Chapter Twenty-Eight
"On your knees," he said. The way his lips kicked up at the corners belied his commanding tone, and the rock-hard penis curving up toward his belly made it difficult to take him seriously. He turned one hand palm up and lifted it in a get up gesture. "Donnae lie there, love, being lazy and satisfied. We're not done yet."
I pushed up onto my elbows and stuck my tongue out at him.
He moved his hand upward again. "Knees. Now. Or do I have to spank you?"
"Like to see you try."
He gave my thigh a playful slap. "Get up."
I got up. On my knees on the bed, inches from the edge, I reached out to fondle his chest. He flapped his hands, wanting me to back up. I dutifully waddled backward on my knees until he held up a staying hand.
He retrieved a cardboard package from the plastic shopping bag he'd brought. A box of condoms. He ripped open the box and plucked out a single foil packet.
The cool draft from the air conditioner tickled my skin, but it wasn't the chill making my nipples harden again. It was the fully aroused Highlander stalking around the foot of the bed, climbing onto his knees on the mattress, jostling the bed as he moved behind me. He
Excitement stirred low in my belly, a sweet current of desire and anticipation. Already drenched from his oral ministrations, my sex burned for more.
Aidan slipped his hands around my waist, skimming them up my belly, pausing when they brushed the undersides of my breasts. "Turn your head."
I rotated my head to the right, toward the wall.
"No," he said with laughter in his voice. He laid a hand on my cheek and gently urged me to look the other way. "See us."
My gaze fell on the mirror atop the dresser. It provided a full view of us on our knees together, our naked bodies separated by a matter of inches, his erection almost touching my backside. I drew in a deep breath, captivated by the sight and the knowledge of what he intended to do next.
He pushed the hair away from the left side of my neck with his long fingers, feathering his warm, damp lips over the skin at the hollow of my throat. "I want you to watch while I take you. Watch yourself come."
Breath, stolen. Pulse, racing. I tipped my head back a little, silently begging him to touch me more, more, more. When his cock grazed my backside, I threw my head back against his muscled chest.
"Will you watch?" he asked.
"Yes."
With my head still on his chest, I turned it to the side far enough that I could glimpse the mirror. My gaze became riveted to the vision of him sheathing his engorged shaft with a condom. When he caught me looking, he gave himself a long, languorous stroke.
I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Big and brawny. Tanned skin seeming to glow in the golden light from the bedside lamp.
He took my waist in both hands, rocked his hips back, and drove into me in one fluid thrust. His cock consumed me, penetrating so deep and filling me so thoroughly I gasped. As I gazed at the mirror, transfixed by the sight of us — his intense and determined expression, the need and pleasure on my face, my breasts quivering as his hips rocked into me and he found a steady, firm rhythm. His shaft sank deeper inside my body, awakening hidden places within me, stimulating a passion so fierce I shuddered from the bliss of it. He splayed one hand over my belly, holding me to him, while his other hand drifted up to cup and squeeze my breast, making me arch against him, my mouth falling open on quick, shallow breaths.
Dimly, I noted the hush in the room — broken only by the susurrations of our breaths, the faint creaking of the bed, and the brushing of skin against skin.
I focused on the mirror again, observing in rapt delight as he pinched my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending a shockwave down the nerve that connected to my clitoris, stunning a gasp from me.
Our gazes connected in the mirror.
There in his eyes, I glimpsed my raw lust reflected in those beautiful blue irises. More than passion, though, I saw an aching tenderness, a deep yearning for more than a physical bond. And in my own eyes… the same longing, the same tender and almost painful need for connection.
He tore his gaze from mine to dip his head to my neck, nuzzling my throat and grazing his teeth over my skin, as his cock thrust harder.
I flung my arms over my head, locking my hands behind his nape, but I couldn't wrench my focus away from the mirror. My need mounted higher, the pressure built, spurred by the image of our writhing bodies and of his cock sliding out a few inches only to slam back into me. His measured thrusts escalated into a pounding that made my breasts bounce.
My gaze gravitated to his face. He turned his head toward mine, his expression full of a sweet longing that made my heart ache even as my body tensed in anticipation of release. I couldn't look away from the mirror, from his face, trapped by the emotion in his eyes and the matching pang in my chest. I wanted to stay with him. To be with him.
