Not Quite a Scot Page 16

  It must have been a rhetorical question, because he didn’t wait for an answer. He kept right on going. “It wasn’t Jamie Fraser you were hoping to find. It was McKenzie Taylor—right?”

  I swallowed hard. “For a motorcycle jockey, you’re awfully damned perceptive.”

  “Maybe because I struggled with the same thing. Not for the same reasons, of course, but still…” He turned sideways on the bed, taking my face between his hands and looking deep into my eyes. I felt more naked at this moment than at any time I had spent with him in my rental cottage.

  “You’re making me nervous,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

  He kissed me softly on the lips, his mouth moving over mine so sweetly and gently I wanted to burst into tears. When he pulled back, his gaze was no less intent. “You’re an amazing woman, Duchess. Whether you’re hanging over the edge of a cliff to get a perfect photograph or chasing my crazy dog through the woods or turning me inside out with your enthusiasm for sex, I think you’re one of a kind. I hope you find what you’re looking for. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, you might discover it was in your own backyard all along.”

  Some of my warm, fuzzy feelings winnowed away. That wasn’t the speech of a man who was toying with any future plans that included me. “Can we talk about something else now?” I begged.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, how about the fact that you’re crazy homesick for the North Carolina mountains. And that you’ve been in exile for far too long.” The only way to deflect his attention from my problems was to focus on his. I could tell from his face that he didn’t appreciate the change of subject.

  “I love Scotland,” he said. “I belong here.”

  “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. At least I know I’m looking for something. You won’t even admit that you need to mend fences with your father.”

  Wow. I had stepped in it big time.

  Finley stood up and walked to the window, his back to me. “I’ve had my fill of people thinking they know what’s best for me. It’s my life, McKenzie. My choices. You can either accept that, or I’ll leave. You have less than two minutes to let me know, because I really, really want to see what’s under that sweater.”

  The man offered a fair point. I tended to be a fixer, dealing with other people’s lives and situations in order to skirt my own issues.

  “I’m sorry, Finley. You’re right. Let’s table the heavy stuff and have some fun.”

  The relief I felt when he smiled was shocking. I was in over my head in this relationship. Finley hadn’t made the slightest indication that we were in the midst of anything other than a vacation fling.

  “Stand up,” he said.

  When I did as he asked, he motioned with his hand. “Start undressing. I’ll do the same. We’ll see who finishes first.”

  It was an erotic game of chicken. I unfastened my jeans. He unbuttoned his shirt. Now, I wished I had put on socks and shoes. Footwear would have given me extra leverage in this game of strip poker or strip chicken or whatever we were doing.

  When I took off my shirt, I sucked in a breath. I sucked in my tummy, too, just to be sure there was no muffin top on display. My bra was perfectly respectable, not see-through at all. However, the sight of it was enough to make Finley’s eyes glaze over.

  I heard him mutter a curse. When he shrugged out of his shirt, I had to take a step backward. In Cedric’s house when Finley and I had sex, the lighting was low. Plus, I’d been shy, so I hadn’t spent a lot of time staring. Now I had a full-on view of Finley’s chest. It was enough to make a woman go weak in the knees.

  We were each bare above the waist. Both of us still wore pants. Finley had a watch on his wrist, one of those huge ones with the fancy dials. Maybe a Rolex. I couldn’t tell. If we counted his watch and my bra in the same round, we both had the same amount of items left to remove.

  Unless, of course, Finley had gone commando under his jeans. If he had, all bets were off. We stood there gazing at each other with the width of the room between us. The house was quiet.

  Wanting him was not a pleasant feeling. It was desperation and vulnerability and uncertainty all wrapped up in a fragile question mark.

  I reached behind my back with both hands and felt for the clasp on my bra. “Put the watch on the bedside table,” I said, feigning calm, though I was breathing like a racehorse in the final leg of an important race. “Then we’ll only be one step away from the good stuff.”

