The MacTaggart Brothers Trilogy

by Anna Durand

  "Stop trying to."

  He nuzzled his cheek against mine. His heated breaths blustered through my hair, fanning it out, tickling my skin as each strand floated back down. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, desperate for an anchor, my head spinning while tiny bursts of fire erupted under my skin. He shoved the dishes out of the way. They clattered to the floor. Silverware chinked. Wine splashed out of the glasses as they toppled.

  While he lavished my throat with wet kisses, a single thought surfaced against the onrushing tidal wave of lust. "You're breaking the dishes."

  "Buy 'em all new ones." Lachlan hiked my blouse up over my breasts, his hands roughly plumping them through my lacy bra. "Most expensive china on the market, I swear."

  His voice had gone hoarse. He thrust one hand inside my bra to liberate my right breast. It sprang out of the cup, caught by his strong hand. His tongue curled around my nipple, spurring the firm tip to harden more. My breasts were swollen and achy, and I arched into his mouth for more. His lips covered my nipple, his teeth scraped the peak. He suckled with fierce hunger, eliciting a throaty moan from me. He nipped at my skin, gentle and teasing.

  I cried out. My hips bucked.

  Lachlan sucked harder.

  Another cry exploded out of me. I bunched his shirt in my fists and yanked it up, but his arms blocked me from tearing it off him.

  His head shot up. Panting, he stared down at me, cheeks ruddy.

  "What's wrong?" I struggled up onto my elbows, lightheaded from my blistering arousal.

  "Cannae do it." He sank down onto the chair. "Not like this."

  I pulled my blouse down to cover myself and levered up into a sitting position. My stomach dropped as an ice-cold wave broke over me. "You can't do this to me again. Get me wound up and push me away."

  "Not pushing you away." He scrubbed his face with both hands and sighed. "I don't want our first time together to be like this. A quick shag on the kitchen table."

  "What makes you think it'd be quick?"

  He fixed me with an are-you-kidding-me look. Yeah, it would've been quick. And hot. And earth-shattering. But did I want my first time with Lachlan to be down-and-dirty, over-in-a-heartbeat sex? I slumped, palms on the tabletop. No, I didn't want to start our whatever-it-was like this.

  Lachlan pulled me down onto his lap, straddling him. His hands rested on my hips, their weight warm and steadying. His rock-hard shaft prodded my crotch. Still, his expression had softened, and he swept hair from my face with a light touch. "Sweet, I need more time to prepare. You deserve better than this."

  "Thought this whole day was preparation."

  "For you, yes." He grazed the backs of his fingers over my cheek. "I want it to be an experience. One to remember."

  I tilted my head, studying him. "Sounds almost romantic."

  "You disapprove?"

  "No." I flattened my sweaty palms on my thighs. His fingers were painting a tingling line down my throat, and I had trouble summoning complete thoughts. "You're confusing the hell out of me. First, you dump me for a phone call. Then, you take me on a romantic picnic and cook me a sensual dinner. Your domineering act a minute ago was wicked sexy, but now you're back to being considerate and sweet."

  "Sweet?" His lip almost curled when he said it as if the word tasted sour to him.

  I gave his chest a playful slap. "What is it with men and the word sweet? It's a compliment, not an affront to your manliness. Trust me, you've got no issues there."

  His smile was slow and… sweet, in a sexy way. "I don't?"

  "Absolutely not." I leaned in to press my lips to his. Even the brief contact had my body responding, readying. Our faces a breath apart, I whispered, "You are the hottest man on the face of the earth, Mr. MacTaggart."

  He caught my bottom lip between his, letting it go with bone-melting slowness. A hint of his taste sneaked into my mouth — masculine, earthy, with a faint spiciness from the steak sauce. He drew me closer until my breasts gave against the strength of his torso. "And you, sweet Erica, are the most enticing lass on earth."

  My heart stuttered. If Presley had spoken those words, they would've been a lie, honey for the trap. From Lachlan's lips, they rang with a tender truth. He meant it.

  Or maybe I was letting a gorgeous guy bamboozle me again.

  Lachlan glided his hands up to my waist, his fingers spanning my back. His words came out stilted as if infused with some deep emotion. Wishful thinking. "I know I behaved badly last night. You've no idea how much I regret it."

