Irresistible in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 8)

by Anna Durand

  Every time he says my full name, Catriona, it sends a wicked little thrill through me. The husky tone of his voice. The way he seems to relish speaking my name. The way his lips move when he does say it.

  Yes, I still want him. Lust for him. Hunger for his body.

  He finishes off his omelet and gets up to clear the dishes.

  I should help, but I can't stop staring at him, can't move, paralyzed by the thought that keeps surfacing in my mind over and over.

  Maybe I should let him seduce me.

  After he places everything in the dishwasher, he faces me again. Leaning back against the sink, he dries his hands with a dish cloth. "So, what's on your agenda today?"

  Are we really going to have a normal conversation? It feels odd, but somehow pleasant too.

  "I don't officially start work until next Monday," I say, "so I've decided to sit in on some of the classes taught by my new coworkers. The other faculty in the humanities department. I haven't taught adults since I was a graduate teaching assistant. It'll do me good to see how the professionals do it."

  And it doesn't help my nerves to know I got this job only because Alex convinced the dean to hire me.

  "You'll do fine," Alex says. "Better than fine. You are a bright, capable woman who manages to keep her enormous, testy brothers in line. You can handle college students."

  I gawp at him, stunned by his compliment. It sounds like the most honest thing he's said to me since our hostile reunion at Dùndubhan.

  Either that or he lies better than anyone in the universe.

  "We'd better go," he announces. "Or I'll be late for my first class."

  One minute, he's annoying me. The next, he pays me a wonderful compliment. Unraveling the mystery of Alex might take longer than I thought. But I'm in it for the duration. However long it takes, I will ferret out the truth about Alex Thorne.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex

  Catriona and I part ways in the parking lot at Thensmore, where she heads to the administration building to fill out more paperwork and I veer toward the humanities building. After my first class of the day, I sequester myself in my office to grade papers, work on an article for a journal, and fantasize about Cat.

  All right, maybe I spend most of the morning doing the latter.

  How am I meant to react to having her in my home? Yes, I arranged it that way. I've gone to a bloody lot of trouble to get her in Moirai House, but now I don't know what to do with her. Shag her, of course. What else? What did I hope to gain with my scheming?

  Cat asked me that very question on the day she arrived in Montana.

  And I still have no answer for it.

  What does it matter why? I've done it, she's here, and I plan to take full advantage of that fact. In what way, I've asked myself a thousand times this morning. Take full advantage of her body, naturally. But there might be something else, a secret even I can't unlock.

  Or maybe I'm afraid of what the answer might be.

  No, that's not it. Afraid? Me? Never. As I told Serena and Logan nine months ago, nothing frightens me.

  Certainly not Catriona MacTaggart.

  Ten minutes before noon, I'm relaxing in my chair, the one I bought and hauled into my office on campus so I could have an actually comfortable piece of furniture on which to rest my arse. It's leather, of course. The butter-soft sort. Expensive, ostentatious, and unnecessary too. Which explains why I had to have it.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes, intending to ponder my lecture for this afternoon. I've prepared one about ancient Greek weapons. How bloody boring. Though I considered lecturing on sex in the ancient world, I discarded the idea. The last time I'd done that, four of my fellow faculty members filed complaints about the "noise" and "vulgarity" emanating from my lecture hall.

  The lot of them are prudes. Irritating, mentally stunted prudes.

  Naturally, thinking about a naughty lecture makes me think of Cat. Her voluptuous body. Those lips I tasted again for the first time in twelve years. How hard I came in the shower while picturing her naked, imagining the sounds she'll make when I finally have her under me. Or over me. Or in any position I can convince her to try, as long as she's naked.

  My cock loves the idea. It's grown so hard that it aches from a need I can't satisfy. Not quite yet, at least. I reach down to grasp the button on my trousers, about to unhook it and slide my hand in there to relieve the pressure.

  And of course, since the Fates despise me, Cat walks into my office right then.

  Yes, I'm the sort of bloke who has a wank in his office with the door wide open.

