Hot for the Scot

by Janice Maynard

  He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

  “Oh, hush,” I said. “You know what I mean.”

  He sprawled on the opposite bed and leaned on his side, propping his head on his hand. “You’re a sweet, old-fashioned lass. I understand.”

  “You know I wasn't a virgin,” I insisted.

  “Still, it’s verra clear to me that you don’t give your heart or your body lightly. I want you to know I understand that.”

  What was I supposed to do? Join him and rip off his clothes? Excuse myself to change into something more comfortable? Suggest that we watch television until my heart rate descended from the stratosphere?

  I stared down at my lap, my fingers twined. Suddenly I wanted to look beautiful and seductive. I hadn’t even had the opportunity to change into the dress I brought with me. The restaurant, though highly regarded and expensive, was casual. My jeans had not been out of place.

  When I chanced a glance at him, Angus smiled gently and crooked a finger. “Come here, wee Hayley. Don’t be afraid.”

  I knew it was a dare…a challenge designed to make me react in a certain way. But I couldn’t let myself back down. I stood on shaky legs and walked to where he reclined in all of his masculine glory. “I’m not scared of you, Angus. Not at all.” It was the gospel truth. But I was terrified of handling this badly.

  He patted the mattress beside him. “Prove it, my little Georgia peach.”

  That made me laugh. The knot of tension inside my chest unfurled enough for me to stretch out in touching distance of Angus. I was on my back…Angus, still on his side. So he was above me.

  His eyes were dark, the pupils wide. I sensed in him a leashed energy, a carefully curbed hunger that excited and abashed me at the same time. Was he really so in need of me? Even now I found it hard to believe. I’d always had a healthy self-esteem when it came to most facets of my life. But I still struggled to believe that a man like Angus found me sexually irresistible.

  I decided that honesty was the best course. “I’m feeling a tad awkward.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Only a tad?”

  “Fine,” I huffed. “Mock me.”

  “I’m sorry, little Sassenach,” he chuckled. “Teasing you is so easy.” Gradually, his expression changed from humor to something far more dangerous. “You’ll feel better when you’re naked.”

  The logic in that escaped me. But I found myself holding my breath as he undid the buttons on my shirt with one hand. I watched his face the moment he saw what I had done. Thanks to a small shop in the village, I had been able to order a bra and matching panties in black satin with tiny pink scallops. The package had arrived only yesterday.

  He blinked, his expression gobsmacked. “Mother of God,” he whispered hoarsely.

  I shimmied out of my jeans and socks and shoes so he could get the whole effect. “Do you like them?” Frankly, I would have paid twice the price to see Angus so befuddled.

  “Aye, lass. I like them.”

  I took advantage of his momentary paralysis to shove him onto his back and have a go at his buttons as well. In the list of impressive things I’d come across in Scotland, Angus Munro’s chest was a contender for most photogenic. Sleek and hard and warm, it made me want to linger over the delineation of his rib cage, even knowing that I had only just begun.

  After unfastening his shirt, I undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. I had seen the man naked on multiple occasions. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. Fortunately, at a certain point, Angus rolled to his feet and finished removing the last of his clothes.

  Oh my. He was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Only a master sculptor could have done him justice. And his erection…I gulped, already imagining the press of him deep inside me.

  Angus took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Dance with me,” he muttered.

  We had no music and little room to move. But he took me in his arms and did the unimaginable. The man sang to me.

  In Gaelic words I could not understand, his voice low and husky, he crooned a melody so hypnotizing that I leaned into him, my nerves forgotten. We waltzed around the beds, him naked, me clad in my expensive lingerie.

  Angus palmed my bottom, his fingers kneading the satin underpants. I linked my arms around his neck, ready to follow him anywhere. The music washed over me, the notes as old as the land, the tune as sweet and wistful as the sunset at day’s end.

  Finally, the song ended. Angus sucked in a harsh breath. “I’d have ye now, little Hayley. If ye’re willin’.”

  Chapter 30

  Willing? I was so in lust with him my skin broke out in gooseflesh. Somewhere along the way in my thirty-two years, I’d bought into the notion that women simply weren’t as interested in sex as men were. Now I knew how laughable that was. I wanted to climb Angus and devour him and make this ache in my gut go away.

  I pulled his head down and kissed him, teasing the seam of his lips with the tip of my tongue. “Now is good,” I said.

  He flipped back the covers on the nearest bed and tossed me in, pausing only to retrieve a strip of condoms before joining me. “I hope this is enough,” he said.

  I laughed, only to realize moments later that he was deadly serious. My mouth dried and my breathing fractured.

  Everything in the room faded away as Angus sheathed himself and sprawled beside me, big and warm. When he thrust aside the crotch of my panties and stroked my sex with a big finger, I was embarrassingly wet. “No foreplay,” I croaked. He’d taken care of that already. Anymore and I would explode.

  He seemed relieved, which would have been funny had I been any less desperate. I scrabbled to rip away my fancy undies. Angus let me take care of the bottom half, but he trapped my wrist when I tried to unfasten the bra. “Wait a minute,” he muttered.

