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Another poem was being recited as we exited the dining hall. Stuart increased the pace down a corridor, looking into each room we passed.
“This one,” he growled.
We barrelled in and he locked the door behind us. The room was a study; a desk, bookshelves lining the walls, a fire glowed before a sofa and rug on the hearth.
“The Laird’s office,” he whispered against my skin as he peppered kisses up my neck. “He won’t be using it for a wee while.”
“The poem you read.” I turned in his arm, needing to look in his eyes. “It was more than just pretty; it was beautiful.”
“Ye make me feel those words, hen.” Stuart picked up my hand and placed it over his heart.
“How do I make you feel?” My voice could be barely heard over the crackle of the fire.
“Here.” He covered my hand with his. “I feel those words in my heart because I was thinking of ye.”
I shuddered at his words, still too afraid to speak.
“When ye sent me that luscious photo of ye in nothing but heels, ye were looking at flights back to Australia. I could see ye screen.” Stuart licked his lips. “Hen, what do ye want after this job is done?”
I pressed my other hand against his chest to find the courage to say the words.
“I do miss my family and I want to see them again.”
My heart pounded against my ribs.
Stuart’s face was neutral as he waited for me.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him everything about how I felt about him, and how it felt different with him. My heart, though, had been broken before by men making pretty promises they never kept.
“I’ve had men treat me badly before. I’ve been lied to and tossed aside after they slept with me. You know I’ve been cheated on as well by a man who slept with my colleague at the office Christmas party.” I sighed. “I’ve trusted men before. Perhaps I was reckless with my heart at the time. You make me want to trust you with mine, but I don’t want to get hurt again.”
“I’ll never hurt ye,” Stuart said, his voice rough and low. “I don’t want a fond farewell. I want a fond future with ye. A very fond future.”
“Sometimes, I feel foolish for giving in and being with you.” I quickly pressed a finger to his lips before he spoke. “But, every time we are together, it feels right. So right. And yet, while it feels right, I also feel terrified.”
I placed his hand over my heart, which hammered against my ribs. “You’re in my heart, too.”
He kissed me, backing me further into the room, so that we were standing on the rug in front of the fire.
“Your words are far more beautiful than what Burns wrote,” he murmured against my neck.
My skin burned under his touch.
“Stuart, there’s something we haven’t done yet and I think we should complete that column on the spreadsheet.”
“And what’s that, hen?”
I stepped away from him and sank to my knees. He exhaled sharply.
“Fuck, ye such a beautiful sight.”
“Come closer.”
Stuart took a step towards me, cupping my face. My hands slid up his legs, under his kilt.
He groaned and speared his fingers into my hair.
“Stuart, you’re not wearing underwear,” I hissed, tightening my grip on his very alert and hard cock. “You’ve been sitting beside me all night with nothing but your kilt between us.”