  Maybe I would've closed it before I really got going. Maybe.

  Catriona flumps onto the chair across the desk from me. A mischievous little smile tugs at her lips, and her breathtaking blue eyes glint in the sunshine pouring in through the window. The light seems to gild her skin and her hair, transforming her into a golden apparition of Aphrodite.

  Oh bloody hell. What, have I turned into a lovestruck idiot? Comparing Catriona to an apparition of the Greek love goddess. For pity's sake, man, get a grip.

  "It's lovely to see you," I say, maintaining my calm demeanor in spite of my idiotic thoughts. "But why are you here?"

  "To see you."

  My pulse speeds up.

  No, it does not. That thumping in my ears must be air pressure.

  "How sweet, Catnip," I say, smiling. "You missed me."

  "Catnip?" She wrinkles her nose. "Please donnae ever call me that again."

  "Why not? It's a perfect nickname."

  She tilts her head to the side, studying me with those luminous eyes. "Why do you keep trying to annoy me?"

  "What?"

  "Don't pretend you're an eejit. That's how I know when you're lying."

  "Maybe I had no intention of annoying you. And in case you're wondering, I'm not irritated in the least that you implied I'm an idiot, in your charming Scots way."

  Her gaze sharpens on me, like a well-honed knife driven straight into my forehead and deep into my brain. "Stop doing that."

  "What?"

  "You're being evasive again."

  "Am I?" I rock my chair, hands linked over my lap to hide my erection. "What if I'm unaware of what I'm doing?"

  "Bollocks. You always know exactly what you're doing." She rises and approaches my desk, leaning over it, her hands flat on the desktop. "Why do you always couch your responses in 'maybe' and 'what if'? Why cannae ye ever tell the truth?"

  "It's never that simple." I sit forward, my face inches away from hers. "Why don't you scurry home to bonnie Scotland? If I'm such an irritating, untruthful bastard, why haven't you left yet?"

  Instead of answering, she leans in more, peering into my eyes from a centimeter away.

  Her scrutiny makes my skin itch.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "They say the eyes are the windows to the soul." She tips her head left and right, still boring her gaze into mine. "I'm searching for yours."

  "I haven't got one, remember? I'm the Soulless Sassenach."

  She straightens, sighing. "I should never have made up all those stupid names for you. I'm sorry."

  For the first time in longer than I can remember, I have no flippant response to offer. My brain can't summon any words at all. Catriona apologized. To me.

  Her lips tick upward into a charming smile. "A miracle has happened. Alex Thorne is speechless."

  "Not speechless." Just because I have no fucking idea what to say to her doesn't mean I'm incapable of speech. I spoke two words, didn't I? There, I'm not speechless. Now that the verbal pump is primed, more syllables flow from me. "You apologized, and I feel rightfully stunned by this turn of events. Wouldn't you rather whack me on the head with a book or punch me in the gut?"

  She keeps smiling, like she's discovered a wonderful secret and knows exactly how she wants to use it against me.

  I snatch up a book and thrust i
t at her, realizing too late it's a slender telephone directory. "Here. Beat me with this."

  Cat laughs at me. "I love it. You're confused and can't figure out what to say." She bends over my desk again and pats my cheek. "It's adorable, Alex."

  Why didn't I grab the unabridged dictionary? Maybe then she would've believed I'm not one bit affected by her.

  I toss the phone book onto the desk and make a noise that might be a growl, or possibly a snarl, then I slump back in my chair. No one has ever affected me the way she does—now. When I knew her before, she hadn't done this to me. I'm not at all sure I like it. Being off balance is…disorienting.

  At least this bizarre encounter with Cat deflated my cock. I can walk into the lecture hall without being arrested for indecency.

  "I have to prepare for a class," I inform her. "You'll need to find another way to amuse yourself."

  Her smile broadens into a grin. "I know. I'm sitting in on your lecture."

  "My—Why?"

  "Because I like this new side of you, the confused and speechless man. He's so much more likable than the evasive, annoying version of you."

