Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  He'd filled out significantly, and the tight leanness of youth had been replaced by something more sure, more distinctly adult, and completely masculine. When my hands skated across the skin of his torso, Hamish let out a sound between a groan and a growl.

  "You'll be the death of me," he said, under his breath before he took my mouth again.

  I stood, sliding backward off him while still kissing him, and took his hand, leading him to my bed. He followed, kissing me hungrily, and I managed to drop my jeans from my legs as I walked so that when I scooted backwards onto my bed I was wearing only my panties. I moved back up into the mound of pillows, and Hamish stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes dark and glittering as he looked at me.

  "Soph, I..." his voice was a whisper to start and it fell to silence as he stood motionless, the light from the kitchen behind him outlining his shoulders and the vee of his torso. My body zinged in anticipation, everything in me moving fast, swirling in my stomach.

  I reached for him, and he unfastened his pants, climbing up to join me in only his boxers. I could see the impressive swell of him, but Hamish didn't strip off the shorts like many men might do. Instead, as soon as his pants were off, his confidence seemed to flag somewhat, and he seemed reluctant to kiss me, to even touch me. I pulled him in close, until he was hovering over me, and I lifted my chin to kiss him again as my arms went around him.

  He kissed me ferociously, and I arched up into him, desperate for his hands, his mouth, something. But as I yearned for the situation to evolve, as I encouraged him as much as I was able, we didn't move forward.

  Becoming frustrated and needy, I slid a hand down his stomach, reaching my fingers beneath the waist of his boxers over his hip. He drew in a sharp breath as I cupped him, and a grunt flew from his lips when I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking firmly.

  "Ah, God. Sophie," he moaned.

  Encouraged, I continued, and when his hand moved down the outside of my thigh, slipping teasingly near my center, I twisted toward him. "Please," I heard myself whisper.

  His hand finally found me, cupping me firmly and then slipping my panties aside as his fingers slid into the folds of me and began to stroke.

  I sighed happily and kissed him more devotedly. This. This was exactly what I wanted, and this foreplay and anticipation were everything I'd dreamed about.

  In our early twenties, we'd had one kiss. One long, fervent and incredible kiss, the night before he'd boarded the plane to the States. We'd been out behind his family's house, walking the fields and looking at the stars, listening to the distant waves punishing the rocky shore. And we'd talked about forever. And then, as it grew late and we both knew I needed to get home or risk my bastard of a stepfather coming to find me, he'd taken my jaw in his hand and pressed his lips to mine, sealing our fate, promising our future.

  I'd kissed him back with everything I had, knowing I'd follow him anywhere.

  But in the bright dawn of the following morning, fear set in. I needed to go say goodbye, needed to ask him to wait for me, to tell him I'd follow him. But morning's clarity told me it would be unfair to do any of that. Hamish had an opportunity like none other, and that would come with meeting new people, new experiences. What could a simple Durnish girl do to compete with the gloss and shine of America? I didn't know if it was my fear or my sense that he deserved more that kept me from meeting him that morning, from sending him off. I wrote him a letter instead, which I'd intended to give Mari to hand him. But I hadn't done that either, mostly because my stepfather had woken in a foul mood and demanded I clean the house, cook his breakfast and tend the animals. By the time I'd finished, Hamish was already gone.

  Now, lying in his arms in a completely new country, far from the expectations and demands of our families, I was ready to give myself to him completely, to give myself over to our future.

  Hamish's fingers were driving me higher, teasing and pulsing as I moaned and began to writhe. My own stroking hand was faltering as he distracted me, and when I thought I could take it no more, I pulled my mouth from his. "Do you have a condom?"

  His fingers stilled, and he lifted himself above me. "No," he said, shaking his head.

  "Check the drawer," I told him, and he gave me a strange look, but then leaned over to pull open the drawer of my nightstand.

  He lifted a string of condoms out and let them dangle from his hand as he knelt over me, an odd thoughtful look on his face as he considered them.

  A laugh rolled out of me. "You do know what to do with it, right?"

  It was a joke, but it missed its target somehow. Hamish folded them carefully back together and tucked them back into the drawer, sliding it shut. "I don't think the time is right for this," he said, sliding to the edge of the bed and adjusting himself.

  "Wait," I said, moving to sit beside him. "I was kidding. You know that, right?"

  He lifted a shoulder and glanced at me sideways. "We should wait."

  Disappointment washed through me. What had just happened? "Okay," I said, not understanding anything. "I guess I thought...I mean, it isn't like I normally do this on a first date, you know. But this isn't exactly a first date," I pointed out.

  He turned to face me and for a second his face cleared and I was sure he was going to explain, but then he shut his mouth and stood up. "I ought to get home."

  I shook my head. "You're not going to stay?" I realized I'd believed we could easily pick up not just where we'd left off, but maybe fast forward through the years we'd missed and settle comfortably into couplehood now. But Hamish seemed to have other ideas. "I don't understand."

  Hamish turned back to me, and I wished there was more light in the small space. I could see only the light from the window flashing in his eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders as he pulled his shirt back on. "This was fun, Sophie. And I'd like to take you out again." His voice was soft, careful.

