Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

Back. Home. The place I’ll live for the next few months. If Mac is agreeable, that is. And if he says no? whispers my doubt. Then I just don’t know.

I slot my key in the lock, push the door open, and steal along the hall like a thief. The lights are off but for some soft strip lighting under the kitchen cabinetry, the warm glow barely extending into the living room.

I place my hands on the back of the sofa and raise my foot behind me to slip off my shoe.

‘Leave them on.’ I jump at the sound of Mac’s voice—the soft cadence in contrast to his demand.

‘You frightened the life out of me,’ I say, lowering my foot. ‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’

‘I believe it’s called stewing.’

‘I didn’t ask you to stew.’

‘No, you asked something impossible from me.’

My heart sinks. He doesn’t want to sleep with me—be my first. He doesn’t want to be with me at all.

‘You see, because I can’t give you up, Ella. I can’t be with you when you’ve put a time limit on things.’

‘Because I’m going to university.’ And because you’re in love with someone else. ‘I thought I’d explained it to you. I can’t stay here.’ My words are plaintive, and his rejection stings.

‘So people at university don’t have commitments and relationships?’ he growls, leaping from where he’s seated in the darkened corner of the room. ‘Or is it that you want me to break you in—fuck you—so you can sow your wild oats while you’re studying?’

I laugh because the idea is ridiculous. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it, Mac. I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin with aspirations to be a slut.’

‘Then maybe you’d better get Will to fuck you.’ He stands in front of me now, my bum pressed against the sofa back as he looms over me. ‘That’s more his speed. The fuck and fuck off.’

‘At least, he’s honest,’ I bite back.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘He’s not living a lie, in love with someone he can’t have.’ It’s cruel, I know, and not really my style, but the words spew forth because I’m angry. In fact, I’m fucking furious.

‘I am not in love with Fin.’ His voice is so rough, as if the effort not to yell his denials hurts him. His chocolate-coloured eyes practically smoulder as his hands rise and begin to loosen the pins in my hair

‘Mac. Please don’t.’ I tremble before him; his proximity, the smell of whisky, and his earthy cologne are too much to bear. ‘I won’t be with you as a substitute for her. It has to be on my terms; don’t you see?’

‘You made me so angry,’ he whispers. ‘Irrational . . . and angry . . . and mad wi’ it. But you also made me realise a few things. It’s true,’ he says, arranging my hair across my shoulders. ‘I thought I was in love with her for so long. But seeing you both in the room together made me realise a few things.’ He traces his thumb from shoulder to shoulder, caressing my clavicle, then hooking it under the thin strap of my silk camisole.

‘I had my chance with her before. Twice. Back when we were kids, I was almost her first.’ His eyes seem distant with the memory but not at all hurt. ‘But I told myself it was wrong. We were drunk, and she was more like family, so I stopped. But I could’ve had her then. And when I heard she came back to Scotland, I got myself up there real quick. It was grand seeing her again. She was a bit broken but still Fin. But I did nothing. Told myself I’d let her settle in, get over the loss of her husband and such.’

His brow furrows, but I say nothing, greedy for the knowledge his words might impart.

‘But I didn’t. I had no intentions of making it real, and I realised that today. I’ve never been anyone’s first, y’ken?’ His throat moves as he swallows. ‘I think I tied that evening when we were teenagers to this . . . this ideal. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone, not really. Not before this. And never permanently, but I told myself she was it for me. My unobtainable ideal. The reason I’d never settle down. I think I blew this up in my mind, blew it out of proportion. It makes this less about her and how I really feel. I had my second chance, and I didn’t jump to make it real.

‘But you,’ he murmurs, hooking his thumb around the other strap of my top. ‘You’re real. And I’m not letting you go anywhere.’ The strap tickles as he slips it from my shoulder. ‘Take off your trousers, Ella.’

My heart stops, words stuck in my throat as I watch him—watch his big hands brushing the tips of my breasts. But I don’t move—I can’t. I’m having trouble making sense of anything currently.