Stolen By The Scottish Rogue (Kilts & Kisses 2)

Hamish and I are friends for many reasons. But a mutual love for good drink is certainly high on the list. French vintages, the finest oak-barrel whiskey from the lowlands. Rice liquor and spiced rum from the east that we brought home with us. My mouth waters as I chuckle. Let Hamish go have his illicit pre-wedding fun. I’ll just be here raiding his liquor cellar.

I swing the door open, storm inside…

…And come face-to-face with a scream.

And it’s not just any scream. It’s a scream attached to the most perfect, tempting, sweet looking pair of pouty red lips I’ve ever laid eyes on. Lips that are part of the prettiest face I’ve ever seen, framed by gorgeous dark hair. But it’s the eyes that take the breath from my chest. It’s the eyes that I lock onto, my pulse faltering as I just stare, losing myself in them.

Green like morning field. Green like a thistle leaf. Green like the rolling highland hills.

Green that stuns me to my core.

I blink, my mouth opening and closing as I slowly take her in, and just like that, I know it’s over. Just like that, I know I’m lost.

The girl is young, maybe eighteen or twenty years. Beautiful, captivating…

…And naked. That would explain the screaming.

She’s clutching a dress to her bosom, but as I slowly drink in the bare shoulders, the flash of skin by her naked hip, her bare legs, and the slender, freckled arms wrapped tight around her ample chest, I groan.

I groan, and I know I am done for.

“Out!”

I blink, slowly focusing on what she’s saying.

“Get out!”

I frown, my eyes darting around the room before they lock back onto her.

“This isn’t the wine cellar.”

She stares at me, heat rising through her cheeks. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and the motion sends fire blazing through me.

“No, it is not!” she huffs, panting, her gorgeous green eyes blazing emerald fire at me.

I glance around. Yup, it’s most definitely a guest room now, though I swear it use to be the—

“My lord!” she hisses, blushing. “I’m—”

“Malcolm,” I growl quietly, my eyes burning into hers. “Malcolm—”

“McAuley,” she says quietly, her eyes wide and wild. “I know who you are.”

My jaw tightens. “Well that doesn’t seem fair. And you are?”

She swallows. “Engaged,” she says quietly.

Anger flames across my face, and I repress the growl. I resist the urge to rage at the fucker who’s manages to take her before I had the chance to.

“To?”

She wets her lips again.

“Lord Carson.”

I freeze, a weight sinking through me. “You’re Ailith Pembrose.”

And it all clicks. This is Hamish’s bride’s friend, and it’s no secret that she’s engaged to marry Lord Carlson in a few weeks’ time. It’s also no secret what a piece of shit her husband-to-be is—the beatings he’s given his staff. The bastards he’s fathered with chambermaids, cooks, and nurses. I drink in the gorgeous, stunning, innocent girl in front of me, and I know what this is. He’s done it before, too. She’ll be wife number three or four, if I’m on top of my gossip.

All of them young, all of them unworldly, and all of them meeting a very odd death before they get older than twenty-four. Rage burns through me at Lord Carlson getting his hands on any other girls. But at the thought of it being her?

I barely hold back the snarl.

My eyes burn fiercely into her, and quickly, it’s like the rest of the world fades away. Noting else matters. Not that she’s engaged. Not that me being in her damn dressing room, while she’s barely covered, would be a scandal and a half if anyone walked by.

Forget all of that. None of it matters.

I growl lowly, moving into her, and her eyes grow wide.

“My lord…”

“My lady,” I growl right back.

“You—” she blushes fiercely. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t,” I groan. “And yet, here we are.”

She opens her mouth, but then closes those soft red lips.

“Lord McAuley…”

“Lady Pembrose,” I grunt as I move closer, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t back up, she doesn’t scream, she doesn’t slap me or call for guards. She just runs that soft pink tongue over those lips again, the flush creeping down her neck. And those emerald eyes blaze green fire into my eyes, scorching me, and searing her face across my soul.

“You should go,” she whispers.

“So tell me to go.”

She bites her lip, her teeth raking over her lip.

“Tell me to go, princess,” I growl.

“I’m not a princess.”

“You are, you just haven’t been told so enough.”

She blushes, biting her lip.

“Tell me to leave, princess,” I groan. ‘Tell me to leave before I do something I can’t and won’t take back.”

She gasps quietly her eyes gong wide.

“I—I’m engaged.”

I just step closer, our eyes locked.

“Lord McAuley, I’m engaged.”

It’s like she’s saying it to remind herself, not me. Because frankly, I don’t care. I step closer—so close I’m almost touching her. The dress that she’s clutching to her bare body brushes against my knuckles, and when she gasps quietly, I can feel the heat of her breath.