Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  Beth: Of course. I’m free now, and later. No plans.

  Ellie: Does three work?

  She names a small, independent coffee shop in the east end, and I confirm I’ll be there. When I arrive a few minutes early, she’s already there, two RCMP officers in tow. Thankfully, neither of them are Hugh.

  We order iced coffees and take a seat next to the window. One advantage of going out with bodyguards—they scope the most private seats, and then save them for you while you get your drinks.

  She gets right to the point. “I want to plan a baby shower for Max and Violet.”

  Of course she does. And she’s right to want to, but holy moly, it’s celebration shower central with these women.

  I don’t think anyone is going to throw me a yay-you’re-dating-two-guys-at-once-and-they’re-both-smoking-hot shower, although that’s totally party-worthy. I don’t point that out. My dirty dating life is…well, dirty, and therefore, secret.

  Instead I pull out my phone. “Just tell me what to do and where to go.”

  We talk about dates—after the wedding, but not too much later, because we don’t want to get too close to her due date. Location—Ellie wants to have it at 24 Sussex, which I think is a great idea. It’s where Max and Violet got married, in an understated, private ceremony.

  Guest list. “Definitely co-ed,” I say. “A wedding shower makes sense to be just for the bride, but Max is totally psyched about this baby.”

  The last time he came by to see Gavin, he sat at my desk and showed me sonogram pictures for fifteen minutes. Violet’s growing a super-cute alien inside her.

  “Agreed. And maybe just friends, we don’t need to extend the list too much beyond that. The same circle they invited to their wedding?”

  I nod. “Do you want to have it catered? Just a cake?”

  She taps her pen against her lips. “Maybe we could do a breakfast type thing? Brunch?”

  “Oh, I like that.” I give her a short-list of caterers I like for breakfast events, and I take on the task of getting a separate cake made, then we call the planning a success and tuck our notes away.

  “So…” She swivels her straw through her iced coffee. “Now that we’ve taken care of the baby shower stuff…” She gives me a positively gleeful look. “Gavin told me.”

  I rack my brain. What did I miss? “Told you what?”

  “You know.” She wiggles in her seat. “About dinner.”

  “The wedding dinner?”

  She laughs. “No. Your dinner. Last night. With Lachlan.”

  My mouth drops open as my pulse pounds in my neck. Oh. Heat tries to swarm up my face and I hurriedly take a sip of my drink. Nope. Not enough iced coffee in the world to compensate for this.

  A stricken look falls over her face. “Was it not good?”

  “Oh, God.” Did I say that out loud? “Ellie, please stop.” And that. I’m officially no longer in control of my face or mouth, and both are usually well within my control.

  She bites her lower lip and nods.

  Then she waits.

  And waits.

  My mind slides from emotion to reaction and back again. Confusion, because why would Lachlan tell Gavin anything? Embarrassment, too. Now there would be pressure. But there was already pressure. I know Gavin thinks Lachlan should ask me out. But I swear, threesomes aside, Gavin has some stupidly traditional ideas of men and women and dating and relationships.

  I don’t need my boss thinking about my dating life.

  Especially when he only knows half of it, and the whole of it is way too complicated to satisfy whatever expectations he might have for “good enough for Beth.”

  I puff out my cheeks as I exhale. “Okay. So here’s the thing…” I take another rough breath. I’m way overreacting, but hey, if Ellie wants to be friends, here’s her chance. “I wish Lachlan hadn’t told Gavin that, to be honest. We’ve had a couple of dates, and they’ve been amazing, but this just amps up the pressure in a big way.” I hesitate and take another sip of my coffee. “And we’re not exactly exclusive yet.”

  That’s fudging the truth a bit. We’ve had a conversation that definitely narrowed the scope of who else we’ll date—to a list with a single other name on it. The same name for both of us, although I don’t know that Lachlan and Hugh would call whatever they do together dating.

  Ellie’s eyes brighten. “Well, that makes total sense. I’m so sorry. I was just really excited for you. Both of you.”

  “Just don’t get your heart set on a happy ever after ending for us. I adore Lachlan, but we’ve both got a lot going on that takes precedent over a relationship.”

  “Famous last words,” she mumbled as she tried to innocently hide behind her coffee.

  Ha. If she only knew the rest of the story. Over my dead body.

  I text Lachlan as soon as I leave the coffee shop.

  Beth: You told Gavin that we’re dating?

  Lachlan: I didn’t use that word.

  Beth: I just had coffee with Ellie. The telephone game definitely translated it into her being super excited that we’re finally together.

  Lachlan: To be fair, I’m also super excited that we’re finally together.

  He’s totally missing the point. Are we “finally together”? And where does that leave me and Hugh? Lachlan and Hugh? Hugh in general, the deliciously dirty man?

  Beth: Can you please call me when you get a free moment?

  He calls five minutes later. “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  He sighs. “So you’re not happy. I’m sorry.”

  “I thought our first fight might be about jealousy or something. Not…spilled secrets.”

  “I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry. I didn’t think we needed to keep dinner a secret.” He sounds hurt.

  “When you get back, maybe we need to have a clearer conversation about what we share and what we don’t.”