  I fingered the collar of his shirt. "Don't worry about it."

  "No chance of that. How can I make it up to you?"

  As if his will commanded it, I rolled my gaze up to meet his. Concern clouded his eyes. I shrugged one shoulder. "It was kind of humiliating to be abandoned on the sofa with my pants hanging open."

  His face pinched, he gave a tight nod.

  Ah jeez, he looked so pitiful. I longed to pull him into my arms and caress his hair. The mere thought trickled ice through my veins. I shouldn't want to comfort him because we weren't anything to each other. But sitting here, with our gazes bound to each other and our bodies entwined, my heart did a little pitter-patter and my hands all but trembled with the need to touch him. Never learn, do you? Erica the pushover.

  To break the moment, I set my hands on my knees and turned my gaze up to the ceiling as if contemplating a serious issue. When I returned my attention to him, I raised one finger. "I've got it. Tell me something about you. Something embarrassing."

  His brow furrowed.

  I tapped his nose. "You wanted to make it up to me. This is how you can." I slanted forward a little. "Something really embarrassing."

  His lips compressed. After a moment, he sighed and relaxed, though his hands stayed on my waist. "My mother calls me Lachie. Has done all my life. I've told her a thousand times I hate it, but she won't listen. Even called me Lachie in front of girls I dated in school."

  "That's mildly humiliating." I crossed my arms over my chest. "I said really embarrassing."

  Those broad shoulders bunched a little while his jaw worked as if chewing on my request. His fingers tapped an inconstant rhythm on my back. Finally, he tilted his head back and let out a soft groan, his eyes sliding shut. "When I was seventeen, a bonnie girl coaxed me into showing her my, ah…"

  He squirmed beneath me, and though his eyes opened, he looked past me toward the refrigerator.

  "What'd you show her?" I waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Your porn collection? Your pink bunny tattoo?"

  "No." He filled that single syllable with pure mortification, as only a man could do. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, contorted his mouth, and dropped his hands, letting them hang at his sides. Still unwilling to meet my gaze, he muttered something.

  "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

  With an expression of sheer misery, he aimed his eyes in my general direction. "My dick. I showed the girl my bleeding dokey."

  My mind went straight to envisioning a teenage Lachlan undoing his pants for a lustful lassie who'd probably rubbed her hands in anticipation, waiting for the perfect moment to leap on him and — oh hell. What was wrong with me? I couldn't be jealous. Of a girl he knew years ago.

  What if she was the one who'd ruined him for relationships?

  He lifted his hand to his brow, like a visor to shield his eyes from me. "My whole family walked in on us. We were out in the barn and the family had come home early from a trip into the village. They assumed the girl was about to, ah, give me…"

  "A blow job?"

  He flinched, and I could picture his wincing face under the shield of his hand. "She wasn't. The girl only wanted to see. Her friends dared her to do it, and apparently, there was a sizable wager involved. But my parents and my sisters and my brothers all saw — and they started laughing their heads off."

  Picturing his moment of humiliation, I felt a pang of empathy. He'd been tricked into literally
dropping his pants, all so a silly girl could win a bet, while I'd been duped into sleeping with a cretin who stole a quarter million dollars and blamed me for it. Not exactly the same situation. But close enough to pluck my sympathy strings.

  I reached out to pry his hand away from his brow. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you tell me that."

  At last, he focused on my eyes. "Tell you anything you want to know if it'll help you forgive me."

  I cupped his face in both my hands. "Nothing to forgive."

  He took my hands and clasped them to his chest — to his heart. With a sheepish grin, he said, "I have a confession. I liked telling you my embarrassing story."

  "You did? Why?"

  He shrugged. "Now you'll wonder what I've got that lasses would make wagers about."

  I glanced down at the stiff line of his erection in his pants. "I can guess."

  "No more guessing after tomorrow."

  "Good." I curled my fingers against his chest, with his warm hand pancaked atop mine. "Cuz I don't have a barn to lure you into."

  "You'll never need to lure me anywhere." So fast a breeze fluffed my hair, he lifted us both up and onto our feet. "I'm yours."

  For a few weeks. For sex. But maybe, just maybe, he'd — What? Get to know me, fall head over heels, and vow to stay with me? We could get married in the prison chapel and have conjugal visits every other Tuesday.

