by Nancy Fraser
Table of Contents
Kilty Pleasures
Publication Page
Dedication
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Also Available
Also Read
Thank You
Kilty Pleasures
by
Nancy Fraser
Real Men Wear Kilts
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Kilty Pleasures
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Nancy Fraser
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1245-3
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my fellow authors in the TransCanada Romance Writers group. Your support is always welcome and appreciated.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Nancy Fraser
2015 International Digital Award
for Erotic Romance Winner
~*~
TIME AND AGAIN:
“If you like sexy, witty romances, you are going to love this one.”
~Water Lily, Long and Short Reviews
“This book has delightfully yummy scenes and an interesting host of characters. It was such an extreme delight to read.”
~Time Girl Reviews
When death’s dark stream I’ll ferry over
A time that surely shall come
In heaven itself I’ll ask no more
Than just a Highland welcome.
~Robbie Burns
Chapter One
“Beannachd Dia dhuit.”
The minister’s Gaelic blessing melded smoothly into the bagpiper’s rendition of an old Scottish hymn. Aileen MacDougall raised her head and scanned the small group of people who’d come to pay their respects.
She’d expected a better turnout. Despite his reputation as a curmudgeon, the small town of Glencoe, Maine owed Kieran MacAlister a huge debt. He’d bailed the entire county out on more than one occasion. Surely a final show of respect wouldn’t have killed them.
Aileen caught sight of her father, the bright red of the MacDougall tartan splashed proudly across his hips and chest. Her brothers, decked out in their finest kilts and sashes, took their place at his side, ready and able to carry their fellow Scotsman to his final resting place.
A fourth man joined them at the front of the small church. His dark hair curled against his temples. Taller than her father and brothers, his broad shoulders drew her appreciative gaze. The MacAlister-of-Skye tartan clung to his trim hips. The kilt’s hem flirted with the top of his knees above traditional cream stockings and tartan garter flashes. At his narrow waist he wore a black leather sporran adorned with a silver clasp fashioned from the MacAlister family crest.
Ronan MacAlister. The deceased’s only remaining family.
Growing up, she’d had the biggest crush on Ronan…the older boy she saw once, possibly twice, a year during his family’s infrequent visits to Glencoe. She’d fantasized about following him to the big city, of somehow escaping her parents’ sheep farm.
Yet, here she was, years later still in Glencoe and living at home. Obviously, not all fantasies come true.
Aileen pushed herself to her feet and fell into step at the end of the line of people exiting the church, stopping just short of the door to steal one last glance at Ronan MacAlister…quite possibly the sexiest man to ever wear a kilt.
****
Ronan MacAlister stood at the door of the community hall, shaking hands and accepting the condolences of perfect strangers. “Thank you for coming,” he said for the hundredth time.
Angus MacDougall sidled up to Ronan’s left, a slice of fragrant apple pie held firmly in his grasp. With a nod of his head, Angus motioned toward the buffet. “You should make yourself a plate. The food won’t last forever. Not with this bunch.”
Ronan chuckled. “There does seem to be far more people here for the lunch than were at the funeral.”
“Aye,” Angus agreed. “Let it never be said this lot don’t know when to stuff their bellies.”
He inhaled deeply. “Something does smell delicious.”
“Likely my Aileen’s lamb casserole you’re smelling. Best in the county.”
“Aileen? That’s your daughter, right?”
Angus swallowed a mouthful of pie and nodded. “Aye.”
“I remember her. Bright red hair and freckles. She used to compete in the Highland Dance competitions.”
“Still does from time to time. Teaches, too. She’s grown up a mite since you last saw her. As a matter of fact, she’s been serving as the caretaker up at your uncle’s place.”
“Caretaker? I would have thought taking care of my uncle’s old farm was more of a job for a man, not a young woman.”
“Need be, Aileen can drive a tractor and mend a fence as well as any man.”
He offered the obviously-proud father an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to inferˮ
“A lot of men have underestimated my girl.” Angus gave another nod toward the table laden with food. “Why don’t I have her make you a plate? You can grab a spot close to the door and still greet your guests.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
While he waited for his food, Ronan studied the townsfolk milling around the brightly lit, albeit stuffy, hall. They came from all walks of life. Farmers, store owners, and bankers. The one and only barber…who happened to be the town’s mayor as well. A cross section of exactly what made this place click and the main reason he could never coax his uncle into leaving.
Time and again his gaze returned to the beautiful woman near the far window. She fanned herself with a slim, delicate hand and he wondered how it would feel to have those same fingers caressing his skin. She was a goddess among a room full of middle-aged farm wives and gray-haired spinsters.
