by Anna Durand
"You have an alternate suggestion?"
"For a more satisfying dessert." He framed me with his arms, penning me to the island with his body and his hands on the granite. "A feast of pleasure."
He traced the shell of my ear with his tongue, following it down to the lobe, and tugged my tender flesh into his mouth. The full length of his body bore down on mine, the heat and firmness of him a temptation more decadent than any dessert. His cock had begun to stiffen against my belly, but a heady need overtook me, a need to drive him as wild as he drove me.
"Sex in the kitchen?" I said, and pushed my hand between our bodies to palm him through his pants. "And in the daytime, with Mrs. Darroch somewhere in the house. My goodness, Rory, you're tossing out all the rules."
"Hell with the rules." He rolled his eyes up, though not in complaint, but in response to my fingers fondling his shaft. He slapped a hand over the small of my back. "I'll be taking my wife whenever and wherever I please."
"So do it. Right here."
His fevered gaze landed on my neckline. "Do ye let your bra show in public?"
"No, baby. Only for you."
Rory crushed his mouth to mine, his lips yielding but hungry, his hot tongue ravaging my mouth while I ravaged him right back. I wrapped my free arm around his neck, loving the way he lapped at the roof of my mouth and slid his hand down to my ass. My body ached and grew slick in all the right places. I rasped my thumb over the slit of his cock, where the head peeked out of his pants.
His body jerked. He grunted into my mouth, and his fingers sank into my ass.
I was desperate to rip off my shirt and bra, along with his long-sleeve dress shirt, to rub my tits on his rock-hard chest, but I couldn't wrestle my other hand out from between our bodies. One hand couldn't get the job done.
Our kissing muted my frustrated whimper.
With his mouth latched to mine, Rory took hold of my behind in both hands and hoisted me onto the island. My butt rested on the granite, but my bare legs dangled at either side of his hips. I wriggled against him, lashing my tongue around his, starved for the taste of him — and more. I opened wider for him, inviting a deeper, rougher invasion, thrilled when he delivered what I needed.
Even in the throes of sexual hunger, he worked with precision to open my shirt. One big hand on my ass kept me in place while his fingers freed each button. He spread the halves of my top, and cool air ghosted over my skin. He molded his hands to my breasts, my bra no barrier to his touch, his thumbs stroking over my nipples.
I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, nowhere near as agile at doing this as he was, especially with his tongue and his lips pushing me to the edge of sanity. By the time I got his shirt undone and my palms on his naked chest, he'd shoved a hand inside my bra to cover my breast. I raced my hands down his chest, over his sculpted abs, and straight to the button fly of his slacks.
He coaxed me down onto the island, flat on my back, then undid his pants and let them slump to his ankles. Naked except for his open shirt, he laid his body over mine. I moaned at the feel of his weight on me and of his erection wedged between us. He kissed a path down my neck and chest, making me arch into his mouth. When his lips found the lacy edge of my bra, he dove his tongue beneath the fabric, rasping it down the inner seam until he grazed my areola.
I hugged his head to my breast and slung my legs around his waist.
"Bloody hell."
We both froze. That exclamation had not come from Rory, though the voice was reminiscent of his. Rory turned his head, though I still clutched it to my bosom. He clamped his lips into a hard line, and I tracked his gaze to the kitchen doorway.
And I yelped.
Lachlan loomed there, his eyes large and his mouth agape. He swerved his head to the left and flung up a hand to shield his sidelong view.
"For Christ's sake, Rory," Lachlan said. "Put some trousers on."
Rory leaped backward and yanked his slacks up, hastily zipping them. The button hung open, but he'd lost all interest in his own state of undress, his focus on me. I lay there with my shirt gaping and one breast mounded up to expose everything except the nipple. He hauled me up into a sitting position, then struggled to button my shirt. Intense arousal mixed with humiliation made his large fingers clumsy.
I shooed his hands away. "Cool down, baby. I'll take care of my own clothes."
Lachlan chuckled. "Is he a sweetie-pie baby?"
Rory shot him a peeved look.
While I tucked my boob back where it belonged and buttoned my shirt, Rory stalked across the kitchen to aim a half-hearted glare at his brother. "Donnae be looking at my wife."
