Not Quite a Scot

by Janice Maynard

  At last, he returned. “I have to go outside,” he said.

  My heart leapt in my chest, every horror story I could imagine springing to life in my sleep-deprived brain. “No,” I cried. “It’s too dangerous. Wait until morning. There’s nothing you can do in the dark.”

  He crouched beside me. “I have to see what happened, Duchess. It’s possible we’ll have to leave. There’s water coming into the house under a wall. I can’t take the chance this cottage will collapse on top of us, and I can’t assess the damage from inside. I won’t be long, I swear.”

  “Take Cinnamon with you,” I urged.

  “I doubt she’ll want to go out in this.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want you out there alone.”

  “Fine.” He tugged at the dog’s collar. It took three tries to get her on her feet, almost as if she had understood our entire conversation. Maybe she did.

  When the door closed behind them, I got up and paced. Then—my curiosity mushrooming by the minute—I peeked into the empty guest room. As Finley had said, the back wall of the house was wet. Water trickled from the roofline down and also oozed from the base of the wall.

  Whatever caused the sound we heard must have compromised the structural integrity of the house. Poor Cedric. Poor me, for that matter.

  There was little time to brood. I had no sooner returned to the other room than the door burst open with man and dog giving a repeat performance of their arrival hours ago.

  Finley looked rattled and wet, though there were no visible signs of damage to him, thank goodness.

  “Well,” I said, kneeling on my mattress, “what was it?”

  By the time he climbed back into bed, the dog was already asleep again. “Not a landslide exactly. Some rocks came tumbling down the hill. One of them was big, really big. I think it may have damaged the roof and cracked the wall. I can’t tell until daylight.”

  “Is it safe to stay?”

  “I think so. If anything, it would be even more dangerous to try the drive back to town right now.”

  “I’m sorry you’re in this mess because of me. You should be at home in your lovely house, snug and warm.”

  He chuckled, reaching out his hand. “Duchess, I’ve been in worse conditions, believe me. Besides, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you were up here all alone.”

  “My hero,” I teased.

  He tangled his fingers with mine. The simple connection sent zings of heat and pleasure all over my body. “We’re wide awake now,” he pointed out.

  “We’d probably be safer if we were closer together,” I said primly. “You know. In case of an emergency.”

  Releasing my hand, he grabbed the edge of my bedding and dragged my mattress toward him. “I was a Boy Scout back in the day,” he said. Without asking for permission or making a big deal about it, he scooted me across the now-sealed divide and into his arms.

  We groaned in unison. I felt as if I had been anticipating this since the first moment I saw him ride up on his motorcycle, ready to be my somewhat cranky knight in shining armor.

  I’d been chilled waiting for him to return from outside. Now Finley was a human furnace, warming my body efficiently. One of my legs ended up wedged between his thighs. I felt something long and hard and ready pressed against my hip. I don’t think there was any kind of merit badge for this situation.

  We were spooned together now, every bit of him embracing every bit of me. It was a most lovely feeling. I determined in an instant that surviving a spent hurricane was a small price to pay for such a reward.

  “Finley,” I whispered, afraid to break the spell, “will you make love to me?”

  Chapter 20

  He reared back and stared at me, his gaze narrowed. “I was headed in that direction, Duchess. Don’t rush me.”

  “It’s almost morning. I think we should cut to the chase.”

  “I was wrong,” he said soberly, though his eyes danced with humor. “You’re not romantic at all. We have a cozy fire and rain on the roof. What’s your hurry?”

  “Well,” I said, pretending to consider the matter, “if the house does disintegrate and crush us, I’d like to know we’d done it at least once.”

  “Done what?” He kissed my nose.

  “You know what. Don’t make me say it again. I grew up in the South. Women aren’t supposed to be pushy.”

  He chuckled, his hand at my breast. “Push all you want, Duchess. I’m a grown man. I can tell you when to stop.”

