Cuff Me at Christmas Page 4

  Alas, the moment passed. Being born and raised in the Bronx, I was made of sterner stuff.

  “Nice to see you too, Max.” I turned back to my empty plate. “I’m not ready to go yet. You can’t just slam in here and order me around.”

  A cruel smile played at the corner of Max’s lovely mouth. “I just did.”

  “Well, you are going to have to wait. I’m going to finish my beer.” This was the same beer that three minutes ago I had no intention of drinking.

  Across from me, Fergus remained standing. His round face reddened in discomfort. I could feel the attention of the bar patrons shift from their game to our little drama. I felt terrible for Fergus caught in the middle of our power play.

  I rolled my eyes at Max as I stood up. “Thanks for the ride, Fergus. Please enjoy the rest of your dinner in peace.”

  “Ma’am. Your Grace.” He bobbed again.

  Max had another thing coming if he thought I would be falling all over him. He marched me to door, pausing before he opened it. His hand on my upper elbow was overkill. And hot. I was in emotional whiplash. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smack him or smother my body against him.

  I reached for the door.

  “Wait.” He pulled his tartan sash off, unfolding the thick plaid weave. It was much larger than I thought as he placed it around my shoulders. It was heavy and carried lingering hints of his aftershave. Inhaling that scent sent me back to a time when I stood close to him at work, then to the night he and I piled into my twin bed and he buried his cock deep inside me

  My panties were soaked and I’d not even made it to the car.

  I caught sight of us in the pub's dark window reflection. Max's white shirt clung wetly to his chiseled form while his tartan swam on me. There was no missing the message--I was the property of the Duke.

  He shouldered the door open, and we stepped outside. The biting wind blew in my face, carrying my breath away. I pulled the tartan tighter around me and Max angled his body to shelter me.

  His Range Rover had a black leather interior that smelled brand new. When we settled inside, I snuck a glance at him. Sitting in a fancy car wearing a kilt was a visual mishmash.

  I was glad I hadn't finished that pint. I had the strongest urge to giggle, which was not the tack to take. I had to make it clear to Max that I was not some fainting fucking flower. Sure, I had a stalker who attacked me, but as long as I refused to think about it, I could pretend this was a well-deserved European vacation. I would return to New York in a few weeks, once the detective had apprehended the stalker.

  Between him cranking the heat, the seat warmers, and the tartan, I couldn't really complain about the chill of Scotland in December. Though if I were cold, the anger radiating off Max would have generated some heat.

  I glanced over at him to see his furrowed brow.

  His profile was gorgeous, of course. All rugged manliness and with a slightly scruffy beard. He wore his hair a bit longer now and my fingers itched to brush it away from his collar.

  Get a grip.

  He was obviously annoyed by my visit. I’d only asked him for help finding a room. He was the one who insisted on the rest. The inconvenience I had caused him was not my doing, but his.

  "Thanks for the flight. I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble this time of year." Dressed as he was, he must’ve come from some swanky function. Probably with some classy Kate Middleton look alike. Maybe at the next one, he'd regale the other guests with tales about his oddball former American colleague who’d arrived from New York looking like a thrift store special. It sure didn't feel good to think about being relegated to party chatter. My stomach clenched at the thought.

  He glanced at me.

  I turned my head towards the passenger window, avoiding his gaze. There was nothing to see, but the dreary Scottish rain splattering my window.

  This wasn’t the reunion that’d dominated my dreams. Maybe I should catch the next plane back to New York. Surely, I could hide out in a dumpy motel somewhere for a few weeks.

  Max turned off the highway, taking us over rises and dips on a two-lane road. Scotland sure had more hills than I’d expected.

  The rain pelted the car so hard that even with the windshield wipers working on the highest settings, there were seconds that the road before us blurred completely.

  Then in a second of clearing, a massive gray stone three-story fortress stood on the hill.

