Lost in Scotland

by Hilaria Alexander

  Hugh

  I was acting like an arse—I was fully aware of that. I wanted to give her a hard time, and every time her eyes met mine, they were full of fire and something else I hadn’t seen before: anger. She was angry at me because I was acting like an idiot, but she’d hurt my feelings, too. She probably didn’t know I had seen her the night before. Yes, I was jealous. Seeing her with Jake had made me furious, and it made me even more angry because he could give her what I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to handle the situation I was in. I wanted her, but I didn’t want to risk my position with the network.

  What they were asking wasn’t fair, and Melissa and I had to come up with a plan to make them change their mind. I understood why Sam had left the night before—I wasn’t promising her much. I just needed a little bit of time, and I’d never thought it would be such a big issue for her. Then, to find her rubbing against that playboy who was always buzzing around her just an hour later…it didn’t sit well with me. I saw red. I had to walk out of there before she was even through with her song. I hadn’t expected to find her there, looking carefree and beautiful, but there she was. God, she was gorgeous. I felt as if I had been hypnotized by her. The way her long black hair fell as her hips swung to the music drove me mad. I wanted to go back to the night she was in my house, on my couch, on top of me.

  I wanted to punch Jake’s face as he grabbed her hips and made her sit on top of him. What was I supposed to think? Was she already replacing me? Was her innocence just an act? Was she playing me? She had gotten his hands off her. She wasn’t into him, was she? God, this was bollocks. I was jealous. My heart thumped loudly inside my chest, and a rush of adrenaline coursed through my body, sending a heat wave through my limbs, making the palms of my hands sweaty.

  The night before, Cecilia had tried to get a rise out of me, making some comment about Sam, something about how sexy she looked. I didn’t answer because there was nothing I could say without giving myself away. I knew she suspected something was up between us—we hadn’t always been so subtle, and I couldn’t seem to stay away from her. I craved every part of her…her smile, her laugh, her skin. I wanted her, but it was more than a purely physical attraction. She was kind and funny, smart and patient. Her shyness was like a veil protecting a beautiful soul. I could have had anyone, but she made me feel things I hadn’t felt ever before.

  I didn’t seem to be able to stay away and, quite frankly, I didn’t want to. I loved my job, and this was my opportunity to shine, but I didn’t feel quite ready to sell my soul. The network would have to understand. Sam was worth the risk.

  For the second time in my life, I felt like I could not give up.

  I wasn’t giving up on her.

  Sam

  My work day was almost over. I just had to keep quiet for a little bit longer, and then I would be able to walk away from him, at least for a few hours. I was so frustrated, I wanted to scream. If it hadn’t been so late and already getting dark, I would have gone up on my favorite hill and screamed at the glen. I thought about it, and then I realized I couldn’t even venture up there tomorrow because we had to get caught up with a scene with the main actors and wrap the episode we were shooting.

  “Ouch!” Hugh yelled as I took the prosthetic off his chest. “Could you try to be more careful? I’m pretty sure you already pulled out half of my chest hair,” he protested in a cold tone. I narrowed my eyes, letting out a slow breath. Oh, please. Stop acting like a little bitch. Pretty sure you’ve never had to wax your balls or your anus. This is nothing. That was what I wanted to say. Instead, I gritted my teeth and swallowed my irritation.

  “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve told you before, we need to make sure we shave your chest hair on this side, so it won’t hurt as much. Unfortunately, that’s how this prosthetic is. I forgot to do it this morning since we were in a hurry. I’m really sorry,” I said apologetically, although I was growing angrier by the minute for how he had behaved all day.

  I had become even more mad because after hours of fuming over his behavior, I realized the only possible explanation was that he was mad at me for saying no to him the night before.

  His eyes met mine as I held the prosthetic scar in my hand, waiting for him to say something, dismissing the incident.

  Something. Anything.

  I cocked one eyebrow at him, waiting for some kind of apology.

