Текст книги "The Play"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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My phone rings. Bram.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Well, well, well,” Bram says. “Aren’t you the man of the hour?”

“That depends what hour.”

“Every hour, it seems,” he says. “Do you want me to tell you my good news first or do you want to tell me your good news?”

I clear my throat, perplexed. “What’s, uh, my good news?”

“Right,” Bram says. “Anyway. Mr. Mulligan, Justines’s father, and I had a meeting this morning.” He pauses and I don’t ask him to continue because I know he will. Always so dramatic. “And he’s agreed to invest.”

I grin, feeling relief on Bram’s behalf. “That’s excellent, mate.”

“I owe you, you know,” he says.

I grumble, feeling uncomfortable with him even saying that. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” he says, sounding serious. “This wouldn’t have happened without you.” His tone is adding gravitas to everything. I think I like Bram better when he’s joking.

“Look,” I tell him, running my hand over my chin and pulling the dogs back as we wait at a crosswalk. “I did what I could. You know I like to help out if I can and this happened to work out for me.”

“Too bad Justine didn’t make it worth your while.”

“It’s too bad for Justine that I didn’t make it worth her while,” I say.

He chuckles. “Poor girl. Just like all the others, I suppose. You know, I thought you were used to going around and getting pussy where you could.”

“People change,” I tell him.

“Aye,” he says. “They do. Or do they?”

I know what he’s getting at. “Well, thanks for letting me know, cousin. It’s a relief that it all worked out.”

“You know, Lachlan, it will be a shame to see you leave.”

“For you? Yeah.”

He lets out a laugh that quickly fades. He exhales heavily. “Would have been nice to get to know you a bit better. Honestly. We never really had the chance, you know, back in the day.”

“Was a shame,” I say. “But I never made it easy on you guys. And then you moved.”

“It’s just funny that she’ll be the one to know you better.”

“She?”

“That would be your good news, right? Kayla. I got the investment, you got the girl.”

I rub my lips together. “I don’t have the girl,” I say deliberately. “And what I do have is just for a short time. Just for a few days, that’s all.”

Bram snorts. “You’re getting laid. You could sound a lot happier.”

I really don’t feel like discussing this with Bram. It’s all sorts of weird, anyway, that he and Linden and Stephanie and Nicola sit around and discuss each other’s business. My mates back in Edinburgh don’t do that.

Then again, I’ve noticed that Kayla is the odd one out when it comes to them. She’s always on the outskirts, even from the first day I saw her at the bar. I pretended she hadn’t intrigued me when she had. But it wasn’t her personality, or her looks, not then. Who she was wasn’t more than a blip on my radar. What I had noticed though, was that she was the one who didn’t really belong. That she was with them, but apart.

I recognized it because I understand it. I live it. If there’s someone else out there like you, you’ll see it. It’s a pattern. You recognize it in a look, in a philosophy, in a song. It’s this quiet vein of understanding, a connection. I think we’re all looking for that in everyone we see, everywhere we go, so when we do find it, we find ourselves. Through a mirror darkly, they say.

But what I saw in Kayla then was far from darkness. It was light.

“Listen, I better go, Bram,” I tell him. “I’ve got some mutts here that need my attention.”

“So I heard,” he said, and it made me wonder what else he knew. Maybe Kayla did talk a lot. “Listen, I was thinking…now that you’re with Kayla—”

“I’m not with Kayla,” I interject. With time running out, I don’t want us…whatever we are…to be a bigger thing than we should be.

“Now that you’ve got a limited time fuck buddy,” Bram corrects himself, though that doesn’t sound so right either. “I was thinking the six of us should get out of town for the weekend.”

“I’m leaving on Sunday,” I remind him, glancing down at Ed and Emily who are staring up at me with big eyes. “And I’ll have at least one dog until then.”

“I know, I know, hear me out. Your flight is not until the afternoon, right?”

“Aye. Three p.m.”