I couldn't hold onto that thought, or any thought. The climax overtaking me erased everything else, obliterating reason with a stunning ecstasy the sent my head spinning and unleashed a wild cry.
Even as the orgasm faded, I clung to him, reveling in his frantic thrusts as he barreled toward his own release. In the mirror, he threw his head back as he plowed into me one last time. I felt his cock pulse, and for a crazy moment, I wished he hadn't worn a condom so I could experience the full force of his climax deep inside me.
He pulled out, panting, but held me against him with his hands linked over my belly.
"You did it," I said. "You made me come harder than the first time."
"Mirror helped, eh?" He murmured the words against my throat as he trailed little kisses down my skin.
Oh, the mirror had turned me on. But the reason for my head-spinning orgasm had nothing to do with observing his gorgeous body taking mine. It stemmed from the dizzying mishmash of emotions whirling through me even now. I wanted to be with him, to marry him, to have his children.
I glanced down at his hands on my belly, right over my womb. The back of my throat hurt. My eyes stung, but I blinked back the nascent tears. No matter how much I wanted to stay with him, it did not mean I was falling for him. I'd known him for thirteen days.
How long was long enough to be sure?
Aidan swept a fall of hair away from my face, his fingers skating over my cheek. "What is it? You look about to cry."
"Tears of sexual pleasure," I said in a breezy tone I didn't feel. "You give me such incredible orgasms, I can't help but weep from the sheer bliss of it."
"Bollocks." He turned my face toward his. "What is it?"
"I got a little overwhelmed by the intensity of this. I like being with you. A lot. I'm — " Not falling for you. " — glad you're not leaving yet. That's all."
"You like being with me?" His fingers caressed my cheek, soft and tender. "Sounds personal and… intimate."
Oh shit. Had my subconscious gotten the better of me? No, I'd misspoken. Nothing more. "I meant I like having sex with you."
His triumphant smile lit up his face. "You like me. A lot."
"No," I said, elongating the word for dramatic emphasis. Which one of us was I trying to convince? "I do like you, but not that much. Don't get all excited and misinterpret what I said to mean I'm in love with you. I'm not." I scooted away from him to flop onto my back atop the covers. "I couldn't fall for someone I met a couple weeks ago."
"Never said you were in love with me. But you must be afraid you might, else you wouldn't have said it." He chucked his condom in the little trash can by the bed and settled onto his side next to me, his head held up on one bent arm, cradled in his large hand. "If you like me a lot, that's enough for the moment."
"You can't hold me to statements I make right after experiencing a brain-scrambling orgasm."
"All right, I won't." He spread a hand over my belly, just below my breasts. "But I like you very much too. And it's not coming inside your exquisite little body that makes me feel this way."
Jesus, we really needed to get off this topic. "What happened to my surprises?"
"Ah, those." He hopped off the bed to retrieve the plastic sack and insulated bag. Both items he placed on the bed next to me, as he perched on the edge. "First, something to remember me by."
I sat up, tucking my legs under me in cross-legged fashion.
From the plastic sack, he produced a mug emblazoned with bold, red letters that spelled out "Scots do it better." He placed the mug on my knee.
Laughing, I picked up the item and turned it in my hand. "Where did you find this?"
"Had it made special, by a shop in town. Picked it up this morning."
"So that's where you disappeared to for ten minutes when the rest of us were browsing souvenirs."
"I slipped away to a shop down the street." He smiled, lips closed, clearly proud of his surreptitious shopping.
I set the mug on the bedside table. "Jamie said you were in the restroom."
"She was my accomplice." He tossed the empty sack onto the floor and unzipped the top of the rectangular, insulated bag. Reaching inside, he paused to look at me. "I've pulled together a kind of picnic for you, but I was limited to the items available in your kitchen."
"Then I'm sure I'll like whatever it is. Seeing as it's my food."
"One item is not from your kitchen." He brought out a plastic travel cup with a straw sticking out of it, filled with a light brown liquid. "Try this? You said you would if I gave you sex."
"Uh… What is that?" I asked, eying the liquid askance. My brain at last digested what he'd said and I added, "Whisky?"
