A Scottish Wedding (Lost in Scotland Book 2) Page 3

  “What is it? Don’t tell me you’ve never had bathroom sex before.”

  A grin flashed across his face and he shrugged. “What if I haven’t?”

  He kissed my lips again and parted them with his tongue, but this time I broke the kiss.

  “Wait . . . you’ve never had sex in a public restroom?” I asked, locking eyes with him.

  He replied with a small shrug and a tight-lipped Mona Lisa smile.

  “I’m deflowering you?” I couldn’t hide the hint of shock in my tone or the smile on my face.

  “What can I say? The situation never presented itself,” he said softly, fiddling with a lock of my long black hair.

  “Nu-uh, I find that hard to believe.”

  He traced the tip of his nose along my jaw, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. I grabbed his arse and pressed him against me. One of my hands traveled to the front of his pants, stroking his erection over the denim.

  He let out a low growl as he started placing kisses on my neck again, down to my collarbone.

  “Believe it, my beautiful . . . dangerous . . . incredibly sexy fiancée.” Each pause was a deep kiss on my skin. He knelt in front of me and lifted my shirt, kissing my stomach. He unbuttoned my pants and hastily pulled them down to my ankles along with my underwear in a move that was so sudden, it almost made me flinch. He kissed my belly, down to the little path of hair. He parted my lips with a finger and flicked his tongue along my most sensitive spot, making my knees buckle. He looked up and grinned at me, delighted by my reaction. He unlaced one of my boots and took it off then pulled off my pants, and my underwear with them.

  He looked up at me, a wicked grin stretched across his face.

  “Phase one completed.”

  “Phase one?” I asked, confused.

  “The undressing. I now have access to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh.’ You better be wearing a skirt next time we do this.” Next time? His eyes were full of mischief, and he looked so delicious I licked my lips.

  “Yes sir,” I replied in a low, submissive tone as I unbuttoned his pants. He pulled them down, freeing his erection of both jeans and boxer briefs.

  “Phase two is now complete.”

  “You’re such a nerd,” I teased.

  “Am I?” He stared at me, turning the smolder all the way up. What a tease. “Let’s see what you think of this nerd in a few minutes.”

  A small laugh escaped my lips as his gaze set my skin on fire. I couldn’t think when he looked at me that way.

  “What’s phase three?” I mumbled incoherently when I found my voice.

  He tilted his head to the side, the corner of his lips curled up. His eyes twinkled as the words came out of his beautiful pink lips.

  “Phase three, coming up.”

  He squatted just barely and grabbed my legs on each side, lifting them up and wrapping them around his waist. I locked my hands around his neck and kissed him, slow and deep. I was aware of only three things in that moment: the cold bathroom tiles pressed against my ass, his warm cock teasing my entrance, and how turned on I was by this man.

  My man. My love.

  “Phase three: contact.”

  “Such a nerd,” I whispered in his ear, biting his earlobe gently.

  “Nerd, aye?” he teased, filling me with one thrust. I gasped.

  “Yes,” I teased, but my voice was already breathy and heavy with need.

  He adjusted his hands on my ass, pressing harder into me, settling into a rhythm that was bound to bring me to the edge soon—very soon.

  In fact, I was already seeing white lights flashing in front of my eyes.

  By the way he kept moving and thrusting into me, I wasn’t going to last long.

  And by the way he grunted, I guessed he wasn’t either.

  “Fuck, Sam, you’re so damn sexy. How am I supposed to resist you?”

  “You don’t have to. That’s the beauty of it.” The words came out in a strangled, high-pitched voice as I surrendered to the feeling of ecstasy taking over my body.

  His release followed soon after, echoing my grunts and low moans that sent a wave of oxytocin rushing through my body. I could never get tired of listening to him come undone inside me.

  The bathroom door opened just as he put me down, and a woman’s voice filled the space with laughter. I scrambled to pick up my jeans, and we stared at each other tight-lipped and wide-eyed as we listened to the woman talking. She was on the phone, talking to a friend. I tried to figure out if she was part of our group, but I couldn’t place her voice.