  When he toyed with my nipple, my stupid pajamas suddenly felt like they were strangling me. “Undress me, Finley. Please. Or put out the fire. Your choice.”

  His painfully slow pace in unbuttoning my top was nothing more than deliberate torture. I needed to bat his hand away and do it myself, but I didn’t want him to see my bossy side.

  When he bared my chest, I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Lord, Duchess. You’ve got magnolia flower written all over you. I thought those tales of soft southern skin were exaggerated, but yours is about the smoothest, prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “There’s more,” I offered meekly. “You know, skin? You’re welcome to take a look and compare.”

  My sexual experience was admittedly limited. Being playful with a man in the midst of intimacy was not something I’d ever experienced. Finley brought out my inner vixen. Either that, or he was just fun to be with…in every way.

  After my provocative suggestion, things got serious…really fast. Evidently, Finley’s patience wasn’t much deeper than mine. Suddenly, he was stripping off my pajama pants, undies, and even my socks. Now I was bare from the waist down.

  His chest heaved as he looked at me. “Last chance for second thoughts,” he said gruffly, propped on one elbow.

  The man’s hands were shaking. His eyes glittered with hunger. And yet still, he gave me a way out.

  “I know what I want,” I said calmly. Rising up on my knees, I shrugged out of my pajama top and let him look his fill. Despite my daring statement, I felt plenty of nerves, though the look in his eyes bolstered my confidence. He gazed at me as if I were the last stop on the way to heaven.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure where to start, Duchess. You’re a smorgasbord of delights.”

  “Kissing is nice,” I offered.

  “It is, at that.”

  Without warning, he sat up and dragged me into his lap. His fingers tangled in my hair, steadying my head as he found my mouth and kissed me hard. “It’s been awhile, McKenzie. Stop me if I go too fast.”

  Dazed, I tried to decipher what he meant. He wasn’t having sex on a regular basis? What was wrong with the women in Portree?

  I wanted to tell him there was too fast and not fast enough. He didn’t need my help. The man knew what he was doing. Not only did any desire for conversation fly out the window, I’m not sure I’d have been able to speak, even if I wanted to.

  His lips were firm and coaxing, the taste of him as addicting as French champagne. Even so, I wasn’t entirely ready to take the final step.

  I pulled back…just a hair. “I need to tell you something, Finley.”

  A pained look crossed his face. “I have protection if that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “No,” I said, my cheeks hot. “I want you to know I get it.”

  He frowned. “Get what?”

  “I understand where you’re coming from. You like your space, and you’re happy the way you are. Not in a relationship. Free. I won’t make any demands on you, I swear. I’m on vacation. This falls under the category of fun.”

  “It’s not much fun yet,” he groused.

  I reached up and smoothed a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry to interrupt your truly stellar foreplay. I wanted to clear the air.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

  “More than once, unfortunately. I’ll be quiet now.”

  “What if I make you
scream?” His grin threatened retribution.

  “Finley! Don’t say things like that. You’re embarrassing me.”

  He sobered in an instant. “You’d better get over that. By the time the sun comes up, I’m going to know every inch of your body, Duchess. Fair warning.”

  This time when he kissed me, it was different. Before, he’d been lazy and sweet in his caresses. Now, he was desperate. Not half as desperate as me.

  We rolled wildly from his mattress to mine and back again. He smelled like wind and rain and aroused male. I struggled with his clothing. When he was naked, I almost lost my nerve.

  Finley Craig was a beautiful man. Unclothed, he was far more intimidating than ever before. Broad, muscled shoulders gleamed with sweat in the firelight. His jaw was tight, his expression hard to read. His chest was a symphony of sleek muscles and tanned skin stretched taut over ribcage and sternum.

  At the moment, he had me on my back, my arms pinned over my head with his two big hands. “Damn, Duchess,” he muttered. “Where have you been all my life?”