Aidan sighed, offering me the cup. "Don't curl your lip. Ahmno giving you poison and this is Atholl Brose, a blend of whisky, oatmeal, honey, and cream. Give it a go is all I ask." His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. "Though not even Atholl Brose can compare to the intoxicating taste of you."
He unscrewed the cup's lid to show me the contents. A creamy liquid sloshed inside the cup, its white color tinged with a rich shade of caramel.
Rolling my eyes up to look at him, I said, "Well, I did promise."
"Do you trust me?"
"I do."
He reattached the lid, tilting the cup so the straw angled toward my mouth.
I closed my lips over the straw, taking a tentative pull. The liquid flowed over my tongue, creamy and sweet with dark undertone from the whisky. "Mmm, it is good."
"Maybe whisky isn't so horrid after all."
"Not when it's drowned in cream and honey."
"I know, you still hate whisky on its own." He bent forward to steal a slurp of the rich concoction. "But you like Atholl Brose and you like me. I'll settle for that."
The thought flitted through my mind that the Atholl Brose might've been another idea ripped straight from the headlines of his brother's romance.
Aidan's mouth warped into a rueful smile. "You're wondering if Lachlan did this with Erica. I can see it on your face."
Damn. Could he read minds or what?
He began to rummage in the insulated bag, his gaze focused on the items inside it. "No, Lachlan did not feed Atholl Brose to Erica. This was my idea."
"Good. That's probably why I like it."
"I have more for you." He brought out a plastic, sandwich-size container and set it on the bed, then continued his rummaging. "Glad I redeemed myself with you. I was supposed to be the MacTaggart who seduces the lasses and Lachlan is the uptight one who cannae be romantic if his life depends on it. I was starting to worry I'd lost my touch."
"No chance of that." I took another sip of my drink. "But I don't think this is genuine sibling rivalry. Ever since you told me about Seona, I've had an inkling you feel guilty about something and I think that's the real reason you feel like a failure."
He slumped, his gaze shifting to the bedspread. "You're a clever lass. Should've known I couldn't hide the truth from you for long."
"Guess the question is do you trust me enough to tell me."
Those brilliant blue eyes rolled up to drill into my gaze. "I trust you. Completely."
My stomach fluttered and my pulse sped up. Why should I be excited because he said he trusted me? It was dumb.
I took a long pull on my straw, flooding my mouth with sweet-and-spicy goodness, giving me a moment to compose myself. Clearing my throat, I said, "Are you going to tell me?"
"Aye." He shoved both hands into his hair and scratched his scalp furiously. With a groaning sigh, he began. "I told you about my casual-dating arrangement with Seona."
"You were sleeping with her."
He glanced away and nodded. "Six months ago, she invited me to go rock climbing with her. I've never been interested in sports, though Lachlan and Rory like to do the Highland games. Hammer throw, caber toss, anything to impress the lasses."
"You don't care about impressing us females?"
"I'd rather prove my manliness in other ways." A hint of the familiar sensual grin surfaced for a second, then faded. "But Seona, she did all sorts of extreme things like rock climbing. I agreed to go with her. I'd done a bit of climbing with my brothers, so I understood the risks and the basic techniques."
A shadow seemed to fall over his face, a dark veil of memory. The sadness in his eyes made my heart hurt for him, and I laid a hand over his, where it rested on his thigh.
He slid his hand out from under mine and moved my hand to my knee. "She took us to Glen Nevis, a mountain near Loch Leven not far from Ballachulish, and we set out along her favorite trail until she found a spot she liked for climbing. The terrain is difficult and not for casual hikers, only for people who want a challenge. We didn't get around to scaling the cliffs. I donnae know what happened, but all of a sudden the ground came out from under us and we were falling." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Next thing I remember is waking up in hospital."
I almost couldn't bear to ask, but I had to know. "How bad was it?"
"I got off easy. Cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, various cuts and bruises. Seona… Her injuries were more severe. Besides broken bones, she hit her head on a large rock. She blamed me for the accident."
"Why? Did anybody figure out what happened?"
"There had been rains the day before, and as best as anyone could tell, that softened the mountainside enough to make part of it come loose. Our weight must've triggered it. No one's fault, they said, nothing but a freak accident."
