Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt (Hot Scots #4)

Chapter Nine

Gavin picked up a finger sandwich, scrutinized the thin slices of cucumber inside it, then plunked the sandwich down again. Didn't they have any manly food here? With all these testosterone-laden MacTaggarts gathered in this ginormous room, the crowd must've been clamoring for real food. Red meat. A T-bone steak. Hell, he'd settle for bacon.

"The real food is on the other side of the room."

Gavin started, whirling toward the woman who'd spoken to him.

Emery pointed to the other side of the gallery.

He squinted but couldn't see anything, until a break in the crowd of dancers and a glint of light from the sparkly ceiling balls revealed it to him. Another buffet table. Overly muscled MacTaggart men ambled along the table's length, snatching up hearty-looking snacks.

"Didn't see it over there," Gavin said. "Hiding the good stuff, huh?"

"Not on purpose. It's hard to keep the MacTaggarts away from their beef and haggis, though." She glanced back at her husband, who hulked a dozen yards away with his equally hulking brothers. "They're all so big, they tend to dwarf their surroundings."

"And I'm a shrimp?"

"No, sweetie, you're a big, braw man in your own right."

Weirdly, her statement made him feel better. Whenever he got around the Three Macs, he started to feel like the runt of the litter, though he stood six one. Didn't help that each of them wore super-manly costumes. Lachlan was a pirate, complete with a billowing shirt that hung open to the waist, exposing his chest, and a scuffed leather vest to go with his scuffed leather pants. A cutlass hung from his belt, and he had a fake parrot attached to his shoulder, which must've been Erica's idea. No way a man like Lachlan would volunteer for that. Aidan was a firefighter, sort of. He had no shirt, only the fireman pants and suspenders, along with the requisite boots. When Gavin had asked Calli about her husband's outfit, she'd gotten a secretive little smile on her face and said it reminded them both of the night they'd met.

Gavin decided not to press her for details. Some things he didn't need to know.

Aidan held a fireman's hat in one hand. When Calli hopped up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear, he grinned and slapped the hat on his head.

His sister, the sweet girl who'd once been too shy to go as anything but a ghost with a sheet over her head, wore an Egyptian costume with the highest slit he'd ever seen. Erica's costume featured a slit almost as high, though she'd dressed as a hot witch.

And Emery… Well, he hadn't quite figured out her costume yet.

She wore a miniskirt kilt, made from the blue-and-green tartan of the MacTaggart clan. Instead of an actual shirt, she'd squeezed into a black-leather bustier with skinny straps over her shoulders. Metal buttons decorated the thing's front side while leather laces cinched it up in back. Black leather boots covered her calves up to her knees, and she'd tied her blonde hair into twin ponytails. A dainty little crossbow hung from a chain on her hip while an equally dainty quiver strapped to her back held arrows with feathery pink fletching. She'd accessorized her outfit with leather wrist cuffs and a plaid scarf slung around her neck, its ends tumbling down her back. A plaid cap, the same blue-and-green as her kilt and scarf, perched atop her head. A fluffy blue ball topped the cap.

Just to make the costume weirder, she wore a crucifix around her neck and had a clear bottle filled with water strapped to her hip, the one not sporting a crossbow. The bottle had a crucifix symbol painted on it.

"Uh," he said, waving a finger in a big circle to indicate her outfit, "what the heck are you supposed to be?"

Emery grinned, her cheeks dimpling. "I'm Emmy the Scottish Vampire Slayer."

"The wha —" He couldn't finish the question, not while she was tapping her cross-adorned bottle of water.

"My holy water," she said. "The last resort, of course. I prefer to nail the vamps with an arrow to the heart. Then —" She made an explosion sound and a matching gesture with her hands. "Poof. They're dust."

