A Highlander's Obsession

by Vonnie Davis

  All the while his powerful hips pistoned into her, pushing her closer to release. Her abdominal muscles tensed and her thighs began to quiver. “I … I’m close, Creigh. So close.”

  “Come fer me. Show me ye are mine and mine only.”

  The command in his words drove her over the edge. The strength of her climax extracted all breath from her lungs. His lips covered hers to inhale her moans and screams. Three deep strokes later, he pressed his face into her neck and shuddered his own release.

  He held her to him for several minutes as their breathing leveled out. Sweet kisses were shared amid words of love. “You’re a very passionate man. I love that about you.”

  “Aye. There are three things I’m verra passionate about. Me family, me sleuth, and ye. And I’m not so sure of their order of importance anymore. Not when yer on me mind every moment of the day.” His lips rubbed back and forth over hers. “I only know I canna give ye up, fer ye are me obsession.”

  Warm lips covered hers in a kiss so gentle, so sensual, so loving the room spun. She wrapped her arms around her axis, for that’s what he’d become in so short a time. This loud, often scowling Scot had become her lifeline, her axis. “I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

  “Marry me.” He kissed her again. Not overpowering, but in a way that caressed her heart.

  “Yes.”

  He pulled out of her and carried her back to his desk, setting her on the edge before he turned and disposed of the condom in the wastepaper can. He reached for the ring box and dropping to one knee, he opened the lid. “Paisley, will ye do me the honor of marrying me? Sooner, rather than later, for ye are the water to me thirst, the next beat of me heart, the woman I adore above all others. Ye are me beloved.”

  As if their recent exchange and lovemaking had wiped away her fears, she was filled with confidence now. More than anything, she wanted a life with this man. “Yes, Creigh, I’ll marry you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Everyone was in high spirits on the way to the cèilidh. Gram, Fiona, and Cook were in the backseat of the Land Rover, heads together, making wedding plans. Creighton hadn’t stopped beaming since he’d carried her into the dining room and boomed to one and all that they were getting married. Joyous pandemonium had ensued after his announcement. Before she knew it, Fiona waved a calendar, conferring with Gram on a wedding date. Creighton snatched the crayon from his mother’s hand and drew a big red circle around June second, less than three months away.

  No one had asked her opinion, and she wasn’t sure if she was hurt or relieved the date was set. Gram would no doubt refer to her state of mind as discombobulated. Or peeved over being left out of the decision-making process.

  She thumbed her engagement ring back and forth on her finger. Wearing it would take a couple of days to get used to, and wasn’t it a nice surprise it fit her finger so well. The ring was beautiful. Its stone emanated not only love and happiness, but also a strong tinge of sorrow, from the brides who’d lost their husbands before the age of thirty. She’d never given much thought to the validity of curses. To accept them as truth would be like believing in witches … or shape-shifters … or people who could silently communicate with animals. Oh God.

  Creighton brought her hand to his lips and kissed her engagement ring. “Me beloved is awfully quiet. This concerns me.”

  “I was thinking about the curse.” She shifted in her seat, the leather creaking with her movements. “When is your birthday?”

  He glanced at her. “June fifth.”

  “June fifth? Three days after our wedding?” Dread skipped around her heart, tossing boulders of alarm into her stomach. “What if I’m not the right one to end the curse?”

  “Yer the right one for me. Stop fretting over some silly curse. Yer sounding like a silly auld woman.” His words stung.

  She shoved her glasses onto the bridge of her nose and stared out the side window.

  Evidently Creighton decided to disregard her concerns. “Effie, did ye know cèilidhs were part of the courting ritual fer young people back in the day, before discos and nightclubs? In our part of Scotland, they’re still a popular social scene. The one yer attending tonight is a fund-raiser fer Bayside High School’s band uniforms.”

  Gram patted his shoulder. “How lovely. Tell me more.”

  “There’ll be a mix of music to please everyone. We’ll have a Scottish dancing band playing traditional songs and a local rock band playing some head-bangin’ music.”

  “Awesome. I can shake my booty.”

