Kat laughed. “I don’t know about comely, but I certainly like the ravished part.”
Brodie leaned in and gently bit her chin. “You don’t know the half of it yet.” He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “And I believe it was quite clear how comely I find you, so we’ll have no more of that.”
It was supposed to be harder than this, she thought. Tumultuous and angst-filled as she’d been, battling her insecurities and her fear that she wouldn’t be enough for him, she should have known better than that. She should have trusted him, the man she’d have easily trusted with her life. She should have known she could trust him with her heart, that he’d never do anything but take the same care of it as he had the rest of her. She settled beneath him, on that big bed, in the very place she’d imagined herself for so long…and felt as if she’d finally come home.
Her own lips quirked in a playful smile, and she shifted her hips beneath his, intending to tease a little, only to be hoisted by her own petard. Or his, as the case more clearly was proven to be. She swallowed a soft groan as he pressed that oh-so-beautifully-rigid length between her thighs. “I thought I was supposed to be havin’ a turn.”
“Turn’s over. You took too long.”
Now the smile came in full. “I wasn’t aware I was being timed.”
“Victory never comes to those who wait.”
“Sure it does,” she protested. “All the time.”
“Not today. Today, and from this day forward, you’re all mine.” He stared down at her, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
She wanted to believe that with all her heart.
Then he leaned in, and rather than ravish her, he kissed her with such tenderness her eyes abruptly welled with tears.
“What is this now,” he murmured, kissing away the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. “We’ll have no weeping here. A bloke could get a complex.”
She snorted then, making them both laugh. “Right. You haven’t had any insecurities about this particular endeavor since you lost your virginity to Jolie Griffin in MacClellan’s gooseberry patch.”
He sighed. “We were trying to make it to the springs. What can I say—I guess the Chisholm charm wore her down.”
Kat rolled her eyes.
Then Brodie surprised her by turning serious. Bracing his weight on his elbows, he released her wrists and framed her face with his hands, weaving his fingers gently into her hair. “Dinnae have any fear with me, okay? This isn’t like anything before, I need you to know—”
She silenced him with a kiss. “I know,” she said. “That I know. I just…I want to be enough for you.”
He made her start when he barked out a laugh. Then he rolled to his back, pulling her atop him. “Enough for me? Since when havena’ you been?”
She straddled his hips. “Since about thirty minutes ago when we got naked and you made me see stars.”
He grinned. “Really? Stars was it?”
She swatted at him, then laughed as she settled her body over his. “It’s important to me,” she said at length, loving the strength of the arms holding her so tightly. “I need to know.”
Shifting his hands to her hips, he lifted her, then slowly pushed her down onto him. He entered her slowly, keeping his gaze locked on hers as each velvety-hard inch of him pushed inside of her. He held her there, tightly. “I know,” he said. Then he began to move beneath her. And her hips immediately found his rhythm.
They moved together fluidly, Kat gasping and Brodie groaning deep inside his chest. As she felt him quicken, felt his muscles gather beneath her, she locked her legs against his and used the leverage to ride him, to dictate the rhythm. They moved harder, and faster still, his hips pistoning into hers so hard he came half off the bed with each thrust. She gave back to him as fully as she got, matching him stroke for stroke, loving how fully and completely he filled her…and how well and truly she held him. She kept on until she finally took him over the edge completely, bringing forth from him a guttural shout that shook the bed.
He’d barely finished pulsing inside of her when she once again found herself on her back. “Tha’ never happens,” he said, still breathing heavily, his skin damp against hers. “I never finish that way, I have to be on top. How did you—” He stopped, laughed shortly, then kissed her soundly on the lips. “I should ha’e known you’d be different. You’ll take from me what ye will.” His face split wide with the devil’s own grin. “And I’ll be happy to give it to you.” He gathered her to him as he slid out of her and shifted them both to their sides. “So,” he said at length, stroking her hair, keeping her cheek pressed to the crook of his shoulder, “I suppose round one goes to the fair maiden.”
She lifted her head slightly. “Maiden?” she asked dryly.
He shot her a wicked smile. “Fair lady, then.” He tucked her head back down. “Now take your victory and don’t gloat on about it.”
“Like you wouldn’t have.”
“Och, ye know me too well. I can see where this could present me with a problem or two. I’ll no’ be able to charm my way out of situations of my own making, will I?”
Kat wriggled closer to him, tangling her legs with his, tucking her ankles as she settled against his body like she’d been born to fit there. “Oh, I suspect ye might be able to con me into forgiving you now and again.”
He stroked his hand down her back, then pinched her bum. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She pinched his nipple, making him hoot, then propped her chin on his chest. “So,” she said at length, “how do you propose we…” She drifted off, thinking perhaps now was not the time to question their future, but as it was going to be pretty immediate, she had to ask. “How did you want to…you know, tell everyone?” She paused for a second. “You do plan to—”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. But I dinnae think ’twill be much of an issue for us.”
“Why is that?”
He craned his neck and looked over at the clock on his nightstand. “Marta’s likely to be in the kitchen shortly, if she’s no’ already. I imagine she’s found enough evidence to put two and two together and—”
Kat sat straight up and went to scramble off the bed. Brodie pulled her right back down again.