"But you still blame yourself."
"I was in front with Seona behind me. Maybe I could've spotted the danger if I'd been paying more attention. I was too busy flirting with her."
"That doesn't make it your fault."
"She blames me and I can't help agreeing."
I moved my hand, wanting to touch him, but realized he'd only reject it. I folded my hands on my lap. "Why does Seona keep calling you and demanding money?"
"For her pain and suffering." His fingers dug into his thighs, his jaw clenched. "She seems all right overall, but she's become fixated on the accident and very bitter about the fact I wasn't injured worse."
"Aidan, I'm so sorry. No wonder you feel guilty, with her hammering it into your head."
He moved to the side of the bed, swinging his legs over to set his feet on the floor. With his profile partly in shadow, he looked even more forlorn. "She'd always been hotheaded, but now she seems to want revenge on me. I can't understand it. I may feel guilt over the accident, but I don't have the money she wants. Spent it all on coming here, finding you."
"Guess that makes it my fault she's hounding you."
"Not what I meant." He jammed a hand into his hair. "I wasted money on this trip because I was desperate to change my life, to stop being selfish and settle down to start a family. Be responsible."
I scooted across the bed to sit beside him, one leg tucked under me, turned partway toward him. With his hand still in his hair, his arm blocked his face. I grasped his forearm, gently urging him to lower his hand. After a few seconds of stalwart refusal, he let his arm drop.
"Aidan," I said, laying a palm on his cheek. "Regret is pointless. It was an accident and you can't know why it happened, no matter what Seona says. You have to let it go. Stop giving her that kind of power over you."
"Power?" He looked at me finally, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"Yes." I took his hand in both of mine. "She's using your guilt against you. You know she has problems and she's obsessed with you. Why are you accepting it's all your fault just because she keeps telling you it is? The woman is trying to extort money from you. Nothing she says can be believed."
He stared into my eyes for a long moment. "Maybe you're right, but it's not so easy to get rid of guilt. Or fear. You should know about that."
Of course, he was right. How could I urge him to dump his guilt when I clung to these old fears? But I couldn't stand by while some bitch harassed him. There had to be a way to expose her real motivations.
"I have an idea," I said. "Why not have Lachlan or Rory — maybe both of them, actually — go and talk to Seona? They can find out what she's really after."
Aidan's expression grew thoughtful, and after a moment of contemplative silence, he gave me an appreciative nod. "You are very clever, mo chridhe. Seona lives in Ballachulish. I could ask Lachlan or Rory if they'll have a talk with her. Lachlan might be best, he could bring Erica along as a buffer."
"Sounds like a plan." I raised my brows and smiled. "You're going to ask Lachlan for help? I seem to recall a certain someone refusing any kind of assistance from — "
"Aye, well, I've changed my mind. You convinced me." He scrunched his mouth up, as if annoyance and humor warred in his expression. "Don't need to remind me I'm fickle."
"You're not fickle. You finally wised up to the fact overbearing brothers can be useful on occasion."
Aidan turned toward me, bending one knee and reaching for the sandwich container. He offered it to me. "Let's have our picnic in bed and forget about the rest for tonight."
"But you'll call Lachlan?"
"In the morning." He tapped a finger on my nose. "Happy?"
"Yes." I took the plastic container, popped the lid off, and gazed down at the sandwich nestled inside the little box. With a quick peek into the insulated bag, I said, "Ham and cheese? And potato chips?"
"The selection in your kitchen was rather limited."
"But I was kind of expecting something Scottish."
"Couldn't find haggis around here, anyway." He grinned at my wrinkled nose. "So you don't want Scottish food after all, eh? Turn your sweet little nose up at my whisky and now you look fit to vomit from the mention of haggis. I think I should be offended at your disrespect for my cultural heritage."
"I do love plaid," I offered in conciliation, then leaned in until our our faces were a breath apart. "Especially when you're wearing a kilt."
"You like my legs."
I slid a hand down his naked thigh and back up to his hip. "Among other things."
He sneaked his tongue out to graze my lips. "Why donnae we put off the picnic for a wee bit longer?"
"Oh yes, please." I shifted my hand to his swelling cock. "And I can think of something Scottish I'd love to devour."