A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2)

by Hilaria Alexander

  But I didn’t.

  “You couldn’t sleep?”

  “I just missed you, I suppose. I’m not used to being alone in the cottage,” she replied, looking away.

  I tipped her chin up and forced her to look at me. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sure she wasn’t playing.

  “You missed me?” I asked her, and for some reason I couldn’t stop smiling like a fool.

  “Please don’t make me say it again,” she replied, embarrassed. “I hate when my inner Ms. Independent goes all soft. I don’t mean to get mushy on you. It’s good to have some time apart. Next time I will probably have no problem falling asleep.”

  “Mo chridhe, it’s nothing you should be embarrassed of. It’s nice to know I was missed. I missed you too.”

  I kissed her, slow and soft, but the whistles of the people around us reminded me once again we weren’t alone. I broke the kiss unwillingly and gave her a long look, and then I turned around and gave everyone a piece of my mind.

  “Shut ye geggie, ya bunch of bawbags.” They all laughed at my insults, but I wasn’t joking. I didn’t want Nora or anyone else to hear about us making out; we had enough to deal with. “Oh, leave us alone, ya fannybaws! Don’t be a wee clipe, or you’ll all have to deal with me!”

  SAM

  “You know I have a photo shoot next Friday,” Hugh reminded me. We had just concluded our eighth week of shooting.

  It had been a long day and we were finally about to head home. From time to time, we still liked to hang out in his trailer after work, because . . . I guess we were both sentimental about that place.

  It was the same trailer he’d had the year before, after all.

  Did I know he had a photo shoot? Uh, yeah.

  “Oh, that’s right. I had almost forgotten about that. Is it with the whole cast or just you?”

  “Just me.”

  “Ooh la la, Mr. MacLeod. Is it going to be one of those very fashion-forward photo shoots? Are they going to make you do crazy poses?”

  He laughed, but said nothing.

  “Which publication is it for? Esquire? GQ? Entertainment Weekly?”

  He shook his head and gave me an uneasy smile. “Not really. It’s a photo shoot for a clothing line.”

  “Which one? Any brand I know?”

  “My agent told me the name, but I can’t remember it right now. It’s not one of the very popular ones, but it’s a start, at least.”

  “I’m sure you’ll look dashing. I can’t wait to see the proofs.”

  “Well, actually, I was going to propose something—”

  “Propose?” I deadpanned. “You’ve already done that.”

  “Har har. Different kind of proposal. Since we’re off on Friday, I want you to come with me.”

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that they’re giving us the day off?” I said, trying to dodge his offer.

  “I don’t think it’s weird at all. They didn’t want me to miss out on this photo shoot, so they were willing to give everyone the day off.”

  “I’m just kind of surprised they’re being so understanding about rescheduling . . . and that we are all off. Last year we still had to work even when you guys were away on the press tour.”

  “Well, the photo shoot is good exposure, both for me and the show. Anyway, since you don’t have to work, I want you to come with me.”

  Act surprised.

  “That’s sweet, honey . . . but I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I said hesitantly. I really didn’t want to hurt his feelings, even if it was for a greater good.

  “Why not?” he asked with a tone of confusion in his voice. His eyes locked on mine. “I want you to be there for the photo shoot. You know I trust your judgment above anyone else’s.” His words made me smile and sent a warm rush through my body. I ran my fingers along his smooth jaw and placed a kiss on his lips.

  Forget fickle Abarath—Hugh MacLeod was the dream. I hoped no one would ever discover just how dreamy he was in real life, because I wanted him all to myself. I can’t wait to marry him. I smiled proudly, biting my bottom lip, until I remembered that I had to let him down easy.

  At least momentarily.

  I sighed. “That’s really sweet, but they’re going to have their own makeup artist.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want you there to do my makeup, I just want you there.”