  I lay there stunned as he gently eased first one cup and then the other below my nipples. The little nubs of flesh were puckered and tight, aching for his touch. He bent his head and tasted one. The choked cry that escaped me was entirely involuntary.

  When my positive feedback encouraged him, his upped the ante by taking each pointed bud between his teeth and biting. The sharp stings hovered on the edge of pleasure and pain. Everything in my body went liquid. My bones. My flesh. My resolve.

  “Angus, please.” I didn’t even know what I was saying. Blindly, I reached for him, curling my fingers around his swollen sex and stroking him from base to tip.

  My Highlander went rigid for half a second and then cursed and moved between my thighs. “I can’t wait,” he groaned.

  His hips flexed as he plunged deep. I whispered his name. My legs twined around his waist. My hands fisted in his hair. The bed shook with the force of Angus’s wild lunges. His desperation was palpable.

  “More,” I pleaded. “I want more…”

  He shifted the angle of penetration. The new position buzzed right over the spot between my legs that sizzled and thrummed. I shot to the top so fast I forgot to breathe. In my oxygen-deprived haze, I was dimly aware that Angus shouted his release as well.

  In the silence that followed, I could hear my heart beating in my ears.

  We slept for several hours. When I awoke, I found myself draped over Angus’s torso. One of my legs was wedged between his. My hair was out of control, red curls spilling in every direction.

  I wasn’t sure what to do first. I needed to visit the bathroom, but I was sidetracked by the sheer joy of feeling my naked body against his. For the first time, I understood that a thing really could be greater than the sum of two parts. When Angus and I made love, we created our own nuclear reaction.

  It’s possible that my previous sexual experiences were so lackluster I didn’t have a clue how good a man and a woman could be together. But the more likely explanation was that Angus Munro was the one.

  Against all odds, this vacation adventure had introduced me to the man who was my soulmate…my wonderful Scottish hero
in the flesh.

  As I pondered the mysteries of the universe, the object of my fascination moved and groaned. “I can’t feel my feet,” he muttered.

  “That’s what good sex will do for you,” I said smugly, choosing to ignore the fact that my knowledge was brand new.

  “Or maybe you’re cutting off my circulation.” He lifted me to one side and sat up, yawning. But when he blinked and focused on me, his face flushed. I saw the instant his interest reignited. He had the look of a man who wasn’t even close to being sated.

  I pulled the sheet up to my shoulders. “Quite staring at me,” I said. I knew my hair was a fright.

  He jerked the covers, baring me to the knees. “You have three minutes,” he said, his tone conversational, “before I take you again.”

  I shivered hard as his words cut through my fatigue and left me panting and needy. Not bothering to protest, I fled to the bathroom and took care of business. Afterward, unable to locate my toiletry kit, which was probably still in the other room, I used a small sample tube of toothpaste. By rubbing the gel over my teeth, then rinsing and spitting, I got rid of the fuzzy feeling in my mouth.

  Staring into the mirror, I bemoaned my lack of a comb. My hairstyle, what was left of it, was appalling.

  Shrugging at my reflection, I turned my back on what couldn’t be changed and returned to the bedroom. Angus stood by the window, his hand on the curtains as he peeked outside. Our room was on the top floor of the four-story hotel. In the morning our view would be spectacular if the weather was fine.

  When he heard my footsteps, he swung around, his gaze focusing on my body as if he could stroke my skin from afar. “Finally,” he grumbled. The bedroom was dark, but I had left on the bathroom light, so we could see each other.

  I’d only been gone one minute over my allotted time, but his impatience was palpable. As was his readiness to initiate round two. The man was a superhero, a god, a fully-engorged, ready-for-action male.

  And he was all mine.

  “We could try the other bed,” I said, only half joking. I felt somewhat compelled to impress him with my sexual inventiveness.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said.

  No woman likes to hear those words. My heart sank. “Oh?”

  “I bought a copy of that book you like so much.”

  I gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded, moving toward me silently. For such a big man, he managed to get from one place to the other with the stealth of a great jungle cat. When he was in touching distance, he wrapped one hand in my hair. Suddenly, I was self-conscious again. “I’m thinking about getting it cut,” I said. “My hair, I mean. Maybe short. Really short. It’s way too much trouble.”

  Using only his hold on my head, he reeled me into his arms. “Don’t. You. Dare. I adore your hair. It’s extravagant and wild, just like you, Hayley from Georgia.”

  I gave him a look. “Do you really expect me to believe you see me as extravagant and wild?”

  He kissed my cheek, lingering to nibble my earlobe before holding me tight. “You’re extravagant with your emotions,” he said. “And one definition of the word wild is untouched. That’s how I see you, my little peach.”

  “You’ve touched me plenty.” I pointed that out in the interest of accuracy.

  “Not what I’m talking about,” he said quietly, stroking my hair and combing it with his fingers. “You see the world with wide-eyed optimism. That’s a very appealing quality in a woman.”

  “Let’s get back to the book,” I said. I was uncomfortable with his compliments, mostly because I thought he had the wrong idea about me. “How much have you read?”

  “Only half,” he admitted. “So far. But you’re right. It’s verra good, particularly the sex scenes.”

