Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  “Yes, and I’m sure I understand that, but it has nothing to do with me.”

  Niall’s eyes turned to take her in, holding her gaze as he replied. “Oh, it has everything to do with you, sweetheart.”

  “What…what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you’re going to be in my life from now on. Angus knows it and he doesn’t like it.”

  She put the cup down for fear of spilling its contents all over her lap and took deep breaths. Then she looked back into his eyes and nodded.

  “Okay.” That was all she could manage.

  The rest of the day passed in a kind of hush. Willa Mae met the family for dinner. Everyone was subdued, including the countess, who barely acknowledged her children or Willa Mae. Afterwards, when Niall went with her back to her suite, he kissed her until she forgot to be uncomfortable, until she forgot to worry about how tomorrow would go, until all she could remember was that she loved him.

  “When this is over, love, I will say everything that I have in my heart to say to you. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  He kissed her forehead, cupping her face in his hands. “You are a very special lady. Good night.”

  The hunger she saw in his eyes as he turned to walk away mirrored what she was feeling, but she knew the time for seeking relief was not now. She watched him walk back through her door and close it quietly behind him. He was right. Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a long day…

  Niall woke with a start. The cellphone hadn’t sounded the alarm as yet, so he stopped it before its raucous blare could disturb the quiet in his room. He passed a hand over his sheets, over the pillows next to him on the enormous bed, and stretched to get rid go the kinks from a restless night. He wanted Willa Mae in his bed, but he wouldn’t take her here. He would wait until they were alone in his own home. She had made him more aware of how his actions could exacerbate his mother’s condition, and he wanted to be the man she looked at with such love and respect as he had seen in her eyes the day before.

  After a quick shower, he dressed, pocketed the little black box on his night stand, and went to get her for breakfast. She was already dressed and ready to go down, and he appreciated her understanding. The business suit she wore did nothing to disguise her delicious curves, and she enhanced her pretty face with subtle makeup and lip color that made it hard for him to refuse their invitation to suck on them.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she said and smiled. “Lead on, your lordship.”

  He stole a quick kiss from those tempting lips as punishment for her teasing, and then led her down to the dining room. As before, his family was already there, but they hadn't served their plates.

  “Good morning, everyone. You all remember Ms. Jamison. She’ll be appearing for the defendant in the hearing this morning.”

  “Is that all she’s doing here, big brother?” Angus’s voice was full of venom.

  Niall turned and speared his younger brother with a fierce look. “Whatever else she may be doing here is none of your bloody business, Angus. And if you wish to keep living in this house you will remember who is paying for your stay.”

  Hating to have to put Willa Mae through the ugliness that was his family relationships, Niall asked her what she would like to eat, and eventually they all sat down to a strained breakfast. He took her away as soon as he could, and as they drove to the village, he told her what the plan was for the hearing.

  “My solicitor is going to present the positives first…the financial benefits not only to the family but to the village. Then he’ll hint at the credibility of the family’s claim, leaving my mother’s condition to the last, if the village board holds out. I honestly don’t see them waiting till the bitter end on this one, though. Money always talks. History and tradition will always take a back seat to profit.”

  And it turned out that Niall was right. The arbitrator wanted to know all the facts related to the renovations Niall was proposing, and when he asked the representative from the village board what their objections were, they cited the historicity of the castle being in jeopardy from modernization. Niall asked Willa Mae to say how the property would be upgraded while ensuring that the estate, including the castle, remained true to its historical roots. After that, the arbitrator found in favor of Niall and Creative Legacies, which had also been named in the complaint.

  The mood was subdued rather than celebratory when they walked back to the car afterwards. Niall went back to the castle and helped Willa Mae pack her things.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as they got back in his car.

  “Home.”

  He didn’t explain further, and she didn’t ask. The ride to his home was almost an hour, and they enjoyed it without speaking. His heart was full, but he was looking forward to sharing it all with her. The imposing manor house he had bought four years earlier was an impressive sight as they drove through its stately gateway to the front door. He parked, took her things from the car, and led her indoors.

  “I kinda miss being greeted by a cheerful butler,” she quipped, and Niall knew she was nervous. So was he. He was about to change the rest of their lives.

  Leaving the suitcases by the foot of the stairs, he led her into his study, and pushed her gently into the love seat by the window. Then he got down on one knee in front of her and watched as her eyes widened. He pulled the ring box from his pocket and opened it to reveal the purest, most exquisite diamond he could find for the woman he loved.

  “Sweetheart, I already know what your objection will be. We haven’t known each other long enough for me to be sure that this is the right step to be taking now. My answer is simple…you are the only woman I have ever wanted to change for. Everything I have done since the day I met you has been with the idea that if I can be better, maybe you’ll find me worthy to love. Because I love you truly, mo ghràdh. Will you honor me by accepting this ring and promising to be my wife when you have had enough time to prove I mean what I say?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Niall…”

  “Just say yes, love,” he urged her. “Just yes.”

