Lost in Scotland

by Hilaria Alexander

  “Wait, wait…I told him I like him as a friend, but that I’m not into him, and when he asked if I fancied you instead—those were the words he used—he told me not to fall for you, because…wait for it…he thinks you’re a womanizer,” I said, clapping my hands excitedly. Hugh narrowed his eyes, giving me a puzzled look.

  “Me?”

  “Yep, that’s right…he thinks you are the womanizer. He said that every night you have a different girl showing up at your door—” I stifled a laugh, but Hugh looked still worried.

  “Sam, you know there’s no one else. I’ve only been spending time with y—” I stopped him, covering his lips with mine.

  “I know, and here’s the best part: he thinks you’re hiring escorts,” I said, breaking into a laugh.

  “What?”

  “He mentioned he saw a redhead and a blonde.” I gave him a wink, and the worried expression on his face turned into a more relaxed one as a bright smile stretched across his face.

  “I told ye those wigs were a bad idea,” he said, cocking one eyebrow.

  “Oh, really?” I said with a fake British accent. “You didn’t seem to mind the other night when I wore that short blond bob. I liked it—I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.” I smiled, and he gave me a look that was a mix of desire and adoration. He made me feel like I was the center of his universe.

  “It was not because of the Pretty Woman wig,” he said, running a finger down my chest and making my skin break into goose bumps. “It was because you showed up wearing nothing but a trench coat. You’re a bad girl, Sam,” he teased in a husky tone, his accent heavier on the last sentence.

  “I never claimed to be good,” I whispered as his hands skimmed my body, my center heavy with anticipation.

  “I’ll take any part of you, good or bad.” His hands started teasing me again, and I grabbed his cock, hard and smooth under my fingertips.

  “Excellent answer, mo gràdh,” I said against his lips.

  Sam

  December brought a lot of news. Amira had been nominated for a Golden Globe for her latest release, and the network was sending Hugh and Melissa to LA. They were going to be presenters at the Globes and would also be doing another small media tour.

  Hugh and Amira were impatient to meet each other in person, and one night we managed to FaceTime while I was staying at his place.

  “Your sister is amazing at everything she does, but she really kills it every time we have a karaoke night,” he told Amira through the screen, and I felt myself blush. I was sitting on his knees while he spoke to my sister, and I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

  “I know!” Amira laughed and pointed her finger at me. “She’s my Beyoncé. She’s shy, but when she gets to sing, she becomes all Sasha Fierce. It’s like seeing her transform into a completely different person.”

  “I just like karaoke,” I said, but neither one of them was listening to me.

  “She’s a brilliant girl, and she does a mean Freddie Mercury.”

  “Amen to that! Make her sing a Lady Gaga song next time. She gets all theatrical when she sings ‘Bad Romance,’” my sister said.

  “Can you guys stop? I’m right here!” I asked in a pleading tone.

  Hugh squeezed his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Why? Can’t I talk to your sister about falling for you?” he asked, his nose trailing down my neck. Bam. If I hadn’t been on fire before, I definitely was after that.

  “What’s the deal, sweet cheeks?” my sister called from her end. “It’s not like we’re talking shit about you.”

  Hugh laughed, and suddenly I felt as if my skin was on fire. Between the jokes, the comments about my singing, and the fact that he’d said he was falling for me, I didn’t know what embarrassed me the most.

  Oh, who am I kidding? As embarrassed as I was at witnessing them talk about me, it also felt nice. Seeing Hugh talk to my sister made me realize once and for all that this thing between us was real. The last few weeks I had been riding a high, and now that he knew everything, my secret no longer weighed on my chest. Being up there made me feel different, too. It wasn’t just the drop-dead-gorgeous scenery Scotland had to offer; it was that my life in St. Martin was so different from the one I’d led in LA and not just because of the setting. After weeks and weeks of being there, spending every day with the cast and crew, I felt completely removed from everything Hollywood.

  For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel homesick.

  In fact, I didn’t miss it at all.

  The screen of my phone lit up, distracting me from my view. The snow had been falling incessantly, turning Heathrow into a mess of biblical proportions.

  I miss you.

  I sighed and then smiled. We had barely been apart a couple of days, but I missed Hugh, too. I adjusted myself in the uncomfortable chair for the millionth time. My entire body was a bundle of strained muscles. Traveling during the holidays sucked, and I had already told Amira this was the last time I flew across the globe for her at Christmas.

  I let out a deep breath, looking at my reflection in the airport’s glass windows. Around me, there were dozens of stranded travelers, some sitting in the airport chairs, some lying on the floor, trying to either rest or kill time. Our blank stares said it all. I had been in the airport for eighteen hours, and there was no way to know how much longer I would have to wait for the chance to board a flight. A heavy snowstorm had struck London and had brought the city to its knees. I hadn’t even known it could snow like that there. The buses stopped running, the trains were delayed, and so were most of the flights. The departures monitor was nothing but a slew of delayed and cancelled. I debated how to reply to Hugh without sounding like I was at the end of my wits.

  I miss you, too.

  Are you in Thailand yet? Wait…why are you replying to my text? It should be nighttime on that side of the world.

