The MacTaggart Brothers Trilogy

by Anna Durand

  "Lachlan," I murmured, my voice as dazed as I felt. His kisses drugged me. His touch inflamed me. What would the sex be like? Goosebumps erupted all over my skin at the torrid fantasies the thought unleashed.

  He grasped my hip, probing the hollow with his thumb, while his lips hovered over mine and those incredible eyes pinned my gaze. His hand skidded off my hip onto my mound, the shield of my jeans no defense against him. The heel of his hand rested there, moving in lazy circles over my clitoris, the caress light but rapturous in its effect. Writhing, I spread my thighs without thinking. His fingers dived between them to pet my sex. His hand kept circling over my clit, and combined with the swipes of his fingers, it had me bucking and gasping as an exquisite pressure mounted deep inside. More, more, I yearned to say, but my voice abandoned me. I could do nothing except moan and whimper.

  I closed my hand around his swollen cock, trapped inside his jeans.

  "Och!" Lachlan pushed my hand away, eyes flashing wide for a heartbeat before sliding almost shut. "Donnae be touching me like that. Yet."

  "What if I do?" I brazenly palmed his shaft. Not like me at all, but this man awakened a secret part of me. When I began to stroke him, he batted my hand away again and gave me a half smirk, half frown.

  "If ye keep it up," he grumbled, "the train'll derail again."

  "Would that be the fun train?"

  "Aye." He scraped his lips across mine, his hot breath infiltrating my mouth. His burr thicker than ever, he commanded, "Keep yer wee hand to yerself."

  "Or what?"

  He tore open the button on my jeans and yanked the zipper down with a loud scritch. I swallowed a gasp when he thrust his hand inside my panties to splay it over my drenched sex. With the same motions he'd used before, he circled the heel of his hand over my taut nub, now with nothing separating his rough skin from mine. His powerful fingers swept up and down my slick cleft as his relentless hand rubbed my clit and tormented the tender flesh of my mound. Electric shocks arced through me. My back bowed, my mouth opened on a strangled whimper, and I dug my fingers into his shoulder. His mouth sealed over mine, the kiss brutal and all-consuming. It muffled my cry, set off by his finger dipping inside me, crooked to press into the erogenous spot just inside my opening. My sex clenched in anticipation as fierce pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, a spring about to burst free deep in my body.

  A phone rang.

  I recognized it with a dim thought, the sound far away and detached from the reality of Lachlan plunging two fingers into me this time, while his tongue lashed mine.

  The phone rang again.

  Lachlan broke away. Breathing hard, he snagged his phone from the table and glanced at the caller ID. He growled.

  He propped himself up with one straight arm and answered the call. Right there, half on top of me with his erection jutting against my belly. Fighting to catch my breath, every inch of my skin flushed, I pushed up onto my elbows. He was taking the blasted call, instead of taking me.

  "What?" he barked. His mouth compressed into a grim line. His eyes were ablaze, but this time with anger instead of sexual fire. Spittle sprayed my forehead when he snarled, "Well, bloody find out if it's true, Rory. I want to know now!"

  Grinding his teeth, Lachlan listened to the caller. This Rory person could've been a man or woman. I barred my arms over my chest. An old girlfriend?

  He gripped the phone tight enough to whiten his knuckles and forced the words out between his teeth. "Sort it out. That's what I pay you for, man."

  Rory was a man after all. Good. I smoothed my shirt and linked my hands over my belly.

  "It has to be a mistake," Lachlan said. "I can't abide another fight with that bitch —"

  Lachlan froze, his gaze swinging down to me. His face blanched, his eyes flashed wide.

  I couldn't move, a breath lodged in my throat. My heart raced. That bitch, he'd said. Was I a breath away from learning the source of Lachlan's damage?

  "Wait, Rory." Lachlan tucked the phone to his chest and said to me, "Personal call."

  Before I could respond, he clambered over me to get up off the sofa. My body still thrummed with unquenched need. He hesitated, gazing down on me with lust-darkened eyes and a heaving chest. "Och, I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

  "Huh?" Was he leaving me like this, my jeans open, perched on the edge of orgasm?

  "Erica —" His chin dropped to his chest. With a rough shake of his head, he turned and stalked down the hallway.

