A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2)

by Angeline Fortin

  If he wanted to.

  That choice would mean giving up his plans, however. Relinquish his one last chance for revenge. He wasn’t sure he could do that, no matter how much he wanted to.

  He took another sip from his glass with no greater effect this time than the last. He should take the example Ian set to heart. Ian drank copious amounts to try to forget his wife. He got drunk with the effort but with no success. No amount of alcohol could burn a woman from a man’s mind.

  Finn set the glass aside. “How can I? I ken nothing about her. She shies away from most personal questions. I ken she’s lying to me or at least hiding something.”

  “Are ye certain? I would argue that ye huvnae shown the best perspicacity when it comes to discerning the truth.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ian shrugged away the question and returned to the previous topic. “Ye told me Aila said she wanted a fresh start. A new beginning.” Ian retrieved his hand and played a card on the table. “There’s a past she runs from, perhaps? Does it matter? Ye knew Marta for years. Did that make ye any happier? Yer card, by the by.”

  Finn flicked the corner of his outer card with his finger. Did it matter what he knew and what he didn’t? He might not know specifics, but even so he’d learned a lot about her these past days in close quarters. The person she was beyond the fine details.

  “Are ye going to play or are ye going to keep looking at the clock?” Ian needled him further. “Ye’re counting down the minutes before ye feign fatigue and likely make some comment about how ye long for yer own bed after so many nights confined to the nursery. All so ye can creep down the hallway past yer own door and through hers instead.”

  Finn slammed his cards down on the table. “I’ll no’ have ye —”

  “Dinnae get yer back up.” Ian held up a hand to forestall his threats. “There has rarely been a lass to garner my respect more than Aila. Her sass notwithstanding, she’s proven herself a kind and caring lass. She’s bonny, intelligent, and makes bloody good conversation. She makes ye laugh. Hell, she makes me laugh. If she dinnae look at ye like ye were a bloody god, I’d have her for myself.”

  Hot seething jealousy sprang up in him.

  “Ha, and ye think ye dinnae care?” Ian laughed. “I’m surprised ye dinnae see it yerself. She cares about ye already, too.”

  The words could have been a lightning bolt to the chest given the impact they had. A painful clench followed by radiating warmth. He thought he’d seen as much for himself, then feared it might be wishful thinking on his part.

  It might well be. Aila, in the whole of their conversations over the past days, never mentioned the future. Never hinted at a connection between them. If she was angling to become his bride, she hid it well.

  Was that what he hoped for? Wanted? Waited for?

  How could he think to the days and years ahead, when it was those behind him that dictated his life?

  Ian, as always, proved himself perceptive to Finn’s thoughts. “Ye think of Marta? Does she even signify any longer?”

  “Ye ken she does.”

  “Ye’ve built her up to be a saint in yer memories, my friend. I can assure ye, she wisnae. She’s no’ worth the sacrifice of yer future.”

  “Wheesht.”

  “I agree wi’ Aila. I dinnae much care for being shushed. Especially when ye ken I’m right and ye merely want to deny it.” Ian set his cards down on the table.

  “I cannae set the past behind me yet,” Finn argued. “Ye ken why.”

  “Finn, I consider ye like a brother. We were raised together, played together, drank together…fought together. And we’ve hated together. I took my revenge and behold.” He sat back and spread his arms wide. “What has it done for me?”

  Finn didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Though they never spoke of it, he knew Ian hadn’t found the peace he’d been seeking when he’d killed the man who fired upon his castle and killed his loved ones in the process. He hadn’t found satisfaction in the act or joy in his life since. It had brought him nothing but misery to heap upon a plate of the same.

  Ian nodded, cradling his drink once again. “Aye, ye see it dinnae ease my grief. It dinnae appease my anger. Now, for me, that hate will never die. It will be my bedmate until the day Beelzebub greets me at the gates of hell. I’d wish a better ending for ye. A bonnier one. Give up the past, my friend. Live for the future. Ye have a chance.” He drained the remainder of his whisky and leaned forward to smack it down on the table between them. “And if ye dinnae take it, I swear, I will bloody well hate ye forever, too.”