  "Take me out again?" I asked. "You don't need to ask, Hamish."

  He sighed and shook his head. "I'll call ya," he told me, and he began putting his pants on, followed by his shoes.

  I watched, unsure what I was meant to do. "Did I do something wrong?"

  He turned his head to stare at me, pausing as he sat tying his shoe. "Of course not."

  "But..." I trailed off, realizing I'd made thousands of assumptions about the way things would be between us now. We'd already said we loved one another. It seemed logical that we'd see where that might take us. But maybe things were more complicated than I'd understood.

  "I'll call you in the morning," he said, and he leaned down to kiss me and then let himself out the door, leaving me sitting at the edge of my bed alone, wearing only my panties and my disappointment.

  Chapter 93

  The Fortune Teller Zombie Downstairs

  Hamish

  I arrived home to my quiet little apartment in the Gaslamp quarter, climbing the stairs above the psychic's shop with a nod to Madame Anastasia as I passed her window. The woman gave me a knowing smile, which if I'm honest, creeped me out.

  Madame Anastasia had been down there in her little shop since I'd moved into this apartment a year ago, and I'd never walked past the window to find the place closed or to see anyone else inside. The sign said she was all-knowing, and I thought she was also some kind of supernatural zombie maybe, one that didn't actually sleep.

  I gave her a smile and climbed the stairs, closing the door behind me with relief.

  The day had been long and confusing, and I rubbed a hand through my beard as I untucked my shirt and went to sit by the window, my favorite thinking spot.

  My nether parts were screaming at me, pissed off about the way I'd run out of Sophie's house, and my mind wasn't leaving me in peace either. When I was finally settled with a couple fingers of Durnish whiskey in a glass at my side, I took a deep breath and sat back in the chair to let every part of my body scream at me about what a fecking cockwhistler I'd been, running away like that.

  The Durnish whiskey calmed me some,
burning a path straight past my stupid heart and down into my stomach, settling there, and the familiar fire allowed me to think.

  I'd been surprised, mostly. The woman had supplied herself with a string of condoms that could have outfitted each and every one of the Sharks. What was I supposed to make of that?

  I loved Sophie, I did. But I had to wonder if I wasn't just one in a long line of men who loved my Sophie James. The thought of it turned my stomach inside out.

  Maybe I should have known this would happen one day. I'd gone this long without doing the one thing every other man I knew talked about endlessly, and when the time finally came, maybe I was just too late. Like a goddamn Durnish fowl hunter who trains his whole life to bring down the elusive Durnish Duck and then freezes as soon as his target is before him.

  That was me. Couldn't pull the fecking trigger.

  Because I didn't want to be another for Sophie. She wouldn't be that for me. She'd always been the one. And one was all I needed.

  It occurred to me that while she was still the same Sophie James I'd known my whole life—minus the last six years—she was someone else now too. And I didn't know that woman at all.

  I had no doubt I'd love every single new part of my Soph—except maybe the part that felt the need to stock her bedside table with enough condoms to see any good woman through the next several years. But the point was that I didn't know her well. Not anymore. So maybe it wasn't fair to judge or make assumptions about her preparedness levels.

  I picked up my phone and called Mari, my mind having worked its way to the end of its short capacity to figure out what to do next.

  "Hamish!" she answered when she picked up.

  "Mari, how are ya, sis?"

  "I'm good, but it's so early here. What's going on?"

  Ack. The time difference. I had forgotten about it again. The good news was that Mari was used to me rousing her from bed. She told me that me moving to the west coast of the states had been good for her productivity. I called her at five in the morning and she got a jump on her day after we talked.

  "I found Sophie," I told her.

  Marigold made an excited noise on the other end of the line and demanded I tell her everything. So I did.

  "Maybe next time, not quite everything, lad. I think our sibling bonds prohibit discussion of condoms," she sounded only a tiny bit put off.

  "I don't have anyone else to ask about this," I said, feeling sheepish. "I haven't done the deed, you know."

  "Unbelievable really. There are plenty of women in San Diego. I've been telling you that for years."

  "There's only one Sophie."

  "But maybe it'd be better if you knew what you were doing before you tried doing it with her, don't you think?"

  I didn't think. I hated that idea. "I'm not worried about that. But I'm worried that she's clearly been practicing since we've been apart. I don't have any fear about measuring up. I'm more worried that there's other things I don't know about my Sophie now. We've been apart for so long."

  "You already said 'I love you' though?"

  "Both of us said it," I confirmed.

  "Turning this whole dating thing upside down, aren't you?"

  "Might be. A bit. Yes."

  "So go back to the start. You need to date Sophie. As you pointed out, you don't know the lass now. She's had six years to become a woman, to change and grow. And she doesn't know you."

  "I haven't changed a bit."

  "Just because you've chosen not to dip your wick doesn't mean you haven't written some new stories," Marigold said.

  "Did that analogy feel like it worked out the way you planned?"

  "No, not especially."

  "Just checking."

  "Hamish. You need to call the poor girl. You ran out of there like a scared little wean, and she's bound to be upset now."