  “You’ll never bloody guess! I’m in St. Martin to visit my parents, and guess what? The entire cast of Abarath is here. I overheard they’re going to start shooting in a couple weeks. We totally need to come up and stalk the cast. Have you seen the arse on that Hugh MacLeod? He makes me want to flick the bean any time he’s naked on that show!”

  I was already pursing my lips together at the mention of Hugh’s arse, but I frowned because “flick the bean” wasn’t something I was familiar with. When Hugh pointed at my vagina, I almost let out a laugh, but thankfully he covered my mouth with his hand, giving me a reprimanding look. He brought a finger to his mouth and told me to be quiet.

  “I know! And I haven’t told you the best part! I think I heard someone say he’s here, or was here at the pub. I know, I know, I need to find him. I wonder if he’s still with that American floozie.”

  My eyebrows shot up at her words, and Hugh brought his finger up to his mouth again. I was mostly amused, really. It was the first time someone had ever referred to me as an American floozie.

  “Wish me luck and maybe I’ll meet that tight, fine ass. Bye, love!”

  By the jingle of her bracelets, I guessed she was washing and drying her hands. Her heels clicked on the floor and she walked out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. As soon as I heard the click of the door, I leaned into his chest and started laughing. It was only seconds later that his body started shaking with laughter as well, the sound of it muffled as he pressed his mouth against my hair. We held each other for a few more seconds, and then I gave his ass a squeeze.

  “Are you ready to go, my American floozie?”

  “Sure. Let’s go, tight arse.”

  SAM

  We spent the rest of the night hanging out with old and new friends, sending messages back and forth to our immediate family. We kept glancing around, trying to figure out if the woman from the bathroom was still at the pub, but thankfully, no one ever approached Hugh.

  I kept getting text messages from my family back in California. Apparently, everyone knew about the proposal beforehand. I barely had the time to send a group text before everyone in my family chimed in with messages, GIFs, and wishes for a long life together. Even my brother Rob—who’d been skeptical about love and relationships since our parents’ marriage crumbled—seemed to be really excited for me.

  “I can’t believe you asked my dad,” I told him, incredulous, staring at his eyes that seemed to sparkle even in the dim light of the pub.

  He breathed out a laugh and shrugged. Then, his smile grew bigger, and his eyes seemed even brighter.

  “It was the right thing to do.” He bit his bottom lip, and that made me want to kiss him again, but I didn’t want to encourage our rowdy friends to make fun of us some more. Throughout the evening, any time our lips would touch, they’d cheer and whistle.

  Just a little while before, they’d caught us coming out of the bathroom together. True to form, Cecilia started singing “Hands to Myself” by Selena Gomez just as she’d promised.

  Hugh turned a bright red and tried to downplay his embarrassment with an easygoing smile. Blood rose to my cheeks as well, but because of my skin tone, I was able to hide it better. While I really didn’t care about people whistling and cheering at us, Hugh looked a bit uncomfortable—or maybe I was imagining things. Maybe it was just a combination of the alcohol, our bathroom en
counter, and the uproar of emotions we were both navigating through.

  Still, even slightly flustered, he looked so beautiful, so happy, and he was happy because of me. I still couldn’t believe this man was mine and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. After what I’d gone through with Eric, I had been determined to steer away from love, but falling for Hugh had been entirely too easy.

  Everything about him was intoxicating and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t resist him. Since Hugh and I had reconnected back at the Oscars, I often fantasized about marriage. I thought it would be something we’d discuss, eventually.

  His proposal had undoubtedly shocked me, and part of me worried it might be a bit too soon. But, another bigger part of me—the part that still somehow believed “love conquers all”—knew I shouldn’t be second-guessing what I felt.

  He was it for me, and I knew he loved me as much as I loved him, though I wasn’t completely sure why.

