British Bad Boys: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set

by Marissa Farrar

  Harriet decided she’d research her actual story and began by opening up her folder of pictures she’d downloaded of Archie MacDonald. It was all in the name of research of course, she told herself as she lifted her pint to her lips without once tearing her gaze from his torso. Maybe there was a Youtube channel devoted to very strong highland men in their kilts doing manly strong things. That warmth spread to her abdomen again and her body suddenly liquefied. It must be the hunger, beer and heat from the fire. Her stomach rumbled as the barman came over with her huge plate of food.

  “Here y’are, our speciality, Aberdeen Angus pie with a whisky sauce and some good chips.”

  Harriet closed her laptop and pushed it to the side, taking the plate from the bar tender, who’d suddenly become much more attractive when he’d started to speak. This Scottish accent was really doing things to her. She remembered a radio interview she’d heard with James Macavoy and she’d practically swooned through the whole thing. She thanked the barman and tucked right in to the real pub grub. It was utterly perfect. Thick juicy chunks of steak flooded with the most delicious gravy and topped off with the lightest, flakiest pastry. If all else failed and the story bombed, at the very least she could write a column on this pie alone. As she ate, she tuned in a little more to the buzz of conversations going on around her.

  It’s funny how you almost think of accents as not quite real or traditions just there for TV but here she was and as she adjusted her ears to take in the voices around her, she was consumed by the beautiful lilt that flooded her ears. It was, dare she say, quite a sexy sound. The room was mainly full of men, there was only one or two women dotted here and there and she noticed a few glances her way from a group of guys at the bar. Goodness, she’d really been absorbed in her thoughts. The group was more of a pack of big burly men. They were clearly getting into a bit of a drinking session and one voice carried above the rest.

  “Ach, Jim, stop yer moaning and get it doon ya,” the biggest man said, handing out shots of what looked like whisky, to the group.

  There was a cheer of “slàinte mhath” as each man held up their drink and downed.

  “There ye go son, that’s better, eh?” The man slapped, who Harriet assumed must be Jim, on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward.

  The group laughed along and Harriet quickly realised that the burly man doing the slapping was indeed the legendary Archie MacDonald. She didn’t really know what she was expecting apart from the incredible physical presence but now she was here witnessing it, the huge loud personality that went with it made total sense. He was loud, brash and seemed to be the life and soul of the party, even if there was something a little uncomfortable at how he’d ‘encouraged’ the other man to take the drink.

  But her discomfort did not stop her from finding the man attractive, he most certainly was. He had dark hair with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, she was surprised to see they twinkled with a real joy and kindness. From what her research had told her, he was the bad boy of the Highland Games circuit and she’d expected to witness a hardness to his person. The reputation was at odds with what she saw. He was forcing someone to do something but smiling with such beautiful camaraderie. Also, Harriet had the warmth rising again, especially when Archie Macdonald reached to the bar to gather yet more shots. His arms were as thick as her thighs and the curve of his muscles flexing could be seen beneath his tight t-shirt. She almost gasped aloud at the physical impact the mere sight of him was having on her.

  She could not pull her gaze away when an elbow was nudged into the fine physique she was staring at and someone alerted Archie to the fact she was indeed staring. Oh god.

  Archie looked surprised and looked straight at her, raising his eyebrows and flexing his bicep provocatively.

  “See something you like, hen?” He laughed and a hard glint in his eye overtook the kind one from before. There was a hunger to it that both thrilled and frightened Harriet.

  She quickly lifted her pint and stared at her food, feeling utterly mortified at being caught out leering so blatantly. Oh god. If only she could just slither under the table. She was in sweat pants for god’s sake.

  She choked on her beer and trying to stifle it in her sleeve only resulted in spluttering beer and snot all over her top. She wiped frantically at her top and managed to spill the rest of her glass over the table. She mopped up as best she could with napkins.

