by Caro LaFever
“I came after ye, Ceri, didn’t I?” He threw his head back and laughed his glorious laugh. Then he looked at her once more and she saw everything she needed. “And I got ye.”
Epilogue
“Da.” The tone of his little girl’s voice told him he was in trouble.
Lorne blinked at the set of toddler books lined up on the shelf. He’d straightened them just last night. But apparently, Dilys Freya Ross had decided to mess with them. And his head. Typical. “What?”
“I don’t want ye to read me another story,” his grumpy daughter stated from her princess bed. “I want ye to tell me a story.”
“Do ye now?” He swiveled to eye her with a mock frown.
Dilys had turned five last month, and had gone from an enchanting child to a monster in less than five seconds. Or that’s what her mother claimed. Lorne preferred to think of this as a phase his only daughter would grow out of. He held onto this hope with an illogical grip that was not like him, his wife had told him.
His little girl sat on her pink pillow, her flame-red hair in tangles around her freckled cheeks. Wearing her favorite dog-eared pj’s, she looked like a small fairy queen dressed in rags, scowling at her servant with disgust. “Come here,” she demanded. “Right now.”
“Och.” He straightened, shrugged, and paced to the bed. Before she could issue another order, he grabbed her and tumbled her into his lap.
She giggled, the sound a tinkling noise that had come to mean the world to him.
“Da!” His three-year-old son, Stewart, raced into the bedroom, his laser sword stringing behind him. “Come and see.”
“Didn’t I just put ye to bed?” Lorne narrowed his gaze.
His son stopped short, his white skin, so like his mum’s, flushing. “Aye, ye did. But I forgot to show ye something.”
Sighing, he leaned over and grabbed the lad before he got upset. “Why don’t we all tell a story together and then both of ye are going asleep, okay?”
“I’m not sleepy,” said the princess.
“I have to show ye something,” said the laser-wielding warrior.
“Your mum has a surprise for me.” Lorne scowled at both of them in pretend ferociousness. “And I want to find out what it is. So I need ye both to go to bed.”
His children grinned at him, not intimidated in the slightest.
“I love surprises,” Stewart chirped.
“Can we see the surprise, too?” Dilys snuggled into his arms. “Or maybe mum can sing us a lullaby.”
“Nope. I’m thinking this is a da surprise only and your mum is getting ready right now.” He wasn’t sure, but there’d been a look in Ceri’s eyes. A look he’d become familiar with during the last few years.
She’d had the same look when she’d come back to the townhouse, two months after giving birth to Stewart, carrying package after package…of shoes.
He liked shoes.
He had no objection to shoes.
They weren’t exactly at the top of his male list of interest, but it was progress.
Then, a year and a half ago, she’d stated she wanted to go to London with him, leaving the children with her brother. Elis might be only twenty-two, but he loved his niece and nephew, and was more conservative and protective than their parents, if that could be believed.
Yet, Lorne had worried about what all this was about.
His wife had steadfastly refused to go to the big city up to that point. For the entire four years they’d been married, she’d preferred their cottage in the summer and their Edinburgh townhouse in the winter.
He’d understood.
He hadn’t pressed.
He loved her and their life together with their children. As he often told her, she could wear a pumpkin on her head and a cloth of ashes and soot. He’d still be ecstatic. And he’d meant it. Meant it throughout the years of their marriage.
But she’d come with him to London. Come with him and gone…shopping.
For clothes, this time.
Soft, cashmere jumpers that hugged her beautiful breasts and tight, hot-looking jeans that made his tongue hang from his mouth. A sleek dress suit that made her look like she was about to take over the planet with her growing business. Even a cocktail dress that sparkled. Sparkled!
So when she’d tried to pretend she hadn’t sneaked out of the house yesterday, he’d wondered. When she’d instructed him to get the children to bed and come up to their bedroom as soon as he could, he’d dreamed.
“Da.” His daughter tugged on his beard, another scowl crossing her face. “Pay attention to me. Mum can surprise ye later.”
Chuckling, he wrapped his children in his arms and told them about a fierce and fiery ancestor who’d kidnapped a fair princess and won a great war. After a long string of objections, he finally had both of his children in bed, Dilys dozing, Stewart snoring.
