Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

  “But I enjoy doing it.”

  “I don’t want you to.” Fear raced inside her like a frightened hare.

  His brows furrowed and his expression turned contemplative. “Is that so, Ceri.”

  “Yes.” She straightened and grabbed his shoulders in a tight grip. Tugging, she tried to clamp her legs closed, even though he didn’t move from between her thighs. “Come back up here and put on a condom.”

  Ignoring her entreating grasp, he tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. “Now it’s ye who’s afraid, lass. And I’m wondering why.”

  Frustration flew through her. She wanted him with a vast need she’d never experienced. And yes, that did scare her. Yet she’d thought if they would go at it right away, she could enjoy having this man inside her and not have to deal with any confusing, stupid emotions. “I want you inside me.”

  Those words hit.

  She could tell by the way his mouth went slack and his eyes turned wild. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lunged at his lips. Her tongue slipped into him, lighting him with her fire, making him groan deep in his throat.

  Tightening her grip, she fell back, pulling him with her.

  He landed on her, his body surprisingly heavy for how lanky he was. Opening her legs now that she had him where she wanted, she wiggled. To her relieved satisfaction, his cock slid into her curls and straight to where she wanted it to be.

  “Condom,” he gasped.

  She shifted one hand off his heaving shoulders and slapped along the top of the bedside table. Finding what she needed, she plucked the package up. “Here,” she offered it to him.

  “Right, right.” He jerked up, looming above her, his rawboned hand clutching the silver slip. Fumbling with it, he cursed under his breath.

  A gurgle of laughter, part amusement, part affection, part hysteria came from her.

  “Och.” His gaze latched onto hers. “Don’t ye be laughing, not at this moment. Even if I do love your laughs.”

  Affection. She liked him.

  She liked Lorne Ross.

  More than that.

  Her laughter caught in her throat as the realization washed through her.

  “Good. No more laughter is good.” His attention dropped back to the condom and he finally opened the package. With a quick flick of his fingers, he slipped on the protection. “Now where were we?”

  Pushing away the feelings threatening to upend her, she yanked on his hand.

  He landed on her again.

  And again, he was right where she wanted him.

  Nuzzling into his fiery hair, she whispered her siren call, using the guile she’d developed during the years to seduce him and protect herself. “Come inside me, Lorne.”

  Lornnnne.

  She trilled his name in that way of hers, yet there was an odd twinge at the end that stopped him for a moment. But then she moved beneath him and the thrill of her and where he was shot down his spine like a stroke of heated power.

  His hips jerked in an unconscious male move, making his cock slide along her wet folds.

  “Yes,” she hissed into his ear.

  He was perilously close to losing it once more. Lorne yanked his head up from the bed of her scent and the seduction of her voice. Frantic to find some distraction, he focused with intensity on the small curls lining her forehead. They were a string of dark loveliness in the dim light. The contrast to her white skin was so vivid and wonderful, his brain came back online and dreamed of writing code to match her beauty.

  “Lorne?”

  He jerked his gaze to meet hers.

  “What happened?” She frowned. “Where did you go?”

  Suddenly, he realized he’d stopped any movement at all. His hips were frozen on top of hers, his cock still pressed in her folds, his arms taut and straight, holding him away from lying on her.

  “What’s wrong?” Her expression grew more puzzled.

  “Nothing,” he croaked. But her expression told him she didn’t buy it. So he offered her his truth once more. “I had to focus on something else before I ejaculated.”

  Her smile lit her expression to a warm glow as her hands swept across his arse in a light touch. “What are you focusing on?”

  “Your hair.” His gaze shifted back. “Ye have little curls along your hairline.”

  “Oh.” Her hands kept moving over him, leaving trails of electricity behind. “Do I?”

  “Aye. Ye do.” Leaning down, he nuzzled her where he’d been looking. Her hair was remarkably soft, exactly like the rest of her. Yet there was a springy feel to the curls as he brushed them with his beard and mouth.

  “I think you should come inside me now.” Those magic fingers of hers tightened on him.

  The words and the touch fried the circuits of his brain. But he knew she was right. He couldn’t postpone this any longer, or try and pretend he was an expert at having sex.

  Rearing up, he took his cock in his hand and positioned it at her opening. He glanced at her, his heart beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. “Ceri.”

  “Mmm.” Her eyes were molten, so gold and warm and heated he wanted to fall into her and never come back.

  Instead, he eased into her, into another part of her that was just as warm and heated as her eyes.

  The feeling was indescribable.

  Lorne Ross knew how to describe things. He knew how to pick something apart and examine each item. He knew how to detect the minute variations that would make every difference in the final outcome. Whether it was computer code or financial spreadsheets or the exact color to be used in a new game he was designing, Lorne Ross knew how to describe. What he saw, what he wanted, what he ended with.

  He could not describe this.

  This falling into a woman’s body and never coming back. Not the same at least. Not the same man at all.

  “Lorne,” she moaned beneath him.

  Panting, he eased farther into her, dumbfounded at how tight and wet she was. No one had told him. All his buddies’ descriptions were utterly useless in describing this. A line of goose bumps rose on his arms, mixing with the sweat streaking his skin. He felt as if he were about to explode and yet also come together for the first time in his life.