"Uh-huh." He glanced toward Rory. The guy wore skintight black pants with tall black boots, and a black shirt-like thing that seemed kind of sci-fi. It exposed his arms and massive biceps. A red cape flowed down his backside, and a hammer thingamajig hung from his belt, its head huge and rectangular. Gavin swore he'd seen something like it before. "What's your husband supposed to be?"

"Thor, the Norse god of thunder." She winked. "As portrayed by Chris Hemsworth, of course. Rory is the super-hot version of Thor, not a cartoon character."

No, Rory MacTaggart wouldn't want to be confused with a cartoon. Still, Gavin couldn't believe the stern lawyer would dress up at all for Halloween. At least now the hammer thing made sense. It was Thor's hammer.

"His hair is brown," Gavin said, "not blond, and it's short."

She shrugged. "Rory will not wear a wig under any circumstances. I don't mind the creative license, though. I love Rory's hair."

No way in hell would Gavin ask why.

So instead, he gestured at her kilt and asked, "That's the MacTaggart tartan, right?"

Emery nodded. "Sure is. Surprised you recognize it."

"Jamie's got a blanket made out of it."

"Speaking of Jamie…" Emery laid a fingertip on his jaw and turned his head slowly with slight pressure. "Your goddess has arrived."

Gavin froze, his gaze locked on the goddess lingering twenty feet away, her shimmering eyes fixed on him. Every flash of the disco balls set her golden-brown hair alight. A short, billowing toga hugged her curves and flared out around her thighs, accentuating her voluptuous figure. Her full breasts rose and fell with every breath, their luscious mounds hidden by the thin fabric that clung to them. He couldn't resist running his gaze over her body, from her creamy shoulders and down past her slim waist and womanly hips to the mouthwatering curves of her thighs and calves. Sky-high heels gave her ankles an elegantly sensual curve.

And her hair. Heaven almighty, it framed her face in sleek, bouncy waves that kissed her shoulders. A sudden urge gripped him, to thrust his hands into that hair and claim her mouth while the silken fall of her hair feathered over his skin.

His cock shot hard.

"My work is done," Emery said, and she retreated.

Gavin hardly noticed because he couldn't tear his gaze away from Jamie. A goddess come to life, ethereal and earthy at the same time. He strode to her, not giving a damn if he bumped into anyone on the way, despite a couple of Gaelic curses aimed at him. All he saw was her, all he wanted was her, and everything else became noise in the background, fading from his awareness as his world telescoped down to the transcendent beauty of her.

He reached Jamie at last, stopping a couple feet away. "Hey."

Way to charm the lady, dumb-ass.

Jamie's red lips curved upward. "James Bond, aye?"

His mind blanked for a heartbeat. "How did you know?"

"Erica almost let it slip, and I guessed when I saw you."

"It was Emery's idea. Pretty dumb, huh?"

Jamie raked her gaze over him, her tongue flicking out to moisten her glossy red lips. "Wouldnae say that."

"You like the monkey suit?"

She nodded slowly. Her pupils had grown large, dark pools within the rings of her hazel irises, and her breasts rose and fell on heavier breaths. Her taut nipples jutted through the fabric of her dress.

He burned to suck those little peaks into his mouth and scrape his tongue over them until she moaned.

Gavin ran a hand over his mouth. "Jamie, you are so damn beautiful."

"Thank you." A natural blush deepened the makeup-created one on her cheeks. "You look very handsome. The most handsome man in the room."

Not the handsomest in the world, he noted. She used to call him that, but after what he'd done, he needed to earn back the right to be tops in her eyes.

What was he supposed to say now?

He glanced toward Emery, to where she had been, but she'd moved out of sight. He spotted Iain, though, who tipped his punch glass toward Gavin in a mini salute. The Scotsman had dressed as a cowboy, with a Stetson hat and silver-toed boots to go with his silver belt buckle.

Iain gave him a thumbs-up. For some weird reason, seeing Iain made him feel better.

"Am I boring you?" Jamie asked.

His attention snapped back to the outrageously hot woman in front of him. He struggled to remember how to talk, but the sight of her scattered his wits. "No, not bored."