“Friday and Saturday night. Napa Valley. You been?”

I sigh, not really wanting anything last minute to mess up my plans to have Kayla all alone and to myself. “No, I haven’t.”

“It’s about an hour and a half from the city,” he tells me. “Gorgeous place. I’ll book us all hotel rooms, and I know a resort with a vineyard that takes dogs.”

“Maybe you should start saving your money now, Bram,” I advise him. “Scots should be cheap.”

He snorts. “I’m not paying for everyone. You’ll do your own room, yeah? But listen, I don’t want to step on any toes. Talk it over with Kayla and let me know. I won’t say anything to the others.” He pauses. “It would just be nice for all of us to see each other before you go, and that way you don’t have to be away from her either.”

I stare up at the mist rolling in from the west, blowing between the high rises, and sigh. “All right. I’ll ask her. But if we do go, don’t expect to see us much except for maybe lunch. And even then, I’m not predicting anything.”

“Thatta boy,” he says before saying goodbye and hanging up.

I shove my phone in my pocket and stare down at the dogs. “Well, so much for trying to lay low.” They cock their head as if they’re listening. Sometimes I think they are. Thankfully a dog can never try and give you advice. They just listen and watch you come up with your own decisions.

When I see her tonight, I’ll ask Kayla if she wants to go. I just hope such a trip doesn’t scare her off. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dream of going off with a girl I’d just slept with, and I’d assume Kayla would feel the same way. But because I’m leaving, it makes everything a little different. It bends the rules.

I’ve never much cared for rules anyway.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kayla

I can’t walk properly.

My body aches everywhere. Like after the rugby game, but worse and better all at the same time. Because there’s friction between my legs, and other places, that reminds me of what we did all night long.

Because…

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

It’s like I need to keep pinching myself all day, except my sore body keeps doing it for me. Every move I make I’m reminded of Lachlan. His unbelievable cock. His skilled, possessive hands. His gorgeous lips…everywhere. Those eyes, those searing, searching eyes that wouldn’t look away, not for a minute. Those eyes touched me, held me, caressed me just as any other part of him did. Last night I felt completely, wonderfully overtaken by this Scottish beast, and I’m still in awe.

It actually happened.

He gave me the best sex of my whole entire life.

How the fuck am I ever going to get over this?

Luckily he wants to see me again. Right away. I would have come over right after work—it makes sense since he lives close to the office. But I need to gather my thoughts and regroup. I need to process what happened before I’m swept away again because that man is a current that I can’t fight against. The next week with him will drown me if I don’t get my head on straight.

Before the work day is over, I finally answer Steph and Nicola’s frantic texts and tell them to meet me at the Lion at six o’clock for girl talk.

Of course, when I actually get to the Lion and see Steph and Nicola at the booth, talking to each other over beers, I freeze up. Everything that happened doesn’t seem like something I can communicate, not without sounding like an idiot, not without selling him short.

I breathe in deeply and walk toward them, trying to keep a straight face, even though I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

They both turn to look at me and stop talking.

“My god,” Steph says slowly, looking me up and down.

“What?” I look down at what I’m wearing, skinny black jeans and a tie-neck blouse. I put the outfit on in a hurry this morning while Lachlan was taking a shower. My thoughts immediately flit back to his eyes as they watched me soap up, then our reflection as he fucked me from behind. Up the goddamn ass. I’d done that before, but it had never been like that. That was good. Hot as all hell. And unexpected, especially from Lachlan, but the man he was when he was fucking was a lot different from the one I’d been around before.

“Kayla?” Nicola asks.

I shake my head and look at them. “Yeah, what?”

Steph laughs, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh my god. You so got fucking laid.”

There was no point in denying it. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re glowing,” Nicola says.

“And you’ve got a shit-eating grin on your face,” Steph adds. “Now sit the fuck down and tell us about it.”

I guess I can’t really help this smile. I sit down beside Nicola. “Are you working tonight?” I ask her.