  I blinked into the gloom, getting glimpses of the place as we sped forward. It was like a beacon of safety in a black wilderness. It was exactly how I’d pictured Scotland. Maybe I'd been transported to Outlander and didn’t even know it.

  In the daylight, I’d come back and explore that place on my own. From what little I knew, most of these historic monuments operated on tourism.

  Max slowed the car and turned right again. He drove slower now, and a thick hedge of trees lined the road.

  But no fucking doubt about it. We were heading toward the fortress.

  “Where are we going?” My throat felt tight. Breathing was hard.

  “My home.” Max kept his eyes on the road.

  “You live in a fortress?” I stared at him.

  “Technically, it’s a castle.” Max glanced at me.

  My eyes met his for a second. The heat I saw there surprised and confused me.

  What the fuck was going on?

  “I asked you to find me a hotel room, not take me to your lair.”

  "Welshmen have lairs, my ancestral home is Gylen Castle."

  "And mine is a walk-up in the Bronx." It was like all the air had been pushed out of my lungs. The stalker, the jet lag, Max, and now this fucking castle. I was utterly disoriented, and I didn't do disoriented. I was a control freak.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Wait, how do you know that?”

  "That's really what you want to know right now?" He eased the car closer to the castle, which now loomed over us like a fucking fortress. Castle my ass.

  “Does this place have a dungeon?”

  Max’s lips twitched in a smile. “I can arrange a private tour.” He drove past the circular drive that led up to stone steps to a massive wooden front door.

  I was utterly confused as he pulled the car around the back. The tires crunched on the gravel drive.

  A young man trotted out to meet us from a carriage house. He wore the cap and jacket that Fergus had been wearing.

  Max unrolled his window.

  “Evening, Your Grace.” The young man’s mouth opened at the sight of me in the passenger seat. He paled under his freckles. “Excuse me, Sir. I didn’t know…”

  “Evening, Jaime.” Max’s tone was easy. “Don’t worry. Just see to the car. I’ll get the lady inside.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll see to the bags.”

  “I don’t have any bags. I won’t be staying.” I was pleased to have found my voice, no matter that it cracked at the end.

  Dammit. I wasn’t a piece of luggage they could discuss transferring.

  Max put the car in park. I reached around to pull my backpack off the back seat when my door was opened.

  “What?” I pursued my lips at him, hoping to hide how the sight of him looming next to me with his now partially wet white shirt open at the neck. I could see his nipples and remembered how his chest felt flattened against me.

  Max lifted one leg up on the running board of the vehicle. effectively blocking my exit. His kilt rode higher and exposed the skin above his black boots. My gaze devoured a bare calf, knee, and lower thigh.

  At the thought of exploring all that delicious landscape with my tongue, my mouth watered.

  Max’s fingers tipped my chin up to meet his gaze. His dark brown eyes bore into me. “My house. My rules.” He dropped his hand to help me out the vehicle.

  Heat radiated from his touch, sweeping over every part of my body like a flash fire.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “Fine. Whatever.” I pulled my arm from his grasp
and I headed for the back door of the fucking castle. “For the record, Your Grace is kind of an asshole.” I tossed over my shoulder.

  Max’s dark laugh echoed behind me.

  Thank God the door was open. I was ready for something to go my way. Any ground I might have gained with Max would have been lost if I had to wait for him to unlock the door for me.

  But my victory was short-lived. I was standing in a modern high-end kitchen. Professional stainless steel appliances paired with wooden prep tables and cabinets. In one corner, a black metal Aga stove dominated the alcove.

  A gray cat dozed on a cushion near the stove opened one green eye to inspect me. Unimpressed, it went back to sleep.

  I glanced around, thinking the kitchen looked like Downton Abby and the Food Network’s secret love child. I adjusted my backpack for lack of anything better to do.

  Max was soon inside, shutting the door behind him. "I see you met Patience." He nodded to the cat. "Follow me."