“Do you have a problem with everyone knowing I wanted ye so badly I couldna wait to even get you up the stairs? A legend you’ll be.”
Kat paused, then laughed somewhat smugly as she snuggled back in his arms. “A legend, you say?” She wrapped her arm around him, tucked her legs back between his, and sighed as he tipped her chin up for a long, lingering kiss.
“Aye,” she said drowsily some time later. “I can live with that.”
ON TAP
Chapter 1
“I’ve no time to spare for her, Silas.” Reese Chisholm strode down the row of white oak casks that housed his family distillery’s aging single-malt whisky. There was a long list of things awaiting his personal attention, and he wasn’t happy about adding yet another to the queue. “I’ve got calls coming in about the new mash tuns and I need to make yet another attempt to track down a new supplier for—”
Silas silenced him with a clearing of the throat.
He stopped short and turned to face his floor manager. Reese had taken over the running of the distillery seven years ago, when his grandfather, Finney, had passed. But Reese had worked at Finney’s side since he was old enough to reach a tap. So when the time had come, no one had doubted Reese’s ability to run the place. Despite the fact that Silas had several decades on Reese in both experience and age, the two had long since come to a mutual respect for one another. Which was why Reese took the older man’s quiet rebuke in stride. “What have you done to me now, auld man? My schedule is already fashed and it’s no’ even noon. I’ve no time for chitchat about some mad business scheme with the newcomer in town.” He folded his arms when Silas merely smiled at him. “No matter how comely a lass she might be.”
Just because Reese, secon
d of the four Chisholm brothers, was still single past the age of thirty—only by a year!—the local elders had taken it upon themselves to throw every available female within a fifty-kilometer radius in his path. And now that Brodie had managed to find love, they’d only redoubled their efforts. He reminded himself to soundly beat his younger brother at billiards the next time they played. Then ignored the niggling thought that it had been far too long since he’d made it down to Hagg’s, the pub Brodie owned and ran, for something as simple as an evening off.
“Ye work too hard,” Silas told him, as if reading his thoughts. And Reese wasn’t so sure the auld Gael couldn’t. “Ye need to think about more than aging whisky,” he went on. “You’re no’ getting any younger yerself, you know.” Silas’s eyes crinkled at the corners, that wee twinkle of his appearing in their faded blue depths. “She’s a fair sight, that she is. And, well, lad, she’s here. Parked in your office, pretty and fresh as her namesake. Said she’d cleared it through Brodie,” he added when Reese scowled.
He began to regret less his overlong work hours and neglect of his siblings. They were all doing as he was, trying to make a go of it at their own businesses, all for the sake of keeping the family holdings together. He could hardly be faulted for being a little overly involved in the distillery, seeing as it was the largest concern the family oversaw. At least, that’s what he told himself, anyway.
But he also knew when he’d been beat. Better to deal with her now and get them all off his back for a bit. He did a quick mental scan of his schedule, rearranging what he could, knowing that no matter what he did, this was going to set him back further. He gave it one last shot. “Silas, can’t you just get her card or something and tell her—”
“Don’t punish the messenger,” he said, lifting his hands, palms out. “Besides, I’ve already got three people waitin’ for me in my office. It’s only because I had to come find you to give you those estimates that I was elected to deliver the news in the first place.” His smile returned. “What harm is there in giving a pretty lass a few minutes of your time? The rest of your day will sort itself out, and who knows, might put a bit of a spring in your step.”
Reese just shook his head. “Springtime. I swear, it turns the lot of you into rutting beasts.”
Silas laughed. “I dinnae think that’s a seasonal condition, lad. But then, what would you know of it, anyway?” He continued to laugh as he moved on past Reese and hurried around the end of the cask row, off to attend his own business.
Reese was well aware he was the long-standing butt of many a joke, all centering around his workaholic ways keeping him from having any real social life. Not that the small highland village of Glenbuie afforded much of that. But, truth be told, even when he could make the time, he wasn’t much of one to gather with the locals at Miss Eleanor’s in the morning for breakfast, or at Brodie’s pub in the evening. Was it such a bad thing that after dealing with the details of the day, which were always myriad and typically fraught with problems, he sought out his own company in the evenings, where it was peaceful and quiet?
Tristan certainly understood that for the luxury it was, although Reese couldn’t cut himself off quite to the degree that his brother the sheepherder had. Of course, Tristan did a fat lot more than tend to the Chisholm flocks. He also tended to all their leased farm properties, the crofters, too. But, by and large, the youngest Chisholm was happiest when it was just him and his flock, away from the maddening world and the people who inhabited it.
As Reese approached his office door, he allowed himself the momentary daydream of joining his brother out on the moors and hillocks for a fortnight, driving the flock down to the valley, as they had in their youth. Of course, now that he thought of it, talk between them during those long hikes had often turned to the fair lassies of the valley…and how they could convince them to go wanderin’ with them on their way back up into the hills. That fond reminiscence kindled a quick smile, because they’d been successful, often as not. Maybe he had left behind more than one of the better aspects of being a carefree youth.
