One Hot Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  Before she could lose her nerve, Julia put a hand on his bare shoulder, leaned up, and kissed him on the mouth. She felt his surprise, and for a second she worried that he would push her away. Would she lose her rescuer? Would he think that she was purchasing his protection with her body?

  His arms slid around her waist, pulling her up along his chest. His lips teased back at hers, warm and inviting. A foreign land, a near stranger, a tumble-down shack, a warm fire, and a thunderous storm outside. Perhaps none of this was real. Perhaps she was truly back in her own bed in Wessex, dreaming the very best Christmas dream of her life. Perhaps she didn’t want to wake up. Not for awhile, anyway.

  “Lass, ye dunnae need to—”

  “I want to,” she returned, tangling her fingers into his black hair and pulling his face closer for another kiss. “I’m ruined, whatever story I choose to tell. And you … I want you, Duncan. We met when we shouldn’t have. And tonight I … I feel like such a precious piece of luck shouldn’t be disregarded.”

  “Ye dunnae know me, Julia,” he returned, sitting on the askew bed with her gathered in his lap. And despite his words, he leaned in to take her mouth again.

  He stirred beneath her bottom, and she took a quick, aroused breath. “I know you’re honorable. I know you love your family. I know you’re willing to go to a great deal of trouble to help a stranger.”

  “Nae fer a stranger,” he said roughly, pulling the few remaining pins from her hair and dropping them onto the hearth—still mindful that he might have to hide her again. “Fer Julia Prentiss. I do it fer ye. Ye’re a remarkable lass, ye know.”

  “I never thought so.” Shivers going down her spine, she ran her fingers softly across his bare chest. His skin was warm, velvet above iron muscles. The body of a man who didn’t sit in clubs all day ordering pheasant and talking about cravats.

  “I’ve a belief that most people who think themselves amazing generally are nae so.” He shifted, running his mouth along her throat and nipping at her ear. “Ye’re the last thing I ever expected in my life, Julia. When I close my eyes, I’m nae even certain this isnae a dream. I mean to have ye. If ye have a different idea, ye’d best tell me before I shed my kilt again.”

  She chuckled, feeling breathless again, but excitement speeding through her like the cascading river outside. “I have the very same idea you have, Duncan.” But dream or not, there was still Lord Bellamy outside. She glanced toward the door. It was latched again, with a sturdy bar holding back the world outside. Good. She wanted nothing from out there to make its way in here. Not tonight. Not ever, truly.

  Duncan followed her gaze. “Take off that dress of yers, lass,” he said, lifting her off his lap. “No one’s getting in here again tonight.”

  Standing, he first threw another log on the fire, then walked to the door and jammed one of the chairs under the latch for good measure.

  “The last time this door was barred was against the Sasannach army,” he said, facing her again. “Now I do it to keep an English lass safe from Highlanders.” With a grin he pulled the end of his kilt free and slowly unwrapped it from around his waist, letting it fall in a long, plaid tail to the floor.

  “Not all Highlanders,” she murmured, standing up to unbutton the back of her dress. Coming out of the lake he’d been impressive. Now, warm and aroused, he was simply … magnificent.

  “Let me help ye with that.” He moved up behind her, unfastening the last of the buttons. Slowly he tugged the sleeves down her shoulders, kissing her bared skin as he went.

  Julia shut her eyes, moaning at the delight of the sensation. For a heartbeat she wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t escaped Bellamy, but just as swiftly she shoved that thought aside. This wasn’t Hugh Fersen. This was Duncan Lenox, and he was invited. He was welcome.

  His fingers brushed across her bared breasts, and she snapped her eyes open again, startled. Lowering her gaze she watched him do it again, felt his palms close over her nipples. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

  “Ye like that, lass?” he whispered, kissing the nape of her neck.

  “Yes. Aye.”

  Duncan chuckled, the sound rumbling into her own chest. “Ye’re nae making fun of me, are ye, Julia Prentiss?” he asked, dipping one hand down inside her dress where it sagged at her waist and touching here … there.