When she opened the shutters to let in some air the evening breeze blew her long, reddish blonde hair from behind her ear. The disheveled strands brushed her creamy cheeks and fell like a curtain over her slim shoulders. She tossed her head from side to side, jostling the silken threads until they came to rest across a pair of voluptuous breasts.
He gave his perusal free reign. Her trim waist flared into nicely curved hips. Perfect to hold onto during a long night of hot, satisfying sex. The thought made his palms itch.
He bit back a chuckle and a curse at the swift change in his body, the arousal that came from no more than a glance in her direction. If he didn’t get control soon, it wouldn’t take long before the entire town realized he was wearing his kilt in the most traditional way.
His attention diverted to the latest arrivals, it was a moment or so before h
e realized the small-town Aphrodite was standing at his side, a plate of food held out in his direction.
“My da said to bring you something to eat.”
“Aileen?” He raised and lowered his head, taking a closer look at the beautiful woman before him. “My goodness but you’ve grown up.”
“Yes,” she said, “no more bright red hair and freckles.”
He shot her a grin. “I take it your father clued you in to what I’d said earlier.”
She laughed, the soft sound setting his awareness back on full alert. “Yes, that he did.”
He slid into the closest chair and took the plate from her grasp. “Thank you for this.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
The thought of sipping champagne from every nook and cranny on her sexy body sprang instantly to mind. And just as quickly, his cock stood up in an agreeable salute. “A cold glass of water would be great.”
“What? No warm lager or strong tea? What kind of Scotsman are you, Ronan MacAlister?”
A full-blown laugh escaped him. “The citified kind, I guess. Other than wearing my family tartan on special occasions, I’m not much into Scottish traditions.”
“Well then, while you’re here, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.”
He purposely raised an eyebrow for effect. “I look forward to it.”
****
I can’t believe I just said that. Certain her cheeks were flushed a bright red, Aileen gulped down the glass of water she’d poured for Ronan MacAlister in hopes of cooling her feverish skin.
What had gotten into her?
With a little luck, maybe a sexy, citified Scot?
An inner-voice, especially a naughty one, was a definite nuisance.
She pushed her taunting conscience aside and poured a second glass of water. The sooner she delivered the cool drink and escaped Ronan’s undeniably attractive presence the better.
There was no sense allowing herself the luxury of fantasizing as she had when she was an adolescent. And just as it had been when they were younger, Ronan would likely be here for as short a time as possible then gone again and back to his fancy, corporate life.
She set the glass on the table in front of him and was about to turn and leave when he caught hold of her wrist. His long fingers circled her arm with a gentle grip, stealing her escape and sending a distinct sizzle through her veins.
“Sit, please,” he said.
With a tentative nod, she took the seat opposite his. “I really should help with the dishes.”
“From the looks of it, most of the ladies have congregated in the kitchen. Surely there are enough of them to do the work.”
“I can stay for a minute.”
“Your father says you’ve taken on the responsibilities of caretaker up at my uncle’s old farmhouse.”
“Old farm…uh…well, yes.” She paused, giving a moment’s thought for the way things had changed…improved…over the past few years. “How long has it been since you were here last?”
He rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes, as if conjuring up a memory. “Let’s see. I was…maybe…seventeen. So, eleven years, give or take.” He thought for another moment. “Definitely not since my parents died.”
Aileen placed her hand over his. The simple touch, intended merely as a comforting gesture, caused sparks of electricity to course through her arm. “I was sorry to hear about their accident. I know losing his only brother was hard on your uncle. It must have been even worse for you, losing both parents at the same time.”
“I’ve made my peace with it.”
“Why haven’t you come back to visit?”
His deep sigh and the sag of his shoulders hinted at a mixture of both frustration and regret. “Uncle Kieran and I had a falling out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We were both at fault. My mother always said, I was more like my uncle than my dad.”
“In what way?”
He turned his hand over so their palms touched. He closed his fingers around hers and stroked the back of her knuckles with his thumb. A second round of sensual sparks danced across her skin.
“We were both money focused. I put all my energy and resources into building my software company. My uncle personified the stereotypical tight Scot…never wanting to loosen the purse strings and live a little.” He glanced around the room. “Never wanting to leave this place.”
“He loved it here.”
A slow, deliberate smile lifted the corners of his mouth and her heart did a Highland fling inside her chest.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to leave?” he asked.
She thought of hedging, of defending her home. Yet, she couldn’t lie. Not to him. “Every day of my life.”