Jamie's lovely mouth curved into a smile, her lips sealed. She roved her gaze up and down his body once more, and the fingertips of one hand drifted to her chest, caressing the skin between her breasts in an unconscious gesture. "Emery has good taste in men's clothing."

"Yeah." His voice had gone rough, and he couldn't look away from her fingers and the way they teased her skin. He suffered another inappropriate urge, one so strong it stole his breath, to swoop in and lick her flesh everywhere she'd touched herself.

Jamie moved closer to run her hand along the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. When she detected the bulge beneath it, she slipped her hand inside the jacket to fondle the object nestled near his armpit. In a sultry voice, she murmured, "I love a man with a hard weapon. Even if it is plastic."

"Emery said —" His words got choked off when her hand massaged his chest. He fought for breath, his erection growing almost painful. "She said it was part of the persona. Being armed and dangerous, licensed to kill."

"Mm." Jamie skated her hand down to his waistband, slanting in with her head angled back to gaze up at him with desire in her eyes. "Know what else is part of the persona?"

"What?"

"Shagging a beautiful woman at every opportunity."

Her lips. So close. Ripe, red lips begging to be kissed and nipped and sucked.

Jamie stepped back. "Are you going to ask me to dance?"

"Huh?" He couldn't manage eloquence right now, not that he ever had a talent for it. Her seductive hotness so near him drove out any semblance of reason he might've had left after seeing her in that dress. "Sure. Yeah."

With a hand on her elbow, he guided her out onto the dance floor. She settled a palm on his shoulder while he settled one of his hands on the small of her back and clasped her free hand. Hers was so delicate, so soft, so warm. They wandered among the other couples, their gazes intertwined, their bodies separated by millimeters. Out the corners of his eyes, he noticed familiar pairs twirling past them — Lachlan and Erica, Calli and Aidan, Rory and Emery. His sister waved a hand to get his attention, then gave him an encouraging smile. Stupefied by the woman in his arms, he pulled off nothing more than a curt nod to Calli. When Rory and Emery glided past, the architect of this crazy scheme winked at him. Her husband flashed him a glower.

Yeah, he'd make friends with Rory MacTaggart — in the last minute of the last day of never in eternity.

Jamie swept her hand from his shoulder to his neck, tickling him with one fingertip. "You're frowning."

"Am not." He focused on her, on those beautiful eyes and their glittering green flecks. Her skin warmed his palm through the thin fabric of her dress, and the way her breasts kept brushing his chest was about to drive him insane. If he didn't kiss her soon… He bent his head to whisper in her ear. "Can we go somewhere private?"

She turned her face toward his, her lips grazing his cheek. "Aye."

Oh God, she smelled wonderful. No perfume, he knew that. The natural scent of her permeated his senses, drowning him in the essence of her.

Jamie took his hand and led him through the maze of couples spinning around the dance floor, to the far end of the long gallery. They hurried down the short hallway to the closed door of the guest bedroom. She bit her lip, releasing it slowly as she grasped the knob and pushed the door inward.

Darkness blanketed the room, penetrated only by the milky rays of the moon.

She ushered him inside and shut the door.

The thick wood muted the music playing in the gallery until it became a distant reminder of the party going on outside the door. The festivities seemed like a faint transmission from a faraway planet. They existed inside their own little world, here in this room.

Jamie sashayed to the four-poster bed in the center, its headboard pushed against the far wall. She leaned back against one of the posts, stretched her arms above her head, and wound her fingers around the carved wood. Bending her knee, she braced the stiletto heel of one shoe on the lower portion of the post.

"What will you do with me?" she whispered in a smoldering voice. She traced the tip of one finger down the post, across her throat, down her breastbone until her hand hovered between her luscious tits.

Holy hell . She couldn't want him to — not after what he'd done.

"Gavin," she purred, "don't ye want me?"