  Chapter 25

  “The good stuff?” Finley snorted and laughed, trying to turn his reaction into a cough when he realized I was serious. “Hell, Duchess. It’s all been good stuff since you invited me into your bed. But I’ll play along.”

  With exaggerated care, he unfastened his watchband and laid the expensive timepiece aside.

  I froze with my arms akimbo like a clumsy crane. “It’s really not fair,” I pointed out. “I have two volatile locations on my body. You have only one.”

  He smirked, crossing strong arms over his chest. “That’s how we know God’s a man.”

  This seemed like an inappropriate time to discuss theology, so I tried to finish what I had started. Unfortunately, the darn clasp defeated me. My arms prickled with pins and needles from their pretzel-like position behind my back.

  Finley took pity on me. “Give up, Duchess. Never send a woman to do a man’s job.” He kissed the nape of my neck. “You smell good.”

  I felt his fingers brush my spine as he wrestled with the jammed hook and eye…then a little give in the elastic when he freed me. Reflexively, my hands came up to cover my breasts, holding the bra in place. “Thank you,” I said breathlessly. “I can take it from here.”

  This time his teeth raked the top of my spine. “Why not let me help, sweetheart?” Despite my unspoken objections, he tugged at the bra until I was forced to let it go. I saw him toss it aside. I felt his warmth envelop me when he pulled me into his embrace. “Finley…” I sighed his name like a prayer.

  He slid his arms around me. His hands cupped my full breasts. I think we both groaned when he played with my nipples. “Turn around, Duchess. Watch us in the mirror.”

  I tended to be critical of my naked image. Strangely enough, I didn’t look half bad with Finley surrounding me. I bit my lip. “Will you answer a question for me.”

  He rested his chin on top of my head. “I suppose that depends on the question.”

  “Why do you think guys haven’t wanted to sleep with me?” Once I said it, I was horrified. Did I really mean to unlock all my closets and expose the skeletons?

  Finley didn’t seem to mind. “There were those two men in the beginning,” he reminded me.

  “They don’t count. I’m thirty-two years old, unattached, and eligible. Nobody asks me out on dates these days.”

  “Speaking as a guy, I don’t know for sure. My guess would be that you scare them. You’re out of their league—part ice princess, part movie star.”

  “Is that what you think?” Given the fact that he was cupping my breasts and pressing his pelvis to my butt, the answer was hopefully no.

  “You probably are out of my league, McKenzie. I’ve always liked a challenge.”

  “Oh, good grief…”

  He spun me around in his arms and kissed me hard. “I want you constantly,” he complained. “Can’t keep my mind on my work. You’re a distraction for sure. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I loved what he was saying. I’d never seen myself as a distraction to anyone, much less a man who could probably have any woman he wanted simply by crooking a finger. I thought Scottish accents were sexy. I’m sure the women over here were taken with Finley’s American drawl.

  “I like you, too, Finley. I didn’t think I would. Not after you went out of your way to introduce me to your three friends.”

  “You deserved it, Duchess. You kept shoving all that Outlander nonsense in my face. Your TV crush Jamie Fraser. Kilts. M
uscles. You brought out my fighting instincts.”

  I cupped his cheek with one hand, feeling the late day stubble on his jaw. “I’ll never believe that Finley Craig felt threatened by a fictional hero.” I was enjoying our verbal sparring, though I wanted more.

  “You forget that I’ve seen my sister Bella in full-fledged Outlander mode. If she ever met that actor fellow, Sam Heughan, in the flesh, I think she’d probably melt at his feet.”

  “I don’t believe it. Not if she’s your sister. Any woman who grew up in the same house you did probably deserves a medal for bravery.”

  Finley tangled his fingers in my hair and tipped my head backward. I shivered. Let him think it was the cool bedroom and not his show of dominance. “I like you this way, Duchess. Bare-ass naked becomes you.”

  “You haven’t even gotten me out of my pants yet, stud.”

  He gaped at me.

  “What?” I said. “A girl can’t show a little backbone? You told me I intimidate people. Let’s see if I really can. Take off your jeans, Finley. And I’ll do the same.”

