Isobel stopped pacing long enough to look at her beaming daughter. At some point in the past five minutes, Sophie had decided she needed makeup and had added some to her face with her marker pens. A red scrawl covered her lips and cheeks, and there were two wonky blue circles around her eyes.
“See?” Isobel pointed at her. “Look at her face. Nothing’s going right. It’s a sign. The universe knows I shouldn’t get married again!”
“Get a grip.” Agnes removed the pens from the giggling three-year-old before she could draw on her face too. “This isn’t a sign. It’s hysterics.” She handed Sophie to Mairi. “Can you clean her up?”
“Come here, gorgeous,” Mairi said. “We’ll take this off, and I’ll let you play with some real makeup.”
“No!” Agnes said.
Mairi rolled her eyes. “I was only going to give her the brushes. Seriously, give me some credit here. I’m not the one having a meltdown an hour before I’m due to get married.”
Donna picked up the discarded wedding dress. “I could maybe clean this with some nail polish remover.” She didn’t sound hopeful.
Isobel didn’t care. She needed to pace. And to rant. Nothing else mattered, and she seriously wished her sisters would bog off and let her get on with it.
The door crashed open, making three of the women squeal.
“Clam!” Sophie held out her arms to Callum.
“Later, my girl.” He gave her a gentle smile. “I need to deal with your mum, and by the looks of things, you need to have your face washed.”
Sophie giggled and ducked her head into Mairi’s neck. It was then Isobel noticed Mairi wasn’t surprised to see Callum standing in the doorway.
“Traitor!” Isobel pointed at her youngest sister. “You sent him a text.”
Mairi shrugged. “Yep. I told him to get his arse up here and to bring some heavy sedation along with him.” She looked up at Callum. “Please tell me you have the power to drug her.”
Callum’s eyes bored through Isobel, freezing her in place. The desire to pace fleeing under his gaze. All she could do was stare back at him. He looked devastatingly handsome in his black tux, which somehow made him seem even more manly and dangerous than usual.
“James Bond,” Donna muttered, obviously seeing the same thing Isobel did.
“She doesn’t need something to calm her down,” Callum said. “She just needs to remember what she’s doing and why she’s doing it.”
He strode across the room until he stood in front of her. His strong hand reached down to clasp her nape. “Hey darlin’,” was all he said. But that deep rumbling brogue of his seeped right through her bones, providing a warm balm for her agitated soul as it did so.
Isobel couldn’t speak. All she could do was stare up at the man she loved to distraction, willing him to understand something she didn’t fully understand herself—the reason why she was freaking out.
His eyes scanned her face. “You love me,” he said softly.
And her heart melted at the conviction in his words. A tear slipped down her cheek and his hand moved from her nape to cup her face, his thumb brushing away the tear.
“You want to be married to me.” Again, it wasn’t a question. He could see right into her soul and knew the truth.
She fell into his eyes. Losing herself in his strength and in the certainty that he loved her completely. That he would do anything for her. Including save her from herself.
“This isn’t about the marriage,” he said softly. “It’s about the wedding.”
His eyes left hers and scanned the room, taking in the discarded dress in Donna’s hold, before returning to her. “I’ll fix this. Trust me.”
Isobel let out a sob and threw herself into his arms, feeling them wrap around her without a second’s hesitation. She shivered in his hold, overwhelmed and needing his strength. His strong hands were gentle but firm on her back as he reassured her with his touch.
“Mairi,” he said. “Call the vicar and get him over here. I don’t care who else turns up. Donna, forget the dress. Pull out that blue one she wore on our date last month. Agnes, sort out the living room. We’ll be down as soon as the vicar gets here.”
And just like that, the room cleared of everyone except Donna, who began rooting around in the massive closet.
Isobel clung to Callum, breathing him in, drowning her fears in his unique scent that always reminded her of autumn in the highlands. Of perfect evening walks under the changing trees, listening to the water lap at the shores of the loch. He was her happy place. The only thing that made sense in her spiraling, chaotic mind.
“Nice underwear,” he said with amusement in his voice. His hand stroked the curve of her behind, over the ivory lace that clung to it.
Isobel sniffed. “The corset’s too tight.” And stupid. She looked like a virgin on her wedding night. A girl trying too hard to seduce the man she’d married.
“Let’s get it off you then.” His voice deepened, and she shivered for an entirely different reason than panic.
The floor creaked as Donna approached. Isobel hid her face against Callum’s chest, feeling the silk of his shirt against her burning cheek. She’d made a fool of herself. Again.
“Here’s the dress and matching shoes. If you need help with anything else, sing out. I have my phone back.”
“Thanks. Put them on the bed.” Callum tightened his hold on Isobel, as though he knew embarrassment had set in.
The door closed behind Donna, and Isobel looked up at him. “I can’t wear a sparkling blue dress to get married.”
“Why not?” His eyes were dark and intense, telling her she was the only thing in his world at that moment.
Isobel blinked at him, her mind blank. “It’s not the done thing,” was all she could think of to say.
