Stolen By The Scottish Rogue (Kilts & Kisses 2)

And without thinking, I just react. I haul back, and before I can even stop myself, I slap him.

Hard.

I gasp, my eyes going wide as my hands fly to my mouth.

And Malcolm just grins

“Was that supposed to scare me?” He growls. His hands tighten on me, and as he pulls me close, I tremble, melting into him—my traitorous body pushing against him hungrily, just like before.

“Because bad news, little princess,” he purrs, his eyes blazing into mine.

“It just makes me want you even more.”

Chapter 3

Malcolm

The boat cuts through the waves, the sails tight and the wheel firm under my rough hands. But I’m barely watching the sea. I’m watching her.

This far out on the water, she’s no longer looking to jump and swim, though I wonder how real that threat actually was before. The way she melted into me and kissed me right back doesn’t exactly scream “escape,” that’s for damn sure.

…The way she kissed me the first time, doesn’t either.

I growl at the memory, watching her standing with her arms crossed over her full, tempting breast. The wind has her long dark hair billowing around her, along with the white wedding dress. I grin smugly at the knowledge that I stole this bride away from a cretin like Carlson.

The wind whips around her, and when the dress billows wildly, I groan as it lifts, giving me an inviting and tempting glimpse of her long, lean legs—her soft, creamy skin making me groan as my cock hardens.

I wanted her the second I saw her, and I’ve been consumed with these thoughts of her ever since. Thoughts of peeling her dress away. Thoughts of hearing that whimpered moan—like I heard that first time, at Hamish and Una’s wedding—and drowning in it as I spread her out across a bed. Thoughts of sliding between her pretty thighs and kissing her with everything I have as I slide my cock deep inside her heavenly little cunt.

…Suffice to say, I’ve been hard a steel for weeks.

I’ve “handled it” myself—over and over and over again, as thoughts of her tumble through my mind and the memory of the taste of her lips and the sound of her moans had my pulse roaring.

But that ends now.

She’s beguiling and deviling at the same time. She’s tempting and infuriating. And I watch her now standing by the bow, sulking against the railing, and I grin.

Pretending I’m not here is going to get tough, seeing as it’s not a very big boat and we’re the only two on it. But I just shake my head, watching her and occasionally where we’re going. Let her sulk. Let her try and tell herself she hasn’t been thinking of the kiss—either of them. Let her pretend that me taking her away from Lord Carlson isn’t exactly what she wanted.

…Let her pretend that the passion and fire and lust I see in her eyes when she turns and glares at me isn’t there.

We keep sailing. Gods it feels good to be out on the water. I was born on the waves, and it’s where I feel most comfortable. Just the same, I’m barely looking at anything but her, so much so that when I finally look up, I blink, surprised at the dark clouds suddenly moving across the horizon much quicker than they should.

I grimace.

Damn.

There’s a storm coming, and that’s not good. Not when we’re in Lord Carlson’s frail little pleasure yacht that’s barely built to do more than sit moored to a dock. Not when we’re about half a day’s sail to Carrick Castle, my home on Falmer Island off the coast.

“You are in so much trouble for this, you know!”

I turn my head from the ominous clouds to see that Ailith is back to my end of the boat, standing at the top of the steps up to the captain’s deck glaring at me with her arms folded over her chest.

I grin.

“I’ve been in worse.”

“Worse than kidnapping?” she snaps.

“Kidnapping, is it?” I chuckle. “I believe it’s called rescuing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Rescuing? Rescuing from what?”

“From the vile man you were to marry today,” I growl, my voice edged at the very idea of her and Carlson.

She opens her mouth like she wants to fight me on it, but her lips snap shut almost just as fast. I smirk. Right, let her try and tell me it was her preference to stay back there and marry that ass.

“And where are you rescuing me to?” she snaps, setting her jaw as her big green eyes blaze into mine.

“Home.”

She swallows. “Your home?”

“Our home,” I grin.

Heat flushes through her cheeks as she rakes her teeth over her plump bottom lip. She eyes me, something fierce burning in those eyes as the wind whips though her hair.

“I know what you were, you know,” she mutters.

I arch a brow, amused. It’s not a big secret that I was once, well, a pirate for lack of a better word. Sanctioned by the Crown of course—mostly going after French ships and the odd Viking craft if we could find one alone. I quit that life though to go fight in the Crusades alongside Hamish and Callum.