Chapter Twenty-Four

Callum

Having never been to New York City, Callum had invented several new curse words as he struggled through Brooklyn’s brutal afternoon traffic.

His GPS had screamed at him and he’d screamed right back at it as he kept checking the time flashing urgently at him from the dashboard of his rented Honda Civic. He’d been in the middle of making his fifth illegal U-turn when the auction began.

He’d released a string of ‘fucks’, ‘Godfuckingdamnits’ and ‘son of a bitch’s tits’ as he stomped his foot on the accelerator. Christ, in case he saw red and blue lights flash behind him, he hoped he had diplomatic immunity. He screeched into the tiny parking lot next to the storage facility, leaving the keys in the ignition before sprinting back to grab them and slam the door shut.

Not exactly how he’d pictured this while on the plane ride over from Scotland, but when the fuck had anything ever gone as he’d pictured? He’d pictured chasing Molly that evening in the rain, running through the terminal to stop her from boarding her flight, and instead realized there was no way to know which flight she was on.

“Mack, how do they do it in the movies?” he asked as they drove back after wandering the airport lobby for hours.

“I think you’ve answered your own question, Your Grace,” Mack answered with a kind smile back at him in the rearview mirror.

Callum certainly hadn’t pictured a woman spilling her latte on him when he sat down in his airplane seat, nor the hour-long wait to locate his lost luggage, or the goddamn traffic. But maybe, he thought, it was time that he went back to the messier side of life. That was, after all, why he was there.

The moment he first caught sight of her at the auction, it was like hearing thunder after a strike of lightning. He’d known it would happen, but it still didn’t stop him from jumping.

That’s how he’d felt when he first laid eyes on her blonde curls shining in the bright afternoon sun. He’d expected her to be there. And yet, the sight of her skin in her white tank top and cut-off jeans splattered with paint still made his palms sweat and his heart race and his hair dampen at the nape of his neck.

He was worried his voice would fail him when he shouted out his bid to win the storage unit. His throat was parched, and it wasn’t due to the long airless flight.

Every head turned right toward him, this newcomer with his strange accent at the back of the auction.

But he only cared about seeing just one face.

Nothing else mattered but the exact manner with which Molly lifted her sunglasses and pushed them back into her curls, the exact color of her surprised eyes, the exact shape of her pretty pink lips as they formed a silent ‘o’.

Callum kept his eyes fixed on her as he assured the auctioneer his bid wasn’t a joke. The auctioneer invited anyone to outbid Callum, but didn’t rustle up a challenger, and Callum was awarded the unit with applause.

Callum stood across the pavement from her as the crowd mingled past, catching glimpses of their gossip about this foreign fool who had just paid a fortune for a junky old storage unit. He remained silent until they were alone, staring at one another under the brutal afternoon heat rising in waves off the concrete.

Drawing up every ounce of courage, he walked toward her.

“I lied,” he said as she blinked up at him. He swallowed and scratched at the back of his neck. “I did overhear your conversation that first day we met, before we went to the school in Kelso.”

She nodded. It was just the tiniest tilt of her chin downward.

“I lied about saying it was improper for the Duke to compete in the Games,” he said. “I felt I wasn’t deserving of the enjoyment Jamie and I used to share after my role in his death. I was afraid everyone would think that, too.”

Pain flashed in Molly’s eyes, but she remained quiet. Listening. Watching.

“I lied when I told you that I’d changed, that I was ready to be myself again.” Callum cleared his throat. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I’m still worried about disappointing the memory of my father, of Jamie. I’m still afraid that I’ll make a reckless decision as the Duke of Roxburghe. The temptation to still act like someone else is still there.”

His confession made her eyes soften. He stepped a little closer and his voice took on a darker edge when he spoke next.

“But I never, ever once lied about the way I feel about you, Molly Lane.” He said it fiercely. “When I said you’re special, it was the truth. When I said I wanted you to stay with me, it was the truth. When I said you are the reason I want to live fully and wildly and deeply, feeling everything, seeing everything, loving…Well, that was the truth.”

A hint of a smile played at her lips. It was her turn to move closer.

“I don’t remember you saying that last one,” she said in a mischievous whisper.

He reached into his back pocket and held out the front page of Kelso’s local paper.

“I’m saying it now.”

It was an article about the unveiling of the Duke of Roxburghe’s official portrait. Molly realized that the picture accompanying it was not of the real Priscilla Rose’s portrait, but of her own, dirtied with streaks of paint.

Her eyes flew through the article that described how it had been painted, how it had gotten dirty, how it had been selected. She kept glancing at Callum, as if unable to believe that this was real. That the words printed in black ink were real. That he’d truly said what he’d said about her in front of his mother, all of his town, all of the nobility of Scotland.

“Back home, I know I messed up, and I know I’m not quite back to being the man I want to be, but I hope that with you, Molly, I can get there. And I--”

“Callum?” she interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

She grinned. “Would you kindly shut the fuck up and kiss me already?”

She was already raising herself up, and he immediately lowered himself down and in the middle their lips met and he was no longer in the lot of a storage facility.

He was on the floor in front of a fireplace, tracing the way the flames danced across her stomach.

He was in a forest with his fingers digging into her waist, her hands splayed across his chest.

He was standing behind her as they looked at each other in a mirror.

He was twirling her on a dance floor.

He was leaning with her against the front of his car.

He was in the here and now, his hand on her neck, in her hair, skimming along her cheek. His chest was rising and falling with hers, his sighs were slipping out with hers, his lips were melting against hers.

It wasn’t in the rain of Scotland, but their lips were the same.

Sighing and blushing, Molly pulled away and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The redness in her cheeks deepened, and he grinned.

“What is it?” he asked.

Squinting against the sun, she said, somewhat shyly, “I was right after all.”

He frowned. “Right about what?”

She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair. “In the sun,” she dreamily explained. “In the sunlight, I swore you’d have red in your hair.”

He smiled. “Jamie’s hair was just about as red as it comes. He always teased me that my hair was the reason I’d never be a proper Duke of Roxburghe.”

She stepped even closer and grinned up at him as her hands snaked around to his ass. “All you needed was a bit of American sun to show you what was there all along.”

He wrapped his arms around the small of her back.

She pinched his ass. “Now, as to being a ‘proper’ Duke of Roxburghe, I’ve heard quite the opposite,” she said.

He pulled her tight to his chest, so he could feel the rapid rise and fall of hers.

“What exactly have you heard, Miss Lane?” he whispered.

“I’ve heard he’s a brave leader,” she whispered back. “He follows his own path, his own heart, his own soul. He can be reckless at times, but always acts out of love for his people.” She paused, and when she continued her tone was very different, low and dangerous. “I’ve also heard there’s a beast in him. When he lets it loose, he’s quite the passionate lover.”

Callum grinned. “Is that so?”

“Yep. I’ve also heard he likes to fuck in, around, and even on cars.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes dark as she bit her lip. “Do you have a car here, Your Grace?”

Her fingers slipped into his back pocket, and with a victorious grin she found his keys.

“It’s a Civic,” he said, chuckling.

Molly winked. “Spacious.”

She dragged him behind her, and he followed.

He’d always follow.