Scottish Billionaire's Unwanted Baby Read online

  I opened my mouth to politely decline, but as I glanced up, I couldn’t help looking straight into his eyes. They were clear blue, like the summer sky, and they (like the rest of Angus Scott) were incredibly gorgeous. But more than that, I realized there was still something lurking in the blue depths, almost hidden beneath the devil-may-care expression. Something sorrowful, mournful, starkly alone.

  I wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but it was very clear that something was wrong. And I was suddenly very certain that tonight, somehow, Angus Scott needed comforting.

  What the fuck. I’ll think about the consequences tomorrow.

  “I’d love to,” I said.

  Chapter Four

  Angus

  The more Isla talked, the more I wanted to fuck her.

  I’d chosen her to lead the café project over better-qualified people because I thought I’d seen something special in her portfolio, some spark of genius, and sure enough, I’d been right. The spectacular plans she’d managed to wring out of her team, in just a few days of sustained effort, had been far beyond anything I’d expected—and far beyond what John Wright had drawn up before the abrupt termination of his career. She’d taken what Wright had begun, and made it live and breathe and glow in a way his design never had. Isla had a long and impressive career in front of her, of that I was certain.

  But the two of us weren’t discussing architecture any longer. She was on her third glass of wine now, and her cheeks were flushed, blooming like pink roses against her white skin. Strands of her midnight hair had come loose from the prim bun at the back of her head, straggling around her oval face, and her eyes glowed vividly with enthusiasm as she talked about some beloved horse she’d left behind in Virginia.

  Flushed and disheveled and bright-eyed, she looked for all the world like a woman who’d just been made love to.

  Between her beauty and the aching pain and confusion in my chest, it was growing increasingly hard to focus on what she was saying. I wanted to press my mouth to hers to stem the flow of words, and then to soothe my wounds in the soft depths of her body.

  Some of my thoughts must have been written on my face because, all at once, she stopped chattering happily about the ribbons she’d won with her mare in high school, and squinted at me so hard her nose wrinkled.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied gruffly. Aye, lassie, I’m fine, but for the fact that my da just died of a heart attack, and when my ma called me to tell me, she also let me know the old man changed his will, so I might not even inherit my own home. Truth be told, I’m the furthest thing from fine.

  Not that I could tell her any of that. She was young and sweet, and she’d likely burst into tears on my behalf, and try to wrap her arms around me to comfort me.

  And I’d all too likely let her.

  It had been years since I’d seen my parents. Too many years. The guilt of that sat in my gut like a boulder, weighing me down. I was rich as Croesus, and I could’ve gone to see my father any time I’d wanted, but I’d been too proud, too stubborn, to even try to mend my fences with him. I’d somehow imagined he was eternal, like the land I grew up on, unchanging and solid and endless. I’d supposed I could fly home and see him any time I wanted.

  But now he was dead, and I’d never see him again. And things would never ever be fixed between us.

  “Have some more wine,” she said and giggled. Actually giggled. God above, but she was adorable. I tended toward sophisticated, dignified women, but right now I was tempted more than I would have thought possible by her sweet innocence.

  “I think we’ve both had enough.” I removed the Baccarat crystal goblet from her hand and placed both glasses on the table in front of us.

  She pouted. “But I like this wine.”

  That was hardly a surprise, as it was the sort of excellent Burgundy that could easily go at auction for ten thousand per bottle. I suspected her experience with wine up till now had mostly been limited to the sort of libations obtained from Wal-Mart and similar American institutions. I looked forward to teaching her more about the finer things in life.

  I caught myself, remembering that I wasn’t going to get the opportunity to teach her anything at all along those lines. She was young and sweet and innocent, and she worked for me, damn it.

  In any event, if what my mother had told me was true, I was going to have to find myself a wife. Apparently, Da had grown concerned about my womanizing ways (which he’d read about in the tabloids) and, considering certain unfortunate events in my past, had worried I’d never marry. So he’d changed his will to ensure that the only way I’d inherit Braehaven was if I married within six months of his death.

  The thought of the old stone house (its soaring crenellated towers dating back to the middle ages, and the rest of it dating from the Regency era) and the lovely green lawns going the way of so many other historic Scottish homes—being used as schools or hostels before finally being abandoned and crumbling into dust—was intolerable. Unlike so many other old castles, Braehaven was still a beautiful estate, and even though I hadn’t seen it in so many years, I hadn’t forgotten it. It lived somewhere inside of me, and I couldn’t bear to let it go. So if my lawyers agreed with my ma’s assessment of the will, I’d have no choice but to wed.

  There were lovely women galore to choose from, of course; what woman wouldn’t want to marry me? I knew that I could never really love again, but that didn’t change the fact that once I committed myself to one woman, I would never again dally with another. That wasn’t the sort of man I was.

  And that meant that if ever I wanted Isla in my bed, time was running out.

  “No more wine,” I answered.

  She pouted some more. “But I thought we were celebrating.”

  Truth be told, a celebration was the last thing on my mind at that moment, despite the excellent job Isla and her team had done on the café project. Grief and pain and concern for my childhood home were all twisting together in my chest until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I realized that I desperately needed a distraction.