  The group of men were laughing heartily at her expense and Harriet wanted to die. How would she ever compose herself? She’d done the wrong thing as usual. She should have met his gaze and smiled demurely. She should have had some dignity and lifted her glass in acknowledgment at being spotted, not behaving like a guilty toddler denying their hand is in the actual sweetie jar.

  Oh Fuck. She was supposed to be trying to orchestrate an interview with this man. If she managed to keep her head low and skulk off in the next five minutes, maybe he wouldn’t recognise her the next time they met. If, they met. Harriet might be dead by then. She’d never actually heard of anyone dying of embarrassment before but at this moment it seemed like a distinct possibility.

  The men seemed to have lost interest in her, either that, or they’d realised her discomfort and deliberately looked away. Anyway it had all died down and Harriet decided it was time to make her escape.

  She looked at the still half full plate with dismay. It was a battle of mind over stomach but her mind won, and she gathered her laptop and fled to her room while her heart raced in strange and exhilarated emotions.

  Chapter Two

  The games weren’t starting for another couple of days, plenty of time to get more familiar with the area and the traditions of the Braemar Games. She’d done precious little research on the actual event, preferring instead to look up pictures of Mr Macdonald. Anyway, she’d believed it was a non-story so what had been the point? She might not even bother engaging with the thing and just take time off.

  After a ten minute eye roll at Stacey’s Twitter feed, Harriet realised that breakfast would be ending soon and slipped into her jeans and flats, and padded down to the dining room. It was almost ten-thirty and she was the only person left there.

  Looking again at the clock Harriet calculated that she must have slept for ten hours solid. She was a little groggy but at least it wasn’t from the alcohol she’d consumed yesterday, she’d clearly slept right through any hangover, but it had been a long time since she’d slept so long.

  A dowdy looking girl in a flowery apron came to the table, and took out a small pad. “Tea, coffee, toast?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “I take it you want the full Scottish breakfast, you’re in at the best time. Most folk think you have to get in early but Tam, that’s the chef, always cooks loads so ye get extra when you come at the end. Anyways, are you no that lassie fi the bar last night.” The girl paused long enough to scrutinise Harriet’s appearance but not enough for a reply. “Aye, it is you. Aye, Archie will be all over you like a midge cloud.” She chuckled and wandered off, tucking the pad into her pinny pocket before Harriet could think what she’d ordered.

  What had the waitress meant? Harriet was stunned. Had Archie mentioned her? Had she been the butt of the group of guys’ jokes and banter for the rest of the night? She hadn’t been that noticeable, surely? Her skin prickled and her cheeks flushed with the memory of the embarrassing scene in the bar. Ugh. If only you could rewind and erase the glitches.

  Harriet rolled her shoulders and tried to shake off the feeling as she looked out to the view. It was spectacular. The hotel was slightly up the glen so the whole town and surrounding hills and mountains could be taken in. Utterly breath-taking, though, as ever, there seemed to be a foreboding to the skies. Whilst it was bright and sunny in the valley, dark clouds lurked on the brim of the horizon.

  “Here’s yer toast and coffee. It was coffee, eh?”

  Harriet nodded.

  “So where you from, like? I reckon you’re a runaway, there’s s
omething mysterious about you. I think it’s romantic. Most folk come here in groups for walking or couples on a dirty weekend.” She raised an eyebrow. “You can always tell the ones who are having affairs too. Mr and Mrs Smith? Really? Oh, I’m Megan by the way, nice to meet you.” The service bell rang and Megan left again with words hanging on Harriet’s tongue. Maybe she should do a feature on highland waitresses.

  The food looked absolutely glorious and Harriet dug in, her mouth watering at the sensational flavours mingling. It was all the very best fresh and local ingredients, that was clear.

  Megan pottered around clearing up tables and putting the room to rights.

  “Mmm this is delicious.” Harriet smiled, lifting a forkful of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.

  “Aye, well, Archie told me to make sure you got the good stuff.”