  I open my mouth but decide against speaking. It seems likely to get me into more trouble. I usually like trouble, but not this kind. She's dangerously close to figuring me out, at least in part, and uncovering the secrets I don't want her to find.

  "Go on," I say, waving toward the door. "Get out of my office."

  "Yes, Dr. Thorne." She whirls around and marches to the doorway, her hips swaying in a deliberate attempt to tease me with that body. On the threshold, she pauses to look back at me. "I'll see you at two o'clock, Dr. Thorne."

  Why the blazes does she keep calling me that? It's rousing my cock again.

  "Yes, whatever," I say, pretending to study the papers on my desk.

  She leaves, and I sink back in my chair, eyes closed. Cat intends to audit my class. If I want to be vindictive about it, I'll switch to the sex lecture. That will serve her right.

  Or get me arrested. Is it illegal to have an iron-hard erection in the middle of a lecture hall?

  I'm about to find out, because I've made up my mind.

  Oh yes, if Catriona wants to audit my class, she'll get an earful—and an eyeful. What a bloody brilliant idea. First, I need to run home and get a few props. Then…

  You're in for it now, Catnip.

  Chapter Eight

  Catriona

  After leaving Alex, I go back to my new office and start organizing it. I don't have files yet, so all I can do is rearrange the pens and pencils someone has left for me and flip through my new desk calendar to mark the days when I have classes to teach. Once I've done that, I lean back in my chair and try to convince myself the past few days haven't been a dream. I'm teaching. Living in America. In Alex's house.

  I feel like pinching myself to make sure I'm awake, but I stop short of doing that. Why does everything these days seem unreal?

  Because of Alex.

  And I can't decide if he fashes me because I despise him, or if it's because I still feel something for him.

  The phone on my desk rings, giving me an excuse to stop analyzing my emotions. I'm half sitting on my desk, facing the doorway, and I watch students ambling by outside while I pick up the phone.

  Before I can speak, a familiar voice says, "Are you all right, Cat? I heard a rumor Alex Thorne has you locked in his basement. Do I need to fly over there and save you?"

  A laugh tries to burst out of me, but I stifle it, resulting in a spluttering noise. "Good morning, Lachlan. It's so nice to hear from my mature older brother who respects me and trusts my judgment."

  "Of course I trust you. It's that scunner of a Brit who's up to no good. I've heard he locked you in his basement."

  "Who told you that rumor about Alex? He doesn't have a basement." As far as I know, but I won't admit to Lachlan that there's any doubt about that. Overprotective brothers are a damn nuisance.

  "Logan suggested it."

  I do laugh now, which makes Lachlan huff.

  "Why is it funny," Lachlan says, "that Logan told me how depraved Alex Thorne is?"

  "Because Logan was having you on." I pause when another bout of laughter takes hold and wait for it to subside. "Logan and Alex are friends. Our cousin has a strange way of bonding with the family, and I'm sure he expected you'd realize he was making a joke."

  "I still don't understand Logan. Evan says it was all those years in MI6 that made Logan strange, but I think he's just off his head."

  "You like Logan. Admit it, Lachie. We all know it's true."

  "What have I told you about calling me that name?" He drops his voice to a lower, harsher tone that's meant to cow me, though it fails. "I said donnae be calling me that ever again."

  "Aye, and you've been saying that all my life. Hasn't worked yet, has it?"

  "How can you sound happy? You're working in the same building as Alex Thorne."

  Lachlan never, never, never says just "Alex". He always says "Alex Thorne." If Lachie knew Alex's middle name, he'd use that too, like Alex is a serial killer. And why do serial killers always have three names, anyway?

  "Relax, Lachlan," I say. "I'm fine. Alex is not doing unspeakable things to me in his basement or in a dungeon or in the potting shed."

  I have no idea if Alex has a potting shed, but that's not the point.

  "You're sure?" my brother asks. "I have a jet, so I can fly over there—"

  "No, Lachie, don't you dare. I am an adult, not a bairn. Let me handle Alex in my own way." I might be eleven years younger than Lachlan, but I am not a child.