  He came into her to his hilt.

  All the way in.

  He was in.

  She sighed, her eyes closing, her grasp on his arse loosening.

  “Are ye okay?” he managed to choke out.

  Her eyes flashed open. “Yes, yes. You feel wonderful.”

  A short burst of stunned laughter came from him. “Me?”

  “You,” she murmured before giving him a sultry smile. “Now it’s time for you to move.”

  “Move. Right.” He could have easily stayed inside her like this for the rest of his life, but he remembered the porn. Remembered what needed to be done next.

  Easing his cock out of her channel, he kept his focus on her face, trying to stave off any more thoughts of exploding.

  Her mouth fell open, her white teeth gleaming in the dusky light. A low, deep sound of pleasure came from her throat.

  He was doing this right.

  A feeling of profound joy rushed through him.

  He was doing this right.

  “Again,” she demanded.

  His cock eagerly surged back into her. He couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling. Pleasure wasn’t the word. Bliss didn’t come close. Thrilling didn’t touch the experience.

  “Faster, now.” Her hands tightened on his arse, urging him on.

  Breathing became nearly impossible. Thinking or describing or understanding anything at all fell away into his lust. His body took over, no longer in his control, but hers.

  Pumping into her heated, wet core, he lost himself. Falling and falling.

  Into Ceri.

  She groaned and he answered her with one of his own. The combination of their voices together triggered him. His orgasm came over him, a giant wave of lust. So huge and overw
helming, every muscle in his body went taut.

  Including his heart.

  Again, the feeling was indescribable. Nothing like his daily duty in the shower. Nothing like what his mates had told him. Nothing like anything he’d ever experienced in his life thus far.

  His hips pumped, pumped once more.

  Every atom in him torched to life, flamed with inner heat and hot.

  A low moan came from her and she bucked beneath his weight. Dimly, he registered that he’d managed somehow to have brought her pleasure too. The realization made him collapse on top of her in a lax, satisfied heap.

  All of him, every atom, simmered into a delighted, amazed glow.

  She hummed, the sound moving on his chest. “That was lovely. Just wonderful.”

  Lovely. Wonderful.

  Him. And his inexperienced body and non-existent experience.

  His heart jumped inside him. With the last remnant of his energy, he popped his head up and gaped at her. A grin crossed his face at what he saw.

  Satisfaction. That was what he saw. A satisfied woman.

  “Ceri.”

  She opened lazy eyes to look at him.

  “Let’s do it again.”

  Her eyes widened and then…

  She laughed.

  Chapter 22

  Ceri hadn’t ever really lived with a man.

  She supposed a person would assume, since she’d been married for seven years, she had. But she hadn’t.

  Gareth had lived his own life, with his young wife serving as his resident doll he could dress, and his sexual partner when he wanted her. They’d had separate bedrooms, which she’d come to appreciate, and had lived separate lives, too. For the most part, she’d learned to be alone. All the time.

  Now?

  Now she never was and she loved it.

  That realization had stolen over her slowly, like a soft, sliding glide into another reality. One where a man waited for her in the evening, a glass of wine in his rawboned hand, a boyish grin on his handsome face. One where the same man took her to heaven every night with his eager kisses and his inexhaustible attentions. One where she’d begun to expect his warm body by hers in the morning and his soft snores rumbling into her ears as he held her in his arms throughout the night.

  A new reality.

  One which made her unbelievably happy and inescapably afraid.

  She stopped at the cottage door, her hand lighting on the hard oak. Today’s VIP tours were done early for once because of a cancelation. For the first time since she’d taken Lorne Ross as a lover two weeks ago, she had the afternoon free.

  She’d had an idea.

  A stupid, silly, splendid idea. Something she’d never done with a man.

  A picnic. With Lorne.

  Will hadn’t liked to eat outside anymore and Elis hadn’t had time to spend with his older sister doing anything as stupid as a picnic. Her dead husband would have been horrified at the thought of hiking into the wild to eat.

  So she’d never had the experience. At least, not yet.

  She wanted to take her new lover out to the moor and the stream and his rock. She wanted to plant new memories in the old soil of her past. She wanted to show him the beauty of Ross land. Of his land.

  The last thought stuttered in her heart.

  Ceri gulped in a hard breath.

  His land.

  She shoved the thought away and replaced it with the idea of her picnic. Her fingers trailed down to the old doorknob, hesitating before she turned it and walked into her home.

  The home she now shared willingly with him.

  Her enemy. Her lover.

  The den and kitchen were empty. Usually when she came home, he’d be at the stove or by the fridge. Either supervising Mrs. Huntsman’s latest offering or uncorking one of his wines. His face would light with immediate happiness when she walked in making everything inside her go to mush.

  Things like her brain. Things like her body. Things like her heart.

  Ceri closed the door behind her with a soft snap and wandered down the hallway. Passing her bedroom, which was empty, too, she came to a standstill outside of her brother’s.

  The door was slightly ajar, giving her enough of a view of…him working.