  I went still, like a small animal sensing danger. If he made a joke out of something that was so very special to me, I didn’t know what I would do.

  “What did I say, Hayley?” He immediately picked up on my distress.

  I couldn’t believe we were having this discussion naked. And I couldn’t disguise my pique. “I suppose you think the way she wrote those parts was over the top.”

  “On the contrary, lass. I’ve not been able to get them out of my mind.” He stopped short, as if disconcerted that he had admitted that to me. He shrugged. “Let me be your Jamie tonight.”

  I saw from his face that he was serious. He was willing to be my fantasy. This was his way of making me comfortable.

  It disturbed me that Angus knew me so well…well enough to be attuned to my lack of confidence in the bedroom. Because I certainly didn’t have the same level of understanding when it came to him. He was not particularly secretive, but then again, he was a man. And men, as a rule, didn’t share their deepest feelings. Even now, I had no idea if this thing between us had any future at all.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m not really interested in playacting, Angus. But I do want you to kiss me.”

  He did as I asked, sliding his hands beneath my hair to cup my neck. I leaned into him, returning the kiss with more aggression than I had before, nipping his bottom lip with my teeth. “Don’t be gentle with me. I won’t break.”

  “Tell me what you want, Hayley. Show me.”

  Clearly, he was determined to curb his own desire for the moment. I decided to take him at his word. “Lie down on the bed,” I demanded. “Put your hands behind your head.”

  I felt the vibration in his big frame before he stepped away and did as I asked. In some ways, there really were similarities between my relationship with Angus and the one between Jamie and Claire in Outlander. Jamie and Claire began with a sexual connection and built a relationship from there. Love came later.

  On the other hand, the characters who precipitated my month-long trip to Scotland lived in the eighteenth century and had to struggle merely to survive. Angus and I didn’t need each other to stay alive. Not only that, but Jamie and Claire were made-up. If I had any sense at all, I would forget about my book obsession and concentrate on the flesh and blood man in front of me.

  He stared at me as if able to see the swirl of confusion in my head. One eyebrow went up as if to say, You’ve got me where you want me…Now what are you going to do with me?

  I sat on the edge of the bed and touched his hipbone. “How do you feel about women on top?”

  “I’m an equal opportunity kind of man. Whatever the lass wants.”

  Even now, with his erection bobbing eagerly and hot color staining his cheekbones, he didn’t reach for me. I had to admire his control. His hands flexed against the sheets as if it was everything he could do to remain passive.

  I wondered how far I could push him before he would snap. The notion made the bottom fall out of my stomach. I was hot and bothered, and all he had done was kiss me and tell me I was in charge.

  Swallowing hard, I debated my options.

  First of all, I had to find a condom. They had fallen from the bedside table to the carpet. I picked up the strip and held it out to him. “Take care of this, why don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I thought you told me I was in charge.”

  “Yes. And that makes you in charge of birth control. You’re the one with the experience, remember?”

  I wanted to smack his smirking face. Either that or smother it with kisses. “Fine,” I said, pretending as if this was something I did every day. “I’ll do it.”

  It didn’t help that I had trouble tearing open the packet. Angus’s lips twitched, but he managed to contain his smile. Which was a good thing, because being laughed at wasn’t going to build my confidence.

  When I had the circle of latex in my hand, I paused long enough to make sure which side was up. Then, with Angus watching me like a sleepy-eyed tiger, I positioned the condom at the tip of his shaft and began rolling it downward.

  Any humor on his face disappeared in a flash. If anything, h
is expression was now pained. I was careful about my task. I knew I wasn’t hurting him. At last the darn thing was all the way down as far as it would go.

  I sat back and stared at him. “Close your eyes,” I said.

  Chapter 31

  He blinked, clearly not expecting my command.

  When he didn’t obey, I frowned. “Is there a problem?” Angus probably thought I was trying to be kinky, but the reality was far less sexy. I didn’t want to look clumsy when I joined him on the bed.

  I said it again. “Close your eyes.”

  Finally, he complied, but I didn’t trust him not to peek. I took a scarf from the outer pocket of my backpack and draped it over his eyes. Then, with my lover momentarily neutralized, I took the time to explore him at leisure.

  I started with his feet but soon found out he was ticklish. So I moved on to his muscular calves, alternating between light caresses and deeper massage. His thighs were powerful and lightly dusted with hair. He let me touch him, but he sucked in a sharp breath when I lingered too close to his interesting bits.

  His belly was taut and flat. I already had intimate knowledge of his chest. Because I had ordered his hands behind his head, I couldn’t really get at his arms. Finally, I was ready.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” I reminded him.

  His only reply was a masculine grunt.

  I moved over and across him, straddling his thighs just above the knees. He was leaving everything up to me. Already I had lost interest in eighteenth-century Scotland. Everything I wanted was right here in this room.

  Carefully, I wiggled my way up his body until I was able to lift up on my knees and then lower myself onto him.

  Angus bit out a curse when our bodies joined. His arms lowered, but I snapped out an order. “I told you not to move.”

  His nostrils actually flared. I thought it was something that only happened in movies. I watched as his jaw turned to granite and the cords in his neck stood out in relief. Slowly, he resumed his original position.