A Highlander's Obsession (Highlander's Beloved) (30 page)

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think you do. Yes, we’ve fallen in love. We’ve grown close, but for how long? For a month? Six months? A year? How soon before you tire of me or start trying to control me, just like Alex did?”

With every step he advanced on her, she made one in retreat. If he so much as touched her, she’d sex-destruct. Something about his passionate outrage had her panties damp with desire.
I’m in so deep with this guy. I’m in big trouble here
.

“What has changed yer mind about us? Did we not pledge our love upstairs?”

“Yes, but …” Her gaze dropped. She couldn’t bear to see the pain in his features. Her glasses slid down her nose and she shoved them back in place.

“Is it Alex? Do ye want him back?” His eyebrows dipped in question.

Her back hit the door. “No. God, no. After you, there’s no way I’d want him or any other man.” She lifted her palms upward and then let them drop to her sides. “It’s just everything is so sudden and you’re so …”

One of his arms went around her waist and his other cupped the back of her head. “I’m so what?” His dark eyes bore into hers.

Her fingers fiddled with the buttons on the oxford shirt he wore with his kilt. “You’re so overpowering. So passionate about everything.” Her hands brushed over his massive chest and foil crinkled when she made contact with his shirt pocket. She traced the shape for an instant before registered. “Do you have condoms in here?”

“Aye. I’ll not be caught without them again when the mood hits.”

“I see. Well, it’s a shame you’re in such a Scottish snit then.”

Those dark eyebrows of his dipped. “Scottish snit?”

She slid one of the condoms from his shirt pocket and waved it in front of him. “Yes, a surly Scottish snit, because if you were in a better mood I’d show you a special way I could put this rubber on you.” She’d read about it in a book once and hoped the knowledge had stuck. “I wouldn’t even have to use my fingers.”

His kilt wiggled a bit and started to tent. “And what special way would that be, lov?”

“With my mouth.” She smiled sweetly and then ran her tongue over her bottom lip in what she hoped was a seductive manner.

A grunt slipped from his throat. His dark eyes focused on her mouth, and the kilt tent grew big enough for a whole family to camp out in. “Ye seek to kill me.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I seek to soothe your mood, but it would never work with you yelling at me.” Her gaze locked on his. “I won’t be pushed around—verbally or physically.” She’d experienced that kind of treatment with Alex, and was determined not to go through it in this relationship.

His hand cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry. I …” He shook his head and exhaled a ragged breath before he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve never cared fer a woman the way I do ye. Is it possible fer a man to love too much? Desire too much?”

The insecurity that seeped into his words touched something deep within her. The man was so fierce, so commanding. For him to share his deepest emotions was a precious gift she’d not refuse.

“No, Creigh, you don’t love too much. I’m insecure about my feelings too. I fear the strength of my love, the suddenness of it. There was never this kind of love for Alex. Never.” She kissed his neck and he nuzzled her in return. “Now, lift your kilt.” She dropped to her knees and tore open the foil packet.

He quickly tucked the hem of his kilt in its waistband and widened his stance a few inches. The urge to grin was strong. Gram would squeal to learn this Scot wore nothing beneath his kilt. She removed the condom and popped the rounded tip in her mouth, curling her lips over her teeth so as not to damage the latex. Wrapping one hand around his cock, she stroked him a couple of times while her other hand cupped and manipulated his balls.

“Sweet Mother of God,” he groaned.

She placed her mouth over the head of his cock and, using her lips, slowly rolled the condom onto his engorged shaft. Muttered Gaelic curses reached her ears, and she was quite pleased with her efforts when she stood. “There, you’ve just had Paisley’s famous condom roll.”

His eyes glowed golden for an instant before he spun her back against the wall. It was as if something she’d said snapped his control. “Famous condom roll?” His roared words circled like a cyclone as his hands bunched her skirt. “Famous, is it? Just how many men have experienced this sensual pleasure?”

Crap! Maybe I shouldn’t have worded it quite that way
.

“I dinna ken who taught ye that trick, nor do I ken if I want to send him a case of me finest whisky or smash his face. I warned ye I was possessive as fukin’ hell, Paisley.”