  I lay there, exposed and aroused, baffled by his departure. What could be so important? Some "bitch" might cause a fight. Since I knew next to nothing about Lachlan, I had no clue what to make of the incident. I zipped up my jeans and nabbed a magazine to fan my burning cheeks. No amount of fanning would quell the wildfire consuming the rest of me.

  My skin felt tight and hot, my body taut with pent-up need. I got up to pace the length of the living room. The sun had descended below the horizon, its rays painting the sky in hues of pink, red, and purple. Even through the city smog, the sunset was beautiful, but nothing short of a divine visitation could've buoyed my spirits. Back and forth, I trudged. Bitch. Personal call. What did it all mean? I itched to interrogate Lachlan about his past. Our agreement thwarted my curiosity, which soon escalated to a real itch that had me scratching at my arms and neck. I hugged myself to keep from scarring my body out of sheer frustration.

  When my legs protested the exercise of pacing, I stopped in front of a photo of Gil and Jayne. Both were smiling, their heads pressed together, the epitome of a happy couple. Jayne's auburn hair was cut short enough to curl in artful disarray around her ears. I fingered my shaggy locks, in desperate need of a salon appointment I couldn't afford. Jayne had the kind of plump lips men adored. I lifted my fingers to my much smaller mouth. Maybe that's why I had atrocious luck with men. Yeah, my lack of pouty supermodel lips explained why Presley used and betrayed me and why Lachlan refused to engage in more than a casual affair with me. At least he was upfront about using me.

  You agreed to this, remember? Curse that conscience of mine. I wished it would shut the hell up.

  "I'm awfully sorry, Erica." Lachlan strode out of the hallway and stopped beside me. His smile was strained, and tension etched lines around his eyes. "Best take you home."

  "Now?"

  "I'll get your things."

  He dashed off to retrieve my coat and the bag I'd brought the brownies in. My forehead pinched, thanks to a surprised crinkling of my brow. The brownies dish was nestled inside the bag. I waved it away. "Keep the brownies."

  "They're yours."

  "No." I pushed the bag away when he shoved it toward me. "I made them for you. Just return the dish when you're done with it."

  He set the bag on the coffee table. Without meeting my gaze, he said, "Thank you."

  "No biggie."

  We left the house hand in hand, heading across the lawn to my front door. Only the faintest tatters of sunset flickered over the horizon while darkness closed in all around us. The automatic light on my porch clicked on just as we tromped up the steps. I unlocked the door and, facing Lachlan, grasped the knob with my free hand but didn't turn it. My other hand stayed enclosed in his. "Want to come in?"

  He threaded his fingers through mine. "Best not."

  I suppose I could've been a tad more obvious, like maybe saying please rip my clothes off and take me right here. The fire still crackled inside me and his hand around mine felt so right. I didn't want this day to end yet. "Please. I'd like you to come in."

  "Not tonight." He released my hand, brushing a kiss on my forehead. "We'll have a picnic tomorrow."

  I tried to smile but couldn't muster the requisite emotion. Couldn't be glad he was leaving. After what I'd let him do to me. After he took a call instead of finishing what he started. A forehead kiss? Seriously? I should've rated at least a peck on the lips. I told him none of that, though, instead forcing out an overly cheerful, "Sure, sounds great." />
  His eyes narrowed, his mouth flattened. "Erica…"

  "It's fine, go." I rose onto tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "See you tomorrow."

  Without looking back, I stomped into the house and slammed the door. If we'd get on with the sex part of this arrangement, I could stop obsessing over every minuscule clue to his past and his mindset. I wilted against the door. He'd had me at his mercy this evening, achy and wanting, bared to him in body and soul. And what did he do? Took a call. One that upset him and not only derailed our fun train, but blew it to smithereens in the process.

  A tapping sounded on the door, inches from my left ear.

  "Erica?" Lachlan's voice, muffled by the barrier, carried a thread of anxiety. "Would you open the door, please?"

  Sighing, I eased the door open partway.

  Lachlan's lips formed a shaky smile. "Thank you."

  I closed my fingers around the doorknob. "You wanted something?"

  He nodded. "To apologize. I was unkind to you and I regret it deeply."