  “I would love to be there, but for one, if I do go, they’ll think I’m trying to interfere with their vision—trust me, it has happened before. Photo shoots are crowded with big egos,” I said, making a face, recalling one of Amira’s first big shoots. “I went with Amira once and when I let slip I was a makeup artist, the one on the job almost threw a fit, as if I wanted to take his place. It was a miserable day for everyone. Later on, we found out there was an ongoing lovers’ quarrel between the makeup artist and the photographer, so it really wasn’t about me, but still, I felt horrible for my sister, because I had only gone with her to be supportive. Besides not wanting to step on anyone’s toes, there’s actually another reason why I can’t come with you—since we have the day off, Cecilia scheduled a spa day. I’m sorry,” I told him, hoping I did sound sorry.

  He frowned, disappointment clouding his eyes. “Spa day?”

  “Cece claims she regrets not having a bachelorette party.”

  “Of course. That sounds just like something she would say,” he replied.

  “I know, right? She’s a piece of work. She also said if we don’t get pedicures we’ll start looking like trolls since we are in boots twenty-four seven. I have to admit, a spa day does sound nice. I’m not totally hating the idea. I didn’t think about you wanting me to tag along.”

  “Sam, why would I not want you around?”

  “Well, I don’t know. We don’t have to be attached at the hip.”

  “It’s not like we get to spend that much time together away from the set. Of course I’d want you with me, but if you’re happy to go with Cecilia, it’s okay with me. Unless . . . maybe you guys can reschedule for a different day?”

  I looked down for a moment, unable to hold his gaze. I hated disappointing him. I hated lying to him—well, half-lying.

  “I would if we could, but we’re never off work during the week, you know that. We’d have to book weeks ahead to get an appointment on the weekend and there’s no spa here in St. Martin. Plus, you know very well how hard it is to make Cecilia reason when she has an idea in mind. She’s set on going to Edinburgh to get pampered. I’m sorry.” My lies made my smile feel unnatural and I caught a worried glimpse in his eyes. I needed to do better than that. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his soft lips.

  “Will you be okay without me for a day?”

  He nodded, but I detected a bit of reluctance in his half-smile. His eyes clouded over and he looked like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t press the subject any more. I kissed him on the lips again but he barely responded, his long eyelashes concealing the skepticism in his eyes.

  I decided I needed to be a little more convincing.

  I leaned down and tugged the hair on the back of his neck, forcing him to look at me. I stared into his blue sapphires, meaning to say something, but I got momentarily distracted.

  This season, Abarath faced several misadventures that led him to have a harsher, less manicured look than season one, meaning Hugh’s hair was longer and unkempt, curls falling below his ears, and the scruff on his jaw was a bit more pronounced. Later on in the season, he’d come to sport a full beard, and I couldn’t say I was too upset about it—I was actually looking forward to it. The changes suited and highlighted Hugh’s features even more, particularly his high cheekbones. His eyes looked even bluer when his face was covered in “dirt,” and I loved the feel of his longer, soft curls on my skin when we lay in bed together.

  “I’ll be back in the evening. We’ll celebrate your campaign, and guess what? You’ll get to enjoy the fruits of my spa day. I’m going to get a full-body
exfoliation so my skin is going to be super soft, and you’ll have me all weekend,” I teased in a warm, low tone. “I’ll be at your disposal—completely,” I coaxed, arching an eyebrow. I was acting like a shameless flirt, but it was necessary.

  My sexual promises broke through his icy façade and he gave me the smile I yearned for.

  “Oh, you.” His voice erupted from his stretched mouth with a low rumble. A shiver ran through me and soon my skin broke into goose bumps. He leaned forward to capture my mouth in a possessive hold and kissed me forcefully, as if I wasn’t giving him enough of myself. The way he owned my mouth made the hair on the back of my neck stand up; my flirty words had awoken his desire. He landed his big, strong hands on my ass, forcing me to sit down on him, facing him with my legs draped on each side of his glorious body.

  “This is not what I had in mind,” I joked with a half-smile.