  I wasn’t going to be swayed by pretty words. I was a grown woman. I had chosen to have sex with an interesting man because I wanted to know what he would be like in bed.

  The analytical part of my brain still managed to reason, though barely, pointing out that this scenario could definitely be labeled a fantasy. A gorgeous man. A stormy night. Physical intimacy ratcheting upward exponentially. “I’m glad I met you,” I whispered, driven to honesty by the avalanche of emotions that threatened to consume me.

  “Fate,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Make fun if you want,” I said. “I can’t help it if you showed up when I was in trouble.”

  “Somebody else would have come along eventually.”

  Maybe he was telling me not to get attached to him. Too late. I wrapped my legs around his. We were as close as two people could be but for that final joining. “Kiss me again,” I demanded. He tasted like sin. Though he was in the dominant position, I was reaping all the benefits. The feeling of helplessness was a turn-on, because I knew that he wanted what I wanted. And soon.

  He left me for thirty seconds, no more, and came back ready for action. When he moved between my thighs, I tensed up. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if I was scared of him.

  “What’s wrong, Duchess?”

  I made myself relax. “Nothing. Just nervous. I’m not very good at this.”

  He kissed my nose. There was something disarmingly sweet about a guy who could be so gentle and teasing when we were both about to go off like rockets. “Who told you that?” he asked.

  “Nobody had to tell me. I haven’t exactly had guys knocking down my door to hook up. Some women aren’t naturally…um…erotic.”

  “Oh, Duchess.” He shook his head as if he were disappointed in me. And we hadn’t even done anything yet. “Don’t be a clueless blonde. You’re the best kind of hot.” He nudged his erection against my sex.

  I lost my train of thought when all the blood left my brain and moved south. “The best kind?”

  “Yeah. Cool and collected and ladylike. Makes guys like me want to get you mussed and flustered.” He pressed all the way in and stayed there, giving me a chance to adjust to his size. I didn’t have a lot of basis for comparison, but I had definitely graduated to the big-time.

  When I could catch my breath, I opened my eyes and found him staring at me with a peculiar expression. “What?” I asked.

  I saw his throat move when he swallowed. “Hush, Duchess. I’m trying not to come.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. “That would be disappointing.”

  He choked out a laugh. His blue eyes were hazy and unfocused. “Hell, I’m sorry, McKenzie.” He groaned and finished, leaving me wondering what had happened. I was no femme fatale. I hadn’t even gone down on him, for Pete’s sake. Yet here we were, me revved and ready to go…Finley heavy and lax on top of me, his breathing labored and his skin hot.

  An awkward silence fell after that. He went into the bathroom to clean up. I pulled the sheet and blanket over me. That was the thing about fantasies. They weren’t based on reality. I felt hollow inside. Not because Finley had left me behind, but for being a thirty-two-year-old woman who hadn’t a clue how to understand the male of the species. His brain or his sex drive. It didn’t really matter. Finley was a mystery to me.

  When he came back, he was still naked. I had a difficult time looking at all that male magnificence, so I stared past him into the fire. “I suppose we should get some sleep,” I said calmly. “Who knows what will happen tomorrow…weather-wise, I mean.”

  Finley put his hand on my shoulder. “Move over, Duchess.”

  “There’s not room.” I didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. I was frustrated and let down.

  He joined me under the covers and lifted me on top of him. Putting his hands on both sides of my head, he kissed me long and deep. “Don’t worry, my southern belle. I’ve taken the edge off. This next time is all about you, I swear.”

  “Next time?” I was turning into a parrot.

  He ran his hands over my back and down to my generous butt. “These are the kind of curves that keep men awake at night,” he muttered.

  Even if he was exaggerating, I savored the compliment. “I’m fine, Finley. Really. I don’t always have an orgasm. Let’s go to sleep.”

  “Sorry, Duchess. No can do. My reputation is on the line.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.”

  He grinned up at me. Even in the dimly lit room, I could see the mischief in his eyes. “You won’t have to. I’m going to make love to you until you forget your name. Everyone in town will take one look at your face and know what we’ve been up to.”