  I'd been so wrapped up in my own version of upset it hadn't occurred to me that Sophie might think my leaving was more about her. "Shite."

  "Language, boy." Mari's mam voice popped out.

  "Sorry, sis." I rubbed a hand through my beard. She was right. I needed to call Sophie. But it was much too at night late now.

  "Here's what you do. Call her in the morning and ask her out on a proper date. Just because you're childhood sweethearts doesn't mean you don't have to romance her a bit now. Take her out, be sweet to the lass, and then you can worry about what to do with all those condoms. Understand?"

  "Thanks, Mari."

  "And Charlie says if you're proposing, he definitely needs to bring a proxy from the palace when he visits to ensure the match is real."

  "This proxy thing again," I moaned. "Wait, Charlie's there?"

  "He stayed over last night. Found him in the kitchen just now. He says hi."

  I shook my head. "So now half of Durnland is coming?"

  "Why? Are you going to propose?"

  "Seems the obvious thing to do," I pointed out. "After the dating, of course. And maybe the sex." My cock jumped hopefully at this.

  "Worry about the girl's mind and heart first, Hamish. I promise the body will follow." Another little jump there. Poor little lad was going to have a bit longer to wait if I did this right.

  "Tell Charlie to hold off a bit. I'll tell you when I've asked her, and he can bring the proxy then." I heard her relaying this to my older brother.

  "He's asking if you'll do the Feats there or come home."

  The Feats. For God's sake. "Maybe we don't do the Feats. Maybe we can let that shite go for once."

  I heard shuffling on the other end. "Hamish. This is your brother." Charlie's voice had been stern and harsh, even when he'd been eleven.

  "Hello Charlie." We didn't speak on the phone often, we were better at passing messages through Mam and Mari.

  "If you're marrying a Durn, you can't leave out the Feats of Matrimonial Might. They're a traditional post-engagement rite of passage. You might be living in America, but you're Durnish royalty and you'd best not forget it."

  I sighed. The boys on the Sharks would have a field day with this. "Well, I can't come home—we've got training and some off-season games I can't miss. We'll have to do them here. Only there aren't a lot of spare sheep around."

  "I'll work on that. And what about Sophie's father?"

  "Her stepfather," I corrected.

  "If you're asking her, he's the only one can say yes for sure."

  "For God's sake, Charlie. Can't we change the rules? We're the fecking royal family. I want to ask the girl, not her nardsmuggling nut of a stepfather."

  "I'll chat to Dad about it, but I'm guessing Mr. James will be involved one way or another."

  "He still a drunk?"

  "Soggy as they come, far as I know. Talk to you soon, Hamish." There was more shuffling and then Marigold's voice was back on. "Guess you'd better be warming up your sheep arm."

  "I have to ask a girl on a date first. I think we're all getting ahead of ourselves."

  "Call me soon, Hamish. Good luck."

  "Love ya, sis."

  I hung up feeling both better and worse than I had before. I could take Sophie on a real date. I looked forward to it, actually. And I knew I could propose to her. I'd been doing it in my dreams for years. But I didn't think she'd be pleased to learn about the plans my brother had to cement our royal union by bringing the Feats of Matrimonial Might to San Diego. Or hearing that I'd need to speak to her stepfather. Maybe I could get time off to go home. I'd need to think about that.

  I finished my whiskey and laid down to get a good night's sleep. I had big plans tomorrow.

  Chapter 94

  Handle Your Willy

  Sophie

  My phone rang at seven o'clock on the dot, and I answered it as I opened the door to the bakery. "Good morning, Hamish."

  "Lass, I owe you an apology."

  "That you do," I told him, flipping on the lights in the front of the shop and re-locking the front door. We didn't open until nine, so I had two hours to bake and decorate the cakes on
our schedule this week.

  "Well, I am sorry for the way I left. I've had some time to think, and I know it wasn't the right way to handle things."

  I stopped in the door to the kitchen. Anna hadn't arrived yet, so I felt able to say what I needed to say. "I guess I'm having trouble understanding what things a man needs to handle when the woman he loves is spread out beneath him in her panties, handing him a condom. The only thing I'd imagine you might need to handle would be your willy."

  "My—erm. My willy."

  "God, I can hear you blushing through the phone. Haven't you ever been with a woman, Hamish?" As soon as the words were out, I knew I'd hit the heart of it. And pushed too far. There was silence on the other end of the phone. I struggled to think of something else to say, but came up with nothing.

  "Soph," he said, his voice controlled and calm. "I'm calling to ask you out on a proper date."

  "Oh." Surprise colored my voice. It seemed we were going to leave off on that other topic for a bit. Maybe that was for the best.

  "Are you free Friday evening?"

  I didn't need to look at a calendar. "I am."

  "Would you go out on a date with me, lass?"

  A smile overtook my lips and my limbs grew warm. "I will, of course." Happiness flooded my body. I'd dreamed of this for years. For my whole life really. And this was better, I decided, than what we'd almost done the night before. This was the way it should go.

  "Then I'll pick you up at your house at six-thirty," he said.

  "I look forward to it," I told him.

  "I do too," he said.