“Yeah, soon. Bram has Ava,” she says quickly. “But don’t change the subject. You owe us. Tell us everything.”

“What happened?” Steph asks, leaning forward excitedly, gripping her beer tightly. “He came here looking for you, you know, and—”

“Yeah, you gave him my address.”

“Would you rather I hadn’t?”

I shake my head. If she hadn’t, last night might not have happened.

“You know that he was only with Justine because of Bram,” Nicola adds.

“I know, I know,” I tell her, trying not to think about it. “He explained.”

“And then you fucked,” Steph says with a nod.

I eye her. “That we did.”

“Well,” Nicola says, staring at me with big, eager eyes. “How was it?”

I lean back against the seat. “It’s hard to say.”

“What?” Steph asks incredulously. “You mean you’re not about to wax on about his Hulk penis?”

Old Kayla would have waxed on about any Hulk penis she may have encountered, but this Kayla…this Kayla didn’t feel like talking about Lachlan that way.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell her.

“That bad, huh?” Nicola says sympathetically.

“No,” I say quickly. “No, no. It was the opposite of bad. It was…” I shake my head back and forth, trying to think of the right word. “Earth shattering. Life changing. His cock has ruined me for all other cocks on earth.”

Nicola and Steph exchange a look.

“Uh,” Steph says. “Wow.”

“Yeah. I’m so scared.” So screwed.

A lengthy pause.

“So there was a Hulk penis,” Steph goes on.

I give her a look. “His dick is ridiculously proportioned to his body, and he’s already a huge man. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Good thing you’ve had a lot of practice to loosen you up,” Nicola says with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

“So now what?” Steph says.

“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.

She shrugs and takes a swig of her beer. “Well, he’s leaving.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So…are you going to see him again before that?”

I fish my phone out of my pocket and glance at it. “I have two hours before I’m meeting him at his apartment. This will be the last time you’ll see me until he leaves. Does that answer your question?”

“Got it,” Nicola says.

“Kind of a bummer, huh?” Steph muses. “I mean…you’ve finally got him…and he’s going.”

I sigh heavily and brush my hair back from my face. “Yeah, thems the breaks though, right? I mean, heaven forbid I actually get a chance with the first guy I’ve fallen for ever since Kyle.”

Both of them stare at me with open mouths and it takes me a moment to realize what I’ve said out loud, what I haven’t even admitted to myself.

“Oh my god,” Steph says. “Are you saying that you’re in…”

I eye her sharply. “No.” I clear my throat. “No, I’m not. Obviously. I don’t know him. It’s still just a crush, whatever.”

“This is way more than that,” Nicola says. “It’s okay to admit it, Kayla. It’s about time you felt something for someone.”

“Is it about time?” I challenge. “Because this is shitty timing. I don’t want to feel anything more for him than just seeing him as a vehicle for awesome sex. Really. So let’s forget I said anything. I’ve got one week to have my mind blown and then he’ll leave and I’ll go back to being me again. Fuck. It’s better than nothing.”

Nicola’s lips scrunch together, looking stupidly sad.

“What now?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“You’re going to get your heart broken.”

“What?” I exclaim, slapping my palms on the table.

“Nic,” Steph admonishes. “Way to be optimistic.”

The blood is rolling in my head so loudly that I can barely hear Nicola. “I’m just saying that if I were you,” she explains, “and I finally started to have feelings for a guy, and I only had a week with him, I’d be heartbroken.”

“That’s because you’re a sap,” I tell her snidely. “Even though you weren’t such a pussy before Bram got his dick in you.”

“He was the right dick,” she counters. “And this is your right dick.”

“Look,” Steph interjects. “We’ve all got the right dick right now. But Kayla and Lachlan are way, way different than Linden and I. Or you and Bram.”

Somehow I’m finding a way to take offense to that. “Oh yeah, how so?”

Steph’s brows raise to the ceiling. “Well. As you just said, you don’t know Lachlan. He doesn’t know you.”