"I wouldn't have minded a good look at her," Lachlan said, lowering his hand and smirking at Rory. "Unfortunately, all I saw was you. Didn't need such an unobstructed view of your erse."
Rory's cheeks had turned a rosy shade. "Then maybe ye shouldnae be walking into our home like it belongs to ye. Havenae ye heard of knocking?"
Lachlan gave a careless shrug. "Mrs. Darroch let me in. She said Emery was in the kitchen and you were in the office."
Rory squinted at his older brother. "What do you want with my wife?"
"Calm down, man." Lachlan held up his hands, palms out. "Emery told Erica I could pick up the book she's borrowing today. Didn't mean to storm your castle while you were under your good wife's skirts. Isn't this a Wednesday, one of those days when medieval husbands couldn't bed their ladies?"
Rory's shoulders had bunched so tightly they looked about to split apart. I knew he wasn't angry at Lachlan, but rather embarrassed to have been caught in flagrante — in the kitchen, no less, and in the daytime. If he didn't calm down, he might shout something at his brother he'd regret.
Time to defuse my husband.
I hopped off the counter, my clothes righted, and trotted up to lay a hand on Rory's upper arm. He threw me a sideways glance. I slipped my other hand into his, though his fingers remained taut.
"Are you planning to pummel your brother?" I asked sweetly, with a matching smile. "Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better. But honestly, Rory, I don't think it's the most logical response. Lachlan got a gander at your bare ass, not mine."
"He saw you — on the — with your —"
Translation: Lachlan saw me sprawled on the island with Rory on top of me, my shirt open and my breast half out of my bra. Okay, I could see his point. I still didn't think a brawl with his own brother would solve anything. He'd stay embarrassed, probably more so for blaming Lachlan.
I squeezed his hand. "It was an accident. I'm not embarrassed, and you shouldn't be either. Tell Lachlan you forgive him and let it go."
The breath he'd held gushed out of Rory. His shoulders deflated, his entire body followed suit, and his hand folded around mine. He grudgingly told Lachlan, "Sorry. I may have… overreacted."
Lachlan's brows shot up, and he gave me an appreciative nod. "You are a miracle worker, Emery. Getting Rory to admit he was wrong is one of the signs of the apocalypse."
Rory huffed. "Didn't say I was wrong."
"Haven't heard forgiveness yet." Lachlan was smirking again, far too pleased with himself for getting Rory's goad.
My husband growled, then muttered, "I forgive you. Just donnae do it again."
The elder MacTaggart raised one hand. "I solemnly swear never to breach Rory's castle again without permission."
Rory looked to me. "Happy?"
"Yes." I boosted onto my tiptoes and kissed my hubby's cheek. "Thank you, Rory baby."
In the instant I realized my flub, Lachlan burst out in uproarious laughter.
"Rory baby?" he said between guffaws. "Wait till I tell Aidan about that one. He'll love it more than 'sweetie-pie.' "
My husband stretched his lips into a tight line, his gaze boring into me. "You promised never to speak that phrase in front of anyone but me."
"I'm sorry, I really am." I bit my lip, hunching my shoulders. "It slipped out."
/> Lachlan's laughter had died, but he still appeared vastly amused by his uptight brother's predicament. Clapping a hand on Rory's shoulder, he said, "It was bound to come out sooner or later. Can't keep something like this a secret in the MacTaggart family."
Rory's mouth warped into a half frown, half smile. "Not when we enjoy tormenting each other so much."
"I won't tell Aidan," Lachlan said. He winked. "Probably."
"Can I trust you to behave yourselves without me?" I asked. "The book Erica wants is in the bedroom."
"Aye, you can trust me," Lachlan said. "Can't speak for Rory, though. He seems to need his wife to keep him in line."
Rory pursed his lips.
I patted his cheek. "Try not to kill each other until I get back."
"No promises," Rory said with a slight smile. "Lachie might deserve a right skelping."
"Lachie?" his brother said with a chuckle. "Oh, I am for certain telling Aidan what your wife calls you."