His chuckle was deep and sexy as hell. “Neither’s getting married in the living room, but we’re doing that in about twenty minutes. How about we get that dress on you before we go downstairs? Or, if you prefer, I can bring the vicar up here, and we can get married with you in your underwear.”
Isobel gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Darlin’ I’d do just about anything to make you my wife.”
And just like that, with those words and the absolute honesty in his eyes, Isobel’s fear and anxiety fled.
“Help me get dressed,” she whispered.
“It will be my pleasure.”
Callum McKay walked his bride down the stairs of the old carriage house he’d converted behind his business in London’s Chelsea district. The furniture had been pushed back to make room for their wedding guests, and they stood, beaming up at them.
Sophie ran around, a basket filled with rose petals in her hand, throwing them randomly at everyone and everything. Dressed in a tux, Jack stood at the bottom of the stairs, solemnly watching his mother descend.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have the rings.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Callum told the teenager he was proud to call son. “I knew you’d make the perfect best man.”
The boy ducked his head as his cheeks flushed, and Callum smiled, remembering well the age when he too had been teetering between boy and man, and everything had made him blush. Now, only one thing had the power to disarm him completely—his Isobel.
He looked down at the woman he loved, who had her hand tucked into his arm. She was perfection in the form-fitting, knee-length dress of midnight blue and shimmering sequins. It might not be a traditional wedding dress, but he couldn’t imagine one more perfect for their day. The color made her green eyes sparkle and her creamy skin glow. And the dress brought back memories of the only other time she’d worn it and all the wonderfully wicked things he’d done to her.
As if reading his mind, she looked up at him, her eyes dark and knowing, her cheeks flushed.
“That really is a great dress,” he said with heavy meaning.
“Stop it,” she whispered. “My knees are weak enough.”
�
�Don’t worry; I’ll hold you up.”
“I know.” The amount of love, the depth of it, in her eyes, made him want to carry her back upstairs and tell everyone to get the hell out of their house.
But he didn’t.
He needed to tie this woman to him with everything he had, in case she realized she was far too good for him and ran away.
“Can we get on with it?” The vicar had been brought down from Invertary for the wedding at Betty insistence. Callum didn’t even want to think about why Betty needed the old codger around for the after party. That sort of thinking made a man’s balls shrivel and die.
Callum led Isobel over to stand in front of the ancient vicar.
“About bloody time,” the man grumbled.
Callum looked down at Isobel. “You ready?”
“Yes.” Her eyes sparkled. “I am completely ready to start the rest of my life with you.”
A surge of pure possession tinged with relief rushed through him as he turned back to the vicar. “Keep it short and get on with it.”
And, thankfully, the vicar did just that.
Kirsty and Lake Benson
This story takes place just before Ransom.
Lake watched his wife from the shop window of his security store. His eyes ate her up as she walked across the cobbled street, the midday sun glinting in her long red hair. Today she wore a green pencil skirt that hugged her curves, a soft pink blouse that begged a man to touch, and a pair of pale pink stiletto heels. Damn, but he was almost drooling just from looking at her.
“I thought things cooled down once you’d been married for a few years,” Ryan Granger, who was up from the London office for a meeting, commented from the door to the back of the shop. “You’re looking at her like you’re a starving man and she’s a juicy steak.”
“If things cool down in your marriage, you’re doing something wrong. You might discover that for yourself one day.” He cast a glance at the younger man. “Meeting’s just been pushed back an hour.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” Ryan shook his head, as though Lake’s behavior was a mystery to him. “Guess I’ll go for a walk then.”
“Text my receptionist and tell her to extend her lunch break, will you?”
“Sure.” He dug his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll let her know just how busy the boss is.” With a wicked grin, he let himself out of the shop, saying hello to Kirsty as he passed.
“Where’s he off to?” Kirsty said when she entered the store. “I thought you two had a meeting in a few minutes.”
“We did, but I saw you coming this way and rescheduled.” Lake reached behind his wife, turned the lock, and flipped the Open sign to Closed. “Now, I have a meeting with you.”
“If you shut the shop, you’ll lose customers,” she joked.
They both knew the shop made a minuscule amount of money compared to Lake’s security company. Two things stopped him from closing the shop for good—it kept him in touch with the community, and his wife’s business was just across the street. Which meant his wife was just across the street. Something he very much enjoyed.
“I think I can afford to lose one or two sales,” he said as he stepped closer to her.
“You do, do you?” She playfully backed away. “Do I need to remind you that we’ve got an expensive trip to the Amazon coming up?”
“No, but you might need to remind me why Joe and Julia decided it was a good place to celebrate their marriage.”
He’d been to the Amazon. It was hot, humid, and full of stuff that could eat you. It wasn’t his idea of the perfect honeymoon destination. But what did he know? He was just an ex-army boy trying to make a living doing what he loved—keeping people safe.
Taking his wife’s hand, he gently tugged her toward the back of the building and the stairs that led up to his office.
“I don’t have time for a meeting. I left Betty minding the shop because there was no one else to do it. If I don’t get back there soon, she could burn the place to the ground. Or worse, redesign my summer collection.”
“That’s worse?”
“You’ve seen Betty’s idea of fashion.”