  I needed Isla.

  “Let’s celebrate, then,” I agreed.

  Bending forward, I pressed my mouth to hers.

  Her rosebud lips were soft and yielding beneath mine, and she tasted of the rich, sweet Burgundy, and something even better, something infinitely sweet and incredibly delicious. Her lips parted, and I let my tongue sweep into her mouth, instinctively trying to devour everything that she was… and to make her my own.

  She made a soft noise, a high-pitched whimper deep in her throat, but her fingers came up and tangled in my hair, letting me know it wasn’t a sound of protest. Her tongue brushed against mine, tentative at first, then with more confidence. Her tongue felt soft, velvety smooth, and it was my turn to moan.

  I pushed her back against the deep leather cushions of the couch, and she fell back readily enough, sprawling out beneath me. I let my lips trail down her throat, feeling the rapid thrumming of her pulse beneath the fragile skin there. She smelled delicious, like flowers and spring sunshine, and my cock responded instantly, growing almost painfully hard. I wanted her with a fierceness I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  All at once I realized Isla wasn’t a mere distraction, but an extremely desirable woman.

  I shifted upward and caught her mouth with mine again, kissing her deeper this time, demanding and hungry. I plunged my fingers deep into the midnight-black hair, and it fell loose of its confines and cascaded freely, draping nearly down to the floor. It smelled of flowers too, a sweet and innocent fragrance that contrasted with the unmistakable scent of an aroused woman.

  Driven by instinct, I settled myself between her thighs. Her skirt rucked up around her waist, and I pressed into her, feeling the warmth of her body even through my clothing. I wanted her, wanted to sink deeply into her wet heat and lose myself in her, but I was certain that she was relatively inexperienced, and I knew I needed to make this good for her too. I wa
nted to make it good for her.

  My hands slipped down, unbuttoning her suit jacket, then stripping off her silk blouse (with her full cooperation) and throwing the clothing aside. I drew back and looked at her, seeing her small but beautifully rounded breasts swelling above a lacy bra.

  She immediately blushed a rosy pink and tried to cover herself with her hands.

  “Don’t,” I whispered, running a finger over the soft and yielding flesh. “You’re gorgeous, Isla. Don’t hide from me.”

  She quivered beneath me, turning pinker than before. “I don’t—I don’t usually—”

  Lowering my head, I pressed my lips to one breast, brushing a soft kiss over it. She broke off with another whimper, and I continued exploring her there, moving inexorably downward until I was kissing her nipple through the silken fabric.

  She moaned, clutching at me. And when I drew her nipple into my mouth, sucking it insistently through the material, her back arched and her fingers dug deep into my hair.

  “Ahhhhhhh. Ang—”

  She broke off, but I was sure she had been about to say my name. My first name. The thought of her sweet voice calling me by my Christian name made heat run through me, and I succumbed to need, fumbling with her bra.

  I never fumble when removing women’s clothing. It’s been a long time since I was a pimply, overeager teenager, after all, and I’ve removed enough clothing from women to be an expert in the field. But there was something about Isla Blizzard, some mysterious, ineffable quality that made me feel like I was a clumsy seventeen-year-old again.

  Somehow or other I got the bra off, and tossed it aside impatiently. I drew back and looked at her—bare to the waist, her hair tumbling wildly every which way, her eyes half-closed, her rose-petal lips parted as she panted for breath.

  She looked like a woman who was absolutely desperate to be fucked.

  I knew exactly how she felt. My cock was hard and throbbing in my slacks, my balls taut, and I was having more than a little difficulty breathing myself. I wasn’t sure why I was reacting so strongly to a young, inexperienced woman. Yes, she was beautiful, but no more so than many women I’d been with. And yet—

  She’s just a distraction, I told myself firmly. Something to take your mind off your sorrows. It’s been a hard day, and so, of course, you’re more affected by her than usual. No surprise there.

  I suspected there was, in fact, more to it, but I wasn’t really in the mood to analyze my feelings. Not with a lovely young woman panting beneath me, not with my own body demanding release so urgently.

  Her breasts were beautiful—small but firm, beautifully rounded, and tipped with pale pink nipples. I drew one nipple into my mouth again, sucking aggressively, almost brutally, and squeezed the other, rolling it between my finger and thumb. She cried out something that sounded once again like a suffocated version of my name, and her body arched beneath mine.

  I wanted to go down on her, to breathe in the spicy fragrance of her, to make her whimper and shudder and beg for release. But I was caught in the grip of a need so fierce I couldn’t bear to wait another second. I reached down, tugging down her panties and somehow getting them off. Her heels fell off somewhere during that process, but her legs were still encased in thigh-high stockings. To my immense relief, she wore them without garters—I was reasonably certain my ability to remove garters had been lost in the tidal wave of desire sweeping over me.

  I wanted to see her in the scud—completely naked, I mean—but I couldn’t seem to wait long enough to fumble off the rest of her clothing. Urgency swirled inside me, demanding satisfaction, and I settled back between her thighs. She lifted her legs without any urging from me and wrapped her thighs around me, resting her heels on my ass. She obviously wasn’t a complete novice at this.

