or rather, the bulge under my towel that gives away the fact I'm still semi-aroused. Yes, I relieved the pressure, but I'm not quite back to normal yet. Still somewhat firmer and larger than usual.

  Cat licks her lips.

  Perfect. Now I know for sure she wants me as much as I want her. No more talk of love and the past. I need her in my bed, not my heart.

  If I even have one of those.

  Her gaze lifts to mine. "I heard a scream, and I thought you were—I don't know. Having a heart attack or something."

  "It's nice to know you'll come to my rescue if I ever do have a heart attack, but no. I'm fine."

  "Oh. Good." She glances down at the bulge under my towel again, the pink tip of her tongue poking out between her ripe, luscious lips. After about two seconds of staring at my cock like she wants to devour it, towel and all, she looks at my face again. "Why did you scream?"

  "What? I never scream." I had shouted or…something. Rather loudly. Might I have made a louder noise than I realized? Climaxing to visions of Catriona was the most intense release I've experienced in a long time. "You must have imagined it."

  Her gaze narrows, and her mouth tightens. "I don't imagine things like that. Besides, I was standing right outside your door when I heard it."

  "Right outside my door?" I lean in until I can taste her breaths on my lips. "What were you doing hovering outside my room? If you want to fuck me, walk right in and do it."

  If she had joined me in the shower, we both would've come as hard as I did on my own. No, harder. With her willing body milking mine, the release would have been the best I've ever had.

  Her breathing has grown labored, hoisting her breasts up with every inhalation.

  And my erection is experiencing a rebirth.

  "Better make up your mind quickly," I say, lowering my voice to a huskier register on purpose. "Or I'll go back in the shower and rub one off again without you."

  She freezes, not even breathing. Her lips slide into a knowing smile, and she laughs softly.

  I feel my brows cinch together. "What are you laughing about?"

  "You." She clamps her teeth down on her lips, struggling to stave off louder laughter, but it snorts out of her anyway. She touches her fingers to her lips, and her snorts mutate into spluttering. "You masturbated."

  "Why is that so amusing?" I grip the towel tighter and snap my spine straight, frowning at her. "Everyone does it."

  "Aye, but you did it because of me. I won't let you have a poke at me, so you were forced to get off on your own."

  "I still don't see what's funny about it." Her reaction is making me irritable. What the bloody hell? I don't get irritated because a woman laughs at me. Not that any female ever has laughed. When I told her I rubbed one off already, she was meant to be aroused—desperately aroused. Instead, little chuckles keep spluttering out of her.

  "Had a dry spell, have you, Alex?" She pulls her fingers away from her mouth, no longer laughing but still smiling at me with an amusement that has me crooking my fingers into my palms. "How long has it been since you've slept with a woman?"

  "None of your business."

  "That long, eh? No wonder you're so…pent up." She crosses her arms over her chest, pretending to examine me like she's my physician and I'm a patient with an unfortunate disease. "Or do you prefer men these days? I have no problem with that, and it would explain why you keep acting like you want to sleep with me but never actually try to seduce me."

  "What the fuck, Cat?" I throw my hands up. "I am not gay. Understand? Not gay. I love to shag wom
en—only women."

  "Calm down, Alex." She holds up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. Then her focus swerves to the bottom half of me, now exposed because I've let go of the towel. It lies on the floor. Cat jerks her gaze away from my groin and clears her throat. "Get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs."

  She whirls away and sashays toward the stairs.

  I groan. Her arse in those leggings, or whatever women call them, the sight of it makes all the blood rush from my brain straight to my cock.

  The woman is tormenting me on purpose, and I'm falling for her scheme. Who knew Catriona MacTaggart, the sweet and almost shy girl who'd been embarrassed to sit next to me on a park bench, would become a devious and brazen woman who knows exactly how to get under my skin. I like her this way. Bossy. Sexy. Sarcastic and dismissive.

  Shagging her now will be even better than before.