  A tiny smile flickered at his lips only to be chased away by a look of masculine determination so intense, I shivered again. Playtime was over.

  We separated far enough to step out of our respective items of clothing. In one quick glance, I saw that he wore snug black boxer briefs. He held out his hands. “Satisfied?”

  I nodded coolly. “It’s a start.” Knowing how the evening was likely to end, I had worn my favorite pair of pink satin bikinis. Finley took in every detail. My courage failed after that. I folded my arms across my breasts. “Maybe we should get in bed,” I said.

  “Because you’re tired and want to go to sleep?” His wicked question was accompanied by a knowing smile.

  “Because I want to get to know you better…every inch of you.”

  As unlikely as it seemed, I had surprised him twice in the last few minutes. I was proud of my comeback. It slowed him down long enough for me to climb under the covers.

  He caught up quickly. Unlike me, he ripped off his underwear before joining me. He radiated heat. I’d planned to stay on my side of the mattress for a few minutes…long enough to come up with a plan. Finley thought otherwise.

  He slid down beside me and dragged me against him. “God, you feel amazing, Duchess. I missed you today.”

  Those three simple words dissolved my defenses. Did he know that? Was he a pro at saying the right thing at the right time?

  What did it matter, really? I wanted Finley.

  I was done with talking. I couldn’t be rational with his hands on my body. The room was hushed. I could feel my own heartbeat. Or maybe it was his. Against all odds, Finley knew me. My faults. My strengths. My ambivalence about who I was. In being honest with me about his own screwed up life, he had unwittingly given me permission to be myself.

  “I’m glad I met you,” I whispered. He groaned when I wrapped my hand around his erection. Carefully, I stroked him, learning what he liked, indulging my own curiosity. It was exhilarating. It was fun. This interlude with Finley was destined to be a brief period in my life. I wouldn’t let that knowledge take away the joy from this moment.

  Unfortunately, the man had his limits. Eventually, he gripped my wrist in a hold that brooked no argument. “My turn, Duchess.”

  I closed my eyes and stretched my arms over my head, feeling sensual and aroused and happy. Finley didn’t care about my money or who my parents or even that I would be leaving at the end of the month. The two of us were in this bed because we wanted each other. It was that simple and that profound.

  Finley had perfected kissing as an art form. He started with my lips and charted a slow, lazy course that took him from the pulse at the base of my throat all the way down to the arch of my foot.

  I wasn’t above begging at the end.

  He enjoyed that. A lot.

  “Enough,” I pleaded. I was hot and shaky and aching to feel him inside me. I sank my fingernails into his shoulders.

  His façade of calm and control was only that. His hand trembled as he stroked my collarbone. “I want to make love to you all night, McKenzie. Tell me you want that, too.”

  “Yes.” I closed my eyes, teetering on the brink of a volcanic climax.

  He entered me with a steady push. I dug my heels into the mattress and arched my back, determined to take all of him. Instead of feeling hemmed in or pinned down, I gasped beneath a euphoric rush of freedom.

  Every cell in my body—every nerve ending—reached for the precipice.

  Finley buried his face in my neck. “Talk to me, Duchess. Tell me what you want.”

  How could he not know? “You,” I muttered. “Just you.”

  He lifted me on top, which meant we were separated for long, frustrating seconds as he rearranged our position. When he entered me again, I winced. I wasn’t in the habit of multiple sexual counters in a twenty-four-hour period. My body was tender and a little sore.

  Finley watched my face, making me nervous. I didn’t mind him enjoying my body. I drew the line at him looking into my psyche. He noticed, of course. “What’s wrong, sweet girl? You don’t want it this way?”

  Something about the position left me feeling painfully vulnerable. “You forgot to turn out the lights. I like the dark.”

  “So you can pretend I’m a brawny Scotsman?”

  I knew he was teasing, but my emotions were raw. “No.”

