A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors)

by Randi Alexander

  Standing beside the fireplace, she turned to him and unbelted her dress. Niall kept his eyes fixed on her face but couldn’t help hearing the sound of the fabric as it slid down to puddle at her feet.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Agnes.” She gazed at him with soft brown eyes. In the periphery of his vision, he saw her bare shoulders and the top curves of her large breasts.

  Ah, aye. Agnes. He remembered.

  “Put your dress on,” he said gruffly.

  A distressed look crossed her face. “The Mackenzie has ordered me to always remain naked in this room.”

  Good God. Niall sucked in a breath. “Well, then. I’ll go.” He turned to the door, but as he lifted the latch, the naked lass grabbed his sleeve.

  “Please, sir. The laird said if I fail to thoroughly satisfy you, he will beat me until I bleed. Please, please stay.”

  The desperation showed clearly in her eyes. Her ruby-red, puckered nipple rubbed against his arm.

  Bloody hell. Mackenzie had known exactly what to tell the lass to ensure he stayed with her.

  If he could not have Aileen, was he to remain celibate for the rest of his damned life? That would be impossible. The days of celibacy since he had last had Aileen had nearly driven him mad. But his fierce, painful desires weren’t driven by lust for just any woman—they were driven by the need for Aileen herself.

  Raking a frustrated hand through his hair, Niall acknowledged that he didn’t want this woman. He only wanted one woman. And she was close—he thought she slept in this wing of the castle.

  He looked down into the lass’s panicked brown eyes and spoke gently. “I’ll tell the laird you satisfied me more completely than any woman ever has. How’s that?”

  She relaxed minutely. “He says I must keep you here ’til morning.”

  Niall pressed his temple with his fingers and sighed. “Verra well.”

  She blinked, and her eyes shone in the firelight. “Thank you.”

  “But I wilna bed you, Agnes.”

  She smiled almost shyly. She had a fresh sense of innocence about her, not the hardness of most of the whores he had known. Perhaps that was why the laird seemed so enamored of her. She slid a finger down his chest. He went rigid, fighting against the urge to swat her hand away.

  “’Tis a woman, isn’t it, sir? I can ease the ache for you, if you’d only let me.”

  “Nay.” Despite her likely expertise at the art of satisfying men, he doubted she could ease his particular ache.

  With a gentle smile, she threaded her fingers through his and led him to the edge of the bed. “She’s lucky to have your affections.”

  Nay, he wanted to say, she is cursed.

  She studied him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “I wilna seduce you,” she said finally. “Tell me all about your fortunate lady, and then I shall soothe you to sleep.”

  He allowed her to remove his plaid, all the while watching her sinuous naked body. Taller than Aileen, she had ruddy skin and brown eyes. Though her hair was blonde, it was long and curly like Aileen’s. Was it as thick? Niall suppressed a sudden urge to run his fingers through it to compare.

  Instead, he studied her breasts. They were much larger than Aileen’s, so large that they seemed disproportionate to the rest of her. Aileen’s nipples were smaller, darker. He remembered rolling one of the taut buds of her nipples between his fingers, then taking it into his mouth. Her taste sweeping over his tongue—sweet and sensual, heather and sage.

  Drawing in a harsh breath, he looked lower. Agnes’s legs were longer, larger than Aileen’s. The triangle of hair between them was light enough that he could see the pink of her flesh through it.

  Somewhere during his perusal of Agnes’s body, his cock had flared to life. Now it was so tight, the veins wrapping around it squeezed and pulsed painfully.

  Niall closed his eyes.

  “I can ease your ache, sir,” Agnes said again. Her voice sounded loud, each word pounding through his skull. She knelt to remove his boots.

  “Nay,” he said from between gritted teeth as he looked down at the top of her head. “You canna.”

  Chapter Nine

  Aileen’s eyes snapped open. Other than the silvery shaft of moonlight coming in through the window, the room was dark. Jannet snored softly from her pallet beside the bed.