“What took you so long?” His wife’s voice was decidedly sulky.
Or maybe husky?
Lorne stopped just inside of their bedroom. There was a row of candles lining the window sill, and another one running along the low table Ceri used as a place for her books. That was…unusual. His wife didn’t usually spend any time making things…sexy.
He swung his attention to her and his eyes widened.
She lay on their king-size bed, the covers thrown down at the end, her graceful body on full display.
Not naked, though.
He’d seen her body naked a thousand times. Naked in their shower, naked in this bed. He’d seen her soul naked, too. Seen the naked emotion in her eyes when their children had been born, and when he’d cried as he held them for the first time. He’d thought once or twice, he’d seen her naked spirit, too. The spirit who had taken on the challenge of building her business with strength and determination that made him so damn proud. The spirit who accepted him and loved him, even when he was difficult to understand. A spirit he was privileged to be married to.
“Are you going to answer me?” she teased, brushing a dark curl off a white shoulder.
A white shoulder dressed in black lace.
“I. Ah.” He grabbed his brain and stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The lock flipped closed with a click. There was no way his children were going to interrupt this.
“I ah? What does that mean?” His wife straightened in the bed and then rose.
“Fucking. Bloody. Hell,” he croaked. “What have ye done?”
“What?” she stopped, her mouth going slack. “I thought you’d enjoy this.”
“Ah. I.” His hands fisted before he reached out and snatched. He needed a moment here. A moment where he could just look and gaze and stare.
The black lace went from the top of her collarbone to the tips of her toes. It swirled its patterns on her white skin like tracings of black chocolate on white ice cream. There were no discreet pieces of silk to cover certain areas of her body—like her nipples or the dark curls between her legs.
“Fucking. Bloody. Hell.”
“At the risk of being annoying, I’ll point out you’re repeating yourself.” His wife scooped up a black silk something that lay on the bed. “I found this a few weeks ago in your clothes.”
“Eh?” He couldn’t focus on anything else but her body.
Glancing at him, her eyes began to twinkle. “It’s yours and I want you to put it on.”
He managed to drag his gaze from her, and pinned it on the garments. It was a matching set—loose trousers and a long robe. A memory swept back. “Hell. That’s a stupid Doc prank. He bought it for me years ago.”
“And you’ve never worn it for me.” She gave him an exaggerated pout. “How dare you?”
Teasing. She was teasing him. Something they did all the time, now. His lust still simmered, yet he managed a meek grin. “Sorry. I’ll put it on right now, lass.”
"And you'll put on this, too?" she purred as she held up a black string of fabric.
"Doc is a fucking wanker." Lorne eyed the piece
of silk and his wife. "I'm not putting that on. Not even for ye."
"No?" Stopping her inspection of the thong he'd long ago forgotten, she glanced his way. Her goldenrod eyes twinkled…and challenged. "Are you sure?"
Lust battled with Ross pride. And also the realization that Ceri had dared to put on lace and silk for him. "All right. Hand them over."
“We’ll be a pair, won’t we?” Ceri glided to his side and held the garments out. A smile lit her face when he took them from her hands.
But it wasn’t a smile he’d seen before. She’d smiled a winsome smile when they’d been married in the center of Castle Ross’s grand hall. She’d given him a jaunty smile when her shop and restaurant opened to huge success. When Elis had graduated from Oxford and gotten a job at Gaes, she’d given them both a tearful smile.
None of those smiles was like this one.
This one owned her sexuality. Owned her right to be pretty. Owned her right to his body.
“I can’t think,” he muttered as he stared at her. Her smile and her lace-covered body.
“You’re not supposed to think in this situation, Lorne.”
Lornnne.
Then she was there. Right in front of him. The familiar scent of heather swirled in his nose while the unfamiliar feel of lace brushed on his palms.
She gave him a husky laugh. “Go ahead and touch anywhere you’d like. I bought this for you.”
“I. Ah.”
She laughed again before glancing at him.
His heart dipped and dived and flew. Because he knew he could handle what he saw in her eyes. The trembling need. The hopeful fear. The look of a fragile spirit willing to finally take another chance.