  She squeaked, jumping. No one had ever caressed her so intimately. And she couldn’t escape the feeling that she would never want anyone else to do so. Ever. For heaven’s sake, they’d barely met, but, this … he … it felt like it was supposed to be. Her, the last person to ever believe in love at first sight, yet here she was. With Duncan Lenox. Naked.

  “If ye’re getting skittish, ye need to tell me, lass.”

  “I’m not skittish. I just don’t want to wake up.”

  His fingers stilled, and he moved around in front of her again. “I dunnae know what this is,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her breastbone, “but I do like it. Faerie magic, or some such thing. That’s what my sisters would say. Or perhaps this isnae yer Christmas gift, but mine.” Shrugging, he leaned in to capture her mouth again, putting his hands on her waist and pushing her gown down to the floor.

  Faerie magic. She liked the sound of that. In his company the Highlands didn’t seem so far from home. Since she’d met him—heavens, had it only been eight hours ago?—her fall into despair and chaos and ruin had stopped dead. And whatever happened tomorrow, tonight she wanted to know what it was like to be in his arms. Faerie magic or not. If he was part of her Christmas gift, well, perhaps Scotland wasn’t as much of a disaster as she’d begun to think.

  Julia put her hands on his chest and shoved. She imagined she could more easily move a wall, but with a grin, he stepped backward and sank onto the bed, drawing her down over him. “Neo-àbhaistiche bean-uasal,” he said, chuckling as he ran his hands down her back to her arse, pulling her up against him.

  “What does that mean?” She wanted to hold him and touch him and move against him all at the same time, but she settled for nibbling at the hard line of his jaw.

  “I said ye were an unusual lady,” he returned, his pulse speeding beneath her lips.

  “Just one who’s glad to be alive. And free.”

  Duncan smiled up at her, and the next moment she was wrapped in his arms and pinned beneath him. The reasons she could give him for wanting to be here perhaps didn’t make much sense or sounded like she was merely grateful to him. Inside, though, the wish to be with him felt more like … need than it did gratitude. If she said something so absurd aloud, though, he’d likely flee shrieking into the night. And she did not want that.

  As he kissed her, his hand moved between them again. One finger curled deliciously inside her, and she bucked, moaning again. “Auburn-haired lass,” he breathed, teasing at her with two fingers now, kissing her in time with the motion of his hand, “come fer me.”

  She wasn’t precisely certain what that meant, but the sweet, breath-stealing tension running through her abdomen tightened until she couldn’t do anything but hold onto his shoulders and arch against him. That must be what he’d been talking about, the small working part of her mind said. And then with a pulsing riot of sensation, she shattered.

  “Oh, oh,” she shivered, digging her fingers into him. “Oh, my. Was that what you meant?”

  Duncan chuckled again. “Aye. And I’d like to play now, as well, if ye dunnae mind.”

  Nodding, she settled onto her back again as he nudged her knees apart. Then he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding slowly, deeply inside her until with a quick, sharp pain, he’d buried himself completely.

  “Are ye well?” he murmured, leaning sideways to take her left breast in his mouth and flick her nipple with his tongue.

  It took her a moment to find her breath again. She nodded up at him, shivering deliciously once more. He began to move, sliding with exquisite slowness out and in again. The heat of him enveloped her, outside and in, warm and safe and v
ery, very arousing. She wanted to memorize all of him—the play of muscles beneath his skin, the weight of him on her, the curve of his mouth when he smiled down at her, the flecks of amber in his deep green eyes when they met her gaze. And the way they fit, perfectly, together.

  His pace increased, and she tightened inside again, digging her fingers into his shoulders as that rush flooded through her, deeper and longer than it had before. With a groan he held himself against her, then kissed her hot and open-mouthed before he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

  “Well,” he murmured, kissing her soft skin and waiting for whatever it was—reality, guilt, dismay—to creep into his heart.