Shaking my head, I jogged down the hall and away from the MacTaggart men. When I returned a few minutes later, the book in question held in one hand and sheathed in newspaper, the brothers were discussing shinty.
Lachlan accepted the package.
"Best get home," he said. "We'll see you two on Saturday. Your big day, as Erica calls it."
The wedding. Already? Time flew when your husband ravished you every day.
Rory didn't move until we heard the side door shut. Relaxing, he put a hand on the island and leaned into it. "What book are you lending Erica?"
"My copy of the Kama Sutra."
"What if I wanted to read it?"
"Happy to demonstrate my favorite parts for you." I bounced on the balls of my feet and rubbed my hands together. "What should we do now?"
Rory pushed away from the counter, scooped me up, and deposited me on the island beside my collection of sundae fixings. Grabbing the can of whipped cream, he touched its tip to my breast. "I have ideas. And we have time before we leave for Inverness to meet your family."
I smiled, locking my legs around him. "Show me, Rory baby. You always have the best ideas."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The arrival of my family must've seemed to Rory like the invasion of Normandy. Four adults and a pair of twin toddlers poured out of Rory's jet, shouting their happiness at various decibels and various pitches. The twins squealed and flung out their little arms toward us. My sister, Hadley, confined one of the girls in her arms while her husband, Cole, had corralled the other in his. My parents waved and beamed at us.
What really baffled Rory was my sister.
Hadley threw her arms wide, shrieked, and bounded toward me. "Emmy!"
I shrieked too, my arms spread. "Haddie!"
We bolted for each other, colliding in a boisterous clinch. Compared to us, the twins had seemed tame.
Introductions followed, with Cole and my dad shaking Rory's hand. To Rory's bafflement, my mom hugged him and smacked a big kiss on his cheek. Madison and Mackenzie, Hadley's daughters, giggled shyly when Rory knelt to greet them.
Everyone acted like Rory and I were the perfect couple. My dad even spoke those words.
Right before he slapped Rory's back and announced, "I ordered a full background check on you, but it came back clean. Welcome to the family."
My husband's befuddlement only increased, and he looked to me for an explanation. I could only shrug and shake my head.
While the other adults shepherded the kiddies toward the limo Rory had rented for the occasion, my little sister sidled up to me and whispered, "Are you knocked up?"
"No," I said, making a somewhat rude face. "Why would you ask that?"
"Well, you did get married awful fast. Thought it might've been a shotgun wedding."
I rolled my eyes, startled to realize I'd done a Rory thing. "No guns involved. I love Rory."
True. I prayed she didn't ask about his feelings.
"Ohhh, that explains it." She bumped her shoulder into mine. "You're glowing because you're in love."
Her comment about me glowing got filed in my mental folder labeled Wacky Things Sisters Say, along with her subsequent claim I looked "happier than ever before with any other guy, no contest."
We got my family settled in at Dùndubhan, squirreled away in the guest-wing bedrooms, far from where Rory and I slept on the third floor. My brilliant husband had made sure we'd maintain our privacy, for those wild nights of love-making in our room. We did have to forgo sex in the kitchen, office, or anyplace where someone might stumble onto us in the throes. Rory was disappointed, but I assured him we could get naked in every corner of the house once the wedding was done.
The next day, we drove into Loch Fairbairn for a dress-hunting expedition. Rory went to his office while I wrangled eight women — my mom, his mom, my sister, his three sisters, and Calli and Erica. The kiddos had stayed home with their respective daddies. I bought a dress that cost more than my last car, recalling Rory's instructions from earlier that morning when he told me to "spend the bloody money, it's yours too."
Sorcha MacTaggart had offered to drive my family back to Dùndubhan so I could take my husband to lunch. After I bid all eight women goodbye, I traipsed down the sidewalk toward Rory's office. A block away, I passed the office of the Loch Fairbairn World News.
Graham Oliver shambled out the door and stopped, smiling at me with recognition and smug satisfaction. "Mrs. MacTaggart, are ye coming to see me?"
No way was I conversing with this guy. "Have a nice day, Mr. Oliver."
I took two steps down the sidewalk.
"Shame about those pictures," he said.
Paralyzed mid-step, I slowly turned my head in his direction. "What are you talking about?"
