The huge square space is lit by the clocks in each wall and the ancient mechanisms that keep them moving run along the ceiling. A steel beam runs from the roof to the floor, and I’ve built a four-sided bench to enclose it with cushions and blankets. I keep a wine cooler up here with a bar cart and a space for serving food. I can tell my sister Kenna, who has a key to “water my plants” when I’m out of town, threw a wee bit of a party in my absence. There’s a cluster of empty wine bottles in the trash and someone left a scarf and lipstick on the bench.
Of course, this is the thing that my bride’s sharp gaze lands on.
“Will there be much lamentation and wailing now that you’re off the market?” Arabella’s wearing a sly smile but she’s looking at the scarf like she wants to set it on fire. “At least, off the market fornow.”She adds hastily.
I dinnae like that little addendum at all.
“My sister Kenna has a key to my place and it’s looking like she had a girl’s night here while I was gone.”
She’s looking through the glass between the clock numbers on the east wall, and I settle in behind her, pulling her hips against me.
“I’ve slept with a few women. Well, maybe more than a few.” I’m speaking into her ear so she canna ignore me. “But ye are the one I’ve married. I honor my commitments and the only woman I want…” That goddamn stonner, which had just been going down, is back in full force and I press it against her back, enjoying the quick intake of her breath. “Theonlywoman is you.”
“This is mad,” she says solemnly. “Really, just completely mad.”
“Aye. But I am, too.”
The sky’s fading from blue to violet with a hint of stars, and finally, she relaxes into me.
“So, about ye knowing how to cook…”
Nuzzling her neck and running my tongue along the thin skin of her throat is making the concept of stopping for dinner a harsh one. But Arabella is mine. Mine to care for.
Which includes dinner.
Ye Bessie - Scottish slang for a sharp-tongued or sassy woman
Stonner - Scottish slang for an erection
Chapter Eighteen
In which we learn that tenderness and brutality can exist in the same man, almost at the same time.
Arabella…
Logan is as good as his word. The meal he creates far surpasses anything I could pull together.
“How did ye happen to have fresh salmon sitting around in your fridge when ye were off in Denmark killing bad guys and drunk-marrying me?”
He chokes on his next forkful of the chopped kale salad, so it takes him a moment. “Getting drunk-married to ye was the highlight of my weekend, lass. I have an assistant who handles grocery delivery for me. I ordered it this morning on the flight. Do ye like the peppercorn-whisky sauce?”
“Are ye fishing for compliments, then?” Grudgingly, I add, “Aye, it’s delicious and ye know it.”
“I do. I’ve been told I’m an attention whore, so of course I expect ye to lavish compliments upon me.” His look is disconcertingly intent and I dinnae think it’s about the salmon sauce any longer. “But I’m happy to earn those compliments. Feeding ye. Fucking ye,definitely.Buying ye pretty things.”
“About that. Ye need to return all those scanties to the lingerie store.”
“No.” He takes another bite of salmon.
I briefly contemplate stabbing him with my fork and take a deep breath to control my temper. “Are ye remembering how raging I was when ye decided to move my things to your house without asking? Well, debauching me in a lingerie store then buying the place out is the very definition of being an autocratic arse.”
“I’m thinking ye enjoyed being debauched, Bella. As for the lingerie, have a look in the bags, they’re all piled up in the master bedroom. Pick what ye like - I’d love a little fashion show by the way - and we’ll donate anything ye dinnae want to charity.”
“Lower-income women need work outfits and diapers for their kids, Logan! Not crotchless knickers!”
“How do ye know that?” God, this man is infuriating when he gets that reasonable tone going likeI’mthe irrational one here. “Are ye saying these women dinnae have the right to feel pretty? Have something special just for them?” He tsked at me, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief.
I’m inches away from a scathing retort when his phone rings. He’s not happy about it, frowning at the screen. “Excuse me, I must take this. It might take a while. There’s sticky toffee pudding in the kitchen.” I dinnae bother to ask how he knows I love sticky toffee pudding, because nothing with this man is accidental.
