She thinks on it. “I don’t know, I was thinking tonight.”

  Fuck no.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “No. You’re mine tonight.”

  “Since we just passed the cottage, I’m assuming we’re going back to your place?”

  “You assumed right,” I say, the buildup of the evening driving me to the brink.

  Her little touches here and there, the stolen kisses, that dress, the conversation, the teasing—it’s all added up to this phenomenal prospect of what’s to come.

  In silence, we drive up to my cottage. I hop out and round the pickup before opening the door for her, anticipation building in my veins. After tea, we walked to Kyle’s ice cream shop, where we both got a cup of white chocolate raspberry ice cream with chocolate fudge on top. The entire drive home, all I could think about was the prospect of tasting the faint flavors of chocolate and raspberries on her lips.

  I bring her inside the house and shut the door behind me. “Bedroom,” I say, nodding down the hall.

  “Not even going to offer a girl a drink?”

  “Want a drink?” I ask quickly.

  She shakes her head.

  “Then get your sweet arse to the bedroom.”

  She takes my hand in hers and leads me to the back, which gives me a moment to appreciate her arse in this dress. Heart shaped and round, it’s perfect. She complained that the dress felt tight thanks to all the shortbread she’s been eating, but I think she looks like a goddamn knockout—and so did every lad who came across her tonight.

  I saw the double takes, the way their eyes traveled over her body. And fine, they could look all they wanted, but there was only one Scot she was going home with.

  Turning toward me, she goes straight to my shirt, where she starts to undo the buttons.

  Wetting my lips, I let her and keep my eyes on hers the entire time. When my shirt is completely undone, she pushes it down my shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. From there, she moves to my jeans, unbuckles them, and unzips the zipper. I push them off along with my shoes and socks and stand in front of her in nothing but a pair of tented boxer briefs.

  “Sit,” she commands, and hell, her bossiness is fucking hot. I gladly comply. I sit on the bed as she turns her back to me and gathers her hair to the side. “Unzip me.”

  With fucking pleasure.

  I reach up and grab the small zipper, letting it glide down her back until I find the end. Slowly, she pushes the dress off her shoulders and shimmies out of it, exposing her matching pale-yellow bra and thong.

  Christ, her ass is perfect, but before I can get my hands on it, she turns around and straddles me. Her arms fall to my shoulders as she glides her pelvis against mine.

  “Hell, Bonnie.”

  Her lips find mine, and they’re hungry, demanding, searching for even more than we had the other night.

  She pushes me back against the mattress and leans down, her hair floating to the side, her lips locked on mine as her hips start to slowly grind against mine.

  Oh fucking hell.

  “God, I love how big you are,” she says against my lips, teasing my mouth open and plunging her tongue inside. There’s a sense of urgency coming off her. Normally, I’d ask to slow down, to live in the goddamn moment, but hell, I’m urgent too.

  I reach up behind her and unhook her bra. The straps fall quickly, and she lifts up, tossing it to the side.

  “Jesus fuck, you’re sexy.” My hands travel up her torso to her ample breasts. I cup them and pass my thumbs over her nipples as she continues to grind against me. Her back arches, pressing her breasts farther into my hands, and I take that moment to squeeze a little harder. With a light moan, her mouth falls open. She doesn’t hold back, doesn’t stand for shyness. She’s confident, she takes what she wants, and she’s sexy as hell doing it.

  “Rowan,” she moans again when I pinch her nipples. Her hips move faster, her hands landing on my stomach now, and I swear I can sense her orgasm moving to its apex. Her fingers dig into my stomach, her breaths shorten, and her eyes squeeze shut as I roll her nipples between my fingers. “Yes, oh my God.” She falls against me and her lips descend on mine, while her hips buck up and down, until finally . . .

  “Oh fuck,” she whispers, drawing out her orgasm, our underwear the only barrier.

