Chapter Nine

Molly

It just so happened that the day after Callum Phillip MacGreggor Harding, his Grace, the Duke of Roxburghe, fucked her brains out, was the day of the famous Scottish Highland Games, and Molly was thrilled when Callum invited her to attend Roxburghe’s version of them with him. Now, a mild wind swept over the wild tall grasses, fluttering through the white and blue flags. It was coming from the moss-covered trees of the dense forest lining the fields.

If she could paint any smell, this would be the one.

The air buzzed with excitement as the crowds increased. The competitors were readying themselves, and kegs burst forth. Molly had her own pint, which she kept sipping as she glanced around for Callum. He’d had to finish a call, so Mack had driven her here early. Their first stop, of course, had been the bustling beer stand, and then Molly had wandered around the grounds by herself.

She paused to watch the burliest men she’d ever seen practice throwing logs across the grasses. She was also secretly waiting for confirmation that the men did, indeed, go commando under those kilts. That had always been a curious thing to her.

She grinned and shook her head, still not quite believing she was actually standing there in a borrowed pair of Wellies, about to watch the Highland Games with a duke—no, a man—who’d ripped her bra off her and talked dirtier than any dirty talk she could have possibly imagined.

She’d been hell-bent on marching straight out that castle door. She’d sworn there’d be absolutely nothing to stop her, and then he spoke. To be commanded by him sent the most unexpected and strong thrill right down her spine. She’d heard everything in his voice—the slip of control, the weakening of restraint, the failing of his facade. If she could finally snap that cord, and reap the benefits of his huge cock driving up into her, pressed up against the wall…

Seeing that untamed side of his had been everything she’d wanted and more. Those wild, ravenous eyes had lit within her an urge to capture every little detail. As he’d stood across from her, her hand fumbling with his belt as he stared at her half-naked form, her fingers had itched for a paintbrush, a pencil, anything. She would’ve drawn on the wall, sketched on the floor, painted across the back of his shirt, flung hastily to the side.

Now, standing quietly in the grasses, she briefly closed her eyes and brought that memory to the forefront of her mind.

He’d fucked her with all the passion and savagery she’d known was hidden within him, and he’d given her the best orgasms she’d ever had. It had made her want more. She’d been greedy, hungry, impatient.

She still was.

She wanted to do it all with him again and again.

Maybe she’d be able to make it through the games without ravaging him, but she wasn’t making any promises.

With a hazy smile, she opened her eyes and excitedly searched for Callum.

When she spotted him, however, she was left confused.

Bare-chested and burly men parted on either side of him. They were wearing nothing but kilts, high socks, and scowls, holding in each of their hands overflowing pints. The ruckus of foul-worded taunts and unrepeatable insults faded away.

Emerging from this rough-and-tumble crowd was Callum, still in his well-tailored suit.

With a stern face, he walked right toward Molly.

Only when he was standing right in front of her, away from gamesmen who returned to their cheer and their drinking, did he allow himself a small, sweet smile. She saw in his eyes the same rush of excitement at seeing her that she felt at seeing him, but it was contained and reserved. Once more, he showed only the part of him that was polished and refined. But Molly didn’t want a pearl. She wanted a diamond in the rough.

“Apologies for being late, Miss Rose,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Shall we sit?”

She nodded, and Callum guided her with a hand on her back in the opposite direction of the main audience stands. With slight disappointment, Molly looked at the cheering crowds waving their blue and white ribbons, thinking how fun it would be at the center of all that energy.

“The family has a private stand,” Callum explained.

They arrived at a tent that housed chairs and a table set up with refreshments and drinks. As they sat in their seats, Molly was well aware of how quiet it was.

“Your mother will be here soon,” Mack said just before he left the tent. “Off to make sure everything’s all right with security.”

The crowds hollered as the next contestant in the shot put stood in the ring. Molly tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair and glanced over at Callum.

“Waiting for the tie-tying contest?” she asked casually.

He kept his attention on the games as the contestant spun round and round before releasing the heavy ball from his shoulder.

“No,” he answered. “My event is the tossing of persistent, nosy Americans.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What happened to log tossing?”

He still didn’t look at her. “Scarcity of trees. Plenty of persistent, nosy Americans.”

Her laugh made her choke, and she crossed her arms with mock indignation.

“Lots of persistent, nosy Americans, eh? A lot that suck your dick out in the open in your castle?”

That was what finally tore his eyes from the competition, and he checked around the empty tent. He leaned over. “Rest assured, Molly,” he whispered, “you are the first.”

There was a flash in his eyes, and she knew he remembered it just as she did. So where was that man who’d pinned her against the wall and had his filthy way with her?

“You should be out there,” she said.

His brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, so she knew she was pushing buttons. But hell, she was a persistent, nosy American. It was her job.

“The people want to see you out there, not hiding away in here.”

“I’m not hiding.”

Well, that was a lie. She suspected Callum knew it was too. Those walls around him were building up again. Brick by brick. A new tactic was clearly required.

She lowered her voice and walked her fingers across his thigh. “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing you out there in a kilt.”