  He makes a frustrated sound. “I don’t think you want to share anything.”

  He’s not wrong. “Is that a problem?”

  “Ottawa’s a small city. What if someone sees us together?”

  “And what if someone sees me with Hugh?” Silence is the only response. “Should we tell the PM that I’m seeing two of his security detail?”

  Lachlan swears under his breath. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “I know. And I don’t want to harp on it. But…”

  “I understand now. And I’ll talk to Hugh. Apologize to him.”

  I roll my eyes. “We don’t need to make a big deal out of this. I don’t think he’ll care. Just be more careful going forward.”

  “Okay.” He sighs. “So now is probably not the time to tell you I miss you, eh?”

  I smile. “Any time is good for that. Just don’t tell anyone else that you miss me.”

  Even when I’m grumpy, I’m counting down the days until he returns.

  16

  Beth

  It’s the Monday after Lachlan left with Gavin for the prairies, and the morning just keeps dragging.

  When Gavin is away, I get time to catch up on the less important tasks around the office, but those also tend to be the most boring.

  Hugh struts into the office just as I’m putting the finishing touches to a report on softwood lumber. It’s one of those tasks that has been perpetually pushed down the priority list, but suddenly becomes pressing.

  Gavin has a meeting next month with Jack Benton, a guy he knows from his labour union days. Jack’s like a real-life lumberjack billionaire. He made his money modernizing the family’s lumber business, then diversified in a big way. He owns an NHL team now, among other things. But he still looks like he just chopped down a tree. Right down to the beard and trademark plaid wool shirt collection that he wears instead of suits half the time. I bet he even keeps a chainsaw in the back of his pickup.

  Great. Now I have that Monty Python song ringing in my ears.

  I click save on my file, then look up from my computer to see Hugh smiling at me.<
br />
  “Hey, Beth. Any chance you could squeeze in a coffee break this morning?”

  For Hugh? Always. “Sure, just let me arrange for someone to cover for me.”

  He walks over to the security team’s desk and sits in what I think of as Lachlan’s chair while I make the call. By the time the intern arrives a few minutes later, I’m ready to go.

  “It’s a beautiful day, so I thought we’d grab coffee from the cafeteria, and take a short walk,” Hugh says as we head down the corridor.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  After we get our coffee, we walk out the front doors. The grounds are a little crowded—people likely looking to get themselves a selfie with the prime minister. They’re all out of luck. Sometimes I think there should be a flag flying when he’s around—kind of like the queen has on her palaces to say she’s in residence.

  I’m really not in the mood to deal with all these people.

  “Let’s walk around to the river,” I suggest as I point to the left.

  “Great idea.” Hugh places his hand at the small of my back and guides me through the crowd.

  Once we settle on a quiet bench, I ask how his morning is going. Normal small talk.

  He’s having none of it. “My morning’s going just fine. Talk to me about the play party you went to.”

  It takes my brain a second to catch up. Whoa.

  “What’s with the jump-shift?” Apparently, his idea of appropriate coffee break conversation and mine are different.

  Hugh just grins.

  “What exactly are you looking for me to say?”

  “Pretend you’re telling a friend about it. Make me feel like I was there with you.”

  There is no way he’s getting a bedtime story and I tell him that.

  He’s undeterred. “Don’t you think this is good information for me to have?”

  Maybe. “Fine. I’ll answer three questions. So choose them wisely,” I say as I give him my best no-nonsense look.

  He, in turn, gives me a look I can only assume is meant to resemble puppy-dog eyes. It fails, and I have a hard time maintaining my stony face and not laughing. Although he’s amusing me, so maybe they do work in their own way.

  “Only three questions. I can work with that. Here we go, first question. What’s the kinkiest thing you did at the party?”

  Of course, that would be his first question. I’m sure he’s walked the length and breadth of the wild-side, so the kinkiest thing I did at the party—which also happens to be my kinkiest thing ever—is going to be sadly disappointing for him.

  “Getting flogged on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.”

  I watch his face for any kind of reaction, but he gives me nothing. No clue that I even got the vocabulary right. I’m pretty sure I did.

  “Next question. What did you like watching the most?”

  No follow-up. I had thought he would at least want to know if I liked it. Or if I was naked. But I limited him to three questions, and apparently he’s going to use them to cover a lot of ground.

  I waffle back and forth over my answer. Do I tell him what I really liked watching the most, or do I tell him what I liked the most that would be considered a little more conventional, and possibly more…socially acceptable?

  I know he wouldn’t be shocked by the content of my real answer…but I worry that it could affect the way he sees me.

  Unvarnished honesty wins out. “So, there was this couple. Two guys, actually. And, well…the way things were between them was really different from the other couples. It was more intense, raw…seriously hot.” I force myself to hold my chin up and push past my embarrassment.

  Hugh nods slowly, saying nothing.

  His continued silence makes me uncomfortable. Is he judging me? I regret agreeing to respond to his curiosity at all and I just want this over and done with.

  “Last question?” I try to push him along.

  “I’m thinking. I want it to be a good one.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and wait.

  “Okay, last question.” He pauses a moment, then his gaze locks on mine. “What was Lachlan like at the party?”