  She smiled through her tears, and he kissed them away before sliding the ring onto her finger when she said “Yes!”

  Later, as they lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, their clothes everywhere on the floor of his office, he listened to her breathing as he fondled her full breast, and felt his heart warm through. He had made love to her hard and fast the first time, then slower, cherishing her as he had thrust in and taken her over the edge with him. He wanted to do it again, and he knew he would. She always dozed after lovemaking, and he loved that about her as well. She gave her all to their passion, and it wore her out. He wore her out, and he grinned in masculine pride.

  “Shouldn’t we at least put some clothes on?” Half an hour later, her voice brought his eyes down to her face. She was smiling lazily up at him.

  “There’s no one here but us,” he said. “And I’m not expecting visitors.”

  She shifted so that she was lying on top of him, and his body stirred again as he felt the wet lips of her sex cupping his swelling length.

  “That’s good to know,” she said, trailing a teasing finger down the happy trail from his chest down to his groin.

  “It is? Why so?” He caught her hand in his and pulled it to his mouth sucking her finger in and loving the moan she made in response.

  “Mmmm…because I can think of some things I’d like to try that demand complete privacy.” She rolled her hips, sliding her pussy lips over his rapidly stiffening cock.

  “Hmmm…I wouldn’t mind if you just kept doing what you’re doing right now,” he informed her. “You’ve definitely got my attention.”

  She chuckled. “You’re so easy, your lordship.”

  He sucked on her finger some more. “And you’re so beautiful, your ladyship.”

  She hissed. “Not quite yet. You know what they say. Don’t count your chickens…”

 
He released her finger and brought her face down to his so he could kiss her and suck on her tongue instead.

  “I’m only interested in one chick, and in counting all the ways I can make her mine before we have to leave for dinner.” He gave her another deep kiss, and rolled his hips up to meet hers.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, your lordship?” She opened her legs for him and raised her hips so he could slip inside her.

  “Trying?” He held her hips so he could thrust up into her soaking center. “Feels like I’ve succeeded.”

  She laughed into his mouth and met his thrust up with her own downward slide. “Ohhh…yes! Yes, you have!”

  After her admission, the silence was only broken by their cries of ecstasy, and that was quite all right with Niall.

  “I love you, mo ghràdh,” he whispered raggedly when his body stopped shaking in the aftermath of their shared orgasm.

  “I love you, too, Niall,” she replied, snuggling against his chest.

  And thank God for that, he thought.

  Chapter 1: The Way to the Top

  Torran remembered the first time he attempted to find a suit that would fit him.

  Of course, before that day, he hadn’t ever imagined he would need one. As a kid who had grown up on the poor side of Dublin - who had only managed to make it through secondary school by the skin of his teeth - he had never taken much pride in his clothes. Torran had always been more concerned with whether or not he had clothes at all. While all his friends at school had parents who bought them everything they needed - who kept them fed and clothed - Torran was self-sufficient.

  By the time he was thirteen, he had an under the table job sweeping up hair in a back-alley barbershop. The gig had allowed him just enough extra cash to purchase a few t-shirts, pants, and a new pair of shoes every now and then. Sweets and junk food had always been something of a luxury for him.

  Of course, he technically had a guardian at the group home. But Elaine Elmhurst was often too drunk to know her arse from her elbow, and she wouldn’t have cared for him unless he was made of solid gold. So he made his own way, stealing where he could, earning under the table - and it stayed that way all the way until he got to high school.

  But then, of course, everything had changed.

  It was because of those changes that Torran sought his first suit at the tender age of twenty five. He remembered stepping into a shop where a dinner jacket probably cost more than Elaine bloody Elmhurst had seen in her entire life. He was hardly able to believe they didn’t laugh him right out the front door. Instead, the tailor and shopkeeper bowed and scraped the moment he flashed his cash - and kept on kissing his arse until the moment he left.

  It was certainly good to be on top.

  But even after almost seven years, Torran wasn’t used to it. It seemed to him that his life had changed so much, so quickly, that sometimes he woke up at night still expecting to see the peeling ceiling of the shelter above him.

  Instead, he stared at the pristine, whorled ceiling of a prime fifth avenue penthouse smack in the middle of New York City.

  Fuck. How long had it been since he’d moved here? Two months? Three? Either way, it still didn’t feel like home. It didn’t matter that he’d dropped a cool eleven million on the place, or that the real estate agent he’d fucked to within an inch of her life insisted it was one of the most exclusive listings in the city.

  He missed Dublin. The city that had shat on him, chewed him up and spit him out; but also the city that had saved his life.