  When her hips slow down, I flip her to her back and yank off her thong, followed by my boxer briefs. My goddamn dick is painfully hard as I reach for a condom from my nightstand and roll it over. Bonnie is still lightly panting on the bed, her eyes shut.

  “Lass.” Her eyes open. “Are you okay?”

  She smiles. “Perfect.” Holding out her arms, she welcomes me into her embrace, and I hover above her, slowing down the evening just slightly so she can gather herself. With one elbow propping me up, I give myself a chance to glide my fingers over her soft skin, to her puckered nipples, and then all the way down to her pubic bone. I repeat the path over and over again, savoring the feel of her skin and watching how so easily she is turned on, how quickly she can recover and be ready all over again.

  “I want you inside me,” she whispers.

  “I want inside you too, lass. Desperately.”

  Her hands cup my face, and as she spreads her legs, she presses her mouth to mine, letting her tongue tell me exactly what she wants. Positioning my cock at her entrance, I slowly push in and catch her exhale on my lips as I stretch her open.

  “You all right?” I whisper.

  “So good,” she says, so I move a little bit deeper, ever so carefully, pumping in and out, easing in. “So, so good.”

  My hand cups her face, and I tenderly drag my thumb over her cheek as our kisses become fervent, much needier than before, but I’m not urgent with my thrusts—I keep those controlled and really focus on her mouth, on making that connection.

  That is, until she wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me in all the way. She gasps while I grunt, my eyes nearly rolling to the back of my head.

  Warm.

  Tight.

  Goddamn heaven.

  That’s what she feels like. Fucking heaven.

  “More, Rowan,” she begs. “I need more. I need you to move.”

  I need it too.

  Keeping my mouth on hers, I lift up slightly for a better angle and start to thrust in and out of her. I take it slow at first, dragging out each pulse, making sure she can feel every inch of me. And with every second that passes, I pick up the pace until we’re both breathing heavily and our bodies are slapping together, our movements becoming erratic, our pleasure mounting.

  “God, I can’t get deep enough,” I say before moving my mouth to her neck, then down to her breasts.

  “Flip me over.”

  Taking charge, I do just that and prop her ass up. I get up on my knees, position myself at her entrance, and drive forward.

  “Oh my God,” she cries out, squeezing tightly around me. “Yes, Rowan. Oh my God, yes. Just like that.”

  I grip her hips, my control starting to waver as I pump into her over and over again. Her moans tear through the silent night.

  “Never been this good,” I say. “Never.”

  “More. Harder.”

  I pick up the pace, really slamming into her. My heart rate feels out of control, my movements sloppy and out of sync, but it doesn’t matter as my orgasm builds at the base of my spine and starts to spread through all my limbs. I’m about to come, and I’m about to come hard.

  “Yes, Rowan. Yes. Oh my God.” She clenches around my cock, her orgasm ripping through her, and in seconds, my balls tighten and a feral groan flies out of my mouth. I’m coming right along with her.

  “Mother . . . fucker,” I call out, blackness surrounding me, nothing in my entire life ever feeling this damn good.

  I pump into her a few more times before we both collapse on the bed.

  Sated.

  Pleasured.

  Fucking spent.

  I kiss the spot between her shoulder blades and then the back of her neck. She turns her head, and I find her lips. I slowly kiss her for a few more seconds before I pull away and take care of my condom.

  When I return to the bed, she’s worked her way under the covers and has a corner pulled down for me to climb in. Once I’m situated, she’s like a magnet to metal, quickly pressing herself to my side and resting her hand on my chest.

  I gently run my hand through her hair and listen to the light rain that’s started to pelt the roof.

  “I love the rain,” she says quietly. “We don’t get much of it out in California, but when we do, I always make sure to open a window, sit back, and just listen. I feel spoiled that I get to hear it all the time here.”

  “For a while, I hated rainstorms, because of Callum. They just reminded me of him, but now I’m starting to think of them as more of a moment to connect with my brother. To remember the good times.”

  “Tell me one of them.”