  He put his hands on my waist, his tanned fingers a masculine contrast against my pale skin. “We don’t need the dark, Duchess. I love watching you. Touch your breasts. Tell me you know how beautiful you are.”

  It was a lot to ask. Hesitantly, I cupped my own full curves. His gaze was heavy-lidded as he watched. Gradually, I climbed a new level of arousal. Somehow, him watching me touch myself was more intimate than the fact he was lodged deep inside me.

  His entire body tensed. This delay in our frantic rush to the end was costing him. Yet still, he didn’t move.

  I closed my eyes and lightly caressed my nipples. His fingers dug into my hips with bruising force. Encouraged by his reaction, I pressed my breasts together, plumping and squeezing them.

  Finley cursed. “Jesus, Duchess. I can’t wait.”

  He rolled me onto my side, lifted my leg over his hip, and pounded into me from behind, shaking the bed and drawing a cry from my parched throat as we strained against each other trying to occupy the same physical space. It was madness and frenzy and deep, unadulterated need.

  I wanted it to go on forever. I wanted us to go on forever.

  When he exploded at the end, hammering into me and groaning as if he were dying, I let go.

  With no more inhibitions to stop me, I felt myself fly. My orgasm was intense, draining, and spectacular.

  We tumbled together like tired children and slept.

  Chapter 26

  He made love to me twice more during the night. More importantly, when I awoke the next morning, Finley was still there. He’d been watching me sleep, his head propped on his hand.

  I rubbed the corner of my mouth self-consciously, wondering if I’d been drooling. It was a bad time to remember I had never removed my mascara the night before.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

  A slight frown appeared between his eyebrows. “Are we going to pretend this never happened?”

  “Of course not. It was fun.”

  The frown deepened. “Have I done something to upset you, McKenzie?”

  “Not at all.” I winced inwardly at my chirpy tone. “Everything is great.”

  He reached out and touched my hand…the one that I had unconsciously fisted in the sheet. “Talk to me, Duchess.” His tone and his smile were gentle. “Tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

  “I should move to a hotel,” I whispered. Everything that had happened was too much, too fast. I didn’t have a clue how I was suppos
ed to act, much less any idea of how to protect myself.

  He sat up and scraped both hands through his hair. “Sex is not a requirement for staying in my house. I told you that in the beginning. I understand the word no, McKenzie.”

  Stunned, I realized that my awkwardness had wounded him. “I’m sorry, Finley. You’re missing my point. I adore being in your bed.” And I adore you. “I’m afraid if I hang around too long, it won’t be easy to leave.”

  He shrugged. “So stay longer. Your friends could go back on their own.”

  As an invitation, it lacked a number of details. Why stay? For how long? Is this a veiled commitment?

  I reached for his hand and rubbed the back of it with my thumb. He had a cut beside one knuckle. “I have to go home,” I said quietly. “My ticket can’t be changed. I have responsibilities and obligations back in Atlanta.”

  “What does that have to do with going to a hotel right now?”

  Stupid, obtuse man. “I don’t want to fall in love with you, Finley. I’m too damn close already. Now do you get it?”

  Shock flickered across his face. Men had an aggravating ability to compartmentalize. Sex was easy and simple and soon forgotten. “So you’ve shifted the romantic fantasy portion of your trip to me?”

  I wanted to smack him. He seemed stunned that I would be so blunt. “This isn’t a game,” I said. “Maybe to you. Not to me. I haven’t had a great track record when it comes to men and sex. I suppose I expect too much. I don’t want to get my heart broken again. I don’t think you have any ulterior motives when it comes to me…it’s not that. Still, I’m too old to play around with my emotions.”

  “I see.”

  I knew that by putting all my cards on the table I was risking everything, even the short-term pleasure of sharing his bed until I headed for home. “Why don’t we take a step back?” I said. “Give ourselves both time to think. I’m not going anywhere today.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  When he climbed out of bed, I was treated to a full view of the man in all his glory. I had a sick feeling it would be the last time I’d ever be this close to him. I wanted to grab him and tell him I was an idiot and beg him to come back to bed.