  Manhattan was a grand, sparkling gem of the modern world, but it was no Dublin.

  Though it was only four in the morning, Torran rolled from bed, wide awake. He would grant the United States that everything was bigger here. He’d always been large for his age, and, as a result, the old, narrow streets of Dublin often seemed suffocating to him. In New York, he hadn’t yet encountered a place he couldn’t fit his six and a half foot frame - even if he had to bend down a bit to make things work. His penthouse needed no modifications to accommodate his bulk. It was, in its floor plan, meant to house between six and eight people.

  But Torran liked having all the space to himself. He supposed he deserved it, after all these years.

  In nothing more than a pair of clinging boxer-briefs, Torran made his way through the expansive apartment to the kitchen. There was already a bottle of Scotch sitting out on the counter, and he poured himself a healthy nightcap. Or, morningcap as it were. He was wide awake, and hoped that the slow burn of the alcohol would put him back to sleep.

  He had a long day ahead of him.

  Leaning against the counter, Torran sipped at his drink as he gazed through the wall of floor to ceiling windows that lined his living room. He was afforded a breathtaking view of the city he’d chosen- or rather, the city his work took him to. With a frown, he made his way over to the window to look down at the street far below. Fifth Avenue was situated snugly between Central Park and the city surrounding it. As such, it was one of the quietest streets at night - a haven for the monied who lined its hallowed walkways.

  But even now, it wasn’t quiet. New York truly was the city that never slept, and even from the thirtieth floor, Torran could hear the sounds of traffic far below.

  He both hated and loved this place. In the past five years of his life, he’d managed to travel all over the world, leaving a string of broken hearts and irate tempers in his wake. He was, as his lead-stockholders constantly impressed on him, volatile, to say the least. But as long as he was making them money, the most they would do was slap him on the wrist. And for Torran, who’d been beaten to within an inch of his life more times than he could count, a wrist slap was absolutely nothing.

  Even if Torran was forced to go through the daily drudgery of running a company that had all but fallen in his lap, he liked to think he was pissing someone off. Or, in his case, a lot of someone’s. People who never thought he would make it to where he was. People who were absolutely incensed that he, who had never set foot in a university for anything other than speech giving, was capable of such success.

  But here he was.

  An interesting blend of his roots and what the world had made him.

  Money, Torran often told himself, was all well and good - but it was the fighting that kept him sane. There were days he spent in the office that he narrowly escaped murder. Even though those he worked with told him he had a head for numbers, these very same numbers often drove him to the absolute edge of his tolerance.

  And that, of course, was when he had to hit something.

  For this exact purpose, Torran had a gym in the basement of his downtown office building. If ever his work day got to be too much for him and he needed to blow off some steam, he made a beeline for the basement. Better he broke things there than in the offices. Lord knew he’d gotten into enough trouble doing that already.

  Even after finishing his generous helping of scotch, Torran wasn’t ready to head back to bed. Instead, he settled in his living room and turned on the television. He would be willing to bet that at close to five in the morning, there would be shite all on television, but he was surprised to turn into a months old MMA tournament.

  One that he participated in.

  It must have been on for a while, as they were halfway through the fourth match. The fight, Torran recalled, had been between Lyle McCready and reigning heavyweight champ Akahiko Matsuhiro. The Japanese fighter was probably the biggest boy the Far East had ever produced, at close to six and a half feet tall and two hundred eighty pounds. He beat McCready by knockout in under two minutes. Sent the fucker to the hospital.

  Frowning, Torran recalled his own fight with Matsuhiro that day. He had been confident. Too confident. Just because he had a few inches and maybe ten pounds on him, he’d been certain that he’d see the Japanese fighter’s moves coming a mile away.

  And he was wrong.

  While the champ hadn’t knocked him out, it was a very close thing. And Torran’s anger - his
drive to win which had always served him so well - had been useless in the face of Matsuhiro’s technical superiority. It had been his first shot at the title, and he’d been humiliated.

  But now cowed.

  There was another fight scheduled for a little less than a month from now. When he and Matsuhiro took the stage then, Torran wasn’t going to leave until the Japanese man was putty on the mat. It was the only outcome he was willing to accept.

  Maybe, in light of his goals, it might be smart to have as many bad days at work as humanly possible and save up his frustration. Then, there would be no way Matsuhiro walked out of the ring in one piece.

  But for now, Torran would just settle for making it through the day. It was barely five in the morning, and he was already exhausted at the prospect of the day ahead of him. He had not one, but two meetings with new hires that were supposed to head his Chinese and Japanese divisions. This, of course, meant that he’d have to use a translator. He wasn’t the intellectual type that studied languages for fun. In fact, Torran was pretty sure his Irish English was about as poor as the language came, so his language skills were minimal.