Lake chuckled as they reached the door to what had once been Kirsty’s apartment. His business had quickly outgrown the space, and the rest of his Scottish team were now stationed in a building on the street behind the shop. But he’d never give up his office over the store. Not as long as Kirsty worked across from him.
“I only came over to tell you I’m booking our tickets to Peru and was wondering if you’d mind going via Miami. There’s a lingerie fair that fits perfectly with our time frame. We could go to it on our way to the wedding.”
“Sure,” Lake said as he pushed his office door closed with his toe.
“It means three days of hanging around other lingerie designers and salespeople.” She nibbled her bottom lip anxiously. “It won’t be much fun for you.”
Lake flicked the lock, securing them inside, away from prying eyes. “Will you be there?”
“Are you being deliberately dim? I’m the lingerie designer; it would be pretty pointless if you were there without me.”
“If you’re there, it will definitely be fun for me.”
“Lake”—her eyes turned liquid—“you shouldn’t say things like that unless you want me to get all mushy.”
“I like you mushy.” He liked her any way he could get her and suspected he would still feel the same way years from now. “You know what I was thinking this morning?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“I was thinking about the first time I showed you my scars.” He closed the distance between them, watching her pulse beat faster at the base of her throat. “This was your living room then.” He shuffled them sideways a few inches. “And we were standing about here when I stripped off to reassure you that you weren’t the only one with scars. It’s been a long time since then. We should do it again, just in case anything’s changed.”
Her emerald eyes sparkled up at him. “Didn’t we compare scars before we came in to work this morning?”
“No, we were definitely comparing other things this morning.” He grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head before throwing it onto the desk beside him, enjoying the way his wife’s eyes flared at the sight of his chest.
“Still so muscled.” Her palms ran up the center of his chest, teasing the hair that grew there. “I remember wondering how often you had to work out to stay this way. I’ve always loved your chest hair. Only there’s some gray in among the blond now.” She looked up at him through thick lashes. “It’s sexy.”
“Glad you think so, because there’s going to be a whole lot more gray over the next few years.” Although, he still worked out every day to ensure his body was in prime condition to age well—and to keep that look in his wife’s eyes.
“Mmm?” She wasn’t listening. Both hands were massaging his pecs, and for a second, he thought she planned to lean forward and take a bite.
“Your scars are nothing more than silver lines now,” he said as he traced the barely visible crisscrossed marks on her throat. His jaw clenched at the thought of her trapped in that car all those years ago, waiting to be rescued while her blood poured out.
A kiss to his jaw eased his tension. “That was a long time ago,” she soothed him. “Now I have my very own warrior to watch over me.”
“I’ll always watch over you. That’s my job. To keep you safe, so you don’t have to worry about anything and can just enjoy life.” He kissed her with slow, languorous touches until they were both breathing hard. “It’s also my privilege.”
“You were born in the wrong time.” She ran her fingers through his short hair. “You should have been a knight.”
“I think the role of King Arthur would have suited me better. I like being in charge.” With a sweeping gesture, he slid her blouse from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
“Sneaky,” she said with breathless admiration. “I didn’t even feel
you unbutton it.”
“I’m a man of many skills.” And then his words were stolen from him at the sight of her lingerie.
“You like?” Her voice broke through his daze.
“You weren’t wearing this when you left the house this morning.” The words came out as a hoarse croak.
She pushed her satin-covered breasts out toward him. “It’s that new fifties-inspired line I’ve been working on. What do you think?”
“I’d need to see all of it to make an informed decision.”
Her smile was pure seduction. “I can help with that.”
Slowly, steadily, her eyes still on him, she unzipped her skirt, and let it slide down her body to pool on the floor. She stepped out of it, standing before him in matching lingerie, the exact same color as her shoes.
That’s when he knew her visit to his shop had been more than an update on their travel plans—his wife wanted him. And didn’t that just make him feel like he was already King Arthur? Adjusting himself in his jeans, he perched against the edge of his desk and made a circular motion for her to turn.
With a knowing smile, she made a slow pirouette, swaying her hips with each tiny step. The panties were high cut at her thighs but came up almost to her belly button; the bra band under the cups was several inches thick and sat just above her belly button. The bra didn’t clasp at the back; instead, it fastened with several tiny pearl buttons. The band of the bra and its straps were made of a pale pink satin tartan. The cups were plain pink satin, and the panties were a mixture of both materials, with tartan panels over her hips. It covered more of her than most one-piece swimsuits. And was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Hell,” he groaned.
“It’s a longline bra and full coverage panty with a high leg,” Kirsty said as she turned.
She might as well have been speaking Swedish because Lake didn’t understand a word.
And he was through talking.
It seemed his wife wasn’t though; she was still explaining her design, and experience told him that her enthusiasm could go on for quite a while. Something he planned to cut short for the moment. As soon as she’d fully turned to face him, his hands were on her waist, his mouth covering hers. Kirsty melted against him, her arms snaking lazily around his shoulders. He’d never get used to the sensation of her soft curves under his hands. Every day, she became more beautiful.
A Little Something Extra Page 11