“Then, why haven’t you?”
“I did for a short while. I went to college in Somerville, just outside Boston.”
He chuckled and took another pass across the back of her hand with his thumb. “Wow. A whole three-hundred miles from home.”
“Five hundred,” she corrected.
He threw his hands up in teasing surrender.
Immediately she missed his touch. She clenched and unclenched her fists, scoring the linen tablecloth with her fingernails. A slow ache built up in her belly and worked its way lower.
“I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Dunlop on Monday to review my uncle’s will. Given this is only Thursday, I’d hoped he could meet with me tomorrow, but unfortunately, he’s not available.”
Aileen gathered the empty plate, silverware, and glass and stood. “Deer tracks.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tomorrow is the first day of hunting season. Some of the area guides have mapped out the deer tracks. The locals want to get there before the out-of-towners arrive on the weekend.”
“Son of a bitch! You’re kidding, right?” When she shook her head, he shot her another of his devastating smiles. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t expecting to put my life on hold for a pair of antlers.”
She returned his smile with one of her own. “Welcome back, city boy. If you’re lucky, my brothers will fix you up a prime deer steak and maybe my da can throw in some haggis for good measure.”
Chapter Two
Ronan shoved his suitcase, briefcase, and duffle into the trunk of his rental car and bid a quick farewell to the owner of the town’s only hotel. There was no reason to stay in a one-star establishment when there was a perfectly good farmhouse, with likely the same old, lumpy feather mattress, at his disposal.
The brisk October breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his skin. He tugged the zipper of his lightweight jacket up to his chin and rubbed his hands together. He’d forgotten how quickly the temperature dropped this far north and so close to the ocean. The sooner he got back to Tulsa the better.
Even if it meant foregoing a bit of enjoyment with a certain curvy, auburn-haired beauty.
Aileen, as badly as she’d professed her need to wash dishes, had stayed at his side until the last guest left the hall. She’d also offered to meet him at his uncle’s place at nine this morning so they could go over the real estate portion of Kieran’s estate.
He took the first right turn out of town and headed west. If he remembered correctly, the pavement would end within the next five or so miles. He mentally prepared himself for the rutted, dirt road. It was one of the two things he hated most about small town living. That and the distinct stench of livestock.
After ten minutes of smooth driving, he had to concede he’d likely turned the wrong way. He glanced at the dashboard clock and then at the expensive timepiece on his wrist. If he didn’t turn around soon and get back on the right road, Aileen might get tired of waiting and leave.
The thought of not seeing her far outweighed the property tour she’d promised. He could walk the land by himself. He needed a visual fix of the woman who’d sent his pulse into overdrive and his cock into a semi-erective state if he was going to last the entire weekend in this Po
dunk town.
What about Melanie?
He gave a fleeting thought for the woman he’d been dating for the past six months. Well-educated, beautiful, and a definite asset when it came to business, Melanie Parker was a mainstay in upscale Tulsa society. And the daughter of his mentor and biggest corporate rival.
But can she drive a tractor?
He was still laughing at the thought when he came to a place in the road where he could turn around. Ronan pulled the black sedan into the wide driveway. A large, neatly painted sign drew his attention.
Welcome to MacAlister Estates
New England Craftsmanship at Its Best
What the fuck? When had all this happened and why hadn’t he known about it? He pressed down on the accelerator and made a beeline for the largest of the four new buildings.
By the time he’d pulled into the first available parking spot, Aileen was standing there waiting for him, her hands planted on those perfectly luscious hips and a broad grin on her beautiful face.
He slid from behind the wheel, mentally tempering his earlier reaction. “What the hell?”
“Welcome to MacAlister Estates.” She stifled a laugh with the press of her slim fingers against full, pink-tinged lips. “I had a notion you knew nothing about the expansion when you mentioned the old farmhouse.”
“I never thought he’d get rid of it.” He waved his arm in an all-encompassing arc. “What is all of this?”
“This is a craft and food co-op.” She motioned him forward as she explained, “Five years ago, Glencoe was hit by a devastating storm, actually the remnants of a hurricane.”
“I remember. I called Kieran, and he said he was fine.”
“He was. Other than a few loose shingles, the farmhouse withstood everything the storm threw at us. It was the smaller shops at the edge of town that suffered the most. On the water’s edge, they were inundated with both wind and floods. Everything was destroyed.”
“I take it they didn’t have insurance.”
“Most did but not nearly enough to warrant rebuilding in the same spot. They all applied for Federal funding but…let’s face it… Glencoe is nothing more than a small crack in a much larger government windshield.”