His fingers slipped under her panties, and the sound of lace tearing bounced off the paneled walls of the office. With his hand wrapped around her thigh, he slid it up around his hip. “Now, by God, I mean to show ye.” His lips covered hers, taking control as if madness had overtaken him.

Her arms wrapped around his massive shoulders and she returned his passion. Desire for him simmered continuously below her surface, ready to ignite at his touch, his kiss, and, yes, his display of possessive longing. Their tongues met and tasted each other’s essence. Tremors of want shimmered through her. Wetness gathered, moistening her for his entry. “Love me, Creigh.”

“Aye. Till me dying breath.” He slipped his other hand between them and his fingers played with her clit for a few seconds before he positioned his cock and drove into her. His hands grasped her bare bottom, lifting her against the wall. He shifted and angled his hips for deeper penetration. She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Watching ye roll that condom on me like that nearly drove me out of me bloody mind.” He kissed her neck, bit it and soothed it with his tongue.

All the while his powerful hips pistoned into her, pushing her closer to release. Her abdominal muscles tensed and her thighs began to quiver. “I … I’m close, Creigh. So close.”

“Come fer me. Show me ye are mine and mine only.”

The command in his words drove her over the edge. The strength of her climax extracted all breath from her lungs. His lips covered hers to inhale her moans and screams. Three deep
strokes later, he pressed his face into her neck and shuddered his own release.

He held her to him for several minutes as their breathing leveled out. Sweet kisses were shared amid words of love. “You’re a very passionate man. I love that about you.”

“Aye. There are three things I’m verra passionate about. Me family, me sleuth, and ye. And I’m not so sure of their order of importance anymore. Not when yer on me mind every moment of the day.” His lips rubbed back and forth over hers. “I only know I canna give ye up, fer ye are me obsession.”

Warm lips covered hers in a kiss so gentle, so sensual, so loving the room spun. She wrapped her arms around her axis, for that’s what he’d become in so short a time. This loud, often scowling Scot had become her lifeline, her axis. “I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Marry me.” He kissed her again. Not overpowering, but in a way that caressed her heart.

“Yes.”

He pulled out of her and carried her back to his desk, setting her on the edge before he turned and disposed of the condom in the wastepaper can. He reached for the ring box and dropping to one knee, he opened the lid. “Paisley, will ye do me the honor of marrying me? Sooner, rather than later, for ye are the water to me thirst, the next beat of me heart, the woman I adore above all others. Ye are me beloved.”

As if their recent exchange and lovemaking had wiped away her fears, she was filled with confidence now. More than anything, she wanted a life with this man. “Yes, Creigh, I’ll marry you.”

Everyone was in high spirits on the way to the
cèilidh
. Gram, Fiona, and Cook were in the backseat of the Land Rover, heads together, making wedding plans. Creighton hadn’t stopped beaming since he’d carried her into the dining room and boomed to one and all that they were getting married. Joyous pandemonium had ensued after his announcement. Before she knew it, Fiona waved a calendar, conferring with Gram on a wedding date. Creighton snatched the crayon from his mother’s hand and drew a big red circle around June second, less than three months away.

No one had asked her opinion, and she wasn’t sure if she was hurt or relieved the date was set. Gram would no doubt refer to her state of mind as discombobulated. Or peeved over being left out of the decision-making process.

She thumbed her engagement ring back and forth on her finger. Wearing it would take a couple of days to get used to, and wasn’t it a nice surprise it fit her finger so well. The ring was beautiful. Its stone emanated not only love and happiness, but also a strong tinge of sorrow, from the brides who’d lost their husbands before the age of thirty. She’d never given much thought to the validity of curses. To accept them as truth would be like believing in witches … or shape-shifters … or people who could silently communicate with animals.
Oh God
.

Creighton brought her hand to his lips and kissed her engagement ring. “Me beloved is awfully quiet. This concerns me.”

“I was thinking about the curse.” She shifted in her seat, the leather creaking with her movements. “When is your birthday?”

He glanced at her. “June fifth.”

“June fifth? Three days after our wedding?” Dread skipped around her heart, tossing boulders of alarm into her stomach. “What if I’m not the right one to end the curse?”