  He took my hand and led me along darkened hallways lined with large portraits of long-gone ancestors. Smaller paintings of rocky hilltops and loyal dogs also caught my eye as we moved along briskly. Thick wool area rugs covered the stone floors. Intricate woven tapestries hung against the walls, depicting hunting scenes from long ago.

  "Max, I'm fine." I tried to pull my hand away, but he held fast.

  He gave my fingers a squeeze but didn't let go.

  The castle was, not surprisingly, huge. Then again, a Tiny House castle would be rather pointless. The lighting was dim with the wall scones accentuating the moody feel of the place as we progressed up a wide staircase to the second floor.

  Max turned left at the top of the stairs, taking us down a long hallway. In the end, he opened a heavy wooden door.

  “Here we are.” He led me inside. I hadn’t seen another living soul inside the house since we entered.

  “In a place this big, you could have your own wing.”

  Max shot me a glance, raising one eyebrow.

  I creamed my panties. Oh fuck.

  “You have your own fucking wing?” I whispered.

  "There's no need to whisper, Jess. These stone walls dampen sound."

  Max's bedroom was massive and surprisingly dated. It contained a four-poster bed with drapes and heavy, dark furniture. There were more landscape paintings on the walls. Judging from fleeting images of the sun and blue sky, Scotland was pretty cloudy most of the year.

  I moved around the edge of the room, as far away from Max as I could get, while he set to work on starting a fire in the fireplace.

  The antique room furnishings were hard to reconcile with the Max I knew in New York, who was never without the latest iPhone version.

  "Grab a blanket. It takes a bit to get the fire going." The massive stone fireplace was romantic but not very efficient at making the place less frigid.

  “You’re going through a lot of trouble here. What about the hotel you promised?”

  “No rooms anywhere else. Sorry.”

  He most certainly did not sound sorry. He sounded smug.

  He also didn't seem happy to see me, though would it have killed him to kiss me?

  Not that I wanted him to kiss me. It was just the point. Last time I saw him, he was enthusiastically fucking me six ways to Sunday.

  Finished lighting the fire, Max brushed his hands and stood.

  I was on the other side of a dark green velvet couch. The barrier was on purpose. I needed to avoid doing something stupid. Like, say, vaulting over said couch and tackling him.

  He ran his hand through his wet hair. Damn, he looked good. “Did you have plans with someone for the holidays?”

  “What?” I squinted at him.

  “You heard me.”

  After seven months, the first thing he wanted to know was if I had plans for the holidays?

  “The stalker seemed to think so.”

  “Stop fucking around, Jess. Did you have plans to spend the holidays with someone?” He demanded.

  Could he be jealous?

  "Not that it's any of your business, but I was going to see my mother on Christmas."

  "She doesn't know who you are, let alone know it's Christmas."

  That stung.

  What a fucking asshole Max was.

  It was true that as an only child, she was the only family I had left, but her dementia had progressed to the point that the last time I visited her, she thought I was one of the staff.

  I turned my back to him, furious with myself to find I was wiping away tears.

  The fire crackled behind me.

  “Jesus, Jess. I’m sorry.” Max was before me, pulling me into his arms. “Forgive me. Can we try this again?”

  For fuck’s sake. I sniveled into his rock hard chest.

  "It's good to see you, Jess." His voice softened, but I could still feel the vibrations of it through my body.

  "Don't think because you're a Duke now, you can be all bossy with me."

  “I would never think that.” He rubbed my back.

  “Or that you can patronize me.” I hiccupped.

  Kill me now.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't there." His chin rested on the top of my head. "How badly did he hurt you?"

  “There’s nothing you could’ve done. He’s just a crazy stalker.”

  My sniffles were punctuated by the fire’s crack and snap. We were silent for a few minutes, just savoring the peace between us.

  “I’m sorry how I left,” Max said.

  Ahh. There it was.

  The room was certainly big enough to fit not only an elephant but a whole damned herd of them.

