Stolen By The Scottish Rogue (Kilts & Kisses 2)

“And what do you call being down here in a bedroom alone with you and a bottle of whiskey?” I snap.

Malcolm grins wickedly. “A very good time, I’d say.”

I blush fiercely.

“You’re crude.”

“And you love it.”

I blush darker, biting my lip.

“You keep away from—”

The boat heaves wildly, and I scream as I go tripping right into him—right into his arms. I gasp, crashing into his firm, rock hard chest, his muscled arms wrapping tightly around me as he catches me.

“Get your hands off of—”

“No, princess,” Malcolm growls darkly.

I shiver, panting as our eyes lock.

“Kidnapping you was one thing, but—”

“So we’re calling it what it is now?”

He glares at me.

“Kidnapping was one thing. But I won’t let you get hurt under my care.”

“Little late for that,” I spit.

“No, it’s not.”

He grabs a length of rope and when he starts to wrap it around the both of us, my brows shoot up.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

“Binding us.”

He yanks the rope tight, making me gasp as I go tumbling against him.

“Now wait just a—”

He turns, looping the rope through a heavy wooden support post. Fear surges through me.

“Is this really necess—”

The boat slams, hard, dropping like we’ve just gone over a cliff before it catches the down swell and lurches back up. I don’t realize I’m screaming or clinging to him with an iron grip until a full thirty seconds later.

“Yeah,” he growls tightly. “It is.”

The boat pitches again, and I whimper as I cling to him tightly.

“I’m right here, princess,” he growls quietly into my ear.

I swallow, his hard body so tight against mine. The boat pitches again, and this time, the two round windows along the port side suddenly go shattering in. I scream as water comes rushing in, white and turbulent as it crashes over the both of us, soaking us through.

I scream again, but he’s right there, holding me tightly, his powerful arms unmoving.

“I’ve got you, Ailith,” he growls into my ear.

Water roars in again, dousing us as the boat jumps off another cliff. I gasp, clinging to him as we tumble to the side. I gasp, fear blazing through me as I look up. And when I do, my eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s like there’s a calm around me. I lose myself in those fierce blue eyes, and even though the boat is rocking wildly around us, and even thought the storm is raging like a demon outside, I don’t hear or feel a thing.

…Nothing except his body against mine, those eyes burning into mine, and the undeniable heat I feel rising inside of me.

The boat slams to the side. His hands tighten on me. And when he leans down, I whimper as my lips press to his. He growls, the fierceness of it making me moan as I willingly open my mouth for him and slide my hands up his rock-hard chest. Malcolm kisses me slowly and deeply, and I’m lost as I kiss him right back—fiercely, wildly, and with nothing held back.

The storm rages around us. The boat shudders and pitches. The wind howls and the water crashes through the windows.

But all I know is his lips.

All I know is that kiss.

Chapter 5

Malcolm

By the time the storm dies down, it feels like we’ve been dragged through Hell and back. A very wet, very soaked Hell. My arms ache from gripping her and the support beam of the cabin tightly—my body tensed and sore from standing firm against the battering of the winds and waves.

I’ve spent most of my life on the water, and I’ve seen my share of storms that felt like they’d be the death of me. But this one feels different. It wasn’t because it was the worst, because it wasn’t. But as the boat begins to steady, and as my eyes slide over her, I know what it is.

It’s her.

It’s that for the first time, I’ve got something much bigger than the fear of personal harm, or of losing my cargo, or my ship. This time the stakes were much, much higher—higher still than even just my own life.

This time, she was at stake. My jaw tightens as my arms circle her, holding her tightly. We’re both panting, soaked, and battered, but we’re okay.

But gods was that intense.

I grunt as I slide my knife out of the sheath at the back of my kilt, reaching up and slicing the ropes and cutting us free. Ailith winces, falling limply into my arms, and I growl as I hold her tight, stroking her with my hands.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, blinking as she brings a hand up to push the wet hair away from her face.

“Yeah, I…” She shakes her head. “Are you?”

I grin, my eyes burning down into hers. “Aye.”

My gaze drags down from her soft, innocent face, down over the rest of her. I tell myself it’s to make sure she’s unharmed, but that flimsy excuse drops the minute I take in the thin white dress molded to her perfect, tight little body like it’s been painted onto her very skin. I growl, my muscles tightening as I drink in the sight of her full breasts—a faint hint of pink at the peaks and the hardness of her nipples tenting the thin dress.