  He laughed. “Between bouts of dancing, there’ll be poetry recitals, storytelling, and contests to raise money. Fer those who like to gamble a wee bit, there’ll be a couple gaming tables.”

  “Oh, now you’re talking. Will there be bingo?”

  “Aye. Scots love bingo.” Creighton turned onto a side street and eased the SUV behind the two-storied high school. “I’m dropping ye ladies off at the door. Paisley and I will park the car and then join ye inside. Hang tight ’til I help ye out.” He shifted into park and jumped from the car to assist the older women. When he once again slid behind the steering wheel, he drove through the parking lot, searching for an empty spot.

  “Ye need to be prepared, leannan.” He swung the Land Rover into a space at the end of a row of vehicles.

  “For what?”

  He turned off the engine and removed the keys. “By the time we get inside the gymnasium, word will have spread about our engagement. There might be a modicum of fuss.”

  As soon as they stepped into the gym, the round disco balls turned on and off three times, highlighting the blue and green streamers hung overhead. A flute, an accordion, a fiddle, and drums played enthusiastic chords of a Scottish fanfare. The din of conversation quieted and all heads turned toward them.

  A modicum of fuss? She hadn’t been prepared.

  The hot streak of embarrassment slowly rose from Paisley’s neck to her hairline, and her breathing stopped. She pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose.

  Creighton’s hand was at the small of her back in a possessive manner. Out of the corner of his mouth, he told her to breathe. As if he guessed she thought to turn tail and run, his hand slid to her waist and pulled her flush to his side. “I have a verra important announcement to make.”

  Dear God, she wasn’t ready for this …

  “The beautiful lassie by me side has granted me the honor of accepting me marriage proposal. I’d like to present to ye Paisley Annika Munro, me beloved Scottish Viking.”

  Her heart cracked and crumbled. Why would he refer to her that way if he considered the curse meaningless? If he didn’t consider her the answer to the curse?

  “When’s the wedding and where’s me invite?” A grey-haired man poked holes in the air with his cane as he spoke.

  A chorus of laughter rang throughout the hall.

  “Clyde, ye auld reprobate, June second and yer invited.” Creighton swept his hand in an arc to include the entire area. “Ye are all invited.”

  Catcalls and applause erupted.

  The rock band took their place on stage and began playing “I Don’t Want to Live Without You.” Creighton wrapped his large hand around hers and led her to the middle of the empty dance floor for the next part of the crowd’s “modicum of fuss.” He pulled her close and kissed her in a fierce domineering manner. People stomped their feet and whistled.

  He swung her into the dance, his steps smooth and sure, just like his proprietary attitude about things. “Relax, leannan. The worst is over. The declaration of our marriage has been made.”

  Paisley shook with anger. Seethed with it. Was this Scottish galoot the only person getting married? No, he was not. She was the bride, dammit. Didn’t she get to help choose the date of the wedding or when their engagement announcement would be made or who would be invited to their ceremony? Yet something even more important raged and stormed in her mind. While he’d belittled her questions regarding the curse on the way here, h
e’d just introduced her as his Scottish Viking. A sign to one and all she was the cure for said curse. Not the woman he loved, but the woman who would erase a centuries’ old conjuration.

  He pulled back to glance at her, and one of his eyebrows quirked. “Ye are pissed.”

  She planted a palm on his chest and pushed.

  He tightened his hold on her. “What troubles ye?”

  A man in a dark suit stepped up to the microphone and held a large jar above his head. “As ye all know, this is a fund-raiser for the high school’s band uniforms. Our laird’s intended has graciously agreed to dance with any male who stuffs a five-pound note into the jar.” Men ran to form a line, waving cash over their heads.

  “I never agreed to this!” Good Lord, the whole dance had turned into a three-ringed circus.

  Creighton kissed the sweet spot beneath her ear. “Would it be such an inconvenience? ’Twill show everyone ye want to be a part of our community. Some will be reluctant to accept ye, since ye are American.”