It came to him then. The right thing to say.
“Thank ye a ghràidh,” he said, his heart in his words. “Thank ye for this gift, and the gift of yourself.”
Ceri Olwen Ross’ smile went radiant, letting him know he’d said the right thing.
The truth.
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Check out the rest of the series. There are two other stories within the Scots trilogy of the International Billionaires series. You can check out Lion of Caledonia and Lord of the Isles.
Lion of Caledonia
A caged man looking for escape. A woman in disguise searching for a precious jewel. Two lovers destined to destroy each other or tear apart the bonds of the past.
Lord of the Isles
A beast. A beauty. And an unexpected baby.
Devil's Demand
International Billionaires X: The Latinos
by Caro LaFever
Coming out in October 2016!
The male perusal made Jessica uncomfortable as it always did. “It’s stupid that we’re both dressed up. After all, it’s just us two.”
“If you’d like to get more comfortable, I’m fine with that.” His smile came back, teeth flashing. “I can lend you a T-shirt and boxers.”
The idea of her in his shirt and boxers, legs bare and no bra, caused the inevitable blush to run up her neck. That made her even more flustered. “I think I should go.”
At her words, he dashed up the stairs and grabbed her hand. His long fingers laced through hers in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar and he pulled her right into his orbit. “I don’t think so,” he said with a husky chuckle. “Not when I finally have you here.”
He was too much. Too charming and beautiful and male. Her distrust about this whole situation washed back. Pinning him with a pointed look, she said, “Nick.”
“You sound so serious,” he murmured. “Why so serious?”
“Because whatever is happening here is serious, I can tell.”
“Can you?” He shifted closer, bringing his spicy scent with him. “Why do you say that?”
His accent, the slight j before the you, the curl of it seemed to circle around her as well as his body. “This isn’t real.”
“What’s not real? Your hand is real in mine.”
She tried to pull away, but he clung.
“And you are real, right here beside me,” he continued. “And I am real, right by you.”
The j again, before the you. It shivered through her once more, making her want to come closer and yet, at the same time, she wanted to run.
Before she could bolt, he ran his hand along the silk of her waist and nestled her into his arms. “Jessie,” he whispered.
More than anything, more than all her illusions and wishes, she wanted this to be real. This man who wanted to hold her because she was Jessie not Jessica McDowell. This emotion of being connected to another human being for more than money or family or duty. This dream she hadn’t even realized she held deep inside.
To be loved. Truly loved by a man.
It couldn’t be, though.
Her heart might dream, but her brain was too logical to let her off the hook.
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Also by Caro LaFever
The Italians
Mistress By Blackmail
Wife By Force
Baby By Accident
The Greeks
A Perfect Man
A Perfect Wife
A Perfect Love
The Scots
Lion of Caledonia
Lord of the Isles
Laird of the Highlands
Nonfiction
The Complete Guide to Heroes and Heroines
About the Author
Double finalist and winner of the Golden Heart, one of Romance Writer's of America's highest awards, Caro LaFever writes timeless romantic tales as well as nonfiction advice for writers. Her book, Heroes & Heroines: Sixteen Master Archetypes has been a go-to resource for writers for more than a decade. Her romantic novels have won or been a finalist in such prestigious contests as the Golden Pen, the Orange Rose, and the Emily. She lives in the Rocky Mtns.
@caro_lafever
CaroLaFever
www.carolafever.com
[email protected]
Acknowledgments
I appreciate every bit of advice and commentary that I've received from numerous critique group buddies, workshops, classes, and beta readers. After years of honing my craft, I still find new and important nuggets of wisdom every time I put my writing out there for review.
Thanks to my developmental editor, Allie Burton, who is truly my conscience and calls me on my idiot imaginings. Thanks to Sue Viders, who always catches when a character has moved across the room, but I haven't mentioned it. And thanks to Tanya Saari, my proofreader, who diligently goes with me into the correct way to spell numerous foreign foods and phrases.
Finally, thanks to my family, who taught me to love books and appreciate a story well-told.
Copyright © 2016 by Caro LaFever
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Book cover: Kim Killion
Interior design: Caro LaFever
ISBN: 978-1-945007-08-8
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