“Yer the right one for me. Stop fretting over some silly curse. Yer sounding like a silly auld woman.” His words stung.

She shoved her glasses onto the bridge of her nose and stared out the side window.

Evidently Creighton decided to disregard her concerns. “Effie, did ye know
cèilidhs
were part of the courting ritual fer young people back in the day, before discos and nightclubs? In our
part of Scotland, they’re still a popular social scene. The one yer attending tonight is a fund-raiser fer Bayside High School’s band uniforms.”

Gram patted his shoulder. “How lovely. Tell me more.”

“There’ll be a mix of music to please everyone. We’ll have a Scottish dancing band playing traditional songs and a local rock band playing some head-bangin’ music.”

“Awesome. I can shake my booty.”

He laughed. “Between bouts of dancing, there’ll be poetry recitals, storytelling, and contests to raise money. Fer those who like to gamble a wee bit, there’ll be a couple gaming tables.”

“Oh, now you’re talking. Will there be bingo?”

“Aye. Scots love bingo.” Creighton turned onto a side street and eased the SUV behind the two-storied high school. “I’m dropping ye ladies off at the door. Paisley and I will park the car and then join ye inside. Hang tight ’til I help ye out.” He shifted into park and jumped from the car to assist the older women. When he once again slid behind the steering wheel, he drove through the parking lot, searching for an empty spot.

“Ye need to be prepared,
leannan
.” He swung the Land Rover into a space at the end of a row of vehicles.

“For what?”

He turned off the engine and removed the keys. “By the time we get inside the gymnasium, word will have spread about our engagement. There might be a modicum of fuss.”

As soon as they stepped into the gym, the round disco balls turned on and off three times, highlighting the blue and green streamers hung overhead. A flute, an accordion, a fiddle, and drums played enthusiastic chords of a Scottish fanfare. The din of conversation quieted and all heads turned toward them.

A modicum of fuss?
She hadn’t been prepared.

The hot streak of embarrassment slowly rose from Paisley’s neck to her hairline, and her breathing stopped. She pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose.

Creighton’s hand was at the small of her back in a possessive manner. Out of the corner of his mouth, he told her to breathe. As if he guessed she thought to turn tail and run, his hand slid to her waist and pulled her flush to his side. “I have a verra important announcement to make.”

Dear God, she wasn’t ready for this …

“The beautiful lassie by me side has granted me the honor of accepting me marriage proposal. I’d like to present to ye Paisley Annika Munro, me beloved Scottish Viking.”

Her heart cracked and crumbled. Why would he refer to her that way if he considered the curse meaningless? If he didn’t consider her the answer to the curse?

“When’s the wedding and where’s me invite?” A grey-haired man poked holes in the air with his cane as he spoke.

A chorus of laughter rang throughout the hall.

“Clyde, ye auld reprobate, June second and yer invited.” Creighton swept his hand in an arc to include the entire area. “Ye are
all
invited.”

Catcalls and applause erupted.

The rock band took their place on stage and began playing “I Don’t Want to Live Without You.” Creighton wrapped his large hand around hers and led her to the middle of the empty dance floor for the next part of the crowd’s “modicum of fuss.” He pulled her close and kissed her in a fierce domineering manner. People stomped their feet and whistled.

He swung her into the dance, his steps smooth and sure, just like his proprietary attitude about things. “Relax,
leannan
. The worst is over. The declaration of our marriage has been made.”

Paisley shook with anger. Seethed with it. Was this Scottish galoot the only person getting married? No, he was not. She was the bride, dammit. Didn’t she get to help choose the date of the wedding or when their engagement announcement would be made or who would be invited to their ceremony? Yet something even more important raged and stormed in her mind. While he’d belittled her questions regarding the curse on the way here, he’d just introduced her as his Scottish Viking. A sign to one and all she was the cure for said curse. Not the woman he loved, but the woman who would erase a centuries’ old conjuration.

He pulled back to glance at her, and one of his eyebrows quirked. “Ye are pissed.”

She planted a palm on his chest and pushed.

He tightened his hold on her. “What troubles ye?”