  I unbuttoned my jeans and shoved them and my silk boxers down, and then pressed up against her. She was already wet and ready for me, and I groaned in relief at the exquisite feel of her heat against the head of my aching cock.

  My body was shouting at me to fuck her, hard and fast and brutal, but I managed to retain enough of my sanity to know I couldn’t take her that way. She might not be a novice, but I was quite certain she wasn’t an expert, either, so I entered her very slowly and carefully. She cried out, her fingers digging into my back. Even through the shirt I wore, her nails were sharp enough to sting.

  She was tight, very tight, and I hesitated.

  “All right?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was low and rough and strangely… emotional.

  “Yes.” She sounded breathless, desperate. “Yes… please…”

  Reassured that I wasn’t hurting her, I let myself sink deeper into her, loving the slick satin heat of her, loving the way she cried out and arched and gasped. She was so incredibly responsive, so eager. Perhaps I’d slept with too many jaded, experienced women lately. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have sex with someone who still had the capacity to be surprised and delighted by the experience.

  Or maybe it was just that this particular woman was wonderfully easy to please.

  Regardless, it was plain that Isla Blizzard was very much misnamed. She was no snow queen, this one. She seemed to revel in every movement, to crave the pleasure of our bodies sliding together as much as I did. And she smelled like a field of wildflowers blowing in a gentle spring breeze.

  She lifted her hips as I slipped into her, encouraging me, begging for more, and within moments I was balls-deep within her, panting and shaking and struggling to keep control, terribly close to losing command of my responses in a way I hadn’t for a decade.

  “Please,” she whispered again, her voice soft in my ear. “Please, Angus.”

  The sound of my name murmured so desperately rent the last of my self-control into ribbons. I gave in to my physical need with a gasp and withdrew and thrust again, harder than I meant to. She didn’t seem to mind. She wrapped herself around me like a starfish, sobbing with pleasure, and I did it again, thrusting harder and deeper, over and over again, until it seemed like we were becoming one body, one single organism striving toward ecstasy.

  The pleasure was almost more than I could bear, but I fucked her for as long as I could manage. I fought and struggled to hold back, but when I felt the first tremors begin to wrack her body, felt the first spasms deep inside her, heard her voice lift, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I thrust hard and fast, losing my rhythm in the waves of bliss that buffeted me.

  She cried out, her spine arching and her hips stuttering, and I heard myself groaning as I spilled deep inside her, filling her with my cum, spurt after hot spurt of it. It was glorious, the most incredible release I’d had in a long, long time.

  I lay on top of her afterward, gasping for breath, and she wrapped her arms around me and held me in a way that I don’t usually allow. I enjoy sex, of course, but I generally get up and walk away immediately afterward. I’m a grown man, not a teddy bear, and cuddling is not something I ordinarily indulge in.

  But today… I couldn’t seem to resist it. I couldn’t seem to resist her.

  I pressed my face into her shoulder and let myself accept the warmth and comfort of her gentle embrace.

  Chapter Five

  Isla

  “So, how’s the job going, Isla?”

  I looked across the wrought-iron table at my best friend, Marnie Mitchell. She and I were seated outside a café in the sunshine, eating shrimp scampi over linguine and sipping wine. The two of us had gone to NYIT together, sharing a few classes, though she wound up majoring in graphic design. But even when we pursued different academic paths, we’d stayed close, rooming together our last two years. Marnie was cute, with coppery red curls and freckles spattered across her cheeks, but despite her adorable, almost waifish appearance, she was smart as hell.

  “It’s great,” I answered with a sigh.

  She cocked her head and looked at me consideringly. “If it’s that great, why do you sound like you’re miserable?”

&nb
sp; I groaned inwardly. I’d never been able to keep anything from Marnie. We’d been close for years, but even on the day she met me, she could somehow read me like my emotions were printed in large font on my forehead. By now I was pretty sure she knew my thoughts before I did.

  “I’m not miserable,” I said, miserably. “It’s just that…”

  “Your boss is an asshole,” she finished for me, sounding outraged on my behalf. “I knew it. I’ve been reading up on your company, and everything I’ve read indicates that Angus Scott is a complete and total jerk.”

  “That’s not it.” Apparently even Marnie didn’t always know what I was thinking, but that was probably for the best, all things considered. I picked up my glass of wine, which was mostly empty, and stared into the burgundy depths gloomily. It was wine, after all, that got me into my present predicament. Maybe I should stop drinking.

  But not today, I thought and drained the rest of the glass.

  “Well, what then? Is the work boring?”

  “No. No, it’s fascinating, and I’ve learned so much already. I love my job, Marn, really. It’s just…” I sighed again, debating whether I wanted to share what had happened. But I’d never been much good at keeping things from her, so I blurted out the rest in a rush. “The truth is, I slept with Mr. Scott last night.”

  Red-cheeked, I remembered that I’d called him Angus last night in the throes of passion, but I didn’t feel comfortable referring to him that way in the light of day. Marnie looked at me across the table, momentarily stunned into speechlessness, and I lowered my head, feeling embarrassed by what I thought was a judgmental stare. Suddenly she hooted.