  Aileen felt Niall everywhere, down to the marrow of her bones. In her mind’s eye, she saw the solid length of his erection. Her body craved him—wanted him inside her. She clenched her legs together to ease the pang of wet heat between them.

  She’d awakened from a dream. A wicked, carnal dream.

  He’d been standing, and Aileen had been watching him pleasure himself, his fingers wrapping around his long, thick shaft and stroking lightly.

  Aileen rolled to her stomach, embracing the bed like a lover. Instead of the cool, impersonal sheets, she imagined his warm body beneath her.

  Her nipples, so sensitive of late, pressed against the bed, as rigid as little berries. She crooked her elbow to run her fingers over the thin linen of her shift, over one of the taut nubs, and she inhaled a sharp breath.

  Sliding one hand between her body and the bed, she tugged up her shift, then cupped herself. When she pressed her sex gently into her palm, a dart of pleasure shot through her core.

  In her mind, Niall stood still, his body rigid, aflame with desire.

  Desperation showed in the depths of his eyes. He wanted her, needed her. He ached to seek fulfillment within her depths.

  Clenching her inner muscles, Aileen thrust herself into her palm again and again. Each tilt of her hips ramped her pleasure upward until a sweet, constant tingling buzzed within her.

  She pictured Niall watching her, his need for her so acute he groaned aloud.

  Flicking one thumb over her nipple, Aileen let the fingertips of her other hand brush over the hard, sensitive nub between the lips of her sex, and bit back a gasp.

  She was so close. The wave was cresting deep within her, preparing to break. One more brush of her fingertips…

  “Niall,” she whispered into her pillow. “Niall.”

  Jannet abruptly stopped snoring. Her blanket rustled as she turned over on her pallet.

  Aileen froze.

  “I can ease your ache, sir.” The voice, a sensual murmur of someone Aileen did not know, came from the other side of the wall.

  Aileen pulled her hand away from her body. The heat raging through her moments ago congealed into a solid lump in her stomach.

  “Are you all right, milady?” Jannet’s voice, coarse with sleep.

  “Aye, Jannet. I’m all right. ’Twas…’twas just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

  The blankets rustled as Jannet turned over. Within moments, she began to snore again.

  But Aileen couldn’t sleep after hearing the voice from the adjacent bedchamber. Frowning and careful not to awaken Jannet again, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed closer to the wall. Pressing her ear against it, she heard soft murmurings—a man’s voice and a woman’s.

  She still wasn’t satisfied. Something about the voices, especially the man’s… A feeling of dread tightened in her gut. She stood still for a moment, listening, but beyond that first phrase, I can ease your ache, she couldn’t make any sense of their murmurs.

  She stepped back from the wall, desire for more information about her neighbors getting the better of her. Pulling her plaid over her shoulders, she slipped out into the passageway and bent down to peek through the keyhole of the door closest to her own.

  She could see the woman’s naked body from behind. She was light-haired and large-boned, with curls tumbling down her back. She was kneeling before a man, naked, gazing up at him as if he were her master.

  Aileen could only see bits of the man, hints of skin from his knees to his neck. He was wearing a shirt but no plaid. From what little she could see, the man’s body was strikingly similar to Niall’s. He held himself like Niall did too.

 
; The woman leaned forward, and Aileen yanked herself backward. She couldn’t watch. Fisting her hands at her sides, she walked back into her bedchamber, her body jerking like an automaton with every step.

  It wasn’t him. Honorable, trustworthy Niall. It couldn’t be. It made no sense. Aileen prayed it was true. It was a coincidence—another MacRae who looked very similar to Niall. Surely it was. It had to be.

  If not, Niall had just betrayed her with another woman.

  ***

  Early the following morning, Jannet chattered as she combed Aileen’s hair. Aileen’s mind drifted as it always did when she listened to Jannet’s prattle, but her attention snapped to her maid when she heard Niall’s name whispered in a conspiratorial voice.

  “I saw him walking out of the bedchamber next door,” the lass said, “and that woman was right behind him.”

  “What woman?”

  “The laird’s favorite whore.”