  Catriona pauses at the top of the stairs to glance back at me. "Are you sure you're not gay?"

  "Yes, Cat, I'm sure." Why did I snarl those words like an enraged dog?

  Smirking, she heads down the stairs.

  That woman is absolutely going to drive me insane. If Catriona crawls too far under my skin, she might unearth all the dark and twisted secrets I've buried deep inside myself. That will never happen. Unless she keeps acting this way…

  Bloody hell.

  Chapter Six

  Catriona

  Alex. Naked. Wet. Water dripping from his hair and drizzling down his skin. I've seen him naked before, since we lived together for almost two years, but I haven't seen all of him in a very long time. Most men get less fit and virile as they age, but not Alex. I swear he's developed more muscles instead of less. His thighs are thicker than I remember, thick with powerful sinews, and his biceps have grown too. When he clenched his fists, they bulged. I traced every curving line of muscle on his chest, counted every single one of his six-pack abs, and followed the trail of fine hairs that tapered down to the part of him I'd thought I remembered so well.

  I've been wrong. His cock seems larger than I remember too.

  That part of him cannot have grown. I assumed if I ever saw his penis again, it would be smaller than I remember. Instead, it's bigger. Thicker. More mouthwatering.

  And aye, my mouth watered. I might've licked my lips when I stared at his male member. That singular part of his body mesmerized me and made my body come alive. Aching nipples. Aching breasts. Slick heat between my thighs. And the taut bud of my lust throbbed.

  It's humiliating how much I still want him.

  Which explains why I said the one thing no straight man ever wants to hear. Do you prefer men these days? I know Alex isn't gay. I slept with him for the better part of two years and experienced his very, very heterosexual urges. Bod a' chac, the man is an incredible lover. Not gay in the least. I said that to annoy him, to see if he would get annoyed. Alex has always been unflappable. My cousin Iain never gets upset either, but he's unflappable in a Zen-like way thanks to years of experience in learning to manage his emotions. Not sublimate them. Just understand and accept them.

  My brother Rory used to control his passions for another reason—fear. He didn't want to show his feelings because he was terrified of getting hurt again after his three disastrous marriages. Emery loosened him up, and now Rory doesn't hold back anymore. He will always have that solicitor's levelness, with a hint of menace when necessary.

  Alex is not like either of them. He isn't uptight like Rory had been, or as calm as the Buddha-like Iain. He doesn't have Logan's deadly calmness, a residual effect of his years in the military and MI6. No, Alex is cheerfully, playfully cagey. He has dark moments, though they pass quickly. His affable facade conceals layers I need to peel away to find the true core of him.

  Maybe I'm getting closer. He had thrown his hands up and growled at me that he isn't gay. I scored a point in this game.

  Playing Alex's game? I must be mad to try.

  So be it. If I lose my mind, at least I'll have the answers I need.

  I go into the kitchen to find something to eat for breakfast. This house is large enough to need a small army of employees—cooks, maids, gardeners, whatever—but Alex seems to have none of those. Serena and Logan mentioned Alex had "servants," as he called them, when they first visited his house. But a few days later, the servants were gone.

  That was right after Logan discovered Alex's right-hand man, Reginald, had betrayed him. According to Logan, Alex became "slightly barmy and not like himself" when he found out about Reginald's betrayal. The man had despised Alex, secretly, but I don't know all the details of what happened.

  I might've thought Reginald's disloyalty made Alex cagey, but even while we were a couple, he'd possessed that secretive nature around other people. With me, he'd been different. More relaxed. More…human. These days, he never lets his guard down for even one second. He probably sleeps with one eye open and a gun under his pillow.

  Logan told me about that too. Alex has a gun.

  What is he so afraid of?

  I'm rummaging around in the refrigerator when Alex walks into the kitchen. He's put on clothes—gray slacks, a pale-tan dress shirt, and brown socks and shoes. With the top button of his shirt undone, he looks like the sexiest professor ever.