  But he didn’t say a word. Instead, we kept staring at each other, his eyes full of fire, his chest heaving. Oh, fuck this.

  “You know what? I’m going to step outside so you can have a moment.”

  What I really wanted to say instead was, Take whatever this is and shove it up your ass. I told myself to calm down and turned around to put the prosthetic away, shaking my head. He stood up behind me, and I froze. I could feel his warm breath on my neck, and I shivered. I glanced in the mirror in front of me, and I noticed him staring. His eyes were stormy, with a different kind of fury I hadn’t seen before. I felt my heart throttle in my chest.

  I needed to calm down and walk away from him. I closed my eyes and exhaled a breath. I was pissed at him, but I couldn’t help but be turned on by his closeness and his musky scent. Suddenly, his hands grabbed my hips, and I gasped. What the fuck is he doing? My eyes shot open, and as they met his, I saw a look of pure lust in them. He pressed his body against mine, his hands roaming every inch of me over my clothes, touching my ass, my breasts, my stomach, as if he needed to caress every part of my body. Why is he doing this right now? I thought he couldn’t be with me, thought it was implied that we needed to stay away from each other, but he was all over me.

  The right reaction should have been to kick him in the nuts.

  However, I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Maybe it was because I had fantasized about him touching me some more since that night at his house; maybe it was because up until a couple of days ago, I still believed there was something blossoming between us. Up until a few days ago, I’d believed we had a chance.

  Now that he was touching me, exploring my curves, I couldn’t say no.

  I wanted him. So, despite my better judgment, I let him touch me. He kissed me on the neck, right under my ear, and I closed my eyes again. I couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too unsettling, too powerful. I felt heady. My breaths started coming in fast and uneven. His right hand went under my shirt, and his fingers skimmed under the fabric of my bra, giving my breast a gentle squeeze. He teased my nipple, and I shivered under his touch.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking, Sam,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  What am I thinking? I wasn’t thinking—I couldn’t think when I was around him like that.

  I looked at him in the mirror. “You want to know what I think? I hate you,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at him. It was a lie, obviously. What I hated was how easily he could get me all worked up. What I hated was how much I wanted him.

  He was a constant tease with his killer blue eyes, his flirty smiles, the way his body always brushed against mine in a more intimate way than the job required. I wasn’t actually upset about that, and of course, he knew it. His hand left my breast and traveled south, right under the waistband of my yoga pants.

  Fuck.

  “Yeah?” he whispered in my ear. “You hate me?”

  “I do,” I replied with a strangled moan.

  “Is that so? Then why are your knickers so wet?”

  Fuck me. His fingers had found my wet center. Fuck my body for betraying me like that. He traced slow circles with his index finger on my clit, sending a wave of heat through my body. He moved his finger across my wetness, pushing a finger in and out of me. My breath became fast and ragged, and I rolled my head back, leaning against his shoulder. He adjusted his angle, stroking me with his thumb as his finger pushed inside me. His left hand teased the nipple of my right breast while the fingers of his right hand strummed me between my legs, and I let out a strangled moan. I was already so damn close. I felt his hard length as he grinded against me and increased
the speed and the pressure on my clitoris. The blood rushed to my head, and I grabbed the table for support, all my nerve endings ready to erupt in fireworks. I wanted to scream and say his name, but I was too proud to do that. I hated that he turned me on so much, so easily. I didn’t want to be so out of control around him, but he made me powerless. It was the very last thing we should have been doing, but it felt fucking fantastic.

  “Oh, God,” I mumbled, and he pressed me against him, pulling my head back, placing wet, hot kisses on my neck as he drove me closer and closer to climax.

  Then he suddenly stopped.

  What a fucking jerk.

  Sam

  “You’re so fucking sexy, do you know that?” he said, turning me around. He tipped my chin up so I could look at him.

  No, tell me, I wanted to say, but I was speechless and out of breath. I felt lightheaded and greedy for more. I wanted more, badly.

