Scandalous in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 3)

by Anna Durand

  The kid was seven years younger than me and totally incorrigible.

  Pam laid a hand on my arm. "ComicCon will suck without you and your Princess Leia homage."

  Ah, yes. My costume inspired by the skimpy slave-girl outfit worn by Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi. I'd gone to ComicCon once, and I'd had a blast. Part of the reason was my friends.

  "Let's not lose touch, okay?" I said. "Email, text, social media, whatever. We've got no excuse for losing each other in the digital age."

  "We won't lose anybody," Pam assured me.

  "No way," Sabri said with a decisive shake of his head.

  Pam's gaze wandered around the empty office, her expression turning somber, but then she froze and her face lit up. "Hello, kitty. Who is that?"

  Sabri rose halfway up from his chair, squinting in the direction Pam looked. "We got a bigwig coming in today? Nobody told me."

  I turned—and my heart thudded.

  Striding across the room, deftly navigating the maze of vacant cubicles, Rory MacTaggart held his head high and his shoulders square. His charcoal suit complemented his physique, but he'd forgone a tie in favor of leaving the top button of his crisp, white dress shirt open. His golden-brown hair and brandy eyes almost glowed in the fluorescent lighting.

  Only he could look good under artificial lights.

  And damn, did he ever look good. Mouth-wateringly, lickably good.

  Rory spotted me and made a beeline for my position. Muscles strained the fabric of his suit as he moved, the picture of surety and resolve.

  He'd come for me. And I was about to leap into his arms.

  Not literally.

  Well, maybe.

  "There you are," he said in that sensuous voice, the one that made me liquefy inside.

  "Here I am," I concurred.

  Sabri had gotten a peevish look on his face. "Who's this guy? You know him?"

  "I do." Unable to resist the impulse, I placed a hand on Rory's bicep and gave it a little squeeze. Firm. Solid. Powerful. Reining in my lust as best I could, I spoke to my friends. "This is Rory MacTaggart. My fiancé."

  Rory seemed as surprised as my friends were.

  "Fiancé?" Pamela said, then broke into a huge grin. "Congrats, Em. Why didn't you tell us you were seeing somebody? You sly puppy."

  I hated lying, and I stank at it anyway, so I relied on partial truth. "Um, it just happened. We met in New Orleans."

  "Love at first sight? That's so romantic."

  Sabri screwed up his face. "I asked you out four times, and you turned me down cold. You meet this guy a few days ago and decide to marry him?"

  "Yes." I hooked my arm under Rory's, cuddling up to him. To show my friends how close we were. Not because I loved the feel of his hard body. Nope, not that. Bad liar, Em. "You know how spontaneous I am. When I met Rory, we clicked and I ran with it."

  Sabri shook his head, but a slight smile tugged at his lips. He stood and offered a hand to Rory. "Congratulations, man. Em's an amazing girl."

  Rory shook Sabri's hand. "I'm well aware of how fortunate I am."

  He sounded like he meant it. Either I was about to marry a world-class actor, or he was genuinely glad I'd accepted his proposal.

  My friends besieged me, tearing me away from Rory to suffocate me in a group hug, blubbering like I was heading off on an interstellar trip to another galaxy and they'd be long dead by the time I returned.

  Pam released me, spun around, and flung herself at Rory.

  Like a true gentleman, he caught her and accepted her embrace.

  "Take good care of her," Pam said.

  "I will," Rory promised.

  Sabri let me go, and I sidled up to Rory. We both bid my friends goodbye and then strolled out of the office arm in arm. Once we'd exited the one-story building onto the sidewalk, Rory stopped us. He rotated me to face me, his expression grim.

  "Did you mean it?" he asked. "You called me your fiancé. Are you accepting my proposal?"

  "It's more of a proposition than a proposal." I splayed a hand on his chest, fingering his lapel. "But yes, I'm accepting your offer."

  He almost smiled.

  "I have two conditions, though," I said.

  "Name it. Whatever you want, it's yours."

  "First, I need total honesty. No secrets, no lies. This is nonnegotiable, and I'll do the same for you."