  "You don't need to do that," he says, shooing me away from the fridge. "I'll make you breakfast."

  "But I don't want to inconvenience you."

  "You're staying in my house." He peers into the fridge. "I might be a Limey Louse, but I take care of my guests."

  Limey Louse. That's another of my insulting nicknames for him. I never meant for him to hear those names, but Logan told Alex every one of the terms I'd invented to describe him. Well, I can't blame Logan. I'd spouted those epithets whenever anyone mentioned the man I'd once loved in America.

  Every time Alex repeats one of those nicknames, I swallow hard to keep the acid boiling in my gut from rising into my throat.

  "Wait in the dining room," he says, his gaze still on the contents of the refrigerator. "I'll bring your breakfast to you."

  I glance at the large marble island in the center of the kitchen and the stools lined up on the far side of it. "Why don't we eat here? It's cozier."

  He jerks his head toward me, his eyes unblinking. "Cozy? You'd better watch it, Cat. I might start to think you like me."

  A playful smirk played on his lips when he spoke the last part.

  A wee shiver of delight ripples through me. God, how I used to love the way he teased me. Ever since I first saw him again last year, I've hated it when Alex smirks at me that way. Well, maybe I secretly loved it. He seems the most like the man I knew before, the man I worshiped, when he smiles like that.

  But ever since that day, I've refused to admit it even to myself.

  Time to grow up, Cat, and act like the mature adult you're supposed to be. Don't let him goad you into getting angry.

  Right. No more giving him what he wants. To unravel Alex Thorne, I need all my wits about me.

  I veer around the island and perch on a stool, my arms folded on the marble surface. "I always liked watching you cook. You're very efficient and expert at it."

  He tenses for the briefest moment, but I can't see his expression, with his back turned to me. "Are you complimenting me? I must have misheard you."

  Despite the breezy sarcasm in his tone, he hasn't moved one millimeter.

  After another few seconds of stone-stillness, he gathers ingredients and sets them on the island. Next, he chooses a frying pan from the pots and pans hanging from hooks above the island.

  I watch him crack eggs, beat them, and pour them into the heated pan to make omelets. He moves with precision and grace, spinning around to grab the saltshaker off the counter and dropping cheese and vegetables into the omelet before expertly folding it. He repeats the process to make another omelet, all while toasting bread and laying out silverware on the island.

  He sets a plate in fr
ont of me. "Your breakfast, milady."

  "Thank you." I bend forward a little to sniff the aromas wafting up from my omelet. "It smells heavenly."

  Alex retrieves his plate and sits down on the stool beside me.

  We eat in silence.

  Maybe it should feel awkward, considering the tension between us and the fact we haven't spent any real time together since our reunion at Dùndubhan. I'd glare at him every time we were in the same room, and he would smirk and say something rude to me. Now, we sit in his kitchen, in his home, enjoying a delicious breakfast together.

  "This is wonderful," I tell him after I've eaten half of my omelet. "You're an even better chef than I remember."

  "At least I've improved in one way."

  There he goes again, with that breezy sarcasm.

  I take a bite of toast and chew it, swallowing before I speak. "You've improved in other ways too."

  "Have I?" He slides a forkful of egg, cheese, and vegetables into his mouth.

  "Aye." Turning toward him slightly, I study his face, but I can't deduce anything from his bland expression. "You've grown more muscles. It suits you. No wonder all the college lasses drool over you."

  He eyes me sideways, his lips curled up at the corners in a slight smirk. "I haven't noticed you drooling."

  "I'm not a college lass anymore." I lean in a touch. "But I used to be completely infatuated with you. I would've done anything you wanted."

  "The way I remember it, you did do anything I wanted. Many times."

  "Yes, and I loved every second of it."

  Something like a growl rumbles in his throat, resonating through his chest, while he sets down his fork and turns his face to me. "Careful, Catriona. I might take that as an invitation to seduce you."