  Before Aileen knew what she was doing, she swiveled in her chair and grabbed Jannet’s shoulders hard. Jannet gasped and looked at Aileen, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Don’t you ever, ever gossip to me again—about Niall MacRae or anyone!” she shouted.

  “I’m sorry, lady,” Jannet choked.

  This was one of the many reasons Aileen came to Ellandonan as infrequently as possible. The backbiting gossip drove her mad.

  The fear in Jannet’s eyes made Aileen squeeze her own eyes shut. She gentled her hands on the lass’s shoulders and spoke softly. “I shouldna have frightened you, Jannet. I’m sorry. But you know castle life breeds terrible rumors. You must ignore them. I’ll not have you grow into a gossipmonger—your sisters would never forgive me.”

  Of course that was not the primary reason behind her outburst. The reason for the continuing rage blazing behind her gentle tone. Still, there was no excuse for taking it out on her young maid.

  Jannet bit her lip. “Aye, lady. I wilna do it again.”

  She smiled. “Good. Now run along and fetch yourself some breakfast.”

  “Aye, Lady Aileen.” With a tentative smile, Jannet left the room.

  Aileen turned back to her table and braced her hands on its edge. Could it be true? Had Niall slaked his lust on one of John’s whores?

  And what did it matter? She had no claim on him.

  Still, jealousy curdled in her gut. Insane, angry jealousy.

  She should not listen to gossip. Half the time, it wasn’t even true.

  But last night, she had seen him. She’d seen him.

  Still, it could have been someone else. Perhaps Jannet had seen the similarity too, and just made an assumption that the man she saw was Niall…

  It hurt. The very idea that he’d turn to a whore drove splinters deep into her raw, bleeding heart.

  It couldn’t be true.

  If it was, she’d kill him. She pressed her lips together until they were numb. Nay, she’d kill them both.

  And what would she say to John? She was set to meet with him this morning. How could she request permission to marry Niall when she had reason to believe he’d bedded someone else last night? How could she voluntarily marry another man who would betray her?

  With shaking fingers, she finished her braid by herself. As she tied a ribbon over its end, someone knocked on the door.

  “Auntie Aileen? It’s me, Margaret.”

  Aileen blinked slowly, thrusting the wicked, blinding jealousy aside. “Come in, Margaret.”

  The lass flew in, straight into Aileen’s embrace.

  “Oh, Auntie, I am betrothed! I’m to be married at Christmas. He is an earl, Auntie, the Earl of Dolphinton, and he’s very old, and he’s a Lowlander!”

  Aileen wrapped her arms around her niece. She had been in a similar position long ago. She remembered the fear and uncertainty as if it were yesterday. Still, she knew for certain that Margaret was to marry a much stronger, much better, and much more formidable man than Walter Munro.

  She stroked Margaret’s back as the lass sniffled against her shoulder. “’Twill be all right.” She tried to recall what would have made her feel better when she was in Margaret’s position, but she couldn’t think of anything. The only thing Margaret could do was meet her fate with her head held high.

  “You’ll make your da proud,” she murmured. Margaret took a shaky breath, and Aileen pulled back to look at her. Her eyes welled with tears and her cheeks were wet. “Have you ever seen the Earl of Dolphinton?”

  “Nay,” the lass whispered.

  “He stayed at Dornoch for a month once, so I’ve spent some time with him. He’s polite and gentlemanly—tall and dark for a Lowlander, with dark hair and piercing black eyes. He’s quite clever as well.”

  “But Da has always said Lowlanders are all conniving and untrustworthy. How will I speak to such a man? Why would Da do this to me, Auntie?”

  “Och, a leannan,” Aileen soothed, “your betrothed isn’t conniving and untrustworthy. Did you know he spent some of his childhood in the Highlands? He speaks Gaelic as well as any of us and has great respect for our ways. Margaret”—she cupped the lass’s chin to look into her light blue eyes—“your da shows how much he cares for you by making this match. The earl is as proud and fierce as any Highlander, and he is powerful—with allies not only in the Highlands but in England as well. And,” she added, remembering his visit to Dornoch, “he’s very attached to those he holds dear. Naught matters more to him than his love for his family. In that way, he’s very much like your da.”

