Mac (Mountain Men 2)

“Mmm. Tired,” I groan.

He chuckles. “We've got a wedding to go to, darling.”

My eyes fly open, and I’m immediately sitting up. “What time is it?”

He chuckles, all rough and sleepy, beside me. He’s bare-chested and when I peek under the covers, completely naked and ready.

“Bloody hell, don’t you get any ideas, honey. I’ve got a wedding to get ready for and unlike some people I know, I need to do more than slap on a pair of trousers and run my fingers through my hair.”

I toss the blankets aside, only to find myself hauled straight through the air and thrust against his chest.

“What was that?” he rumbles.

“Now, Mac—”

His arm goes around my back, an iron band. “If I want to fuck you, I’ll fuck you. Got that?”

Mmm. I love when he gets all possessive-alpha. Turns me the hell on.

“Aye,” I say with a sigh. “I think if anything, last night taught me that.”

I still wish I knew the meaning of that punishment I practically begged him for. Does he know how badly I needed that to be real?

But could it be, when he doesn’t even know the full truth?

He pulls me to him, his hand on the back of my head, and gives me a quick, rough kiss.

“Go on, then,” he says, before he pats my arse.

I wince, which only makes him grin proudly.

“You’re proud I’m all sore because of you?”

“Aye,” he says, sobering. “I want you thinking of me with every step you take. I want you remembering me every time you move. I want you to know you’re mine.” He tugs a lock of my hair and winks. “And maybe while you’re at it, you’ll remember how to behave, hmm?”

I smile. “Aye, that I will. You did a bloody thorough job of it, didn’t you?”

“Aye, darlin’.” He’s suddenly sober. “You left me no choice.”

How much of this is pretend, and how much of this is real? God, I wish I had the nerve to ask him. I’m fucking daft, going straight up crazy.

But there’s no time to dwell. We have a wedding to go to, and I’ll have the sexiest fucking bloke by my side.

It isn’t just the romantic part of it that I'm looking forward to. His sisters will be there, and their dates—ugh, their bodyguards—but I can’t wait to see Fran wearing the dress that I made. I can't wait to dance with Mac, with love in the air and all that.

It’s a gorgeous, sunny day. The weather forecast called for rain, but it looks as if Fran managed to dodge that.

“Have you met her fiancé?” I ask Mac, as he tugs up the zipper on my dress.

He frowns. “No. None of us has. I’m told they fell in love online and she hasn’t spent much time with him face-to-face.”

I nod. “Doesn’t seem like the girls think much of him, do they?”

He shrugs. “I’ve no idea what the girls think. I’m going to the wedding because of you, and to make sure they’re safe as well. Good luck to Fran.”

“Seems Tate cares.”

“You think?”

“Och, aye.” Do men notice nothing? I tuck my hair back with little clips the girls and I bought. “He got all bossy and critical about her wedding dress.”

He shrugs. “I think you’re overthinking it.”

“Am I?”

His phone rings, and he leaves to go get it. “Aye. No one’s found her? Bloody hell.” A pause. “He said someone helped her, but he doesn’t know who? Only that it was a woman?” He curses. “Alright, then, I’ll see what I can find out.”

He hangs up the phone. This time, I don’t ask questions. I know better than to pry, though I’m dying of curiosity.

Maybe if I pretend I don’t want to know what that was all about, he’ll tell me of his own accord.

“You look lovely,” he says. “I like that lipstick.”

“It’s lip gloss.”

“Lip whatever, it’s hot.”

I smile, while I run a mascara brush through my eyelashes. “Everything alright?” I ask.

He frowns and shakes his head. “Caught one of the staff spying on us. Kept her in holding when I attended to some business. She escaped, and we haven’t been able to locate her since.”

“She escaped? How exactly does one escape from one of you blokes?”

They’re all huge and strong. Makes no sense to me.

He smiles. “Seems she may have had help, and that’s the last question I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough. It was more information than I thought you’d give me, anyway.”

He chuckles, shaking his head at me, as a deep black car pulls up to our door.

“There’s our ride, then. You ready?”

I fuss with my mascara, frowning at my appearance. “I don’t know about my hair, I think I—”

He rolls his eyes and takes my hand. “Let’s go, lass. You look fine.”

Islan and Paisley are in the back of the car. Both shoot daggers with their eyes at Mac when he gets in the car. There are two other men in the front of the car.