  Instead, Duncan wanted to repeat the experience at the earliest possible moment. He shifted off of her, turning onto his back and sitting up to pull the heavy blankets up over them as she curled against his side.

  “Well,” she returned in the same tone. “You’ve given a ruined lady a very high measure for comparison.”

  Duncan frowned. “Ye want to go off and compare me, then?”

  The muscles of her back tensed beneath his hand. “That’s not what I meant.” She lifted her head from his shoulder, her brown eyes serious. “This … I’m not asking anything from you, Duncan. I’m not going to weep and declare that you’ve despoiled me, because Bellamy saw to that when he dragged me off into the Highlands. I said it poorly, clearly, but—”

  “I take yer meaning, lass,” he interrupted. “I just didnae expect it.” Though from her, as extraordinary as she’d been up to this point, he likely should have expected just that sort of declaration. “It was a ‘thank ye fer a fine evening, but I dunnae expect anything else of ye.’”

  “Yes. Precisely.” With a satisfied smile that made him stir again, she sank back against him.

  “Tell me someaught, Julia Prentiss. Did ye have a beau back in London?”

  “Not as such, no,” she answered, her voice slowing as she relaxed. “Several gentlemen have—had—offered for me, but I didn’t … Well, I never felt the desire to be with them as I did with you. As I do with you.” Her fingers ran idle circles around his chest, the sensation intimate and surprisingly arousing. “What about you? You’re a heroic sort of fellow, and not entirely displeasing to the eyes. Do you have a particular lady?”

  That he did, though he hadn’t until a few hours ago. Would that idea frighten her all over again? Would she think he was after her fortune just as Bellamy had been, except that he was more clever about it? The last thing he wanted to do was send her running into a rainstorm at night with Bellamy likely close enough to sneeze on. “Most ladies I meet cannae withstand my sisters,” he said aloud, wondering if he’d ever been as careful about anything as he was being about this conversation. “She’d have to be brave and extraordinary to even wish to meet them. And if they liked her, well, how could I do any differently?”

  “I’d like to meet your sisters,” she muttered sleepily. “You make them sound very grand.”

  “Aye, that they are,” he whispered back, idly twining his fingers through the straying ends of her disheveled auburn hair. Had she realized what she’d said? That she wanted to meet them because the equation ended with him? Or was he being too clever for a young lady who’d spent five days being frightened and who finally felt safe for a moment or two?

  After a moment she stilled, her breath slow and light across his chest. Beside them the fire in the hearth crackled, while the tapping of the rain at the windows danced across his hearing like the fingers of a dream. Further away now thunder rumbled, passing through the deep dark of everywhere outside this tiny cottage.

  Could he imagine a lifetime with this English woman he’d only known a few hours? Was it odder that he was already asking himself that question, or that he already could imagine her by his side? That he wondered if their children would have her wild auburn hair? That he wanted his sisters to meet her, because he already knew they would adore her? None of it made any sense at all, but he’d never known anything with such certainty in his life. Him, the cautious man who weighed every action against the possible consequences to his family and to himself, so mad for a stranger that he felt willing to risk … everything for her.

  “Duncan?”

  He blinked. “Aye?”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “I’ll nae close my eyes, leannan. I promise.”

  She drifted off to sleep again, evidently reassured by his answer. And he meant it; if Bellamy knocked at his door again, the earl was a dead man.

  * * *

  “Is it still raining?”

  Duncan turned from gazing out the western-facing window. Julia had sat up, the blankets draped deliciously around her waist. For a moment he wished he hadn’t bothered to dress; not taking full advantage of the remaining moments of peace they had seemed like an ungodly sin. “Nae,” he said aloud, pouring her a cup of tea, dropping two lumps of sugar into the strong brew, and bringing it over to the bed. “It stopped nearly an hour ago.”

  “What time is it?”

  He shrugged, watching her drink. “Nearly seven o’clock, I would guess. I’ve nae a clock here.”

  She looked around, as if seeing the shack for the first time. “I can’t even imagine a day without a clock or a pocket watch telling me when I’m to go out walking or when it’s time to dress for the theater,” she said with a grin. “It’s actually rather heady.”