Graham tapped a rolled-up newspaper on his palm. "I hear Rory is very fond of you. Too bad it won't last. Your past will be too much for him once he sees it splashed across the newspapers for everyone to gawp at."
My past? Pictures, he said. He couldn't know about Sebastian and the nude photos. I'd told no one outside of Rory.
He'd hired an investigator to locate Sebastian. Might the investigator have tipped off Graham? To imagine a detective in America might collude with the owner of a tabloid in a small Scottish village, it seemed like the height of paranoia. What else could Graham mean by his comments?
I squared my shoulders. "I doubt you know a tenth of what you think you know, about me or my marriage."
The scandal-monger smiled again, with the certainty of a man secure in his superior position. "People talk to me, Emery. At heart, everyone is a gossip."
"My name is Mrs. MacTaggart, you slimy little maggot."
"Knowing how much I've seen of you, I feel entitled to use your Christian name. Ruining your husband's happiness will be my greatest accomplishment."
He strolled away, tapping the newspaper on his leg.
I sprinted to Rory's office and told him about my encounter with Graham. He told me to "ignore the goddamn scunner" and hustled me to our car.
For the rest of the week, we didn't discuss Graham or Sebastian. Our families and wedding preparations occupied our time during the day, and at night our voracious hunger for each other distracted us from everything else in the world.
The week zipped by.
Until the big day arrived.
*****
I waited in the vestibule, before the open door to the outside, while my mom and my sister fussed with my hair and the folds of my dress's skirt. My stomach had wrenched into tight knots, each of them a hard lump in my gut. At the same time, though, anticipation zinged over my skin, lifted the hairs on my arms, and tingled on my scalp. What would Rory think of my dress? What would he be wearing?
When he spoke his vows, would he mean them?
My hand over my belly, I shut my eyes and fought to rein in my tumultuous emotions. I loved him so much, and I wanted him to love me, but I had no idea if he'd permit it. He'd sworn he
would never let himself fall for me. If he thought he had fallen, how would he react?
Love. Fear. Hope. Dread. No wonder I was tied up in knots about tying the knot — again.
Hadley snapped her fingers in front of my face. "You okay, Emmy?"
"Yes," I said, straightening and rolling my shoulders back. "This is my first real wedding, that's all. Mumbling 'I will' in front of a magistrate isn't the same thing."
"No," my mother said, "it isn't. And it's normal to be nervous when you're about to stand up in front of two families to declare your love and commitment to a man you've known for a few weeks."
Two families. Eek. One of those families, the MacTaggarts, numbered in the dozens. Rory's parents and siblings had been joined by a multitude of cousins, as well as aunts and uncles. I could count my family on one hand — well, one hand plus one more finger. Couldn't forget my nieces.
Hadley squished her lips together. "Do you love him, Emery? I mean, really love him. Because if you're regretting this, you can leave him. We'll help."
"What makes you think I have regrets?"
She cast a meaningful look at my midsection. "You keep holding your tummy. So, either you're pregnant or you're nauseous from anxiety. You swear up and down you're not knocked up."
"I'm not." I dropped my hand to my side, but my fingers seemed to have minds of their own. They kept twisting into the folds of my dress. "I'm nervous, like Mom said. That's all."
My sister raised her eyebrows.
I understood the question in her eyes.
"Yes," I said, "I love Rory. I love him so much it scares me a little bit, because I never loved any other man this way."
Tears stung my eyes, and my throat went thick. People were supposed to cry during the wedding, not while waiting to traipse down the aisle.
I'd just marshaled the will to tamp down my emotions when my sister flung herself at me. She gripped me in a fierce hug, blubbering about how wonderful this was, how beautiful I looked, how happy she was for me, and on and on and on. She proclaimed I looked like a fairy princess, and I had to admit I felt like one. My designer dress featured miles of lace, from the figure-hugging bodice to the flowing skirts. The slender sleeves hung off my shoulders, leaving them bare, while the neckline showcased my bosom without veering into the unseemly. To top things off, my sister had pinned tiny silk roses into my hair, which flowed in loose waves over my shoulders, and clipped a dainty veil on with a barrette, letting it cascade down my backside.