“True.”

“And he’s leaving, so you don’t even have the time to get to know each other.”

“True,” I say, dragging the word out.

“And even though you seem a bit softer around the edges these days, you’re still you, Kayla. I bet even if he wasn’t leaving, you’d find some excuse to pull back and extract yourself. So actually, contrary to what Nicola thinks, I think this relationship, arrangement, whatever it is, is tailor-made for Kayla Moore.” She raises her beer in the air and looks me hard in the eye. “You go and screw the hell out of him this week. For those about to fuck, we salute you.”

Nicola grumbles something but raises her glass.

I don’t have a glass, so I can only nod at them. “Well, all right then. To fucking.”

“To fucking,” they say in unison.

***

When eight o’clock rolls around, I park in his empty space and sit in the car for a few minutes, just wringing my hands together and working up the nerve to go upstairs. It’s not that I’m scared. But I am nervous. I don’t even know why, but I am. Since I left the girls at the Lion, I’ve been thinking about Lachlan, about what we did. About what we might do again. I feel like I’m pining over a celebrity, someone larger than life, someone who makes me feel completely out of my element. It’s surreal.

“Get a fucking hold of yourself,” I say out loud and crane my neck to look up at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lachlan’s apartment building, trying to count floors and see which one is his. I anxiously open my compact and dot more lip stain on my lips, wondering how fast it will be rubbed off once I get into his apartment.

Is he going to kiss me right away?

Will this be a Netflix and chill night?

Immediate fucking?

The possibilities have me on edge.

With a deep breath, I get out of the car and walk over to the entrance. My finger hovers at his apartment number. I take a moment to eye myself in the reflection of the glass doors. I sped home from work to change into a strappy black dress, something like the nightgown trend of the nineties, with hot pink platform heels. No bra. No underwear. What’s the point?

I press the buzzer and wait a few moments, my pulse pounding in my wrist. Lachlan’s distinct voice comes through, slightly drowsy and smooth as butter. “Kayla?”

“Hi,” I say. I’m about to say something else, probably something awkward, but he immediately buzzes me through. I exhale loudly, trying to release tension, but I remain a fidgety mess all the way up the elevator. Last time I was in here, we’d just rescued the dogs. He was shirtless. He’d felt so close at that time and yet oh so far away. To think that now, now, after I’d had my hands and lips all over him, my need for him was stronger than ever.

I knock on his door, biting my lip in anticipation, until it swings open and I see him leaning casually against it. The dulcet tones of Fiona Apple’s “Slow Like Honey” drift in from the room.

“You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he says, a faint smile on his lips. God, I’ve missed those lips.

“Why not?” I ask with a raise of my brow. In a second, all my nerves smooth out and I realize how easy it is to talk with him like this.

“You’ll make it impossible to get through the appetizer,” he answers, moving back and letting me inside. He’s back to casual wear—a white thermal shirt that’s partially unbuttoned just enough to show a glimpse of tanned skin, chest hair, and tattoos, a necklace with a small wooden cross, green cargo pants. I like him like this just as much as I like him in a suit.

I walk in, my heels echoing on the tiles. “I thought I was the appetizer,” I tell him, looking around. The two dogs are on the couch, curled up next to each other like sleeping mice. In unison, they both lift their heads to stare at me. The pit bull gives a thump of its tail but the scruffy mutt shivers slightly, showing teeth.

“Don’t mind them. They’re still adjusting,” he says, closing the door then gesturing to the table by the kitchen, where I had done my interview with him last week. “That’s the appetizer.”

On the table is a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a cheeseboard topped with brie, cheddar, camembert, figs, jam, honey, and crostini.

“Wow,” I say softly. “You did all this?”

He shrugs, making a dismissive noise. “It was nothing.”

“This is romantic,” I tell him. “I didn’t peg you as a romantic.”

He raises a perfectly arched brow. “Oh yeah? What did you peg me as?” He slowly pours a glass of wine.