  “Isn’t it, now? You didn’t think it through, did you? Do you think you could tease me with thoughts of your smooth, exfoliated body without me acting on it?” His playful tone and cocky smile were going to undermine my self-control, but I still managed to roll my eyes at him and play hard to get. Since he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted from me, the bastard started tickling me. He knew it was just a matter of seconds before I was going to beg for mercy.

  And soon enough, I did. I begged him to stop as he trapped me in his arms and started covering my neck with slow-burning kisses.

  “We’re going to get sidetracked . . . again. By the time we get to the cottage, it’s going to be late and we’re not going to have any time left . . .” I mumbled in a tone that was half a plea for mercy and half encouragement for him to keep going.

  “Time left for what? This?” he asked.

  He gave my ass a squeeze with one of his hands while the other reached for one of my breasts. My body arched against his, longing, needing more of him. He ignored my words and kept exploring my skin. My body reacted like an independent being, always so ready to respond to his touch.

  He ignored my plea for him to stop. Admittedly, I was not being very convincing.

  “What did ye say? All weekend long?” The mocking, playful tone in his voice wasn’t lost on me, so I kissed him again and looked straight into his eyes.

  “All weekend. Me, you, all weekend long.” That was my plan anyway.

  Since we wouldn’t have time to go anywhere else, a lovefest at the cottage was in order. I started trailing kisses on his neck, afraid someone would somehow come knocking on the door, even though we were done shooting for the day. I needed to get my fill of him, so I kissed him again. This time he wasn’t withholding; his tongue parted my lips, wrapping around mine.

  Not quite minty like he usually tasted, it was different—sweeter. He tasted like honey.

  Honey.

  A sudden thought crossed my mind.

  “How do you say honey in Scottish?” I asked, breaking the kiss. His brows pressed together in confusion.

  “Honey? Like darling? Rùnag.”

  I smiled, thinking how much I loved the way he rolled his Rs.

  “No, the honey from bees. What’s it called in Scottish?”

  “Mil.”

  “Mil?” I repeated, and he nodded, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

  “I had some earlier. Can ye taste it?” he asked, his accent more marked on the last sentence.

  “I can. You taste delicious. You always do, but this evening you’re particularly sweet.” I nuzzled his neck, trailing the tip of my nose on his skin, just as someone knocked on the door of the trailer.

  Typical.

  I let out a frustrated breath.

  “I bet our driver knows we’re up to no good in here,” he said, but my mind was elsewhere.

  “Mil,” I muttered under my breath and placed another kiss on his lips.

  “Mil,” he repeated. He gave me a lingering, curious look, eyebrows drawn together. I reluctantly got up to open the door and I could feel his eyes following me across the trailer. I knew he was wondering what his brown-eyed girl could possibly have in mind.

  He’ll just have to wait and see.

  HUGH

  “I just got word that the photo shoot is in Stonehaven. Are you sure you can’t make it? We could try to call and make an appointment to meet the priest, see if they even have any dates available next summer. I’m sure Cecilia will have a cow, but she’ll eventually understand it’s important.”

  “Where now?” Sam asked, as if the name didn’t ring a bell.

  “Stonehaven, the town I told you about.” Her expression was blank, her eyes drifting off as if she’d never heard the name before. She didn’t remember. I couldn’t believe she didn’t remember. It stung. I didn’t quite like the ache in my chest at the realization that she had no idea what I was talking about. I grabbed her chin and tilted it up, forcing her to look at me. Did she want to marry me or not? I didn’t want to start another argument, since every time I did bring up the wedding, she pointed out how sorely mistaken I was, how she’d been working on researching places and looking at wedding dresses, but with my schedule for next summer still up in the air, we needed to make some progress. We needed to come up with a plan.

  “We don’t have much time, Sam. If we don’t start planning this wedding now, I don’t know when we’ll be able to make it happen.” A long, frustrated sigh escaped my lips, and her wide brown eyes locked on mine, heavy with worry. She glanced away a couple of times, and then locked eyes with me again. Each time she seemed on the verge of saying something . . . but then she didn’t.