  * * *

  “Ye’re such a good dog.” Aila tweaked Rab’s ear and took the sponge he’d fetched for her. “Ye’re a canny lad to be sure. I’ve never kent a dog so smart.”

  The dog rolled on to his back and presented his belly for a good rub.

  “Or one who could be such a sweet dork,” she added. He bent his neck at such an unnatural angle to look at her he might well have been made of rubber. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. “There, ye prove my point. Let me finish my bath first, ye greedy bastard.”

  He leapt to his feet and padded to the stool next to the blazing fire where her towel awaited. Aila laughed. “Nay, no’ quite yet. This is the first full bath I’ve had in over a week. I mean to enjoy every second of it until the water is too cold to bear.”

  Full bath was a bit of an exaggeration. The metal slipper tub had a nice high, curved edge on one end for her to recline against, but it wasn’t large enough for her to stretch out. Nor had it been filled as much as she’d like. As a result, her knees rose high above the lukewarm water if she slid down far enough to cover her breasts. Nevertheless, after days of making do with a basin of water, a bath was a bath.

  The days themselves, beyond the worry and frequent frustrations, had been lovely. Niall’s illness had been nominal in comparison to Effie’s. With rain enough to stall work on the new castle, Finn, and Ian as well, had spent the last couple of days in the nursery. They’d talked about everything under the sun. Travel, books, theater. Their company was far more pleasant than those first nights in solitude.

  Better than most nights she could remember for the longest time. No mindless hours lost to social media or the telly. No nightclubs or rowdy parties. Their conversation was more engaging. Far more intellectually invigorating. The isolation from constant stimulus made her more introspective and appreciative of her surroundings.

  Her time here had also taken on a somewhat worrisome aspect as the spectrum of her affection for Finn expanded beyond simple physical attraction. An intimacy blossomed between them that had nothing to do with sex.

  The previous night, she’d been sitting on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against a hassock while she read aloud to him. He’d come to sit next to her, invited the simple pleasure of a solid shoulder to lean against. That sense of connection was more profound than the deepest kiss.

  It spawned the awareness of just how long she’d been deprived of bodily contact. Why, in the months prior to her break-up with Kyle, they hadn’t even hugged. Years of therapy weren’t as cathartic as a warm embrace.

  Soon, it would all be over.

  The children were recovering. The supposed mystery of the Boyce treasure solved. As soon as she was able to return the necklace, there would be no more reason to stay. Unfortunately — it was unfortunate, right? — her walks to the mill these past several days hadn’t accomplished the deed. The mill had been locked up tight, no light or Boyce visible through the windows. Aila learned today that he had a cottage on the western edge of the village and she meant to check in on him the next day.

  For now, she was content to shed the chill and mud carried in from her walk and cuddle with her dog for a while before bed. She’d never had a dog before. Never known what she was missing. Gah, it would be difficult to return Rab to Donell.

  There was so much that would be difficult to give up once she went home. A pang of sor
row clenched her chest and she rubbed it away with the soapy sponge. There would be time to think about that later.

  Plenty of other things were more pleasant to consider.

  “I’m talking about the bath. Nothing more,” she admonished Rab aloud. As if that made any sense.

  Aila scrubbed the sponge down her arms, up her neck and back down. One leg then the other. She would have given anything for a razor to stave off the hairy beast she’d become. Her level of feminism had never extended to going au natural in that regard. She could try to wield Finn’s straight razor….

  Aila chuckled at the thought. Aye, if she didn’t mind the risk of slicing off a good bloodletting in her attempt. At least she’d moved beyond prickly stubble.

  She rather liked the scruff along Finn’s jaw. Five days without shaving had only served to make him even sexier. Or was it five nights without him that had done that? Five nights of longing for his touch, for the magic of his tongue. The rough slide of his chest against hers. Her thighs wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her….

  With a ragged sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the tub. These were the most pleasant thoughts of them all. Often beyond pleasurable. Some were hot, carnal fantasies waiting to be played out in real life. As always, the merest thought was almost as arousing as the real thing. Running her hands up her thighs to her knees, she skimmed them back down toward the pulsing juncture between them. Imagined them as Finn’s hands, caressing. Teasing. Seeking….