  Smiling, I give it some thought, reaching back into my Rolodex of memories. “Da hates being startled. He freaks out every time and always says, ‘Get tae! What’re ye doin’?’” She chuckles along with me. “So, Callum and I used to try to come up with different ways to startle him and record it. This one time Callum thought it would be genius to hide in the fridge.”

  “What? How did he do that?”

  “Maw always waits till we’re almost out of food before she goes shopping, so it was the perfect moment. She was out at the market in Kyle. Da was watching rugby and knew he had a few beers left in the fridge. We removed all the shelves, and Callum snuck in when he heard Da coming to get a beer. I was acting as if I was looking for a snack in one of the cupboards, but secretly I was recording. Da opened the fridge, and Callum popped out. He scared the living daylights out of Da, who was so startled he punched Callum dead in the face. Not on purpose, just out of a pure gut reaction to fend off what he said at the time was the ‘feckin’ Loch Ness Monster.’”

  “Oh my God,” Bonnie laughs at my side. “That’s amazing.”

  “It was. Maw came home to a peeved husband, a son who couldn’t stop laughing, and another son with a black eye. That was the end of the scaring, at least for a few weeks, until Callum thought popping a balloon near Da’s ear was the next-greatest idea.”

  “Was it?”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t. Callum found out quickly that Da’s reflexes were even sharper in such close proximity.”

  “Another black eye?”

  “Aye.” I chuckle, reveling in the realization that I can talk about my brother with Bonnie and not feel pain—just happiness. “From then on out, it was always distance scares.”

  “Smart boys.” She sighs. “I’m an only child. Dakota is too, and I think it’s why we’re so close—we truly only had each other growing up. She has always been my person, through thick and thin.”

  “I can see that. You two have a wonderful relationship.”

  “We do.” I kiss the top of her head, and quietly she says, “Rowan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You make me happy.”

  I sigh. “You make me happy too, lass.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BONNIE

  Perfect date I’ll never forget: One.

  How many times I felt cherished last night: Too many to count.

  Male-induced orgasms: Five.

  Hot Scot who’s making me fall for him: One.

  Rowan was insatiable. He wanted me, every chance he got. And frankly, I think I wanted him more. Also, listening to him come is really freaking hot. There’s a slight accent in his come noise: it’s sex gold.

  “What do you think? Should I hang this one here?”

  Dakota glances up from her computer. “It looks too big for the space.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  I glance down at all the black-and-white photos I had printed and framed of the local hairy coos. Thursday, Rowan and I went for a walk on the Hairy Coo Footpath and took a bunch of pictures of the long-haired cows. Lots of close-ups showing off their adorable snouts and soulful eyes. Dakota then edited and cropped them and sent them to a guy in Kyle who prints and frames pieces for their gallery. Rowan was supposed to go with me to pick them up, but Shona was having a plumbing issue at the Mill Market. I insisted I would be fine driving on my own.

  I was . . . okay.

  I hated every second of it, but at least I got the pictures, and they are so freaking good.

  “Okay, what about this?” Dakota asks me now, turning her computer in my direction.

  The logo.

  And God, it’s adorable. Dead center is an outlined picture of a hairy coo, all shaggy hair and curving horns, and around it in a circle is the name of the coffee house—the Hairy Coo Coffee Company.

  “Dakota, this is . . . amazing.” I squat down lower to get a better look. “This would be perfect on mugs and shirts. Oh my God, my nipples just got hard because I’m so excited.”

  “You really like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “Think Finella and Stuart will?”

  “Will they what?” Rowan asks, stepping into the shop, arms full of groceries. I haven’t seen him since this morning. It was a few hours ago, and yet it feels like days. When we make eye contact, he winks, and I nearly fling my body at him and maul his face.

  “Will they like the logo?” Dakota says, completely oblivious to my urges.