  “Is that why you introduced me the way you did? As your Scottish Viking? To inform people of my heritage or to show you were marrying me to end the Viking’s jinx? You hurt me by saying that. As if my only importance was to end the curse.”

  “What nonsense are ye talking? I’ve never made it a secret how I feel about ye.”

  Ronan approached and tapped Creighton on the shoulder. “Tradition has it the next in line gets to dance with his future sister.”

  Creighton aimed a belligerent scowl at his brother. “Go away. We have things to discuss.”

  Paisley replaced her scowl with a wide smile. “Ronan, I’d love to dance with you.” She stepped out of her fiancé’s grasp and into the waiting man’s arms. A few turns around the dance floor and Bryce stepped in. Once the song ended, more men waited in line to dance with her. All extended their best wishes and extolled the many virtues of one Creighton Duff Matheson, while she plotted her way out of this farce of an engagement.

  Even as she was led from one end of the dance floor to the other, she sensed Creighton’s annoyance boring into her back. Any minute now, he’d come charging through the swarm of dancers to whisk her away. Well, let him. She had a volley of questions she planned to hurl his way. Did he truly love her or was she merely a means to an end, just as she’d been a means to a financial end with Alex? Her heart hurt her so badly, she didn’t think she could inhale her next breath.

  The rock band stopped playing and the Scottish group jumped onto the stage to get settled in with their instruments. The fiddle player tuned his instrument and a dapper man in Highland regalia approached, intent on his chance to dance with her. Would she be expected to know traditional dance steps? How was she to handle this? Paisley’s frantic gaze searched for Creighton and settled on a dark-haired woman standing in front of him, her palms on his massive chest. His hands gripped her arms, his dark head inclined to hear whatever she was saying.

  The gentleman bowed in front of her and she didn’t know whether to curtsey or not. Instead, she kissed his cheek and whispered an apology before pointing toward the sign for the restrooms. His gnarled-knuckled hand rose to where she’d kissed him and he blushed and nodded before letting her hurry off.

  Seated inside the stall, she wiggled her toes, easing the pain. How many men had she danced with? Eighteen? Twenty? The twang of the music intensified when the door to the restroom opened.

  “An American. Can ye believe it? Ugly black glasses sliding down her nose.” The female’s voice squeaked in surprise.

  “Hell, it won’t last long. He’ll soon be knocking at me door, wanting me to do all the things he likes.”

  Paisley’s hands covered her face while her heart crumbled a little more. She’d been such a fool, falling in love so quickly. Suddenly her happiness seemed to dissipate like sunshine before a thunderstorm.

  “Weren’t ye complaining a month ago he’d stopped coming to see ye? That maybe telling him ye loved him had been a mistake?” The squeaky-voiced woman opened the door to the stall next to Paisley. “Has he called ye at all?”

  “Nay. Not one word. Now I understand why. He’s been chasing after this Viking woman with her blonde hair and pale skin. He’s only after her to end the curse. She’s nothing to him, believe me. I could sense it when we talked just now.”

  Paisley righted her clothes and squared her shoulders. Gram had always said it was best to repay dumb bitchy with bitchy intelligence. She opened the stall door and strolled out. Creighton’s tall paramour was at the mirror, fingers combing her hair and lips blowing a bubble with her gum, cracking it in that annoying way. Her eyes widened when they locked on Paisley in the mirror.

  Girl, I’m about to open a can of American bitch on you. She smiled as she approached. “It’s a lovely dance, isn’t it? This is my first cèilidh. Everyone seems so nice and welcoming.” She turned on the water to wash her hands. “I hope we stay a little longer, but Creighton’s anxious to return to the lodge.” She shook her head once and chuckled. “Man wants his ass smacked again. I have this leather flogger he simply loves.” She reached for a paper towel. “Once I put the nipple clamps on him and buckle him into his cock-and-ball cage, the man is putty in my hands.”

  A whispered “Holy hell” came from the occupied stall. The tall brunette must have swallowed her gum and choked on it, because she started coughing and turning red. Paisley leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “What really gets him going is the vibrating butt plug.” She tossed her crumpled towels into the trash, flung open the door, and tossed a wink over her shoulder at her fiancé’s ex-lover.