  Oh. Probably fitting that he lands here. A broad swath of questions, ending with our mutual obsession over the stoic giant with the quietly kinky side. My heart beats faster as I think back to that night. “He was totally in control. He was the dungeon something…minder… master…monitor. That’s it. Dungeon monitor. He was in charge, making sure everyone played safely. He took his job very seriously, too. Lachlan monitored Brandon—he’s a hockey player who offered to give me taste of what a flogger feels like—the entire time he had me on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.”

  Hugh’s eyes light up, and I decide to give him more. Suddenly I want to tell him a lot about that night, and I understand why he asked.

  “Then after Brandon did that taking care of me thing, Lachlan took him aside…to give him some pointers, maybe? I don’t know.”

  The corners of Hugh’s mouth tug up a little, and I wonder what it is he finds amusing, because for me, it was hot as hell. Lachlan’s intensity was anyway. The Brandon part, I could happily leave.

  “After that, Lachlan stuck fairly close by, and radiated a pretty strong keep-away vibe.” He totally spent the rest of the evening cock-blocking me—and in hind sight, that was extra jerky, because he was holding out on me. We could have been having the most explosive sex of my life all this time.

  Hugh nods…like he knows something. “Sounds like a good time was had by most.”

  I shrug, then look at my watch. There’s a lot I want to tell him—about how I was fascinated, but not turned on that night, not as much as I am now thinking back to Lachlan’s role in it. And how I want Hugh to open up, too.

  How annoyed I am at his close-to-his-chest approach to this conversation.

  But we’ve been gone over thirty minutes and while the seniority of my position affords me some flexibility, especially when Gavin’s away, I’m always careful not to abuse the privilege. Also, it’s a good escape from the discomfort of this conversation. “I need to get back to the office.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  The walk back is brisk. Hugh escorts me to my desk, and loiters for a few minutes after the intern leaves.

  I give him a look, and he smiles right back. At some point soon, we’ll have to have a more comprehensive conversation about secrets. I hate them.

  Something tells me he won’t care. He’ll try to convince me that they’re fun.

  Finally he gets up. “Okay, I’m leaving now.” Moving in behind me, he bends low. “Tomorrow I want you come to work in a skirt, no underwear,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.

  What? Where did that order come from? What part of his inquisition-style coffee date lead him to think I could just be commanded to leave my underwear at home?

  I stare straight ahead and continue typing like I hadn’t heard him. But the thought of doing something so illicit because Hugh tells me to sends a tingle up my spine, among other places. It also scares the hell out of me. What if I get hit by a bus and my skirt rides up and the whole world discovers that the Prime Minister’s assistant doesn’t wear panties to work and all the sordid details wind up all over the news?

  “Beth?”

  I nod. “I heard you.”

  He waits until he’s out by the elevators to chuckle, but I hear him anyway. And I start mentally flipping through my closet to figure out what I can wear.

  The next afternoon, he shows up at my desk ostensibly to check on a scheduling thing, but I know it’s really to check on the skirt and underwear thing and, as it turns out, to arrange a dinner date.

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your place.” He glances down at my skirt. “We can discuss how today went.”

  On Wednesday night, he arrives promptly at seven with dinner.

  Tipping my chin up with his fingers, he touches his lips to mine and I open for him. He only gives
me a small taste of his tongue before he ends the kiss.

  He always leaves me wanting more. So much more.

  I take the bag of food from him and lead the way to the kitchen.

  He takes a glass of wine that I offer, then gives me a stern look. “So I didn’t expect you to play dirty yesterday.”

  “What are you talking about?” I grin at him. “I did as you asked. I’m surprised you didn’t demand proof.”

  “I assumed asking you to flash me at work would cross some hard limits for you.”

  He’s not wrong. “Thank you.”

  “Although it would be a good punishment for wearing such a school-marm-esque skirt.”

  Ah. I blush. “Well, it was kind of windy yesterday…”

  And yes, I’d chosen the longest skirt in my closet. But underneath, I’d been completely bare, all day. For him. “Then you should have been more clear in your instructions. You said skirt, I wore a skirt. If you had something more specific in mind, you should have said so.” I don’t tell him that I’m not wearing any underwear beneath my skirt right now. It’s my little secret.

  One I hope he discovers on his own, and he likely will, because today’s skirt isn’t school-marm-esque at all.

  He clears his throat and gives me a look. Firm and bossy. “There’s a distinct difference between spirit and letter of the law. I expect you to adhere to both.”

  I want to push back against that, but there’s something really sexy about Hugh taking charge this way. “Because you’ll be issuing more edicts like this going forward?”

  “Yes.”

  I hesitate, then smile. “Okay. Good to know.”

  He laughs. “Let’s eat.”

  Dinner passes quickly, with the conversation light and easy, but there’s a frisson of anticipation skittering around us. After, we take our wine to the living room, and I sit on the sofa. Hugh settles down right beside me—so close, our legs touch almost the whole way down.

  He doesn’t beat around the bush. He brushes his fingertips against the back of my neck and leans in, his voice low and totally sexy. “Slide your skirt up.”