  Stop torturing yourself with fantasies. There'd be no happily ever after for me. But I could enjoy this time with Lachlan, if I let myself. My troubles had a habit of scurrying into the dark corners, out of sight and mind, whenever I was with him.

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "If we're not having sex tonight, how about catching a movie? King Solomon's Mines is on TV tonight. The good version with Deborah Kerr and Stewart Granger."

  "Classic film buff?"

  "Grew up watching old movies."

  Lachlan enveloped my hand in his and ushered me toward the doorway. "To the living room, it is."

  "Wait." I dug my heels in, halting him. "Would you like to come over to my place? I mean, it's not really my place, but I've got a plasma TV. Gil's is LCD, and it has a smaller screen."

  He scrunched his forehead. "What do you mean it's not really your place?"

  "Well, you see, you're not the only one living in someone else's house." I hugged myself, and my gaze shot to the window above the sink. I glimpsed the bricks of my house. "I live in my parents' house. When my dad retired two years ago, they moved to a retirement community in Florida, but they didn't want to sell the house or leave it empty." I returned my focus to Lachlan — well, to his shirt — and hunched my shoulders. "I don't pay rent, just utilities and taxes and any repairs that need doing."

  Lachlan curved his hands around my upper arms, caressing my bare skin with his fingertips. "Why do you seem ashamed of your living arrangements? In Scotland, many grown children live with their parents, grandparents, siblings."

  "In America, you're a loser if you live at home. Even if your parents aren't actually present."

  He hooked a finger under my chin and raised my face. "I don't care where you live, as long as I'm the only man you're sleeping with for the next four weeks."

  My voice had abandoned me. I swallowed against a tightening in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry.

  I let him shepherd me out of the house, across the adjoining lawns, and into my home. The constriction in my throat lingered. He didn't care if I lived in my parents' house. Presley had ribbed me about it on a regular basis, and though at the time I dismissed it as good-natured teasing, his comments ate away at my self-assurance like droplets of acid. Now I realized Presley's taunts had been a clue I should've understood much sooner, a clue to his true nature and his real feelings toward me. I figured it out too late.

  Lachlan volunteered to make popcorn — a real chore, considering I had the microwave variety — while I turned on the TV and arranged pillows for us on the sofa. By the time African drums began beating out a tribal rhythm, Lachlan had settled in beside me with his much-larger body tucked into the sofa's corner. He draped his arm over my shoulders, cuddling me close.

  My gaze wandered to his face, to the smoothness of his cheeks, peppered with a five o'clock shadow, and to the faint crow's feet that fanned out from his eyes when he smiled at something in the movie. I knew so little about him, not even as much as I'd find on a driver's license. The things I did know hinted at the man inside the hot body. He was intelligent. Mature. Steady. Thoughtful. Funny. Sensual.

  "How old are you?" I asked.

  Lachlan swiveled his head toward me, blue eyes twinkling in the light from the TV screen. "Forty-two. Why the sudden interest in my age?"

  "Just filling in your driver's license."

  "I don't follow."

  "Never mind."

  He turned back to the TV, drawing me a little closer, his hand a welcome weight on my shoulder. I loved the solid feel of it, the way it moored me to him. I tried to pay attention to the movie, but a question niggled at me until I could ignore it no longer.

  Though I faced the TV, the image blurred, my mental focus squarely on the man beside me even as I fought not to look at him. "Don't you want to know how old I am?"

  Don't you want to know anything about me?

  "I never ask a woman's age," he said. "Was that a trick question?"

  "No." I snagged a handful of popcorn and crammed it in my mouth, then I did something that would've horrified every mother in the world. I talked with my mouth full. "I'm twenty-eight."

  His arm around me stiffened. "You're just a bairn. I'm beginning to feel like a dirty old man."

  "I am not a bairn. And you're not old." I nudged him with my elbow. "As for dirty… Well, that's what I signed up for, right?"

  He laughed, a low and seductive sound, dancing tingles down my spine. "So you did."

  I nestled into him, tucking my legs under me, and rested my head on his chest. His heart thump-thumped under my ear. Steady. Strong. When I skimmed my hand down his chest to his waistband, his breath hitched and his heartbeat sped up.

