“I love you, Mags.”
“Love you, too.”
The image on the photo started to take shape as he began to walk.
He laughed hard when his form came into focus—a version of him he’d never seen before. A complete and utter mess.
He was tired of neat and pretty, of putting on a show. Alex just had to take a chance on the real him, the one who was done with the act. But Alex wasn’t in the restaurant. Miles even snuck into the kitchen, but he knew what he’d find when he got there. No Alex. He was no longer on the clock, and it was New Year’s Eve.
Alex could be anywhere.
Chapter Thirty-One
Duncan
How many people could they possibly know? Duncan had lost count four tables ago. And never mind the people who never sat down and just milled about. They didn’t make the list. According to him, if you weren’t seated you weren’t greeted. Oh bloody well.
“One more,” Elaina said. “And then we get to eat.”
Duncan groaned until his eyes fell upon the familiar faces at this final table where they had to put on the bride and groom show. He collapsed in a chair next to Jordan, who sat with her feet resting on Noah’s lap.
“You’ve got the right idea, Jordan.” He watched Elaina dutifully kiss her American guests on each cheek, then patted his thigh with his palm. “Come sit, wife. I beg you. I can’t stand anymore.”
She obliged, sinking onto his lap and draping her arms around his neck. She kissed him, and he wished that when he opened his eyes, the party would be over and they would be alone in their hotel room bed.
No such luck.
“Do you know that’s the first we’ve kissed without someone else asking us to do it?”
Sure, he’d been kissing her all night, but only on command when someone tapped a spoon against a glass or brandished a phone or a camera. This was the first kiss that was for no one else but them—and the four others at the table watching.
Elaina slipped her tongue past his lips, and bloody hell, Duncan couldn’t give two shites that they weren’t alone. She was his wife, and he would never refuse her lips on his.
When she did pull away, he felt light-headed, drunk even, and he hadn’t had a single sip. He heard quiet laughter and finally opened his eyes.
“Maybe we should leave you two alone,” Jordan said.
Duncan nodded. “Aye. Would it be inappropriate, though, to consummate the marriage at the table?”
Jordan was still giggling. “You do have easy access with the kilt.”
Elaina raised a brow. “Not my husband. He wanted to be a gentleman instead of a true Scotsman. How would you say it? Oh, yes. Access denied.”
Maggie joined in the laughter, and Duncan looked from Griffin to Noah, who were both eyeing each other and shrugging.
“No,” Duncan said. “Please, lads. Tell me I didn’t cover up just so you two could…”
Jordan had her hand on her belly, laughing so hard she began to hiccup.
“Duncan is the only man at this table wearing something under his kilt?” Elaina’s smile was replaced with a set jaw and pursed lips. She stood. “Come. I need to speak to you alone.”
Duncan didn’t have to be told twice. He was standing in a fraction of a second. Food could wait a little longer.
“Better hurry,” Jordan said. “It’s almost midnight. You don’t want to miss the countdown!”
“We will see you for breakfast, yes?” Elaina asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer from any of them. Instead she stalked away from the table, Duncan’s hand gripped firmly in hers, and she pulled him straight out of the restaurant.
She led him up the outside staircase, which led to the back apartment entrance. In seconds they were in her room, the one he came to this morning to make sure she would still agree to be his wife. And now here they were. Married.
“Take it off,” she commanded, nudging the door closed with her beautiful arse.
“Wha’?” It wasn’t as if his John Thomas wasn’t standing at attention. But this was his wife’s only wedding night, and he wanted everything to be just right.
“Take it off,” she repeated. “The kilt. The fucking tartan knickers.” She took a step toward him. “Take…” Another step. “It…” One more. “Off.”
Elaina was close enough to touch, yet she seemed to have a few ounces of restraint left. Duncan’s was quickly waning.
“What about the room? Didn’t your cousins decorate it or something? I thought they’re supposed to parade us off to our bridal bed.”
He may have spent a bit too much time Googling Greek wedding customs.
“Shit, Duncan. I don’t live in a small fishing village one hundred years ago.” She paused for a moment. “Okay, if they are all drunk enough, they might parade us to the hotel, but that doesn’t matter. You said it. We make our own luck.”
He swallowed. “Aye. We do.”
Her face broke into a magnificent grin.
“Then take it all off. Please. For me. For your wife.”
He obeyed. For his wife. Aye. Anything for her.
He started with the jacket. The tie and shirt soon followed. They could hear music below, but this wasn’t a dance. No more performing. Just a man about to make love to his wife. Next came the sporran—not a purse—then the socks and shoes followed.
“Stop,” Elaina said, but her voice had lost its authoritative tone. This was more of a plea.
Maybe he hadn’t done too much research. Maybe this was Elaina realizing they should play by the book, follow tradition, and let the wedding guests pilot them off to the true marriage bed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he reached for his shirt, but Elaina tugged it gently from his hand.
She pressed a palm to his chest, and then the other.
“I just want to look at you,” she told him. “A minute to look at my beautiful husband.”
He let out a shaky breath.
“Aye,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “Look.”
She raked her fingers down his chest and up his back.
“And touch,” she added.
He nodded. “Touch.”
She kissed him, her tongue flicking out to tease his lips. Then she was sprinkling tiny kisses over his chin, his cheeks, and that damned bruised eye.
“Does it hurt?” she asked him.
He laughed. “Probably, but I can’t concentrate on the pain when you’re this close.”
“Good.”
She took a small step back, still facing him, and found the zipper on the side of her dress. She guided it down, and he saw her silky skin peek out from the parted fabric.
“Shite, Elaina,” he growled, and this only made her smile.
The zipper was over her hip now, and Duncan practically choked as she stepped out of the dress and laid it over the footboard of the bed.
There stood his wife in nothing put a pair of strappy high-heeled shoes.
“Where are your knickers?” he asked, and she shrugged.
“I wanted to know what it would be like to be a true Scotsman.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Duncan was done waiting. He wriggled out of his tartan briefs, his erection altering the way his kilt rested over his legs. Then he pulled her to him, kissing her with wild abandon as she pressed her body against his.
“Like this,” he said, kissing her jaw, her neck, down to her breast before taking her firm peak into his mouth. “This is what a true Scotsman is like.”
Elaina called out his name just as they heard the clamor below.
“Ten!” The countdown had begun, and Duncan felt a sense of urgency take over. He grabbed Elaina’s hand and placed it on the belt of his kilt.
“Take it off,” he said, echoing her own words at her. And she did. Then Elaina led him toward the bed, pushing him down on his back as she climbed over him and slid up his length.
“Nine! Eight! Seven!”
Bloody hell. After making love to his wife, Duncan wanted to snog whoever invented the oral contraceptive.