I stand there, watching him pour a smaller amount into the other glass. His forearm flexes, the lion tattoo seeming to roar. His forehead is creased with concentration, perhaps in anticipation of my reply. He seems completely at ease with me, but there’s always that wildness in his eyes that never seems to go away. The only time I saw peace in them was after he came last night.

“I pegged you as a man who wouldn’t give me a second glance.”

He gives me a crooked smile and corks the bottle “Well, love, you know that isn’t true.”

I slowly walk toward him, looking up through my lashes like some kind of femme fatale. “Oh, it’s true. You wanted nothing to do with me.”

His look softens for a moment before he heads into the kitchen, grabbing two small plates from the glass cupboards. “I want nothing to do with most people. Never take it personal.”

“Tell that to old Kayla. She had no idea she’d get the chance to put your gorgeous cock in her mouth.”

The plates rattle against the counter. “You do have some mouth on you.”

“Exactly.”

He comes back into the room with his hulking swagger, setting the plates down. He nods at the pushed out seat. “Here. Sit down, please.”

I hook my purse on the corner of the chair and take a seat. Both dogs stare at me from the couch.

“So, how are they?” I ask him.

He looks behind him and I take a moment to appreciate every hardened, strained muscle in his neck and shoulders. “As I said, they’re adjusting.” He sits down and folds his hands in front of him. “Someone is coming by tomorrow to see about adopting Ed. But I think Emily will be coming home with me.”

“Which one is Ed?”

“The pit,” he says.

“Funny, I would have thought he’d be harder to find a home for.”

“Usually. But Ed is a big sweetie, and people in this city are a little more tolerant of bully breeds than people in the UK. Emily, however, as sweet as she looks,” he glances back at the scruffy dog, who immediately bares her teeth at me, “has behavior problems. She’ll need work.”

“And are you the one who teaches them?” I ask. “Because if so, then you are the dog whisperer, which means there’s pretty much nothing you can’t do.”

He looks down at his hands and gives a lazy one-shouldered shrug. “I found Lionel on the streets in Edinburgh. I was able to teach him. Maybe he taught me some things. You never know with dogs. But…it takes a special kind of person to train dogs, especially those who have been through trauma and abuse. I am not that kind of person. I will do whatever I can to save them, but I’m not the person who can school them on obedience.”

“Really?”

A quiet, almost uncomfortable smile tugs at his lips. “A dog with behavioral problems shouldn’t learn from someone with behavioral problems.”

I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Oh,” I say, trying to think of the right thing to say. “You just seem like a natural. These two were strays, and now look at them. Just like that.”

“I can get the dogs to trust me,” he says in a low voice. “Because I trust them. But I can’t get them to trust others.”

“Because you don’t trust people?”

He slowly blinks and then reaches for the stem of his wine glass. “I think I may trust you. Here’s to that.”

“Here’s to that,” I say, raising my glass and clinking it against his. I’m more than meeting him in the eyes—I’m diving in the green and grey. They seem darker somehow, moving shadows. Depthless. Behavioral problems? What kind? How much more can I learn about him before he’s gone?

I take a gulp of my wine and he barely touches his. Just a small sip, then puts the glass back down and pushes it away from him.

“I’ve never seen you drink much,” I tell him, hoping my tone is easy enough so he won’t take offense.

He gives me a long, measured look before he licks his lips and looks away. “No, I don’t.”

“Because of training,” I say, giving him an easy way out.

A slow nod. “Yes.”

He’s still not meeting my eyes. His focus is on the cheeseboard, and even though he’s not frowning like he usually is, his shoulders seem tense.

“What other things do you have to do for training?” I ask. I feel like we’ve regressed a little bit and I want that sexy, casual banter back.

He drums his fingers along the edge of the table and I lean forward, trying to get some cheese on my plate. “Lot of work in the gym. Lot of work on the pitch. A good diet.”

“I assume it doesn’t include loads of cheese,” I tell him, drizzling the honey on top of my brie.