  My body was flush against his, and I could feel every hard line of his chest under my hands. His hard length was pressed against my hip, and I had to admit I couldn’t wait to see it, couldn’t wait to touch it. I had wanted him for too long.

  “Do you know how hard you make me?”

  Well, yes, I had an idea.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about you in the last few weeks?”

  The feeling is mutual, buddy. I wanted to say it, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  I was still breathing heavily. My brain was foggy and honestly a little upset that my journey to a fucking-good-orgasm had been interrupted so abruptly.

  I looked into his blue eyes, so full of intent, his thick brows furrowed, a little line forming between them. He kept his grip on the back of my head with one hand and on my ass with the other. My lips parted and I said, “Show me. Show me how much you want me.”

  We stared at each other for one more second before his mouth crashed onto mine, and when my lips parted, our tongues wrapped together, soft and hard, fast and slow, making me want more. He brought his other hand down to my ass, and a moment later he lifted me and threw me on the table. Most of my tools fell on the floor and makeup and brushes went flying everywhere, but I was past the point of caring, unable to stop kissing him.

  To hell with caution.

  He placed himself between my legs as my hands started roaming the smooth planes of his chest, traveling down to his waist, to his cock. I lifted the kilt with one hand and was disappointed to find that he was wearing underwear. I groaned against his mouth, and he laughed, breaking the kiss.

  “What do ye want from me, Sam? I can’t go around flashing the whole crew.” He laughed, a low rumble inside his chest. I had missed it. We hadn’t laughed together in days. Things had been so strained between us ever since he’d left for London.

  “I have been wondering for weeks if you went commando or not.”

  “Sorry to crush your dreams,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up on one side. There’s another way you can make my dreams come true, I thought. I grabbed his jaw, and he leaned in, eager. I kissed him with the same intensity he had kissed me with, and with my hand I freed his hard cock, beautiful and smooth under my fingers. My fingertips teased the crown, and he moaned in my mouth. It felt wonderful under my fingers. In a few months, millions of women would be fantasizing about him, about his body…and about his dick. I circled his length with my fingers and started stroking him up and down. It was big and hard, and I couldn’t wait to have him inside me.

  One of his hands was behind my back, holding me in place while the other made its way into my underwear again. His fingers resumed the blissful stroking that had gotten me so worked up. In no time at all, I was trying to hold back my cries of pleasure. I wanted to yell “fuck” a million times, but I knew for sure people outside the trailer would hear that. My center throbbed under his touch, needing more of it, more of him. I kept stroking him as he brought me closer and closer to climax.

  “Fuck!” he mumbled, breaking the kiss. He brought his forehead closer to mine, and I moaned against his lips.

  “Hugh, I’m so close,” I cried, and that got him even more focused on finishing the job. He inserted two fingers and pressed my clit with his thumb, but just then, we heard a knock on the door. We both froze, wondering if we’d heard right. We weren’t wrong. Someone was outside the trailer, and they knocked three more times. He backed off me instantly, fixing his underwear and his kilt, and I jumped off the table, straightening my clothes.

  I looked at him to see if he was decent, and he gave me a nod.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Come in!” I yelled.

  The door opened, and a production assistant named Simon entered the trailer.

  “Sorry, Hugh, they want you back on set. Nora and Stephon said they’re not done with you today.”

  Ugh. I wasn’t done with him either.

  Hugh’s eyebrows furrowed; he was just as confused as I was.

  “I don’t understand…I thought I was done for the day,” he said.

  “What happened here?” the production assistant asked, noticing all the makeup on the floor.

  “Sam tripped and landed on the table,” Hugh said, without missing a beat. “I was just helping her clean up.” Simon eyed me cautiously.

  “Yep. That’s true. I fell. Clumsy me, ha ha. You don’t have to help me, Hugh. They need you on set. Just go,” I said nervously. Then I realized something. “Wait…does he need to be shirtless again? I just removed the prosthetic.” I could feel Hugh’s death glare on me, but all I cared about was not being caught by a gossipy production assistant.