  God, that felt good.

  Okay, maybe she’d been a tad extreme, but that gum popper had it coming. Who knew reading a few romances with a BDSM theme would come in so handy? They’d been worth every penny she’d spent.

  Creighton’s back filled part of the space at the end of the corridor. He was shoulder to shoulder with another man. She inhaled a deep breath, trying to organize her emotions. Did she love him? Yes. Did she trust him? She did once; now she wasn’t so sure. Her belief that he loved her for herself, and not for what she could do for him and his clan, was shattered. At this moment, she wasn’t sure if they had a future. There were certainly a lot of things they needed to straighten out. She approached the two men, who seemed deep in conversation. Maybe she and Creighton could talk a little while they danced.

  “As far as I’m concerned, my investigation of Effie Munro is concluded, Creigh. I looked into everything you wanted me to check. Arrest history, friends, financials.”

  “And she looks clean?”

  “Aye. She was truthful about her arrests at protests, but other than that, she’s clean.” The man shifted his shoulders. “I investigated Paisley too.”

  She gasped and both men swung around.

  Creighton blanched. “Paisley, I wondered where ye were.”

  She crossed her arms. “Oh, really? Well, why didn’t you ask your investigator here where I was? He’d have told you I was in the restroom with your ex-lover, listening to how you’d soon tire of me and be back in her bed.” She slipped off her ring and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of true love.”

  Creighton’s eyes glowed golden and the muscle bunched in his jaw, a sure sign he was pissed. “Don’t think ye can toss me family’s ring back in me face.”

  Dammit to hell, she was going to cry. Tears blurred her vision.

  “Kendric, can ye take Mum, Effie, and Cook home for me? Me future wife and I have some important matters to discuss.”

  Paisley jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, your future wife is in the restroom and ought to come out any minute.” As she barreled past him, his hand shot out to grasp her arm.

  “Ye go too far, lassie.”

  “No, it’s you who have gone too far. How dare you investigate us as if we’re scheming criminals, you overgrown galoot.”

  He hoisted her over his shoulder, an arm slung over
the back of her skirt.

  Blood rushed to her head as he stormed through the crowd toward the doors. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the anger radiating from both of them.

  “That’s it, Laird Creighton. Show her who’s boss.”

  “There’s our Highland laird, carrying home the spoils of war.”

  “What a caveman ye are. Aye, she’ll have a bun in the oven before yer wedding day.”

  He stormed through the door to a hail of laughter. By the time he set her on her feet at his car, she’d gone from angry to humiliated to livid.

  She swung and he ducked.

  He grabbed her fists and held them over her head. “Settle yourself!”

  “I hate you! I hate that you made me fall in love with you. All the lies you told me. You said you love me when all along you only saw me as an end to some damn curse.” She jerked her hands from his grasp. “You two-faced devil! While you smiled and charmed my grandmother, you were having her investigated. Her heart will be broken when she finds out. How could you do that to her? To me? To us?” Her control snapped. She pounded her fists on his chest as sobs wracked her body.

  “Bloody hell, leannan! How did everything suddenly go to shit?” With more care than she thought possible after his manhandling of her moments earlier, he lifted her into the SUV and clicked the seat belt.

  Once he settled in the driver’s seat, he crossed his forearms over the steering wheel. “Blaire and I are history.”

  “History?” She fisted a punch into his biceps. “History does not announce to a roomful of women you’ll soon tire of me and be knocking on her door again.”

  Creighton muttered a few curses. “We have a lot to straighten out and I can see ye arna in the mood fer reason.”

  She wiped the tears from her face. “Huh, as if you’ve ever listened to reason.”

  He retrieved the diamond from his shirt pocket and coiled the fingers of his other hand around her wrist. “I put this ring on yer finger. No one has the right to take it off except me. Do ye ken, lassie?” He kissed the stone and slipped it onto her finger. “I dinna care how angry ye are with me, that ring stays where it belongs and ye stay with me.”