  His flame hair was tied in his man-bun, instead of loose as he wore it to bed. He was dressed in his usual attire now—jeans and a T-shirt. His feet were bare. They were often bare, she’d noticed. His red-gold brows were furrowed in concentration on the three computer screens, and his hands flew across the keyboard like they were guided by a brain so fast and fierce very few could keep up.

  Which was true. She’d learned that during the last two weeks.

  Lorne Ross was a brainiac.

  When she’d walked into the cottage one night last week, he’d been adding up a long string of receipts Mrs. Huntsman had handed him. In his head. He’d flipped through more than a dozen slips of paper and stated an amount that seemed to please the older woman.

  As if the amount was exactly what she’d decided on.

  Ceri had gone back with her calculator later that night. Just because she was curious. Just because she was amazed.

  He’d been right to the pence.

  When he’d come back from his morning run two days ago, she’d asked him what he’d seen, for something to talk about over breakfast. Instead of muttering a few words, the man had launched into an extensive list of various birds, animals, trees, and flowers.

  He knew all of the names.

  All of the names in both Gaelic and Latin.

  “Did Will teach you this?” she’d said in astonishment.

  He’d paused at the first mention of his father between them since becoming lovers. For a moment, her heart had twisted into a painful knot. Did he really still believe she and Will had been together sexually? Could he really still think that?

  But then he shrugged, and his slate-blue eyes twinkled at her. “Not the Latin. Da wasn’t ever worried about teaching me anything other than the good Gaelic names.”

  Her heart fluttered in relief and attraction. “So he taught you the Gaelic words, and then what? You looked them up on your own?”

  “Aye.” He nonchalantly dug into his meal of fresh salmon and tatties. “As a lad, I didn’t have many friends, so I spent my time reading.”

  As a lad, I didn’t have many friends.

  So honest. So sad.

  She teared up.

  In response, he leaned over and kissed her with a soft, sweet passion. “Don’t fash yourself.”

  “But Lor—”

  “I have good friends, now.” He’d eased back in his chair, his gaze serious and stern. “There’s no need for your tears.”

  She couldn’t seem to help herself, though. She’d never been a watering pot before, so the continuing impulse to weep kept startling her.

  There’d been the time when they’d awakened after the first night together.

  “Ceri,” he’d murmured into her ear before laying a delicate kiss on the rim.

  She turned to face him in bed, a bubble of shyness and joy lurking right beyond her heart. In the cool, calm morning, with the soft light of a Scottish sun slipping across him, he looked impossibly good and young and delicious.

  And happy. So happy.

  She’d wanted to cry right at that moment.

  There’d been the time she’d come home to find him lying on their bed, his skin white, his mouth tight with pain. “What’s wrong?” she’d whispered, unwilling worry filling her.

  “I’ve got a wee bit of a headache.” He’d kept his eyes closed.

  The way he held himself, she instantly understood. Her mam had suffered too. Compassion mixed into her worry. “You have migraines.”

  His hands had fisted on his stomach, like he were ashamed of the weakness. “Aye. Sometimes. But ye are not to worry. They go away.”

  Instead of weeping over his beautiful fragility and honesty, she’d gone for a cool towel for his forehead. And dreamed of making on
e of her concoctions to ease his pain.

  The realization that she was tying him into her plans and dreams had made her tear up once more.

  Then, there’d been the time he’d built a fire when the rain had soaked the garden and the mist of the moor threatened to make the night a cold one. The preciseness of how he’d laid the logs had made her laugh.

  “Och, lass.” He’d turned and given her a narrow look of pretend displeasure. “Are ye laughing at me again?”

  “Yes,” she snuffled another chuckle into her jumper’s sleeve as he swung back to light the fire. “I am.”

  “No more of that, now.” Lunging for her, he dragged her onto the old wool rug and tickled her until she’d begged for mercy.

  “There, then.” He reared up on his knees and yanked his T-shirt off. “Now I have ye where I want ye.”

  She’d laughed again, and when he’d wiggled his brows, she’d laughed some more.

  Somewhere, somehow, in between the moments of laughter and the hours of making love in front of the fire, she’d wanted to cry.

  Making love.

  A shiver of dangerous delight went down her spine.

  Her hand tightened on Elis’ bedroom door. This was the first time she’d ever watched him work. Yet, instantly, she saw so much about him, her lover. He was brilliant at what he did. He could become immersed in his work. And he loved his job with a solid passion. It showed in the way his body leaned into the work, as if he wanted to jump into the screen. It showed in his intense expression. It showed in the life in those blue eyes of his she’d come to know so well.

  She must have made some kind of sound because his shoulders went taut. Swinging around, his gaze latched onto her.

  “Hey!” The familiar joy, the joy she’d seen on his face every night for two weeks, flooded his face. “What are ye doing here?”

  “I live here.” Her words were sharper than she’d planned because the terrible terror and quaking hope running through her were impossible to contain.

  Making love.

  Love.

  “Cranky, eh?” His brows rose. “Something happen at the castle?”

  “No.” Pushing the door open wide, she walked into her brother’s room and stood by the bed. “Elis will be here in a little over a week.”