  “When did you talk to him?” I leaned in and looked up at his face, inhaling his heavenly scent, a mix of peppermint and something woodsy. It was the same scent I’d caught in the cottage. As my mind went to our home, I envisioned exploring and christening every corner of the place. Frolicking with him around the glen couldn’t come soon enough. I had been fantasizing about it since the year before.

  “A few months ago, when we were back in LA, I also talked to your mother, too, ye ken . . . since your parents are divorced.”

  I laughed nervously. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice colored with surprise. Going from a cheating boyfriend who wouldn’t commit to one who worshipped you and laid the grounds for your life together was quite the change.

  “I bet my mom loved that you asked her.”

  “You’re right about that, mo chridhe. She was thrilled. But, you see, I wasn’t much worried about your parents or your family . . . there was just one person who knew that I was worried about. I thought for sure she’d end up telling you and ruin the surprise.”

  “Who could you possibly be talking about, I wonder?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

  He exhaled a deep breath and winked. We both turned in the direction of my former roommate, who was mingling around with some of the other makeup artists from last year. “Cecilia, always the troublemaker.” I smiled.

  “Your sister, too,” he added, his accent a bit heavier on the last word. “She was so excited, for a moment there I regretted telling her.”

  “My sister?”

  “She can’t wait to help you plan this wedding, apparently.”

  “Mira? Help out? When would she ever find the time?”

  “I dinna ken, but she said if we want to get married in LA, she knows people who could help out.”

  I shook my head. “I’d rather keep this wedding and us as far away from all that Hollywood madness as possible.” I sighed. The more I tried to imagine a wedding in LA, the more I despised the idea, and as I looked around the pub and all the familiar faces, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted.

  “I want to get married here.” There was no hint of doubt in my voice, and when my eyes met his, I noticed them grow softer. He held his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled. Then, the soft look was replaced by one full of mischief.

  “You want to get married here? Here at the pub?” he joked, and I swatted him on his tight arse.

  “No, silly, but I do want to get married here in Scotland. Besides, you in a kilt in the hot LA weather? I just can’t picture it.” I stifled a yawn.

  “We should be getting back, Sam. You must be tired. Did you not get to sleep on the plane?” His brows furrowed, his mesmerizing blue eyes studying my face.

  “I couldn’t sleep—I was too excited to see you.”

  He cradled my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine.

  I closed my eyes, lost in the moment, deciding to ignore everyone around us. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back with all I had, not caring one bit about the cheers and claps coming from our loud, drunk friends.

  Except for my new house and my hot new roommate, season two was set to begin the same way as season one. The actors were going to resume their training, and the production team was going to have meetings for each department and schedule ahead for the next few weeks. We would start shooting in a couple of weeks.

  Last year, when I’d gotten there, I was nervous and worried I wouldn’t be up to the task after working on the set of a TV comedy.

  This year, I was worried for a few different reasons.

  And just like the previous year, I couldn’t sleep.

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure how much of my insomnia was due to jetlag and how much was first-day jitters. But, once awake, I knew I was going to have the hardest time going back to sleep and instead of tossing and turning in bed, I decided to go for what I knew would relax me while my man was sound asleep.

  Baking.

  Baking would ease my nerves. As I started thinking about work again, the uneasy feeling in my stomach became more pronounced. I knew I had no reason to be worried, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt a bit guilty toward my coworkers. Hugh and I had been forced to keep things under wraps, and besides a handful of people, no one knew about us.

  Then I was let go, and everyone soon found out about the real reason: I was let go because Hugh and I were seeing each other.

  Since I had gotten back, I had seen some of the crew, but not everyone I had worked with. I wondered how they’d take the fact that I was back, and now engaged to the star of the show. Everything had happened so fast, and Hugh and I had been so desperate to be with each other during the last couple of days, we hadn’t even talked about the wedding yet. I glanced around the cottage, astounded he’d been able to get the whole place renovated in just a few months. Clearly, the man had plans for us.