  We never touched the popcorn. And the movie… Let's just say it was a good thing I'd seen it a dozen times before. By the time Stewart Granger ordered Deborah Kerr to change into a less stifling outfit to avoid heat stroke, Lachlan had me spread out on the sofa beneath him. His hands groped every inch of me, his mouth ravished mine, and I arched my hips into him in silent pleas for more, more, more. Take me now, I begged with greedy thrusts of my fingers into his hair.

  He didn't take me, not all the way. Not even halfway. But he left me revved up for a night of sweaty, sheet-twisting dreams that all revolved around him and his powerful, naked body. I knew he'd done this to me on purpose, to make sure I'd remember what was to come.

  Me. In his bed, at his hand, over and over and over. That's what he'd promised. If he backed out on me again, I'd die of hunger. He'd gotten me hooked on a nourishment only he could provide, and we hadn't even done the deed yet.

  Warning, warning, danger ahead, my brain screamed. Lucky for me, I'd stopped listening to my rational brain right about the time Lachlan called me the most enticing lass on earth.

  Forget danger. Screw the future. I was starved for Lachlan, and for once in my life, I'd devour every last decadent bite without a thought for the consequences.

  Chapter Twelve

  After the blistering fantasies that overpowered my sleep, I woke the next morning in need of a shower. A cold one. Subzero cold. I was so aroused the draft from the central air system stiffened the fine hairs all over my body, prickling my skin with goosebumps and making my nipples shiver erect. Between my thighs, a sultry dampness slicked my swollen flesh. How could a man I'd known for two days do this to me?

  From the floor at the foot of the bed, Casey thumped his tail. He'd given up on sleeping on the bed after the umpteenth time I kicked him while half-wakened from a pornographic dream. The poor dog deserved a big br
eakfast of gizzards, topped off with a pile of Milk-Bones.

  "I'm up," I assured Casey, who answered with another tail thump. I disentangled my limbs from the twisted sheets and swung my feet onto the floor. The wood chilled my soles. I cringed, lifted my feet, then placed them on the floor again. Might as well deal with the inevitable.

  Casey hopped up, racing around the bed to me. His tail swished. He chuffed, to make sure I got the picture.

  With a long groan, I stretched my overworked muscles. "Lemme get in a shower first, 'kay? Walk later."

  He whined but plopped his butt on the floor.

  I patted his head, receiving a sloppy kiss on my hand in return. My neck ached. I rubbed it until the pain subsided, but then my back decided to join the party. My body suffered the aftermath of a night of epic tossing and turning, brought on by an overdose of insanely erotic dreams. I was addicted, for sure, and I loved it. Never before had I felt so desired, so treasured, so completely alive. The perfect distraction from my problems. If soreness was the price for this experience, I'd take it.

  A steaming shower, with my massaging shower head, would iron out the kinks. I scratched Casey's back. "Just a few minutes. Then I promise to feed you lots and lots of icky, slimy gizzards. Yum-yum."

  He panted and bobbed his head. Dogs. They were almost as baffling as men.

  Just as I dragged my body off the bed, Casey sprang off the floor and onto the mattress, hitting it with a squeak-inducing thud. While the pooch got comfy, I headed for the bathroom. Lachlan had better come through for me this time, or I'd throttle him for corrupting me into a sex-crazed idiot.

  I stripped off my satin nightie on the way into the bathroom and cranked up the shower while I brushed my teeth. Steam roiled out of the shower stall around the frosted glass door, which I'd left ajar. Once I'd adjusted the water temperature to the perfect mix of hot and cold, I stepped into the stall and clicked the door shut.

  Blessed heat sluiced over me, convincing my muscles to loosen up. I turned my face into the spray. The water cascaded down my skin in warm rivulets that snaked down my belly, exciting every nerve, the sensation reminiscent of fingertips lightly tracing down my body. Visions of Lachlan's delicious muscles flitted through my mind as I massaged shampoo and conditioner into my hair with languid strokes of my fingers. The creamy conditioner drizzled onto my breasts, cool against my heated flesh. My breasts grew heavy, and a memory assailed me. Lachlan's mouth on my nipple. His teeth nipping. The strength of his greedy suckling.