  “No, he won’t. He just needs the shirt he was wearing earlier today.”

  “Thank God,” Hugh mumbled.

  “There’s a funky smell in here,” Simon said.

  Um, yeah—sex.

  “It’s probably one of Hugh’s nasty protein-loaded meals,” I joked. “I smell eggs, don’t you?” I asked Simon, scrunching up my nose. That earned me another death stare from Hugh. “What?” I shrugged. “It’s the fucking truth, laddie.”

  “I’ll be right out,” he said to the assistant in a firm tone.

  Simon frowned and hurried outside. I glanced at Hugh and let out a shaky breath. He turned toward me, the look in his eyes intense and determined; it made my insides quiver. My muscles clenched, and a shiver ran through me. I was on edge. My orgasm had been interrupted twice. Twice. Despite everything that had happened the last few days, I wanted him. I couldn’t wait. It wasn’t a smart thing to do, but I couldn’t wait anymore. Just as his fingers skimmed across my jaw, my back arched, my entire body begging for his touch. I instinctively licked my lips, and a moment later, I was back in his arms, his lips against mine, soft but urgent, needing more.

  His tongue wrapped around mine time and time again, and I felt I could have come undone with that alone, in his arms, his hands holding my head, pressing me closer to him.

  “I’m not even close to being done with you,” he whispered against my mouth as he broke the kiss. I swallowed and tried to catch my breath as I heard him mutter a “fuck” under his breath. He gave me one more lust-loaded gaze as he grabbed his shirt and walked out of the trailer.

  “Ohmygod,” I let out when I was finally alone. My knees buckled, making me reach for something to hold on to. What the fuck had just happened? I took my face in my hands as I sat in his chair, still having a hard time believing what had gone down.

  Weeks of sexual frustration had just exploded all over this trailer.

  I turned around and looked at the mess.

  My poor makeup. In a different situation, I would have told lover boy to chill—no one throws my things around like that. Obviously, I had been too far gone to care. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt the blood rise to my cheeks. My blush was quite faint, but the expression on my face would probably give me away. My eyes were wide and dazed, my lips red and swollen. I ran a couple fingers over my lips, thinking about his kisses. He’d said he wasn’t d
one with me, but in all honesty, I didn’t know what to expect. Who knew if he was going to walk back in and act as if nothing had happened?

  I looked restless, feral even, like a starving person who had been offered something to eat only to see it taken away. My hair was a mess, too. The ponytail was loose, and the hairs on top were all out of place. I fixed my hair first, and then started collecting all the things that had fallen to the floor.

  I needed to stop thinking about him…his fingers inside me, his beautiful body…his cock. I needed to go home and bake. Yes, baking was going to do the trick and take my mind off his smooth cock—stop thinking about it dammit. Think about what you could bake. Hmmm, chocolate chip cookies, sugar cookies, banana bread… The possibilities were endless. I just needed to make sure I had all the ingredients. I thought maybe I should stop at the little supermarket in town before heading to the townhouse.

  Maybe if we’d had the time to finish off, I wouldn’t be feeling restless.

  Fuck.

  I needed to get home and let out all my pent-up frustration.

  It took me a while to clean up and put everything away, and only then did I realize I should probably go to the set to see if Hugh needed a touch-up.

  Damn, where is my head? Well, I knew where it had been for the last thirty minutes, but I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to check on him.

  I grabbed my coat and my makeup bag and headed out. Simon had said they were going to reshoot a scene they’d done earlier in the day, so I knew where to find him.

  I opened the door of the trailer just as he was walking over.

  I glanced around, wondering what was going on. The sun was setting, and everyone was getting ready to leave. They all seemed to be in even more of a hurry than usual since it was Saturday and we’d been there all day. Hugh walked in the trailer, shut the door, and locked it.

  His eyes had the same wicked intensity they’d had earlier, and I could feel my pulse quicken. I let out a breath, walking backward, waiting for his next move.