  I would have gone to the courthouse if it had been just the two of us—was it even called that in Scotland?—but I wanted my family and his to be present.

  Wedding scenarios started filling my head, fantasies of white dresses, kilts, images of Hugh’s niece and nephew, Claire and Rory, running around on a green hill. I’d have loved to have an outdoor wedding, but with Scotland’s moody weather, it would have been suicidal. I mixed the batter for the cookies I was making with a spoon—I hadn’t had the chance to equip my fancy kitchen with small appliances. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him come downstairs.

  “What are you up this early for?” Hugh asked, his frame filling the narrow staircase of the cottage as he came down.

  “Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to. I was trying to be quiet.”

  “No, you didn’t wake me.” His eyes were weary, taking in the mess crowding the kitchen. He placed a kiss on my forehead and then gave me an inquisitive look. “What are you doing, Sam?” he asked, hands on his hips, his beautiful face marked by a deep frown. I let out a chuckle, because when he spoke with his serious, deep voice, he made me stupid. He eyed me with an air of curiosity and I finally fessed up.

  “I’m making cookies for everyone. Tomorrow’s a big day.” It would be our first day back on set, and I wanted to do something nice for the crew.

  “Sam, you know people don’t expect you to feed them all the time.”

  “I know, but . . .” Cecilia and I had hosted quite a few get-togethers the year before, and I honestly didn’t mind cooking for people. It gave us an opportunity to socialize and made those first few weeks in St. Martin less lonely.

  He stared at me, his eyebrows drawing closer together as his frown deepened.

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Yes.” I let out a deep breath and instantly felt the biggest part of the weight on my chest lift. Yes, I had seen people here and there around town, but the next day would be the first day back on set, and there were so many coworkers I still hadn’t seen since I’d left in January.

  “It’s just first-day jitters,” he offered with a shrug and a kind smile.

&
nbsp; “Is it really, though?”

  “Well, what else would it be?” he asked, eyebrows pulled together as he reached out for one of my banana peanut butter cookies. “You know everyone. You know what’s expected of you. You’re even familiar with the ‘drop-dead gorgeous male lead who’s stealing hearts left and right.’” He grinned at me, and I had to laugh because I knew he was quoting one of the headlines we’d read together in a recent magazine.

  The corners of his lips rose and he smiled at me in that certain way that made my heart swell. I smiled back, but hastily took the cookie away from him and he made a face.

  “Come on, can’t you even spare one?” he protested.

  “Wait a moment. It’s missing something.” I reached for a scoop of Nutella buttercream frosting and coated the cookie with it.

  “So, why do you feel so nervous, Sam?”

  “I don’t know. I feel kind of . . . guilty.”

  My eyes met his blue depths. Earlier, they had reminded me of the Scotland sky on a sunny day, but now they were a bit clouded. He looked equal parts intrigued and confused.

  “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

  “Well . . . me . . . and you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I worked side by side with most of these people for months and they never knew about . . . us, and even when I got fired, I still didn’t tell them. They had to find out afterward. I mean, if that were me . . . I would feel a little betrayed, that’s all.”

  He placed the cookie down and started laughing at me. His laugh was quiet as a whisper at first, and then grew louder and wouldn’t stop. He was laughing so hard that he was clutching the corners of the marble countertop.

  “Come on! It’s not funny.”

  “It is,” he said in his Scottish accent.

  His accent seemed to be heavier on the most random words. He was a trained actor, and he could speak with a perfect British accent, or even American when required, but in daily life, traces of Scottish slang and accent made welcome appearances. I loved when he rolled his Rs, and when the tone of his voice went higher on the last word in a sentence. I’d heard him speak with an American accent during an interview on a dare, and the difference was startling, to say the least. His voice was still beautiful, but it felt like it was missing something. I liked every single part of my Scot, but the low rumble of his voice and his accent were two of the things that simply drove me crazy.