  "No big —"

  Two strong hands bracketed my face. He ran his thumbs over the corners of my lips, bending his head until our foreheads touched. "That was no proper goodnight kiss."

  I stood paralyzed while his breaths blustered over my face. Claws clicked on the bare floor behind me and, as Lachlan's lips descended toward mine, Casey nudged my hand with his clammy nose. The dog panted and chuffed softly. Lachlan, his lips achingly near mine, paused to reach one hand down to pat Casey's head. I licked my lips, desperate to claim Lachlan's, but I couldn't budge a muscle. Even when Casey slathered my hand with sloppy licks, I held stone-still. My pulse thundered in my ears, my skin sizzled with electric currents, and my mouth watered at the fantasy of what his kiss would be like this time.

  Lachlan hooked an arm around my waist, tugging me out of the threshold. He shut the door in Casey's face.

  I exhaled a ragged breath through my parted lips.

  His lips found mine, pressing into them for a heart-stopping moment. The kiss was tender, deliberate, his lips questing without demanding anything in return. My head and my heart floated on a sultry breeze, whirling and soaring, tethered by his mouth and his hands and that body supporting mine. My lips softened and opened for him, but he merely skated his across mine one last time before raising his head. Bereft of the contact, I blinked up at him.

  "Sleep well, bonnie Erica." He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. "And good night."

  He pushed the door open behind me. I shuffled across the threshold backward, my body alive and needy, unsatisfied and yet thrilled beyond measure by his gentle kiss. Casey's tongue slicked across my palm, but I barely registered it.

  Lachlan lifted my hand to light a kiss on it. "Until tomorrow."

  As he turned to leave, my brain produced one statement. "Apology accepted."

  He flashed me a brilliant grin over his shoulder.

  I watched him amble back to Gil's house and disappear through the front door. When the living room light switched off, I retreated into my house to feed Casey and go to bed. I wouldn't sleep well, I knew that for sure. Filthy dreams of Lachlan would haunt my slumber.

  Tomorrow. Oh, but that word held a promise within it I'd never known before.

  Yes, Lachlan, tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, I sat cross-legged on a fleece blanket on a private beach along Lake Michigan's shore. The secluded spot afforded us a breathtaking view of the blue water unfurling toward the horizon. A dozen feet away, the sand faded into a manicured grass lawn in front of a two-story Tudor house. Trees huddled in a semicircle around the house and the beach, creating a natural privacy screen. A tree-shrouded driveway had led us to the Tudor, but Lachlan bypassed the house on our way to the shore.

  I eyed him sideways. "You're sure we have permission to be here?"

  Seated beside me, he sighed with mock annoyance. At least I thought it was mock. "Yes, for the third time, we're allowed. Gil knows the owner and comes here often. His friend agreed I could take over beach privileges during Gil's absence." I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a raised hand. "Relax. We have permission."

  Relax? I hadn't accomplished that feat since my arrest. The metallic click of the handcuffs being snapped tight around my wrists echoed in my mind. I shut my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, and when I opened them Lachlan was studying me. "Does your wrist hurt?"

  "Huh?"

  He nodded toward my hand. "You're rubbing it."

  I glanced down to discover I was rubbing my wrist. The memory of handcuffs affected me more than I'd realized and always seemed to linger at the back of my mind. I set my hands on the blanket. "It's nothing."

  "If you say so." He settled his hands on my shoulders and kneaded with his strong fingers, penetrating deep into my tight muscles, coaxing them to loosen. "Has work got you bunched up?"

  "Sort of." I leaned back into his ministrations and he glided his hands up to my neck. His thumbs plied my nape while those fingers feathered over my throat. The warmth of his palms skimmed across my skin. I let my head fall back. "That feels so good."

  "Maybe later I can give you my full massage."

  "Does it involve a full-body kiss?"

  "If you like."

  "I could go for that."

  Casey frolicked nearby, at the end of his retractable leash, which Lachlan held onto by sitting on the thing. No matter how hard Casey pulled, the leash stayed put. Lachlan had some powerful gluteus muscles. I tried to twist around to ogle his ass, but I couldn't get a view of them — so I settled for recalling the hard lines of his buttocks, which I'd glimpsed when he was setting up our little picnic here. While he rubbed my neck, I succumbed to visions of those fantastic glutes flexing as his hips pumped, our bodies entwined, his rhythm relentless, our grunts and moans merging into a passionate chorus. My breasts tightened, my nipples puckered.