  Her sigh turned to a groan, her hands slipped up until she clasped first her elbows then shoulders in regret. She could fantasize as much as she liked, probably chug herself until dawn, and not provide herself an ounce of the satisfaction Finn could in a single touch. Nothing could match how he made her feel.

  And she was incredibly afraid nothing ever would again.

  What a daunting thought.

  Without opening her eyes, Aila stretched an arm out toward Rab. “I’ll take that towel now.”

  The cloth touched her hand. “Are ye certain yer finished?”

  Her eyes popped open to see Finn standing next to the tub with a towel in his hands. His face taut, lips compressed. It wasn’t anger that darkened his hazel eyes until they were practically black. His chest lifted with a labored breath.

  “I thought ye were about to…”

  His scorching gaze dipped southward far enough for her to understand his meaning. To her surprise, a blush warmed her neck and crept up to her cheeks. In her defense, she’d never had a man watch her pleasure herself before. “I considered it.”

  The flush became a flame. She’d never confessed as much before either. God knew Kyle hadn’t a clue how she entertained herself during the long weeks of his frequent absences. Or that those moments were more satisfying than he was.

  Finn’s Adam’s apple bobbed with the effort to swallow. “Why did ye stop?”

  “Because I ken I cannae deliver what ye can.”

  Gah, this wasn’t the moment for her rusty filters to fail due to nonuse! If she didn’t bite her tongue now, who knew what else might escape her lips. It was the truth, nevertheless. There was nothing to compare with Finn.

  His head cocked to one side before a wicked grin jerked at the corner of his lips. “I confess there’s a part of me that would love to see ye try. I’ve never watched a woman —” He swallowed again and when he continued, his brogue was thick with desire. He fell to his knees next to the tub and caught her outstretched hand. “’Tis perhaps the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen in all my days.”

  Her breath hitched as he blessed each of her fingers with a kiss. He tickled her palm with his tongue until she gasped. His eyes danced with the reflection of the fire. “Och, I was right in what I said. Ye maun be a witch, lass, for ye’ve bewitched me body and soul.”

  “Have I?” she whispered, a bit husky herself. Aila drew his hand beneath the soap-clouded water. Guiding it to her breast, she covered his with her own and coaxed it downward. “Do I compel ye to move against yer will?”

  Finn accepted her teasing with a waggle of his brows. “Aye. Truth, I had nae thoughts of touching ye when I came here. I planned nothing more than a talk.”

  He let her guide his hand between her legs. “I think ye’re speaking pretty clearly.”

  Those talented fingers found her most sensitive spot with unerring accuracy and circled. Aila sucked in a breath at the electric jolt and spread her legs as wide as the tub would allow. The most roguish grin she’d ever seen spread across his lips and she splashed him.

  His throaty laugh was as arousing as his touch. “I merely go where ye will, lass.”

  His fingers spread under hers until hers slipped between his. Their digits tangled before he caught her hand beneath his and turned the tables. He steered her fingers to the spot where his had just been, guided them in a slow rotation that brought a wobble to her breath and a quiver to her thighs.

  “Aye, like that.”

  There was a bit of a quaver to his voice, too. A shakiness to his slow exhale. Aila closed her eyes, listening to his uneven breaths. He put more pressure on her fingers and she complied with a gasp of sinful pleasure.

  “Losh, but ye’re beguiling,” he rasped and urged her on, circling her clit in time to his breaths. To the ragged beat of her heart. Tension coiled, spiraled. Pierced with the daggers of want. Of lust.

  That’s what this is, she reminded herself. Phenomenal, cosmic lust. Lust so overwhelming it was almost painful to experience.

  A whimper escaped her as he urged her on. “Aye, mo chridhe. Let it go.”

  She did. And it went spectacularly with bells and whistles…and fireworks…on and on.

  “Fook.” Finn kissed her hard, tasting of whisky and so intoxicating her head swam dizzily. He scooped her out of the tub. His chest heaved against her. His heart thundered so hard it moved her. With desire.

