Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘Go anywhere near her and I’ll tear off your balls.’ There’s no malice in my tone, but plenty of promise.

‘Ah, so we’re getting to the bottom of it.’ Will leans back, folding his arms. ‘Mac daddy here’s got a thing for the girl.’

‘You’re a cock. You know that, right?’

‘I’m a cock that has you pegged, though.’

‘All this talk of cock and pegging is way too homoerotic for my tastes.’ Keir also folds his arms, though he leans away from the table as though disassociating himself. ‘Arse banditry doesn’t do it for me.’

‘She’s too young for either of us,’ I grate out.

‘Is she over twenty-one?’ In answer, I shrug warily. ‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘He’s right. You are a cock,’ adds Keir without an ounce of malevolence. ‘You’d have fuck all in common with a twenty-one-year-old.’

‘I’m not making lifelong friendships in this scenario. Just getting my dick wet.’

I shoot Keir a pained expression. ‘Remind me why this wanker is here, again?’

‘To pay for your kid’s ice cream, Mackie boy.’ Pulling out his wallet, Will stands and heads in the direction of the counter. ‘Right,’ he calls, clapping his hands together. ‘Who’s having cookie dough?’

‘So what’s really going on?’ Keir asks once Will is out of earshot.

‘With what?’

‘You’re telling me you were over there talking about the weather?’

‘We were talking about plans for next week. For Louis, I mean.’

‘D’ye think my head’s buttoned up the back?’ he all but exclaims, pointing his finger at me, his accent pretty fucking strong just now. ‘You forget, pal, I’ve seen you in action, and that was you eye bangin’ the fuck out of her. And givin’ her the smile—you know the one.’

‘Are you on something?’

‘You know fine well what I mean. That smile that says, come on over here, hen, and I’ll help you step out of your knickers. And you can lay off with the poker face,’ he adds with a disapproving wave of his hand. ‘I’m well acquainted.’

‘I’ve never helped you out of your knickers, though you could probably do with a hand just now. Bunched, are they? Makin’ you a bit mad? It’s like you said; you don’t fuck the staff.’

And technically, we haven’t. Fucked, that is. My carnal knowledge of the woman extends to what Will would call “doing a Bill”.

I did not have sexual relations with that woman . . . in the back of a limo.

She just gave me a blow job.

Or in my case, up against a wall.

But for my protestations or my cagey response, we didn’t have sex. But we did have intimacy. Which is worse? Would sex risk the balance of home? Complicate our home lives to the detriment of Louis? It’s because of her influence he now calls me daddy. Fuck.

‘Right,’ Keir replies a touch sardonically. ‘But I’ve never had anyone work for me who looked like that.’

He’s right. She is gorgeous.

But before I can respond, Sorcha comes running back to the table, her super-sized ice cream teetering perilously.

‘Daddy, Uncle Will bought double cones!’

‘So I see. I also see why.’ As I follow Keir’s gaze, my blood pressure spikes, and my shirt is suddenly too tight. ‘Double cones to buy an introduction.’

There, several tables behind, stands Will, my former friend, doing his self-effacing bit—the oh, no, I’m not a womanising ladies’ man thing. And it looks like Ella is buying his false modesty, as ninety-nine percent of her sex seems to. And what’s worse is he’s using my son as an introduction.

‘The bast—’

‘The past what?’ Keir interrupts forcefully.

‘Aye.’ If looks could kill, that fucker would be dead, and she’d be a little singed, even if neither of them have the good grace to look my way. ‘He will be a past when I’m finished wi’ him.’

Ella appears to be writing something down on a napkin, and to my consternation, Will takes it from her, folding it into the pocket of his shirt. Louis kisses her cheek and feeds his hand into Will’s, the smug bastard leading my son back to our table.

And not once does she look my way.

‘That exchange had better have been for my benefit,’ I growl as he takes his seat.

‘All’s fair in love and spread legs, Mackie boy.’

‘And many a man’s mouth has broken his nose, William,’ Keir responds.

Me? I can’t find any civility in me to speak. Not without needing to punch Will’s smug face.

My evening doesn’t improve from there, even when Louis begs me to allow him to spend the night at Keir’s with his new friend. That could be because I long to get home to see a certain someone. Sorcha seems delighted to have a new playmate, someone to mother or lord over—I’m not sure which. For Louis, he’s content to follow her about and has taken to Agnes, Keir’s long-time home help, as a duck does to water. The steel grey-haired highlander is like a granny to Sorcha and the nearest, I understand, to a mother that Keir has ever had.