Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which Dougal explains all.
Dougal…
Carrying my limp bride out of the office, we down in the lift with our two guards very carefully facing forward, eyes fixed on the door. They remain silent on the way back to the penthouse, never looking at Isla snuggled against me in the back seat.
“I like you like this, all soft and sweet,” I say as I pull her into the shower with me.
“Boneless?” she mumbles into my chest.
Bathing and dressing her, brushing her long hair dry- all those feelings of warmth and contentment that I felt this morning when we got dressed together come back. This fiery, prickly woman has softened and trusts me to take care of her.
Lying in bed with her sprawled across my chest, I run my fingers up and down her spine. “You trying to steal our family’s half of the treasure might be the most fortunate thing that could happen,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
“Treasure?” she mumbles, barely asleep. “It’s treasure?”
I realize that Blackwood never told his daughter what she was stealing and its significance.
Knotting my tie, I stand over the bed the next morning looking at Isla’s limp body, face-down on the bed, one arm hanging off the side and snoring slightly. She has never looked more beautiful.
Ah, ya’ mooney,I think, thinkin’ her snoring is cute?
Deciding that only caffeine will lure her back to consciousness, I return with a mug of coffee, waving it under her nose. “Morning, wife. Ya’ must wake up.”
“Why?” she whines, not taking her face out of the pillow and blindly flailing at me.
“I have coffee.”
Her flailing arm slows. “Is there cream and a lot of sugar in it?”
“Half sugar, half coffee,” I assure her.
Rolling over, she stretches her arms above her and the sheet slips down, showing her pretty breasts in a thin silk camisole. Stifling a groan, I focus on the task at hand. “Here, sit up, lass.” Putting a pillow behind her, I lift the mug to her lips.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she sighs after her first rapturous sip. “Also, how do you make coffee so well? Every time I try, it tastes like dirt stew.”
Chuckling, I say, “I’d go into the intricacies of how important it is to grind the beans to precisely- never ya’ mind. We don’t have time for such talk, we have somewhere to be.”
Brightening, she sits up from her pillow. “Really? Structure? Things to do, places to be? That would be lovely.”
“Ah,” I nod, “as the Chieftain’s daughter, you’re used to a great deal of responsibility. These last three weeks have been a wee slow.”
“Well, I enjoyed sleeping in for a change,” she admits. “Where are we going?”
“I laid something out for you in the dressing room.” Kissing her with thoroughness and a bit of tongue, I draw back reluctantly. “Get dressed, you have fifteen minutes.”
She’s there in thirteen minutes, wearing a pretty blue dress and a huge grin. “Where are we going?”
“Breakfast first?”
“Too excited,” she says, “we can eat after, aye?”
I enjoy her puzzled expression as we head up to the helipad. “I’m a wee bit overdressed for returning to the lodge,” she says, “where are we headed?”
“Edinburgh.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