  Lachlan's lips grazed my ear. "Are you thinking about me?"

  "What?" I jerked my head up, torn from my reveries. "Of course, you're right here."

  "No." He coasted his hands down my arms to close his fingers around my wrists and raise my hands to my breasts. My fingertips teased my nipples, stoking my fire. He pressed his smooth cheek to mine, and I flashed back to his stubbly cheek rasping against mine last night when he drove me to near climax. He lifted my hand to his face. "You're aroused, and I can't help wondering what you're thinking of."

  "Keep wondering." I peeled myself away from him, against my every desire, and batted my eyelashes at him over my shoulder, a sarcastic attempt to be coquettish. "A woman has a right to be mysterious now and then."

  Lachlan smiled and shook his head. "Mystery is your forte."

  Was that a compliment or a dig? Beats me. Well, he'd insisted on no personal talk, and he reaped each and every seed he'd sown. I bent my knee and bumped the picnic basket sitting beside me and my Highland lover. Soon-to-be lover. We hadn't done anything more than sip whisky and share a few scorching kisses — and one thwarted orgasm on my part.

  I stretched out my legs, the sun-warmed blanket a soft caress against my bare skin. My shorts and tank top allowed me to soak up the sun's rays. I supported my body with both hands on the blanket behind me. I was not unaware of the way this pose elevated my breasts, attracting Lachlan's attention. Since meeting Lachlan, I'd come to enjoy the way his eyes glazed when I hoisted my breasts like this. No man had ever looked at me with such want in his eyes. I rolled my head to the side and our gazes homed in on each other. "Tell me again why you chose a picnic for today's outing. After the whisky interlude, I expected something more… erotic."

  He tsked. "No respectable Highlander beds a woman without proper seduction."

  "I didn't realize consuming ant-ridden food while mosquitoes suck us dry counted as seduction."

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Do you always look for the negative?" He waved at the surroundings. "Sunshine, blue sky, a
warm breeze, and sand between our toes." When he fixed his gaze on me, my belly fluttered. "And the company of a braw, bonnie lass. I'd say this is a perfect moment."

  "You're quite braw yourself." He'd moved over to sprawl beside me, propped up on his left arm with one leg bent and his free hand dangling over his raised knee. Shorts covered the bits of him I most wanted to glimpse, but he'd stripped off his T-shirt to expose a torso rippling with defined muscles. A smattering of fine, dark hair over his pecs narrowed down to a titillating wedge that vanished under the waist of his shorts. I'd hoped for the kilt, but he told me it wasn't beach attire.

  His brows lifted. "You know what braw means?"

  "I also know skelp means to slap and scunner means a nuisance, which fits Presley to a tee."

  His mouth dropped open. "How'd you know all that?"

  Sinking my head back, I shut my eyes behind my sunglasses. "I did a little Internet search for Scottish slang. By the way, please don't ever again refer to sex with me as having a poke."

  "Slip of the tongue."

  His fingertips danced along my arm. The tingling they triggered infused every inch of me. I took off my sunglasses to admire his eyes in the pure sunlight. "I still have no clue what you said to me in the club the other night. Since I couldn't figure out how to spell it, I couldn't search for it. I was babbling about the time and you said what sounded like —"

  "Your bum's oot the windae."

  "Right." I flipped onto my side to face him, mirroring his bent-knee pose. "What on earth does it mean?"

  His gaze flew to my groin and his fingers clenched around his knee. He sucked in a breath. Seconds ticked by, and his rapt attention ignited a molten pulse of pleasure in my sex. I sank my fingers into the sand, desperate for anything to grasp in lieu of flinging out a hand to seize his enlarging shaft through his shorts. His hand on his knee tensed and slackened, over and over, as if he were imagining jamming his hand inside my panties like he had last night, this time catapulting me over the edge.

  I dropped my knee, thighs clamped together. Not on the beach. I flapped a hand in front of his face. "Hey, wake up."