  He directed his gaze past my shoulder, seeming pensive, then zeroed in on me. "The other condition?"

  "Sex and money is great, and of course I love the freedom you're offering." I patted his chest, bracing myself to explain. "But I need to be useful."

  "I don't understand."

  "Being your trophy wife isn't enough for me." I rolled my shoulders back, lifting my chin. "While I search for my true calling in life, I need something to keep me busy. I need a mission, and I've picked one."

  His brows knit together. "What is it?"

  "You."

  He blinked slowly. "What?"

  "Think of me as your private therapist." I smiled brightly, bouncing on my toes. "I'm going to help you remember how to enjoy life, Rory."

  He groaned. "You want to change me. Do you think my previous wives haven't already tried it?"

  "I don't want to change you. Only you can do that. I want to help you."

  "There's a difference?"

  "Absolutely. I'm not dragging you kicking and screaming into the fun zone. I'm illuminating the path for you." I inched closer, tipping my head back to see him. "You've gotten a taste of what I'm like. You understand I'm no wallflower, and I won't be the trophy wife you trot out at parties and put away in a closet the rest of the time. Are you sure you want me?"

  He studied me for a long moment, giving away nothing on his face. Then he grasped my upper arms. "I'm certain. And I accept your conditions."

  "Good." I wrestled with my purse, slung over my shoulder, and extracted the contract he'd given me. I held it up. "Signed and delivered."

  He dragged me into his body, his arms coming around me as he crushed his mouth to mine. I welcomed his invasion, thrusting my tongue in concert with his, teasing the roof of his mouth, savoring the indescribable flavor of him.

  Stepping back, he snagged the contract. He glanced at it, then folded the papers in half and tucked them into an inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  "Are you going to sign it?" I asked.

  "Later. We marry today and leave for Scotland in the morning."

  "Today?" I shook my head. "Don't know how it is in Scotland, but here we've got licenses and blood tests and whatnot."

  "Not in Colorado." He gave me quizzical look. "Didn't you know that? You've lived in this state for how long?"

  "Six years. But I've never been married. Engaged once, but never married. I didn't have a reason to learn about the marriage laws."

  "I researched the process last night."

  "Of course you did." I hesitated, a thought occurring to me. "How did you find me here?"

  "You mentioned Travellis Games and Colorado Springs. I didn't expect to find you at work, but I hoped your colleagues might point me in the right direction."

  "Impatient, huh?"

  "Today is Tuesday. I leave tomorrow." He fiddled with his shirt collar. "I needed your answer."

  "You've got it."

  He checked the time on his phone. "We should hurry if we're going to do this today."

  "What's the rush? Don't you want to have a wedding in front of your family?"

  "No." He slipped a hand under his jacket, his forehead crinkled, and he withdrew his hand. "Are you sure you've read the entire contract and understand it fully?"

  "Yep." I boosted onto my toes and pecked a kiss on his lips. "I'm a smart girl. I know what I'm getting into."

  Sort of. It enhanced the adventure aspect of this to recognize the risks and the unknown variables.

  I had read the prenup and the contract, three times each. He gave as much as he required from me, mostly asserting all the transgressions that wo
uld mean I'd forfeit the half million bucks. Things like cheating, embezzling, damaging his professional reputation, failure to provide "sexual congress"—oh yeah, he used those words—at least twice a week. Sex with Rory would hardly be a trial.

  Though I'd told him the sex might stink from now on, I didn't believe that. The way my body reacted to his presence assured me we'd have good sex at the very least, and I had every reason to believe it would be fantastic.

  I wouldn't marry him for sex, or money, no matter what he thought. This would become my biggest, wildest exploit ever and the source of as-yet-untold thrills. I would help Rory, as much as he'd let me. At the very least, when I left after a year he might be less rigid and more open to love in the future.

  What if you fall for him? a small voice whispered in my ear. What if you love him, and he won't love you?

  A bridge I'd cross when it materialized in front of me. This leap of faith, it promised great rewards and a kind of freedom I'd never had in my entire life. Find a new career I loved? Get to know an intriguing and outrageously sexy man? Walk away a rich woman? I couldn't turn it down.