  That seemed to soothe Margaret. Her tears slowed, then abated. Aileen knew there was no one the lass idolized more than the laird. She grasped Margaret’s hands and gave a reassuring squeeze.

  Just then, Aileen caught movement in the open doorway at the edge of her vision. She looked over Margaret’s shoulder to see Niall hovering on the threshold. Her hands tightened over Margaret’s until the lass turned and saw him too.

  Niall gazed at the floorboards, and Aileen could see that the tips of his ears had reddened. He bowed to the laird’s daughter. “Forgive me for intruding. I’ll return later.”

  “Don’t go!” Aileen was surprised by her own outburst. “Please,” she said, more softly. But there was a grimness to her tone. She gave Margaret’s hands one final squeeze and released them.

  He raised one inquisitive eyebrow and glanced at Margaret, who looked from Aileen to Niall. With a soft smile, Margaret said good-bye and slipped past Niall.

  Fisting her hands at her sides, Aileen rose from her chair.

  Why had he come? Had he really been with a whore last night? After everything they’d planned? After everything she was prepared to sacrifice to be with him? The questions reverberated in her mind. Why, why, why?

  He took a step inside, then turned and closed the door behind him. That action by itself nearly shattered Aileen’s nerve. Should she demand he get out or leap into his arms?

  “Aileen—”

  “Don’t speak to me!”

  Startled by her harsh outburst, she clamped her mouth shut. Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Not for this.

  In two long strides, he came to her, capturing her body inside the curve of his powerful arm, crushing her breasts against his solid chest. His sea-blue eyes glittered down at her.

  “I’ve no intention of speaking to you,” he said, his voice a near growl.

  Instantly, a flush bloomed between Aileen’s legs. Fisting his plaid in her hands, Aileen fought against the sensation and stared up at him, knowing her eyes were narrow and accusing. “Why…how could you—?”

  But his lips descended over hers, stopping her midsentence.

  He’d been with the whore. She knew it without a doubt. She could smell her—the woman’s syrupy-sweet perfume was all over him.

  Aileen hated him, hated him. She would kill him.

  But, oh God, how she wanted him.

  She crushed her lips against his. So hard, she tasted blood. She hoped it was his.

>   “How could you?” she cried against his mouth.

  Without releasing her hold on him, she found the pin of his plaid, fisted her hands in the fabric, and yanked. The plaid tore, and, grimly satisfied by the ragged screech of ripping fabric, Aileen curled her lips into a grimace.

  Aileen crashed against the wall, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She hadn’t even realized he’d stepped forward, forcing her backward. Hooking one of her legs around his hip, she pulled his body closer to hers. Niall’s hands fumbled between them, but her fingers had found the flaming-hot skin beneath his shirt. She raked her nails up his back.

  Groaning, he jerked her skirts up and clamped his big palms over her thighs. He lifted her clear up off the floor, spreading her legs and pressing her against the cold stone wall. The rigid length of him slid against the sodden, sensitive tissues between her thighs, and she cried out, a low sound of combined pleasure and anger, against his lips.

  His body crushed hers against the wall, and their lips separated.

  “I hate you!” she sobbed.

  With a feral snarl, he pushed her down, impaling her body. The angry words died in her throat. She gripped his shoulders and wrapped both legs around him as he pulled back and heaved inside her, slamming her body against the wall.

  Aileen dug her fingernails into his skin and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting not to scream at the unbearable mix of ecstasy and pain, the opposing emotions of love and hate. After two thrusts, a wave of sensation crashed down over her, and she dove into it, forgetting everything but the rush of tumbling, rolling pleasure.

  Two more thrusts and Niall joined her. Silent, clinging to one another, their bodies heaved as they rode the wave together.

  When the contractions finally began to recede, Aileen found her face crushed into the crook between Niall’s head and shoulder. He supported her weight over him, pressing his forehead into the wall, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs. As if he realized her discomfort, his fingers softened their grip, and she slid down the length of his body.