Scandalous Scotsman - M.J. Fields Page 0,53
isn’t mine.
Oddly, I never knew what “this” actually was … a fantasy? A dream? Something unreachable and unattainable? I just knew it leant hope to the brokenhearted. I never had a clear answer or what my “this” was … until right now.
“Fuck,” he hisses when I raise my leg and grind against him shamelessly.
Nudging my face with his, he then pulls back. The heat in his eyes no doubt mirrors mine. Then annoyance crosses his stunning features.
“I think the steaks are done. Would ye mind going in our kitchen and grabbing the salad?”
Before I can answer, he steps back, shaking his head and sputtering under his breath while adjusting himself as he turns around to face the grill.
I walk to him and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his back and inhaling his scent. His hand covers mine, and he exhales.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be right here waiting, m’eudail!”
Upon entering the house, I laugh at the songs playing one after another, “Issues” by Julia Michaels, “Something Just Like This” by The Chainsmokers, and now “I’ll Make It Up To You” by Imagine Dragons.
Magic.
Or he made a playlist.
Either way, it’s perfect.
Inside his kitchen, I open the double door, industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerator and almost laugh when I see how neat and extremely organized it is. I grab the frosted glass bowl containing the salad, which is extremely colorful, then do a quick scan of the kitchen as I head back. From the perfectly piled matching plates behind the glass windows of his cabinets, to the way the soap and sponge sit on a tray, not on the counter, to the near-wax looking fruit on the island, everything is picture-perfect.
For a brief moment, I compare my lifestyle to his and laugh at the contrast. I would be the blue to his yellow.
As I walk back into the massive living room with comfortable enough matching deep brown furniture that shines even under the dimmed recess lighting, I realize there isn’t a television.
“Huh.” I think as I reach the French doors to open it, but he beats me to it.
“Everything all right?”
“Your home is like a magazine.”
He takes the salad from me then takes my hand. “Is that a bad thing?”
I can’t help laughing. “It must be like walking into a storm when you come to my house.”
“Yer house is perfect and tells a story.”
“What story does it tell?” I laugh.
He pulls out one of the chairs from the outdoor dining set for me, and I smile when I see the wine bottle that I abandoned on the most amazing date of my life sitting in the center with a lit candle inside its mouth.
He sits down and peels the silicone top off the bowl. “It says two people loved enough to create a heart that would one day grow into a beautiful young woman meant to love as deeply. It says, even past their life, she’d feel their love enough that she dared not disturb the memory of them by sleeping in their bed—”
“Just more comfortable in mine.” I shrug as he plates my salad.
“That may be true, but ye fell down the stairs, flashed a very grateful stranger a tit, cursed like a sailor, and I’m going to guess ye slept on the couch instead of their bed.”
“What would make you think that?” I laugh as I take a bite of my salad.
Smirking, he answers, “Caught ye red-handed, red-faced, and nearly bare-assed getting yerself off to a voice like mine.”
I cover my mouth and laugh like I haven’t laughed with anyone, besides Tonya, in years.
The way he looks at me is the same as he had a few weeks ago— with adoration.
I’m falling deeper.
And I don’t care.
“Ye won’t deny it?”
“Not very ladylike, I suppose.” I take a sip of the wine.
“I’ve seen many sides of ye, Elizabeth Bloom, not one of which I haven’t craved.”
“I get how a man can enjoy a morning tit shot, but let’s stick to being honest here. The day I came to your office, that pair of underwear I was rocking were definitely not—”
“They were sexy as sin,” he cuts me off.
I laugh at his joke. He doesn’t.
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I had to hold the tablet in front of my pants for a reason.” He tips his glass to me and winks.
“I’m going to not question your sanity and imagine whatever other odd kinks you may have.”
He sets his glass down and leans in. “I’ve spent a lifetime surrounded by women who care more