“I am,” he says as if this is the most logical thing in the world, “our home.”
The car stops at a red light and I open the door and slip out, walking swiftly down the sidewalk.
“Bella, what the feck?” Damn him, with those long legs of his, Logan catches up with me in seconds. “What are ye doing? Remember the very real threat we’re still facing?”
Passers-by are slowing down, enjoying the potential marital spat and when a teenage girl pulls out her phone, I turn away and head into a clothing store.
I amnotgoing to be on a sixteen-year-old’s TikTok FY page today.
Logan, of course, follows me in. To make things as awkward as possible, it’s a lingerie store, and two women folding bras stop at the sight of him.
“Can we help you?” they say in unison.
“Ladies, good afternoon.” He gives his rakish pirate grin and one of the sales ladies knocks a pile of bras off the display, which she dinnae even notice.
“I’m Logan MacTavish, this is my beautiful bride Arabella. Could I trouble ye to lock the front door and give me and my bride a moment to browse?”
I can tell by their awestruck expressions that they know the reputation of the MacTavishes. He pulls out one of those black credit cards, the kind that radiates, “If you have to ask what my credit limit is, you don’t even deserve me,” energy and hands it to the closest one. “Hold onto this for me, aye, darling?”
Smarmy bastard.
“Oh, Sweet Mother Mary and all the Saints you are just- just so-” I’m waving my arms around like I’m trying to fend off a swarm of bees and this man is standing there, charming these women into locking the door with themon the other side.
“We’ll just go get a coffee,” one shouts through the glass.
Such is the power of the MacTavish name.
Pulling me behind a huge display of thongs and thigh-highs, Logan folds his arms, looking at me sternly. “Why did ye run off?”
“Well, we started off last night with a drinking game and ended up married this morning.”
Nodding as if this is all reasonable thus far, he says, “Aye.”
“We’re flying home on your family’s gigantic, almost offensively opulent jet and I find out that ye have sent strangers into my apartment to paw through my private things and just moved me into your place without a single word of discussion.”
He nods again.
“Do ye see where this might seem a wee bit off-putting to me?”
“Where did ye anticipate living?” he asks with a frown, “Is this not the logical next step?”
“We’ve been married for less than-” I check my watch, the only thing I have left that’s mine, “-for less than eighteen hours and ye dinnae think to talk to me about it?”
“Bella…”
“Do not call me that!”
“Why, does anyone else call ye Bella?”
“No, but that’s not the point!” Why does he not seem to understand why I’m angry, the overbearing arse?
A huge grin spreads across his face and his rough, calloused hands land on my waist. “Good. I like that it’s for me only to call ye Bella.”
“I feel like ye might be missing the key points about why I’m raging right now!” I’m trying to stay focused but his easy grin and his giant paws stroking up and down my waist are very distracting. There is also the fact that I am mad, I am yelling, but he is not freaking out. Ted was my only boyfriend, but I remember how defensive and upset he’d get if I ever tried to discuss anything with him. Now, Logan here, he dinnae seem anything but…
Shite, he smells so good.
Like the clean scent of rainwater, because of course it’s drizzling outside. It’s Scotland. He smells like the peppermint soap from the hotel shower and a bit like me, like I’ve been absorbed into him and that’s suddenly so hot that when he pulls my hips against his, grinding his stiff cock against me, I’m not even mad about it.