  I struggled until he released me. He leaned back on his elbows. I wanted to stand, but I was still naked. Instead, I dragged the blanket around my shoulders. “Be serious, Finley. The sun is up. I can’t have sex with you in broad daylight. I’m not that kind of woman.”

  “Daytime sex isn’t a crime…not even in Scotland, I promise. Besides, it’s so cloudy and gloomy outside you can close your eyes and pretend it’s midnight.” He grabbed my ankle and dragged me back into reach. “C’mon, honey. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

  “I’m not shy,” I protested.

  I must not have been convincing, because before I could stop him, he moved me onto my back and started kissing my breasts.

  Chapter 21

  Finley knew a thing or two about the female body. I’d never really liked losing control, yet he was pushing all my buttons. The rough caress of his tongue on my nipples had me arching my back and moaning. I heard myself and didn’t even care that I was putting on a show. I couldn’t help it.

  Slowly, Finley moved his way down my body. His navel explorations tickled. When he made it still lower to the really interesting territory, I pressed my thighs together, trapping his hand. “That’s enough,” I said, the words breathless.

  The man was hard again…shockingly, incredibly hard. “Open your legs, Duchess. Or I’ll have to do it for you.”

  The carnal mental image of Finley taking my ankles and pulling them apart made me feel faint. I thought I’d been turned on before. That was nothing apparently. Now I was gasping for breath, trembling with the need to come.

  He must have sensed my unease, because his expression gentled. “You can trust me, McKenzie. I won’t hurt you, I swear. If I do something you don’t like, all you have to do is tell me to stop.”

  Judging by what had happened so far, we’d both be old and gray before I ever uttered that four-letter word. Telling him to stop wasn’t the problem. It was me feeling like I was going to shatter into a million shining fragments. I didn’t know if I’d be able to put myself back together again.

  Swallowing my misgivings, I tried to relax. Though it seemed desperately erotic to spread my legs with him watching, I did it anyway and was rewarded by the look on his fa
ce, part exultant, part stunned.

  I dug my heels into the mattress and gripped handfuls of the sheet. “I’m ready.”

  He laughed at me. The infuriating man laughed at me. “Good Lord, Duchess. You’re not bracing for a firing squad. Relax.”

  Easy for him to say. I’d never actually had a partner who returned the favor of oral sex. How did I even know I would like it?

  In the beginning, he only used his fingers to play with me. That alone was enough to bring me to the brink. He read my body language and drew back at the last minute. “I love watching you,” he said hoarsely. “You see yourself as shy and repressed, but damn, McKenzie, you’re so sensual and natural you make me tremble.”

  I was no longer interested in a discourse about my sexual experience. “Please,” I begged. “I can’t bear it. You’re being mean.”

  “Not mean, angel. Not at all. I want to give you everything you’ve been missing. The men in your life should have treasured you…cosseted you. I’m trying to erase the sins of my fellow man.”

  “Consider them gone.” I put my hand on his taut thigh. “Please, Finley. I want to come with you inside me. I’m so close it won’t take long. Please.”

  For one insane moment I thought he was going to say no. It wasn’t that I had any objection to what he was doing with his fingers and his tongue. I needed him so badly, I ached.

  My speech must have convinced him. He grabbed his pants and found a second condom. Then he settled between my legs and thrust hard. He held there at the deepest point for interminable seconds. “Next time I want you from behind,” he muttered. “For now, I have to see your face.”

  I knew what he meant. Still, I wanted to guard my emotions, my inner self. Finley was having none of that. Everything in my eyes was there for him to read. Nothing new, maybe. A woman infatuated with him.

  Never had I given so much of myself to a man. Not only my body, but my soul. I understood suddenly why the charity masquerade balls I had planned and attended were so effective. They allowed for flirtation and seduction without the added danger of vulnerability.