“Nah, just boring stuff. Chicken breasts, broccoli. It’s not a lot of fun, but at my age, you have to do it if you want to keep playing. When I was younger I could have eaten whatever I wanted.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Thirty-two,” he says, and I’m a little bit surprised. I guess because he looks so manly and distinguished—the lines on his forehead, his scruffy beard—I figured he was in his mid to late thirties. Or maybe it’s his eyes.

I stare at them, even though they are now staring sharply at the fig as he hacks his way into it, as if the fig has done something personal to him. It’s those eyes that trip me up. The eyes of an old soul, of someone who has seen too much, done too much. There’s a war behind them at all times, a war I want to help him win.

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, glancing up at me briefly.

I take a delicate bite of the crostini.  “Not really. You just seem more mature than that.”

He scoops out some of the fig and spreads it over the goat cheese and crostini. “In rugby, being in your thirties is asking for trouble. All those years of being hit, all the injuries, the strain. It takes a toll. I don’t know what happened, but when I turned thirty it all started to slip, just a bit.” He offers me the rest of the fig and I take it from his hands, my fingers brushing against his. One simple touch and I feel it travel down the length of my arm, straight to my heart.

Bam. A shower of sparks.

I swallow, trying to ignore the feeling. “How long have you been playing?”

He frowns, eyes squinting in thought. “Twenty-two. Yeah.” He nods. “Ten years.”

I blink, impressed. “That’s a long time. Is that normal?”

“I guess,” he says, pursing his lips, considering. “I’m good at what I do. They need someone fast, someone who will break everyone in their way. That’s my job. But I can’t do it forever. After I fucked up my bloody tendon…I know I don’t have long.”

“You almost make it seem like you’re dying.”

He briefly sucks in his cheeks. “Rugby saved my life. I’m not sure what I’ll do when it’s over.”

“Coach?” I ask him hopefully.

“Nah,” he says, munching on the crostini and leaning back in his chair. When he swallows, he adds, “I’m either in the game, or I’m not. There is no halfway. That’s not how I’m built. Once I’m done, I’m done.”

And when this is over? I think, are we done?

But of course we are…we aren’t even a thing.

“Maybe you’ll just do charity work…for the dogs.”

“Aye,” he says. He reaches for his wine and takes a small sip. He almost puts it back down but takes another gulp, finishing the glass. “I’ll keep doing that. There’s no expiration on helping others. As bloody cheesy as that sounds.”

“That’s not cheesy,” I tell him. “That’s selfless and beautiful.”

“Come now,” he chides me, seeming embarrassed. He looks away, folding his arms across his wide chest, his unreal body stealing my attention again, turning my thoughts back into a sexual whirlwind. Well played, Mr. McGregor, well played.

“What’s the lion tattoo for?” I ask him. “What’s the story?”

That startles him and I can tell it’s a soft spot. “What are you on about?”

I point to his forearm. “There. Lion. See. You said you would tell me some stories. About your tattoos. Why you have them.”

He rakes his teeth over his lower lip and looks me dead in the eye. “Did I now?”

“Yes,” I tell him impatiently. “Last night…maybe this morning. After some good fucking.”

“Ah, yes. That explains it.”

“Well, give me something.”

“If I give you something, will you give me something?”

I can’t help but grin like a fool. “Of course.”

“Okay then.” He pushes his chair back slightly and takes his shirt off, tossing it to the floor beside him. He spreads his legs and pats the crotch of his pants, his gaze absolutely feral. “Have a seat.”

I am lightheaded at the sight of his torso again. I manage to get up, drawn to him like a magnet. I put my hands on the hard breadth of his shoulders and straddle him. We are so close. Our mouths inches away.

He’s breathing hard. I’m breathless.

He’s a wall of muscle and ink. I’m soft, yielding against him.

“So, ask away,” he says, that voice low and rough, yet cashmere cream. That voice I’ll hear in my dreams long after he’s gone.