  If I found I couldn't stand to live with him, I'd walk away with nothing.

  A chance worth taking. I'd decided that before he showed up at my former workplace. Something about him lured me closer, like the cliché about a moth and a flame.

  Then again, maybe he was the moth and I was the flame beckoning him toward the brilliant light of liberation. We'd find out together.

  Rory guided me to a limo parked along the curb, swung the door open, and waited for me to climb inside.

  A gentleman. A seducer. An uptight lawyer. Rory was all those things and more.

  I climbed into the limo, sliding across the seat while Rory lowered his big body onto the cushioned leather beside me. A couple days ago, I'd wondered if I could handle the distinct facets of his personality. As I sat here beside him, our hands inches apart on the seat, I realized why I was doing this.

  Whatever might come of our marriage, I needed to find out if Rory the hunk of unrefined carbon could become a shining diamond. I needed to know if we could have something more than sex and money shared between us.

  This wasn't how I'd ever imagined getting hitched, but I'd take it.

  Chapter Eleven

  One good thing about marrying an uptight lawyer? Rory steamrolled his way through the American legal system, doing whatever it took to ensure we tied the knot today. I'd acquired a passport yesterday in preparation for our departure from the land of my birth. Rory took care of everything else, including the acquisition of wedding rings. Never rude, but always determined, he'd employed a kind of jet-powered mixture of politeness and ruthlessness that got the job done.

  Though he made a snooty face at the idea of buying rings off the shelf, instead of ordering custom ones, I'd reminded him of his self-imposed deadline for marriage today. He'd sucked it up to get through the ring selection.

  "Uptight and kind of a snob," I teased while we studied the options inside the glass case in a swanky jewelry store.

  "I like quality and originality," he said, his impassive expression never wavering as he examined the rings lying on velvet cushions.

  "Originality, hm? Is that why you wore a kilt Friday night?"

  "No." Rory waved to the clerk. When the baby-faced guy approached, Rory indicated a pair of simple gold bands that cost more than several months of my rent. While the clerk retrieved and packaged up the rings, Rory angled toward me with a hip braced on the jewelry case. "I told you why I wore the kilt."

  "You fed me a mouthful of BS, and being a polite lady, I let you get away with it." I moved closer, gratified when he rested a hand on my hip. "Seeing as I'm about to uproot my entire life for you, I think the least you owe me is the truth about your choice of clothing that night. Why the kilt?"

  He exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "Aidan."

  "Your brother?"

  Rory nodded, his mouth crimped, though I detected a hint of humor in it. "Aidan dared me to wear a kilt in public, in a location where no one else would be wearing one and no one would expect to see a man dressed that way." He scratched his jaw, his lips spasming with an amusement he couldn't quite let out. "Aidan thought it would be funny."

  "Because you're…you."

  "Aye. The dare turned into a wager."

  "You won. What do you get?"

  "A favor from Aidan. Whatever I want, whenever I want."

  "Wow, that's quite a wager. What are you going to make him do?"

  "Haven't decided yet."

  I insisted on taking a picture of us in the jewelry store, and Rory acquiesced with a roll of his eyes. Once we'd bought the rings—well, once he'd bought the rings—we drove to my apartment so I could pack. I'd barely stuffed one suitcase when he announced it was time to go.

  "But—" I flapped my arms in a vague gesture. "All my stuff. I can't live out of one suitcase for the next year."

  "You can buy new things."

  "What's the big rush?"

  He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, shoulders hunched. "I want to go home."

  Was I hallucinating? Nope. Rory the stoic solicitor had admitted he was homesick. He looked so forlorn, and so embarrassed by his confession, I couldn't help myself. I rushed forward and threw my arms around him. "You miss your family, I get it. We can rush, and maybe I can get my friends to pack up the rest of my stuff and somehow get it shipped to me."

  He wore that bemused expression, the one he only ever displayed when I'd done something impulsive and harebrained. I kissed his cheek and released him, backing up a couple steps to give the poor man space.