The smile lingered as Reese entered his office.
“Hello!” The young woman, who had been seated in one of the two studded leather chairs arranged in front of his desk, shot to her feet. “I’m Daisy MacDonnell,” she said, extending a slender hand.
Wow, was pretty much the whole of what went through Reese’s mind at that moment, blanking out everything else. For a wee bit of a thing, she packed quite a wallop where first impressions were concerned. The top of her head barely crested his chest…but what a head it was. She sported a face as fresh as her name, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks that she did nothing to hide, which disarmed and charmed him all at the same time. Her blue eyes fair to twinkled at him, and her grin was downright infectious. All of that bright, energetic loveliness was topped off by a shoulder-length swing of deep auburn hair that she’d clearly come by naturally. And that he found himself quite uncharacteristically wanting to bury his nose in, wondering if she smelled as fresh as she looked.
Wow pretty much summed things up.
Coming to the realization that he was standing there, all but gaping, he cleared his throat—and his mind, while he was at it—and took her hand for a quick shake. Given the slimness of her lithe frame, he’d thought her touch would be cool, but instead her palm was warm when it pressed against his. Delivering another little jolt.
“A pleasure to finally meet you,” she gushed. “I know what a busy man you are, so it means a great deal that you agreed to meet with me.”
Disarming and charming, she was all that and more. He found himself reluctant to release her hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he said, surprised at the depth of sincerity there was in that standard platitude. “I can see why the lads are all panting after you.” He blanched. “Did I actually say that last bit out loud?”
Twin spots of pink bloomed in her cheeks, which only served to set off that scattering of freckles even more endearingly. She slipped her hand from his as she nodded in response, her smile one of amusement. Thank goodness.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said at once, completely at a loss. Which was so unlike him, it flummoxed him even further. “I can assure you I rarely use such poor judgment, especially with a prospective business acquaintance. Or…well, anyone, really. I’m not one of those boorish blokes who does the whole nudge, nudge, wink, wink, if you know what I mean.” Dear Christ, now he couldn’t shut himself up. What the hell was wrong with him? He sounded like a flaming loon.
Fortunately she reached for and found the aplomb that had so swiftly abandoned him. He couldn’t remember a time—even as a callow youth—when he’d been so quickly out of step.
“Not to worry,” she assured him in her crisp Yankee accent. “I appreciate that I’m…uh…appreciated.” The bit of pink still coloring her cheeks was most becoming, even as she turned—all business now—and scooped up a trim leather briefcase. “To be perfectly honest, though, I’d rather be appreciated for my business acumen.” She smiled and stepped back to her chair, silently encouraging him to take a seat. “If you have a few moments, I’d love to discuss several marketing ideas I have for both your whisky label and the distillery itself.”
Reese simply stood there, like a blinking fool. The remaining sliver of his brain that was still functioning finally nudged him forward, simultaneously reminding him about his overwhelming schedule, and that his game plan had been to put Ms. MacDonnell off until a future time. A distant future time. So why he moved behind his desk and took a seat, all attentive, as if he had the entire afternoon at his disposal, he hadn’t the faintest idea.
Okay, so he had a little idea. He was an admitted workaholic, but he was also still a man, with fully functioning hormones, among other things, if the sudden snug fit of his trousers were any indication. Ridiculous, really, to even consider pursuing this any further. He knew that—of course he did. He had no time for flirtatious banter and even less for starting up
anything more involved.
Daisy was opening her briefcase and pulling out a sheaf of papers, which turned out to be several smaller proposals, each bound separately. Very professional, he noted. Of course, having Maude’s print shop at her disposal certainly made creating business proposals a little easier, but he was impressed with her attention to detail nonetheless. All he’d heard from Brodie, or his own employees who’d gotten a gander at Glenbuie’s newest resident, was how attractive she was, so bright and friendly and outgoing. She definitely lived up to the hype. Made him wonder if any of the lads had made any inroads on their plans to sweep the lass off her feet…and preferably right onto her back.
The thought made him frown a little, though he couldn’t exactly say why. It wasn’t jealousy, though perhaps envy might play a bit part. Aye, he could quite easily envision tumbling her back onto his bed, all that stunning red hair of hers splayed across his dove-gray sheets, her pale skin faintly luminous in the early morning light. He absently wondered where else she might have freckles…and how lovely it might be to while away the morning hours after dawn, tracing them…with his tongue.
“I don’t know if Brodie mentioned to you what I’m hoping to do here in Glenbuie,” she said, all brisk and businesslike as she organized her proposals.
He knew what he’d like her to do, was his immediate thought. But then he was having a devil of a time being brisk in thought or manner, much less thinking about anything having to do with business. “No, uh, I don’t believe he did.” Scintillating stuff there, Chisholm. Deep, too. He’d definitely been off the horse far too long.
She smiled at him, oblivious, he prayed, to the completely inappropriate thoughts he was having about the nicely tailored blouse she was wearing. The way pale yellow cotton hugged her breasts—which were small, but every bit as perky as the rest of her—just begged a man to reach out and—
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