  Rowan sets the groceries down on the counter and walks over to the new tables we bought—which look positively amazing in the space, by the way—and bends down to take a good look. A small smile starts to form on his lips, and when he stands up, he possessively presses his hand to the nape of my neck. “They’re going to absolutely love it.”

  “You’re not just saying that?” Dakota asks, eyes glinting with excitement.

  “I don’t bullshit. I always mean what I say.”

  “That’s true,” I add. “It’s perfect, Dakota.”

  “Thank you. Okay, I’m going to send the file to the guy over in Inverness and then grab the signage with the espresso machine.” She stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Wait, what?” I ask, confused.

  “Isla and I are staying in Inverness. The printer needs time for the menus and the sign. We decided to stay the night and sightsee a bit.”

  “Oh.” I swallow down a pang of disappointment. “You’re going sightseeing—that should be fun.”

  “I’m really excited, especially since we haven’t been able to see much of Scotland.” She leans in, gives me a hug, and then takes off out the door, computer tucked under her arm. “Bye.”

  “Are you all right?” Rowan asks as the door swings shut.

  “Huh? Oh yeah, fine.” I clear my throat and act like I’m studying the pictures, when in reality, I feel . . . sad. We were supposed to explore Inverness together. We joked about finding the rental car guy again and trying to see if we could understand him better now that we’ve been in Scotland for a while. We also wanted to visit Inverness Castle, and there were a few restaurants we wanted to try. Is she going to do those things without me?

  “You don’t seem fine.” Rowan takes my shoulders and gently turns me toward him. “You seem really upset, actually.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, looking out toward the front window, where I see Isla meet up with Dakota. They exchange a quick kiss on the lips before linking their hands together and heading toward the cottage.

  “Hey.” Rowan moves my head so I meet his eyes. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t look like you’re about to cry.”

  “I’m not about to cry, I just . . . I thought Dakota and I were going to explore Inverness together, that’s all.”

  “Och.” He nods. “I see.” He looks back. “Go with them, then. We can bake another day.”

  I shake my head. “No, clearly they have some romantic trip planned. I’m not about to be the third wheel.”

  “Isla’s pretty understanding. If you were honest with them, I’m sure she’d welcome you along.”

  I shake my head and lean into his embrace as his strong arms wrap me up. “No, that’s okay. Dakota was most likely looking forward to this trip. I’ll get over it.”

  He kisses the top of my head and gives me a squeeze. “I know it won’t be the same as going with your best friend, but I can take you some time, if you’d like.”

  Smiling, I look up at him and kiss his jaw. “I’d like that.”

  “Okay, once the butter is spread—wait, no, just two-thirds, stick to this side,” Rowan says, his voice patient and calm despite my anxiously trying to predict what we do next. And it’s not on purpose either. For some reason I feel flustered, like I need to impress him or something.

  Before we started baking, Rowan took me over to the bakeshop, where Elsbeth, Isla’s assistant, was filling in for her. We ordered some chicken curry pies, grabbed some fruit and drinks from the Mill Market, and had a quaint lunch in front of the loch, where Rowan regaled me with story after story of him and the Murdach twins getting into trouble. And funnily enough, as Rowan was telling those stories, they ran by us, shirtless, wearing their kilts and hoisting logs, with their “cameraman,” a local boy named Dennis, following closely behind.

  Once we packed up, we headed into the “wee” kitchen in the back of the coffee shop. It might be small, but there are multiple ovens, which is exactly what we need for our three types of baked goods.

  While he spread out the groceries, I whipped open an apron and then reached for the hem of my shirt. As promised, I was ready to bake in the nude, but he quickly held my hands down and said he loved the idea of me naked, but not when anyone could walk in, especially with the way Fergus comes in and out of his own accord. Rowan claimed that being caught naked in front of a historically significant goat would read a little weird. I had to agree with him. Fergus feels like a brother at this point, and I’d never want my brother to catch me in the buff. So, the clothes stayed on.

  “You don’t spread it all over the dough?” I ask now, staring down at the butter combination gracing my latest attempt at butteries.