  I’m stuck at Heathrow. My flight got cancelled because of the snow.

  When is your flight?

  Undetermined.

  Sam, you’re not spending Christmas at the airport.

  I don’t have much of a choice.

  Yes, you do.

  I could just picture his serious, concentrated expression as he typed that.

  I’m not going to let you spend Christmas in the airport. I’m coming to get you.

  That’s really sweet, but not necessary. I’ll be okay.

  My phone started buzzing in my hand. He was so bossy sometimes, and I secretly liked it.

  “Samhain,” he said in his super serious, almost intimidating tone, pronouncing my name not the Scottish way, but the way my mother believed it should be pronounced. I loved when he said my full name. It sounded beautiful, even if it wasn’t the correct pronunciation, and I loved when he used that tone, particularly in the bedroom. I almost squirmed hearing his voice over the phone. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you sit in an airport at Christmas.”

  “It’s not that bad.” I sighed. Admittedly, it was pretty bad, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t deal with—at least for a few more hours. I stared at the clock on the airline kiosk at the gate. By midnight, I was probably going to lose it and start banging my head on the wall.

  “It is.” I could hear his beautiful accent through the phone, and for a moment, I didn’t feel so tired and alone anymore. I needed to have his voice with me at all times; it was so soothing, so calming. The man needed to narrate some audiobooks. He needed to read me things; I could have listened to him read the phone book. Every word was more interesting coming out of his beautiful mouth.

  “Sam, I understand you’re trying not to make a big deal out of it, but no one should ever be stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve unless you know for sure you’re going to get on a plane soon.”

  True. But then I remembered why I needed to stay put.

  “Hugh, I can’t leave. I’m on a waitlist. What if they call my name and I’m not here?”

  “Samhain,
this is not up for discussion. We’ll figure it out. In fact, I’m already on my way.” I could hear the pling sound of a car unlocking. Good grief, the dude was hardheaded. Stubborn Scot.

  “Hugh, you can’t do that! I mean…it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but it’s really not necessary.”

  “Sam, I’m not going to let you stay there. What kind of man would I be if I let my girlfriend sit in an airport on Christmas Eve?”

  Girlfriend.

  I loved when he said that. My brain and heart high-fived and did a happy dance. I smiled to myself, and my chest filled with a new hope. Maybe my holidays weren’t going to be so shitty after all.

  “Okay. If you insist,” I replied.

  “I do.” There it was again—the accent that awakened parts of me that should have been too tired to even care. “It’s probably going to take me longer than usual with the traffic and the snow. I will call you when I’m getting closer.”

  “Please be safe. I’ll talk to you later.” I love you almost slipped past my lips, but I stopped myself just in time. I was going to spend Christmas Day with my boyfriend.

  And his family.

  His mother, father, four brothers, niece, and nephew—and I looked like…someone who had been sitting in an airport for eighteen hours had ingested way too much Starbucks and probably had potato chips crumbs on her shirt—yeah, I wasn’t kidding about that last part. I brushed the crumbs off my shirt and realized I needed a quick makeover.

  Thankfully, everything I needed was available to me with the swipe of a card.

  First stop: Boots. Then, Harrods.

  I ended up staying with the MacLeods on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I met his parents, all his brothers, his niece, and nephew.

  When I say I spent Christmas with the MacLeods, I actually meant I spent it with little Claire MacLeod, Declan’s daughter. Claire and I were instant BFFs, and she monopolized my time as soon as I crossed the threshold of the MacLeods’ home. We spent most of our time together braiding each other’s hair—okay, it was mostly me doing the braiding—reading Christmas stories by the fireplace, and on Christmas Day, she had her favorite uncle (Hugh) put together most of her toys so we could play with them.

  She had the blondest hair I had ever seen, and it fell to her shoulders in wild waves mixed with strands that were completely straight. The thickness and wildness of her hair reminded me a little bit of Hugh’s hair. She was eight and was very well-mannered for a little girl her age—then again, my interactions with children were mostly limited to movie sets, and those kids were always brattier. She was as curious as they come. She had a million questions for me, starting with why my hair and skin were so dark and why I spoke differently.

  Her brother, Rory, was six. Unlike his sister, he had straight, short red hair, and his eyes were a crystal blue. He was shy and soft-spoken compared to his sassy sibling.

  Declan and his baby-mama had separated a few years before, and Hugh had briefly told me about the divorce—the first in his very Catholic family, which caused quite a stir. Then, his mother talked about it more in detail as I tried helping her out in the kitchen.

  Declan and his wife had met while working for British Airways; he was a pilot and she was a flight attendant. They were young and in love for years before they got hitched right after they found out they were pregnant with little Claire.

  “They were happy for a few years,” she said, her voice laced with a certain melancholy. “Or at least, they seemed happy. Carissa, my daughter-in-law—well, I guess ex-daughter-in-law now—was crumbling under the pressure of juggling a career and a family. They had Rory soon after. She and Declan were on different shifts so one of them could always be with the kids. We tried to help as much as we could, but in the end, they grew apart. She was unhappy and wanted a divorce. Declan even quit his job and started working as a private pilot to have a more flexible schedule, but it still didn’t work.” She let out a deep sigh. “They share custody of the kids. They should have been with their mum tomorrow, but she went on a trip. She’s…enjoying the single life, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been hard on all of you, especially the kids.”