His eyes never leave my lips.

I lean back to get a better look at him, even though the distance pulls at me. I decide to leave the lion alone for now, and run my fingers over his shoulder, the taut, hard muscle. A storm rages in muted ink, a masterfully shaded old ship with tall sails spreads onto his chest.

“This one,” I say softly. “Why the storm? Why the ship?”

He chews on his lip for a moment, searching my eyes. “I was twenty-four. I backpeddled with life for a bit. I lost my edge in the game. But I pushed through and was better for it. A ship is safe in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are built for.” He tilts his head as if observing me, though I’m the one watching him. “It helps me when I get scared. To keep going.”

“You get scared?” I ask him, unable to picture this strong, powerful man, afraid of anything at all.

“All the time,” he says frankly. “How can life be anything except terrifying at times? We’re born here. We don’t ask for it. And we’re expected to somehow get through it, to live each day without dying. We live, and if we don’t, we die.” He looks away, gives his head a shake. “Nah. We’re all scared, every last one of us.”

I know I am. Of so many things. My heart melts slightly to know that someone like him could feel the same way as someone like me.

I trail my fingers along the text on his collarbone. “Nunquam iterum,” I read out. “Latin, I assume?”

“Yes,” he says slowly, looking away. “It means never again.”

“Never again, what?”

His mouth quirks up into a sour smile. “Never again to a lot of things.”

“Is that all I’m going to get?”

“From that, yes,” he says, finally meeting my gaze again. His pupils are so large, they hypnotize me. “You get one more. Then you’re giving me something.”

I breathe in deeply and look over every inch of him. The lion. “Hope before Death” across his side. A paw print on his inner arm. A flock of ravens swirling into a tribal pattern down one bicep, making a sleeve. A crest with what looks like Latin on the other forearm. Another similar crest on his chest. I press on the one on his chest, with a boar at the center. “Corda. Serrata. Pando,” I say, my finger tracing the words.

“I open locked hearts,” he says.

I still, watching him close. “What?”

“I open locked hearts,” he repeats. “It’s the Lockhart crest. I was born a Lockhart. That is the clan’s motto.”

“Again, that’s terribly romantic,” I tell him. “That must be where you get it from.” I touch his forearm, the other crest. “And I guess this is McGregor?”

“Aye, though it should be MacGregor, or Clan Gregor.”

“'S rioghal mo dhream,” I try to say but stumble over it. “What the hell.”

“Royal is my race,” he translates. He gives me a dry smile. “But I’m not a McGregor and it’s not my race. So that explains a lot.”

I run my hand down the side of his cheek and he briefly closes his eyes. “I think I’d rather you a romantic warrior than one with fussy bloodlines.”

He leans in, slowly opening his eyes, gazing at me through his lashes. “Who said I was a warrior?”

I lower my voice. “I say you’re a warrior.”

You’re my warrior.

For now.

He lifts his chin. “What else do you say?”

I adjust myself on his hips, my hand slipping down toward his pants. I shift to undo the top button, bracing myself on his shoulder. “I say you need to get your cock out, warrior.”

He reaches out and lets his hands drift down over my hair. “Lead you into battle?”

“Something like that.” I bite my lip as I tug down his zipper. I can feel him hard, bare, ready beneath me. I’m wet as hell again.

He knows. He puts one hand at the small of my back, the other slipping between my legs, pushing the dress up. My clit screams with pleasure the moment his fingers slide against me, slick and hard.

“Christ,” he murmurs, staring at me with shiny eyes. “You’re always good to go.”

“Only with you,” I say, leaning forward and kissing along his neck, taking in his woodsy, spicy scent that throws me into another wave of lust. I could live my whole life with my face buried here, feeling the pulse along his neck, smelling every ounce of this primal man.

“That suits me just fine, love,” he says, grabbing my dress and pulling it over my head. “Get this off. I want to suck on those fantastic tits of yours.”