Yes, yes, and hell yes . But he wouldn't take advantage of her. She must've downed several glasses of booze before walking into the gallery tonight. He could think of no other reason she'd want to have sex with him. Here. Now. In a bedroom of the castle owned by her brother, who hated him, while a party went on mere feet outside the door.

A party attended by all her relatives and his sister.

Gavin gripped the back of his neck and commanded his dick to cool down. His body disobeyed his orders, but he could at least act like a gentleman. "We should talk, right? Let's go downstairs to the kitchen, have a snack, and hash things out."

"The kitchen?" Her sultry smile widened into a wicked grin. "Aye, let's get out the whipped cream and —"

"No. Talk, that's all." Christ, he was trying to be a good guy. Did she have to keep stroking her chest that way? And her voice… That fervid tone threatened to catapult him over the edge.

"I don't want to talk, Gavin."

His name rolled off her tongue like the song of a siren, luring him to his doom.

She crooked a finger, beckoning him.

Every man had his limits. He was dangerously close to slamming into his and shattering right through them.

Jamie, the temptress, pushed away from the post and strolled to the bedside table. She opened a drawer, palmed something, and shut the drawer again. Her red lips kinked up at one corner with the sexiest look of smug satisfaction he'd ever seen. She sashayed back to the post, leaning back to mold her lithe body to the wood. With one hand, she stroked the bumps and dips in the polished surface of the post. With her other hand, she raised a condom packet to her throat and dragged it down her chest.

He choked on a breath.

"Come here," she purred.

And he couldn't resist her. His feet carried him to her, despite his every attempt to stop this. A matter of inches separated their bodies, and his gaze gravitated to the undulating swells of her lush breasts, the condom packet she grazed over her skin in sensual circles, the pink tips of her nipples visible through the almost-sheer fabric. The expanse of one creamy shoulder, bared by the dress, snared his focus.

I love you . That's what he should've said. I'm sorry I hurt you, please forgive me.

No words came out of his mouth.

Helpless to resist the lure of his siren, he pressed his body to hers, pinning her to the post. A tiny gasp escaped her lips. He lashed one arm around the post, around her, encompassing her body. Even in the stilettos, she had to tilt her head back to look at him, and the movement exposed her delicate throat. Her breaths quickened, her breasts bounced on each inhalation. Those lips, the succulent color of ripe strawberries, parted in invitation.

"Please," she moaned.

And he lost his mind.

He tunneled a hand into her thick, silky hair, cupping her nape. Her rigid nipples rubbed him through his shirt. With a long groan, he gave in to the need, crushing his mouth to hers and thrusting his tongue between her sweet lips to devour the flavor of her. She opened wider for him, her body going soft against him, her tongue twining with his again and again. Her mouth was hot and wet, her body warm and pliant. He shifted his arm, the one clamped around the post, to take hold of her hip and tug her lower body into his. The rock-hard erection barely contained in his slacks chafed against her belly, and every last shred of reason disintegrated.

"Jamie," he mumbled against her throat, his lips scraping her tender flesh.

She flung her arms around his waist and bucked her hips into him. "Gavin, please."

As if his body had a mind of its own, his hand raced down her thigh to dive beneath the dress and then whisked up the inside of her thigh until his fingers found — Oh God, the slick heat of her desire, exposed to the world.

"No panties?" he said, his tone verging on frantic. She'd been walking around naked except for the ultra-thin toga dress? Lust pulsated through his entire body, and somehow, his hard-on got even harder.

"Aye," she said, tugging his shirt out of his waistband. "Wanted this. Wanted you. Inside me, please, now, please."

Though a faint voice in the back of his mind urged him to stop, he'd roared straight past common sense into the steamy, seductive waters of the siren. Of her. His Jamie, pleading with him to take her.

"Fuck," he hissed, and it was the last coherent word he spoke.

He tried to nab the condom from her fingers.

She closed her fingers around it. "I'll do it."