  She gave me a silent nod. “Are your parents still together?”

  “They divorced when I was eighteen. I was no child, and it was still traumatic. I don’t wish it on any family. Sometimes I still wish they could have stayed together, but I understand there was no way around it.” I left it at that, deciding not to bring my mother’s sexuality into the conversation.

  “Let’s talk about something happier,” Fiona MacLeod said with a warm smile. “Hugh tells me you’re a great cook.” I smiled, slightly embarrassed, but mostly delighted. I had no clue his family even knew about me.

  “I’m okay, I guess.”

  “Ah, and she’s modest! You like baking, aye?”

  “I do.” I heard footsteps and smiled. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist.

  “She’s an amazing baker,” he said, his voice tickling my ear.

  I bit my lip to stop the grin forming on my face. Happy didn’t come close to covering it; he made me euphoric. Claire waltzed into the kitchen and asked her grandma for help.

  The two of them left the room, and as soon as we were alone, he started nuzzling my neck. I turned around to face him. “You told your mother about me?”

  “Aye, of course I did. I had to,” he said. “She read it on my face as soon as I got here. She said something was different with me. She’s right—I’m falling for a beautiful, kind, smart woman,” he said, brushing away a strand of hair. He kissed me softly on the lips, and as much as I was enjoying getting to know his family, for a moment, I wished we were alone.

  “Ewwww!” Rory exclaimed from the kitchen doorway, pointing at us, his face an expression of sheer disgust. He ran away after he’d successfully broken us apart.

  Hugh gave me a pensive look and then frowned.

  “What is it? Worried about your nephew exposing us?”

  He laughed. “No. I was thinking…don’t you talk to your family about me?”

  I pressed my lips together, not wanting to give anything away. The amount of girl talk I’d had about him with my mother and sister was embarrassing. I certainly didn’t want to flaunt how much I was constantly swooning over him.

  “Sometimes,” I said coyly, trying to resume the Christmas Eve preparations.

  He tickled me around my waist, knowing I couldn’t stand to be tickled in that spot without squirming.

  “Just sometimes?” he asked, feigning horror.

  “Okay, okay. Stop!” I cried. “I talk about you all the time, okay? With Amira…and my mom.”

  “What about your father?”

  “It hasn’t come up yet.” He cocked one eyebrow.

  “I haven’t told him because I know he’d say it’s too soon to get into another relationship—” And look how the last one turned out, he’d say to me.

  “What about your mom?” he asked in a serious tone.

  “She just wants me to be happy.”

  He nodded and gave me a dark, mischievous look. “Good, because I plan to make you verra happy.” He kissed me again, and then kissed my forehead. He wrapped his strong arms around me, and I let out a sigh. I pressed my head against his chest, and as I listened to his steady heartbeat, I hoped he was being serious and would keep making good on his promise.

  Hugh’s brothers were the rowdy bunch people write romance series about. They were all tall and handsome, but each one was also very different from the other, both in personality and looks.

  Declan, the divorced pilot with two beautiful kids, was the oldest and resembled his father the most.

  Hugh was the second born. Although I already knew a lot about him, I had only recently found out he was the spitting image of his mother. The shape and shade of their eyes were identical. Fiona’s hair was a light red these days, but I learned from an old family photo that she used to have brown hair
as well. Hugh’s chin, however, resembled his father’s.

  Fergus was the third child in the MacLeod family. He was twenty-eight and a marine biologist with the Finnish Institute of Marine Research. Apparently, he was the brainiac of the family.

  Tamhas was twenty-six and an elementary school teacher in London. Ewan was the youngest, the surprise child as his mother called him. Based on the comments from Mr. MacLeod—or Lewis, as he asked me to call him—I gathered Ewan was the most rebellious and biggest troublemaker of the five of them. When Ewan was a teenager, he got involved with some bad kids and almost dropped out of school. He had somehow turned his life around and was now attending Oxford—something told me his father had probably interceded for him—and the next year he’d be spending a semester studying in the US. Much to the dismay of his mother, he loved motorcycles. At dinner, he told me he wanted to travel across America on Route 66 on a motorcycle one day, possibly his own. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Fiona frown.

  “Declan will take you to Thailand. Turns out, he’s had a cancellation and is free for the next few days. It’s already settled.”

  “A private pilot who’s free during the holidays? Do you think I was born yesterday? How much did you give him?”

  “Aye, let’s just say he got an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “Hugh, you can’t do that. I can’t accept that.”

  “He did have a cancellation because of the snowstorm, so I didn’t force his hand there. He can take you. It will be far better than going through Heathrow again.”

  “I don’t mind it. I can’t have your brother take me all the way over there. It’s not like giving me a lift from Oxford to London.”

  “To be completely honest with you, he offered. I secretly think he has a huge crush on your sister. He jumped at the opportunity as soon as I said she was going to be there.” He winked, and I shook my head while giving him a tight-lipped smile.