He grabbed her hand and placed it back into her lap and made some comment about the next competitor, pointing the man out without looking over at her. Molly crossed her arms and huffed petulantly. Then, without telling him why, she stood and marched straight out of the tent.

“Where are you going?” he shouted.

She knew he’d call after her and waved a dismissive hand back at him.

“If you’re not going to compete, I will.”

Once again, she really had no plan. She didn’t know if she could even name all the games, let alone compete in any of them. But she was going to bring out Callum’s true nature one way or the other, even if she had to piss him off to do it.

As she stepped onto the far corner of the mowed field, a firm hand was suddenly on her wrist. Smiling fakely at the crowd, Callum turned his green eyes down to her.

“What do you think you’re doing, Miss Rose?” he hissed.

She stood as tall as she could and lifted her chin up at him.

“One of us is going to go out there with a kilt on and compete,” she challenged. “Either me or you. Who will it be?”

He gave a frustrated groan and moved to pull her back toward the privacy of the tent. But she slipped her hand loose and continued along the edge of the field. A few spectators stared at her. Again, Callum caught up with her, maneuvering around her to block their view.

“Get back to the tent.”

She couldn’t help but grin. His tone briefly showed a hint of the man she was looking for, the man he should be, the man he was. A single strand of his styled hair hung over one eye. She wanted nothing more than to mess it up even more.

“Stop grinning and get back to the tent,” he commanded.

Molly shook her head. “No.”

Callum looked surprised. “No?”

“I’m looking for a discus.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Do you know where they are?” she asked, dodging to the side to step around him.

He blocked her path and pointed over her shoulder, gritting his teeth.

“Get your ass back to the tent.”

Molly pointed a finger straight into his chest. “Get your ass into a kilt.”

Suddenly, he grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder, making her yelp as he walked back to the tent. She pounded her fists on his back even as she noted the raised eyebrows and open mouths of some of the spectators and competitors.

She squirmed against him as he continued past the chairs and around to the side. He plopped her down and she promptly fell right on her ass in the mud. It was quiet behind the tent, but Molly shoved herself to her feet and fully intended to change that. Before she could say a word, Callum, pacing angrily back and forth, glared at her and beat her to it.

“You are insufferable, do you know that? You push and push. Nobody asked you to come here and push.”

She was just as angry. “You asked me to stay. Here, with you. Maybe it’s because you need someone to push you.”

“I need someone who obeys me,” he shot back.

“Well, that’s not me.”

“Oh yeah? That wasn’t true last night.”

“Last night, I was under the lure of your filthy words and your big cock. Now, in the clear light of day, I’m different. Even I can’t predict what I’ll do.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair and paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Yes, I know how different you are. All this started with you not obeying anything, anyone. You just stepped over a rope blocking a hallway in my castle. There’s a goddamn sign that says ‘No’ and yet you say ‘Yes.’”

She started to explain that sometimes there were good reasons to do such things, but he interrupted her.

“I make it clear that you are to leave the castle before someone discovers that you aren’t who you say you are. What do you do? Show up in the ballroom the very next morning.”

“Hey, that was your mother’s faul–”

But Callum was in no mood for logic and reason.

“I tell you I can’t be that guy with you, I tell you there can’t be anything between us, that it’s quite impossible, and what do you do? You try to kiss me!”

“You liked it,” she dared to say.

That stopped his determined steps for just a moment, but then he continued pacing just as angrily as before.

“For fuck’s sake, I told you to sit in your chair and just watch the games like you’re supposed to. That’s all I asked of you, to sit in a goddamn chair and you still couldn’t listen to me. I told you to walk back to the tent and you made me come stalking after you.” There was less anger in his voice, replaced by something quieter and more dangerous. Something that made her wet. “Do you listen to anyone? Or is it just me that you disobey?”

“Just you.” She licked her lips. “Because I know how much it turns you on, Your Grace.”

The lusty smile on her lips was wicked, absolutely wicked. He squinted his eyes at her in suspicion. Deservedly so, she thought as she casually strolled closer to him. He was a rattlesnake rattling his tail, and she was seemingly oblivious to his warnings.

His voice darkened. “You made me throw you over my shoulder and march you back with your ass in the air for everyone to see.”

The cheering of the crowds sounded like a soft hum in the distance. So far away, much further than a hundred feet. She moved closer and closer, watching Callum’s stern eyes flash with glimpses of his hidden lust. The games faded and the soft blowing wind disappeared. It was just the two of them, so close. Her slow, seductive whisper filled the whole space between them.

“You liked it.”

He started to lower his head to kiss her, but she placed her hands on his chest, digging in her nails, making him hiss while his lips grazed against hers. She teasingly moved her lips away, making him work for it. She knew he wanted it. He wanted her.

She had him.

She ghosted her lips against his, but she didn’t kiss him. Instead she whispered, “Your suit is dirty.”

She slid her hands right down his chest, leaving two smeared, muddy handprints dragging all the way down the front of his jacket and shirt.

She winked and turned, saying over her shoulder, “Best go get yourself a kilt, Your Grace.”