  “I’ll be happy to take a hammer to every clock at Lenox House, then,” he returned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Do ye fancy some eggs fer breakfast?”

  “We can’t stay here, can we? Don’t you think he’ll be back?”

  “I think he’ll definitely be back when he cannae find ye anywhere else. We can take a damned minute to eat, though.”

  Julia nodded. “And then you’ll take me to Lenox House?”

  “I gave ye my word that I would, lass.”

  For a long moment her brown gaze searched his face. Then she nodded. “I don’t suppose I could wash up somewhere. I likely look like one of those banshees you have here.”

  He grinned. “Aye, ye frighten me a bit. It’s too muddy and too damned cold fer ye to go down to the river, but I’ll bring ye up a bucket and put it over the fire.” Standing, he went back over to the cupboard. “And I think ye’d be better served with a coat and some trousers. Ye’d be easier to miss that way, if anyone should see us walking.” He pulled out a spare shirt and trousers he kept in the cottage and placed them across the foot of the bed.

  “You’re not wearing your kilt,” she said belatedly, her cheeks darkening as she looked him up and down.

  “I dunnae wear it that often, really. It’s easier fer bathing, though. And a few other things.” With that he leaned down and kissed her softly on the mouth. She wasn’t allowed to pretend that last night hadn’t happened.

  Julia wrapped both hands into his hair, kissing him back. Evidently she didn’t want to forget about last night. “I like those other things,” she murmured against his mouth.

  “Good.” Reaching beneath the bed, he handed her the knife. “I’ll be back in two minutes. Three at the most. If I’m longer, I loaded the rifle. It’s behind the cupboard there. Ye know how to use it?”

  She took a quick breath. “Yes. But just be back.”

  “I intend to be.”

  He might have told her the direction to Lenox House, he supposed, but in the Highlands finding anything was no easy task. She’d be better off trying to negotiate her way out of trouble with the help of the rifle.

  Once he’d pulled the chair away from the door and set the plank that barred it aside, he picked up the bucket and slipped outside. Clouds hung low enough in the sky to obscure the top of the cliffs on either side of his valley, and spent rain ran in rivulets along the stone and mud to the river. He had a second pair of boots, but her feet were much smaller than his. Her own shoes were nearly useless, but perhaps he could wrap them with rabbit fur to at least keep her warmer. Yesterday had b
een balmy by Highland standards, but today the air had a considerable bite to it.

  It took some effort not to glance back at the cottage every minute. If anyone was watching him, though, they would know he had something precious stashed there—and the longer he could keep that secret, the better. He did what he could to look for signs that Bellamy and his cousin or any of his men remained in the valley, at the same time trying to give the appearance that, other than a mild curiosity over a supposedly missing Sasannach woman, nothing in his life had altered.

  Squatting atop a weather-flattened rock, he scooped up a bucket full of cold water and made his way back up the mild slope to the cotter’s shack. Once he left here with a second person, he could only hope that Bellamy hadn’t told anyone else he’d been staying here alone. Because while he could make Julia look unlike an English lady, he couldn’t make her invisible.

  On the chance that she already had the rifle pointed at the door, he knocked before he pulled down on the latch and shouldered the old oak open. “It’s me.”

  She appeared from right behind the door, his knife in her hand and wearing nothing but his spare shirt, hanging down to her bare thighs, and his kilt across her shoulders. He hadn’t expected her to be cowering somewhere, but he liked that she’d been ready to act. Bending down a little, he kissed her again.

  “Ye do look bonny in MacLawry colors,” he told her, as he hung the bucket over the fire to warm the water.

  “Do the colors mean something?” she asked, running her hands down the heavy wool.

  “White fer snow and pure intent, black fer determination, and red fer blood,” he replied, digging back into the second cupboard for the boiled eggs he’d wrapped in a cloth when he’d hiked down here three days ago. “The grays are whatever ye like; they happen in the weaving.”