  “What?” Harriet was instantly defensive. What was she talking about? Why would that man and this waitress be discussing her at all? “What do you mean?”

  “Archie brings us the salmon every Monday, we dinnae really ask where he gets it though, ken? So shhh about that. But I’m telling you, if he’s taken a shine to you, what Archie Macdonald wants…” She smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen with an armful of clattering crockery.

  A chill ran down Harriet’s spine. Had this Archie Macdonald spied her already?

  She kept eating but flipped open her laptop and typed his name into the search bar again. No further information on why he’d beaten up a reporter. Harriet knew there was a story here. Archie MacDonald was clearly an important figure in this community, but was he dangerous to her? She decided not to disclose the nature of her visit to Megan, not that the girl had asked, she seemed to be happier giving information than receiving it. And that was the way Harriet liked it.

  ***

  Harriet was panting after only a few minutes on the incline of the footpath. Every step over the rocky path made her ankles turn in her walking boots. It was odd to realise that it felt unnatural to simply take a walk on uneven ground—London and heels had apparently made walking soft. She tutted and decided to ignore the building ache in her joints. This truly was a heavenly place. Just behind the hotel, the path led up the side of the glen beside a small river. The water was such a soothing peaceful sound mingled with the call of buzzards and chirruping of various other birds in the pines. Inhaling in the clean air and green scent Harriet stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

  Megan had told her this was an easy three-mile round trek with beautiful views over the valley and mountains. Easily sign posted too. The lack of city noises was almost eerie to Harriet, not even a voice or a car could be heard. Harriet closed her eyes and let her head fall back, catching a ray of sun on her face as she did. There was something so magical about sunlight filtering its way through trees.

  As she stood her ears pricked and strained harder as a rhythmic crack far away came into range. She cocked her head and listened hard, trying to identify it. It was faint but she thought she could work out where it was coming from and decided to follow it. Her natural curiosity always won over. The morning was peaceful and calm, and she kept walking up the hill towards the noise. Its rhythm breaking occasionally then restarting.

  Up and up she went, the light refracted off the trees and the sound carried through the forest, bouncing off branches and bark. Harriet wiped the sweat from her brow on her sleeve and pulled at the fabric at her armpits, trying to cool off. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so much physical activity.

  At last the cracking sound was loud enough that she knew with certainty the direction it was coming from and picked up her pace, veering off the path into the forest. The ground was beautifully spongy with moss and a thick carpet of pine needles. All her senses were flooded as she went. For a few metres the undergrowth seemed to be getting thicker but she continued, pushing the branches and twigs away with her forearms. Harriet winced when she walked through a couple of spider’s webs without realising. She tried to pull the sticky silk threads out of her hair, only succeeding in pulling even more bits of forest debris into her head and clothing. Pine needles flipped down the back of her neck and settled into the sweat-damp skin in the middle of her spine. It was itchy and uncomfortable and she tugged at her jumper, trying to jostle the jaggy twiglets out of her clothing. They were stuck and irritating.

  Harriet had gone from a calm yet curious tourist to bumbling flustered fool in the space of three paces. The cracking was very loud and clear now and she knew if she forced her way through this last bit of overgrown shrubbery, she’d get to the source. As she reached forward, the back of her jumper snagged on a particularly ferocious branch and held her fast. Letting out a frustrated growl, she grabbed awkwardly at the fabric and wood. She yanked hard and the branch split making her stumble and trip on a root in front of her. The noise paused as she fell though the undergrowth and out into a clearing.

  Everything slowed and she became acutely aware of her surroundings, each bird shrill, each beam of sun that kissed her falling face, every bit of her that came in contact with the ground one by one, and the large figure wielding an axe, turning to watch the spectacle.

  Fucking Archie Macdonald.

  “You spying on me?” he said, his voice ricocheting around the clearing as if they were in an amphitheatre.