  Lust, she reminded herself.

  “’Tis been a long, fooking week wi’out ye in my bed, lass,” he grumbled and strode to the bed. “I want ye so much I could have spilt at the sight of ye just then. If I had kent what ye’d look like when ye….” His arms trembled and Aila didn’t think her weight was to blame. “Git, git, dog.”

  Displaced by the tub and displaced again, Rab leapt down and settled himself in front of the fire. Finn dropped her on the bed and yanked his shirt over his head with another curse.

  It had been a long-ass five days.

  What would a lifetime feel like?

  She shoved the thought aside and opened her arms to him. His eyes blazed hotter than the flames when he looked down at her. Aila shivered at the hunger there, her body already throbbing in anticipation for what was to come. His erection strained against his breeches with the same pulsing eagerness. He reached for the buttons and paused.

  “What is this?”

  “I thought we’ve been over this.”

  Finn shook his head. “No’ that. This.” He pointed to the tattoo on her hip. “And that?”

  They could this and that a near dozen times over what had been hidden up to this point by modest clothing and dark rooms. Aila was in no mood to talk about body art at the moment. She reached out and stroked the hard bulge through his breeks. “Is that really what ye’d like to talk about right now?”

  Another curse. He’d officially sworn more in the past sixty seconds than he had since she’d met him. All because of his desperation to have her. A corresponding shudder wracked her body. He kicked off his pants and slid his big body up the length of her. His hands flowed over her every curve until they slid beneath her shoulders and his fingers fisted in her hair. His mouth brushed along her neck, up over her chin, and settled over hers in a deep, drowning kiss.

  With a low, elongated moan, he fell into it. His tongue traced her lips, then swept in with none of the frantic haste he displayed moments before. He explored at his leisure, drew out her desire like a relentless lava flow until it surged through her limbs. Until it enveloped her heart
with the same fiery yearning. His body shifted over hers. The brush of his chest against her breasts, his hips against hers, stoked the flames already licking at her.

  “What are ye waiting for?” she asked against his lips. “I thought ye were in a hurry.”

  Finn lifted his head. “I was. Until I kissed ye.” He did so again as if to demonstrate. “Then I realized, there can be nae rushing the beauty of this. I mean to savor it, lass. This time. The next. And each time to come, as if it’s the last chance I’ll get. I fear I’ll never have enough of ye.”

  His lips took hers again until she was breathless.

  Aila had thought there would come a time when she’d get enough of him. When she’d had her fill and could walk away, sated and content. The niggling concern she’d ignored with each passing day was evolving into a very real fear: fear that there was no such thing as enough when it came to Finn Keeley.

  Closing her eyes, she forced the thought away and focused on the moment. Focused on the thrill of his rough, whiskered jaw as his mouth trailed down her neck. On his calloused hands as they swept around her ribcage to cup her breasts. His lips and tongue worshiped them until thought was an impossibility. There was nothing left but exultant sensation. Feeling.

  “Finn!” The cry was torn from her lips.

  His fingers found her, bringing with them a fire that reduced what they roused together in the tub to the flicker of a single matchstick. Heat rose from every inch of her until her room became a sauna. It settled at her core, heavy and aching.

  “Aye, mo chridhe… mo ghaol,” he whispered against her ear. “Gèilleadh dhomh.”

  He’d said that before. Aila still had no idea what the words meant. She knew what he wanted, however, and it would not do. She wanted him with her. With a nudge, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. Bracing one hand on his hard chest, she curled her free hand around his throbbing erection and guided him home. He was hot as a brand…huge.

  “Bugger me,” Finn swore under his breath once she was seated to the hilt. His fingers bit into her hips to hold her close.

  She couldn’t help but silently agree. Gah, she’d never get over the thrill of having him inside of her. Throwing back her head, she arched her back and felt him slip even deeper than before. The fireworks were back. Wee sparks zinging through her body. A preview to the show ahead. With a shaky breath, she lifted herself then eased down once more. His heartfelt moan was her reward, one her body echoed. Up again.