Damn . He'd never survive that.

Her fingers found his zipper and freed his aching cock. The soft flesh of her palm skimmed over his skin as she rolled the condom over his length.

A breath caught in his throat.

She frisked her hand up and down his dick.

He pushed her hand away, shoved up her skirt, and grabbed one of her thighs, hooking it over his hip. She locked her arms around his shoulders, breathing hard, her chest sprinkled with a delicate pinkness, her lips swollen from their kiss.

He buried himself inside her body.

"Gavin," she gasped.

The need to possess her, to come inside her hot little body, compelled him to thrust. Hard. Relentless. Faster and faster until their bodies slapped together and her wetness made a sucking sound every time he drove into her. He grasped her breast through the dress, scraping his thumb over the nipple again and again, his need escalating with every little gasp and moan she made. Her stiletto heel dug into his ass. He pounded into her heat, the scent of her need intoxicating, and the bed began to jump with every punishing thrust.

The pressure to come, it mounted inside him, throbbed through his cock.

He let go of her breast and shoved his hand between their bodies, rubbing her clitoris hard and fast.

"Oh God," she whimpered, "I'm coming, Gav —"

Her orgasm wrenched her whole body. Her sex pumped him with wave after wave of powerful contractions. He fought to hold off his climax, desperate to wring every last ounce of pleasure from her first, but the pressure built and built until he couldn't breathe. She cried out, her back bowed, her nails scraped against his jacket. Only when she'd finished, only when her body went limp in his arms, did he pull his hips back and pound into her one last time, punctuating his release with a strangled shout.

Panting, sweat dribbling down his neck inside his shirt collar, he nuzzled her neck. His dick was still inside her. The aroma of sex lingered in the air. Damn, he hadn't meant for this to happen. They'd never done it like this, rutting like wild animals.

He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. "That was fucking amazing."

"Aye," she said breathlessly, and linked her hands behind his neck. "We fucked. It was amazing. This is how I want things to be between us."

Gavin drew his head back, studying her moonlit face, ethereal as an angel. "What are you saying?"

"You want time and space to sort yourself." She toyed with the collar of his shirt. "You can have it. But I want us to keep having sex."

He must've hallucinated for a second there. No way could she have said what he thought she'd said. "Come on, we need to talk."

"No." She sealed two fingers over his lips. "Until you know what you want, there's nothing to talk about. I want us to get together for sex in the meantime. Only sex."

Either he was being punked or he'd stumbled into an alternate reality. Sweet little Jamie MacTaggart would never suggest hot sex with no strings. She was the kind of girl who needed commitment.

She wriggled free of him, ducking under his arm to stand near the opposite post. Hands on hips, she lifted her chin. "This is what I want. Sex only. Can you handle it? Are you not man enough for an arrangement like this?"

"I'm not that easy to goad," he said, knowing he was a damn liar. Her brothers got under his skin without saying a word to him. And Iain was right. He had, well, kind of a problem with manly pride getting in the way of rational decision-making.

But he wanted her. Despite what he'd said about needing time, he couldn't stand being away from her. What if he never figured out what his problem was? He'd lose her, for sure.

Unless he took her up on this crazy offer.

Sex with the woman he loved, the woman who fired up his libido like nobody else. Nothing but sex. No expectation he'd bare his soul to her, or vice versa. Wasn't this every man's dream? It might've been his, back before Leanne and his parents and everything that came after, but not anymore.

If he said no, she might cut him out of her life.

Gavin cleared his throat, shucked the condom in a nearby trash can, and tucked his dick back in his pants. "Okay."

Her eyes flared wide for a heartbeat. "Really?"

"Yeah." He squared his shoulders. "I'm in. Sex, sex, and more sex with no strings attached."

Jamie stared at him for a moment, unblinking. Finally, she strutted up to him and planted a quick, firm kiss on his mouth. "I'll call you when I want you."

With that, the love of his life traipsed out the door.