  “No!” Harriet tried to shout but yelped when she realised the impact of the fall had winded her. Panicking, she tried to inhale but the air kept catching and for the second time in the highlander’s presence, she choked and spluttered, terrified she might die. Not only that, searing pain radiated up her leg from her ankle and her hair had been pulled, hard.

  “Well then, what are you doing?”

  He was looming over her now and it made her panic even more, her solar plexus was bruised and making her nauseous. She buried her head and tried to wake up back in her hotel room. She was too mortified and too much in pain to cope with this right now. She tried to slow down her breathing, counting in as she inhaled and trying to keep things steady. After a few gulps of air made it to the bottom of her lungs, relief flooded through her and she started to hear Archie’s voice properly.

  “I asked you a question. What the fuck are you doing here, spying?”

  His voice was low and angry, like he was hissing through his teeth and Harriet’s first instinct was to be afraid, or at least that’s what she assumed was happening when adrenaline started to course through her. She staggered to standing, grasping at a tree for balance and lifted her painful leg off the ground. She was shocked to find she wasn’t scared at all. She was furious.

  “What the fuck? You see someone in agony on the ground next to you and you don’t even help them up? What kind of dick are you?”

  That same cold glint from the previous night flashed in his eyes.

  “I’d be careful how you spoke to me, lassie, up here, all alone, just you an’ me.” He took a step towards her and Harriet resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, she gritted her teeth and stood as tall as she could.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Their gazes locked and Harriet’s chest burned with the recent winding and the effort to keep her breathing steady.

  Archie Macdonald stepped even closer and reached up to her jaw and grabbed it in his calloused hand.

  “Just be careful,” he said in a menacing whisper and let go of her, knocking her face slightly to the side. “And you might want to sort yourself, your tit’s hanging out.”

  What?

  Archie turned, slinging the axe over his shoulder and Harriet grabbed at her top and looked to her chest where indeed, her tit was actually hanging out. Oh my god, could this get any worse? Her jumper must have caught in more than one place and torn practically off her body. For fuck’s sake. How on earth did her bra get involved? As she tried to unhook bits of branch from her clothing and hoist her boob back into place, she couldn’t help but notice how hard her nipples were. She’d been trying to deny the effect this terr
ible man was having on her but the truth was, she was hot for him. Her body betrayed her. The warmth that had been spreading through her belly was now a furnace between her thighs. She touched her face where she was sure she’d feel the imprint of his touch.

  She’d never had such a feral reaction to another human before. It was like a pure animal instinct had taken her over. She was like a cat in heat. There was something highly charged and erotic about being a dishevelled damsel in distress, with nobody to hear her cries. Her pussy clenched at the thought and the familiar cracking rhythm started up again.

  Thwack, thwack thwack. Though this time she could watch as Archie Macdonald expertly spliced huge logs with his back turned towards her.

  He’d cast a spell all right. If she could have got away with pushing her fingers into her knickers right here and frigged herself off, she would have done it. He’d awoken a side of her that had long since been gone. It was thrilling and frightening and this urge to be sexually satisfied, by this man, was killing her. Deciding that the best thing to do was probably keep quiet, Harriet rested against the tree for a bit to gather her thoughts. As she watched the muscles in Archie’s back ripple and flex through his tight t-shirt as he swung the axe, the adrenaline that had flooded her body started to ebb away, leaving a tremble in its wake.

  He was quite the lumberjack, in his dirty torn jeans and white t-shirt that perfectly showed off his honed body. It was almost too clichéd.

  She watched as he kept lifting up logs to split and throwing them onto the pile to his left. His limbs swung in that cocksure way of a person at ease in his own physicality. Beautifully lubricated joints working in perfect unity with the muscles and bones surrounding them. The flex and glide of flesh beneath clothing and muscle beneath flesh. She was actually salivating as her eyes skated across his torso, then his ass, taking in the shape of his peachy cheeks, oh how she’d love to run her hands round and down into the waistband, and cup those perfect globes, feeling for the dip at his hip when he thrusted.