  "You certainly get points for originality. Usually, if a man is uninterested in seeing a woman again after a night together, he just never contacts her. Leaving the country altogether is very thorough." I pulled back, knowing I looked puffy-eyed. But really, it was hard to get some emotional distance when I was sobbing into his shirt. "If you'll just show me to my room, I could use some sleep. And in the morning, I'll find a hotel."

  Max brushed a lock of my hair back from my face. “Your eyes are the color of the moors in springtime.”

  When he says shit like that, it's hard to hate his guts.

  “Thanks.” It was all I trusted myself to say.

  "You can sleep here tonight." He gestured to the four-poster bed. "I'll sleep on the couch."

  “Max, you can’t be serious. This is an honest to god castle. The very definition means it has many rooms. I don’t want yours.”

  “I’d like you to stay here. You have been through quite an ordeal. The detective filled me in.” His phone chimed in his pocket. “I must take this. Help yourself to something to sleep in from my things. And the bathroom is through there.” He waved towards another ornate wooden door.

  Even though the place was centuries old, the bathroom was sleek marble with a giant copper tub. Come to think of it, this room was bigger than my previous dorm room. I soaked in a hot bath, dried myself off with the fluffiest towels ever, and borrowed Max's robe, which hung down to my ankles.

  I left my clothes in a pile. I wanted to burn them.

  Out in the bedroom, Max was making up a bed on the couch.

  “Good, you didn’t fall asleep in the bath.” He turned to me and stared.

  I'd towel dried my hair, and it hung just past my shoulders. My toes curled into the thick rug.

  I wasn't sure where to look. There was only one word to describe Max's expression—hungry.

  He came to stand before me. His eyes never left my face as he reached for the belt of my robe. He untied it, letting it fall to my feet.

  I should've been cold, but my skin was warm from the bath. I wasn't embarrassed, I felt like a goddess.

  I closed my eyes. This was a dream. When I opened them again, I’d be back in New York alone in my bed listening to the sleet hit the windows.

  Max set his hands on my shoulders then skimmed them over my breasts, ribs, and belly.

  I opened my eye
s. Max knelt before me. His lips dipped lower.

  “Ever since that night in your room, I’ve been longing to taste your virgin pussy.” His fingers danced over my neatly trimmed bush to my pussy lips. I couldn’t help it. I widened my stance. I craved his touch too much.

  “Too late. You took care of that.” My fingers gripped his hair.

  “Complaints?”

  "I came so many times, and so hard, I almost blacked out."

  Max raised his head. His eyes blazed. “Have you been with anyone else? Richard?”

  “You have no right to ask me that.”

  “True.” Max nuzzled my cunt. “But if you want me to lick that sweet pussy of yours, you’ll answer me.”

  Oh fuck. That felt delicious. My traitorous inner thighs quivered.

  He pulled away, and I swayed.

  I was naked in a Scottish castle, and I was ready to combust from desire.

  He kissed my inner thighs, where they had quivered moments before. I let them drop open, exposing myself fully to him.

  “Beautiful.” Max murmured.

  His tongue flicked my clit.

  Oh my fucking God.

  “There’s been no one but you.” I gasped.

  Max muttered his approval, then applied himself to seriously fucking my pussy. His tongue inside me delved deeper and deeper. I could hear my wetness. I teased my nipples, pulling them until the tips were hard and sensitive.

  As Max’s tongue worked me, his groans pushed me deeper into the sexual fantasy I’d dreamed about ever since our night together.

  I was his instrument. It was like Max knew my body better than I did. He nibbled my clit then stroked my cunt with his tongue.

  I could feel a tension building low inside me. It coiled tight about itself. I knew that when it was released, I would have the relief that had been denied to me all these months. It was the relief that only Max could give me.

  My pleasure built, and the anticipation filled me with hope.

  "Oh, Max." I dropped my head back.

  “Come for me.” He stopped sucking. “Come for me.” Then he applied himself to his task.

  I crested, then spiraled out of control. I collapsed from the strength of my orgasm slamming through me, but Max caught me and carried me to his bed. All I could do was cling to him as the aftershocks wracked my body.