  Movement catches my attention, and I glance at the doorway.

  Alex stands there, his expression unreadable, and slides his tongue over his lips like he's staring at the most decadent dessert on earth.

  He's looking at me.

  "If you're sure," Lachlan says, "then I'll hold off on flying to America. For now."

  "Thank you."

  Alex stalks up to my desk, plucks the phone from my hand, and smacks it down into its cradle.

  "What do you think you're doing?" I ask, flashing him a scowl. "I was talking to my brother."

  He throws an arm around my waist and hauls me into him. I don't get a chance to speak. Alex grasps the back of my head, tips it backward, and crushes his mouth to mine. I stay stiff and unresponsive for a few seconds, while he holds his lips to mine with firm pressure, his arm pinning me to his strong body and his hand ensuring I can't jerk my head away.

  Not that I want to. I should. But I don't want to, and I can't move.

  "Mm," I moan, as a breath rushes out of me. My every muscle softens, my body warms from the top of my head all the way down to my toes, and a silky, liquid heat blossoms between my thighs. I clutch his shirt, pulling myself closer to him, and open my mouth. He plunges his tongue inside, but instead of devouring me like a ravenous beast, he explores my mouth with slow, sensual strokes, like we have all the time in the world to enjoy each other. I moan again and tug him even closer, my fingers clenched in his shirt so tight they start to ache, but I don't care.

  The phone rings, though the sound barely penetrates the haze of desire swirling around me, inside me, blocking out everything else. I don't hear the ringing anymore. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter now. Alex wraps his arms around me, widens his stance, and draws me even closer. My legs are between his, and his erection forms a steel bar against my belly. I want him to take me right here, right now, on my desk with the door open. I want it like I've never wanted anything before. I need it. I need him—inside me, thrusting while he consumes my mouth.

  A sensation, hot and sweet and intoxicating, shimmers through me.

  He moves away, separating our bodies. Breathing hard, he runs a hand over his jaw.

  "What was that?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  "A kiss." He almost growls the words. "What did you think it was? A bloody handshake?"

&n
bsp; I can see how aroused he is, thanks to the bulge in his trousers, and I remember how unquenched lust always used to make him testy. And it still does.

  "No," I say, "I didn't think that. I meant why did you kiss me like that? And you made me hang up on my brother, which is not polite. Ye cannae walk into my office and kiss me like that without saying a word."

  "Why not? I don't recall hearing you tell me to stop."

  His voice still sounds rough and edgy.

  Maybe I shouldn't chastise him right now. Besides, I loved that kiss.

  Alex lets out a long breath, seeming to shed his edgy mood along with the air in his lungs. He gives me that look of amused indifference. "Well, I've got that out of my system. Cheers, Catriona."

  He walks out of the room.

  If I were American, I'd probably be offended by the way he said "cheers," since my American sisters-in-law didn't understand that one the first time they'd heard Alex say it. But to a Brit, "cheers" is like saying goodbye. I still don't like that he dismissed me that way, and dismissed that kiss, but I no longer believe his offhanded ways.

  Oh no, Alex Thorne, you won't get away with that anymore.

  Chapter Nine

  Alex

  I head to the lecture hall at ten to two since I don't like being late. Early is better. It gives me a chance to observe my students and judge their state of mind before I begin my lecture. I'm not a psychologist, but I can tell from the students' expressions and the way they talk whether they'll behave while I speak.

  Gus Hooper has given me the big room, the one that's also used by the drama classes. He knows I draw a crowd. More students sign up for my courses than for any other class in the humanities department. Even the acting seminars don't attract an audience as big as mine.

  Yes, I'm bloody proud of that fact.

  Though I enter the venue, I'm hiding behind the curtains that block off the rear of the stage. They hide the equipment and backdrops used by the theater classes. I enjoy peering through the small gap between the halves of the curtains, observing my students as they begin to trickle into the hall.

  All right, I'm also watching for Catriona.