  He surveyed my tiny, one-room apartment. "I'll hire someone to take care of your belongings."

  I assumed he meant he'd get my stuff packed and shipped. No idea how long it would take to transport my things to Scotland, but I'd make do in the meantime.

  Yet another impulse overtook me, and I rushed at him to plant another kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Rory. You're a real sweetie-pie."

  "Donnae say that in front of my family, or Aidan will be calling me 'sweetie-pie' for the rest of eternity."

  "I will try to restrain myself, but no promises. I'm impulsive, you know, which you really ought to like since it's the impetus for me marrying you."

  He said nothing for several seconds. "I can live with your outlandish enthusiasm."

  "Thanks a bunch, sweetie-pie."

  Rory grumbled, snatching up my lone suitcase.

  He'd been so honest with me, admitting he missed his home, I wanted to reciprocate. I had told him I required total honesty. Time to fulfill my end of the deal.

  My gut twisted.

  I took a breath and forged ahead. "There's something you should know before we tie the knot, in case it changes your mind."

  "Nothing will change my mind."

  "You haven't heard my confession yet."

  Rory set down the suitcase. "Tell me, then."

  Where to start? A pain tightened the back of my throat. I'd start with the abridged version.

  "Remember how I said I hate secrets and lies?" My gaze flitted around the room, everywhere except to Rory, and I couldn't seem to stop it. "That's because my ex took naked pictures of me and posted them online without my knowledge or consent. I mean, I consented to him taking pictures of me. But I had no idea he'd post them on social media. He swore they were just for him to look at. After I broke up with him, he got revenge-y."

  Rory squinted. "Revenge-y?"

  "It's called revenge porn." I felt weak all of a sudden, like I might pass out. "I'll spare you the details. The gist is I got the photos taken down from his social media accounts, but there's always a chance the images had been propagated elsewhere. Our contract talks about moral obligations, and I don't want you to be humiliated if nudie pictures of me turn up somehow, somewhere."

  He glanced down at my belly.

  I followed his gaze and realized I was wringing my hands in front of my stomach.
r />   "I won't be humiliated," he said, his tone soothing. He squeezed my shoulder, then folded his hand around both of mine. "And I haven't changed my mind."

  The tenderness of his actions triggered a pang in my chest, but I couldn't shake the fears I'd sworn wouldn't affect my future. They never had, until now. Until I decided to marry a stranger.

  Rory, seeming to perceive my inner turmoil, ducked his head to look into my eyes. "I don't treat women that way, no matter what they do to me. Do you believe me?"

  I couldn't speak, that pang hitting my chest harder, so I nodded. I did believe him. God help me, I trusted him. Maybe I'd plunged into a bottomless pool, but I couldn't deny the truth.

  He separated my hands, letting go of one, keeping hold of the other as he laced his fingers through mine. "All of that is in the past."

  I let him lead me out of my apartment. My former apartment. Rory had taken care of terminating my lease, of course. My landlord had gaped at us both when I told him I was marrying Rory and running off to Scotland, but eventually he'd offered us both his congratulations and wishes for good luck.

  No luck required. I intended to force good things to happen through sheer willpower and, as Rory called it, outlandish enthusiasm. Think happy, be happy. Why the hell not?

  A few hours later, a magistrate solemnized our marriage. Yeah, I learned a new word. Rory wore the same suit without a tie, but I'd changed into a knee-length, cream-colored sun dress with a modest neckline. It was the most wedding-appropriate thing I owned. My strappy heels added another three inches to my height, but I still had to crane my neck to meet Rory's gaze. Not that he looked at me during the ceremony. He maintained his stoic expression throughout the solemnization whatchamacallit, even when he slipped the ring onto my finger. The whole thing happened so fast I had no time to process the event until we were back in the limo, headed for the Garden of the Gods resort for our wedding night. In the morning, we'd fly to Scotland.

  My brain, though addled, had reminded me to take a photo of us in the magistrate's office.

  I was married. Married. To a man I met slightly more than four days ago. Tomorrow, I'd be in another country. On the other side of an ocean.