  The expression in her eyes was one I couldn’t place. The only time I’d seen her this upset was when I confronted her about her past and her revenge on her ex-boyfriend, Eric. Her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly, but then she pressed her lips together and straightened herself up, as if trying to get a grip on herself. I knew I’d upset her a couple of times before with my stubbornness and jealousy, and I didn’t want to do that now.

  I ken I was . . . impatient, I just couldn’t wait to set a date. I wanted us to have that milestone to look forward to. I didn’t want other work commitments to stray us away from what we wanted, didn’t want us to keep postponing it. True, we were already living together, but there was this ache in my chest, this . . . need. I wanted to be able to call her my wife. It wasn’t something I could explain very well with words. It didn’t make much sense to me, either—it was as if I were the victim of some kind of primordial need. It sounded positively primitive and I felt like a bawheid for just thinking about it that way. No way was I going to explain to Sam why I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  My primordial, daft Neanderthal need was one reason, and work was another.

  My mind went to the script in my backpack. My agent Cosima had insisted I read it, and I had. As much as I was interested in the project and wanted the role—the male lead in a thriller set in New York—I didn’t want to spend the few weeks I had off from Abarath working on another set. The production of the movie was set to start mid-June, a timeframe we were considering for the wedding. I dismissed my thoughts about the script and the movie. I could wait to take on more roles; I couldn’t wait to marry Sam.

  I cradled her face in my hands and she relaxed, relishing my touch.

  “Sam, look at me,” I prodded. Her eyelids fluttered open and warm, brown eyes stared at me with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “Stonehaven is the town where they have that little church I showed you . . . the one I’d like to get married in.”

  Her whole face lit up, finally remembering the conversation we once had. The gorgeous smile I was familiar with stretched across her face, and I finally saw a glimpse of excitement. She wrapped her hands around my neck and my shoulders slumped, suddenly feeling more relaxed. Maybe she’d jump at the opportunity and ditch Cecilia.

  Instead, her reaction and her words surprised me and confused me even more.

  “Ohhhh! Right! Now I remember! You said Stonehaven and for a moment I tho
ught the shooting was in Stonehenge so I was confused . . . I was trying to rack my brain as to whether we had a conversation about Stonehenge.”

  “No, we haven’t . . . as far as I can recall.”

  “Well, you know . . . if you wanted to get married in Stonehenge, I wouldn’t be opposed to it, if you can even do such a thing. You probably can’t, can you?”

  “That’s not even Scotland.”

  “Is it not?” she asked with a frown.

  “No. It’s England,” I replied curtly.

  “Ohhh! Touchy, are we? I’m sorry, all right? Forget I said anything.” The pitch of her voice was higher than usual. She was nervous, and I couldn’t understand why. What is up with her today? She seemed fidgety, so unlike herself. I kept trying to get her to look at me, but she kept looking away.

  “Sam, are you okay? You’re acting verra strange today.”

  “Y-Yes. It’s just . . . I couldn’t sleep last night and I overdid it with the coffee this morning. I have caffeine jitters, that’s all.” She shrugged and finally glanced my way for a brief moment.

  “I thought you only had trouble sleeping when I was away.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know why I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me? I would have tried to help you go back to sleep.”

  “Oh, honey . . . rùnag,” she added, smiling warmly, remembering the Scottish term of endearment. She caressed my face and brushed my hair away from my forehead. “I didn’t want you to be tired today, and your photo shoot is in just a couple of days. I can afford to have bags under my eyes—you, on the other hand, cannot.”

  She scrunched up her nose and raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss me. There was just something about the feel of her lips under mine that always managed to ignite a chemical reaction. Each time my lips touched hers, my brain went into overdrive, telling me I needed to taste her. I had kissed her a thousand times, and each time I felt the same excitement, the same rush, the same need to taste her. Blood rushed to my head and adrenaline traveled through my veins as my tongue wrapped around hers, exploring her mouth, nipping her soft, full lips. I needed her kisses the way I needed oxygen. I craved her body the way a starving man craves food.