Stolen (Wild Mountain Scots, #3)

Was it possible to die of horniness? I was ready to find out. Every little thing Rory did turned me on. I’d switched out who was driving over Bealach na Bà—a mountain pass—but the need to concentrate changed nothing. All Rory’s little gasps and jigs of delight at the views only made my longing worse.

I drove us over the riverbed, across a bridge, then down the long road that snaked across the base of Beinn Bhàn, the choppy waters of the nearby loch dark blue, and the clouds looming and ominous.

A sense of foreboding rose. I kept my hands on the wheel and forced my mind onto the plan. Reunite Rory and Max, get back to speaking terms with my brother, and treat the lass as a friend. Aye, that was the framing for how I saw her.

It worried me that someone had put money into her bank account without her knowledge. I hadn’t wanted to say, but that kind of money didn’t go missing at random. Someone was looking for it. And that meant they were seeking her.

In the passenger seat, she gaped in awe at the reveal I’d known was coming. The road zigzagged up the steep slopes, then onto a plateau with a sky-high panorama. I paused the car at a viewpoint, giving her a moment to take it in. The sea in the distance. Islands dotted in streaks of golden-hour sunshine.

“God,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anywhere like this. It’s so beautiful.”

“Utterly,” I agreed, but I wasn’t looking at the view.

She caught my eye, and a flash of amusement passed over her expression, followed by a faint flush on her cheeks.

In the vision I’d had of travelling around the Highlands in a slower fashion, it had been Rory and me in the picture. I wanted to persuade her to let me take her up in the helicopter a few more times. Her excitement and enthusiasm were catching.

I’d love to stay in this moment and relax for the first time in forever.

But we had somewhere to be, so reluctantly, I pressed on.

The single-lane road swung its way back down the mountain, the coast ahead. Then we were there, easing into the tiny village of Applecross.

A row of cottages fronted the water, a rocky beach ahead of them. A few tourist places, a pub, and a backpacking hostel made up the rest of the village. I found a place to park, and we exited the car.

“Let’s find Douglas,” I said.

We ambled along the front together. I had a sudden sense of regret that our trip would be over soon. We’d spent all day together, but I could easily imagine doing it for longer.

I almost hoped my brother wasn’t here.

Rory gazed at the little white houses. “The guy in Ullapool said the last cottage. How do we know which is the last? The right or left end?”

“I guess we knock and find out.”

At the end house, I did exactly that, rattling the letterbox. No answer came. I waited for a beat, knocked again, but still no one came.

“Try next door,” Rory said.

We strolled up to the neighbouring house and did the same.

“These places are so cute,” Rory whispered. “I bet they’re hundreds of years old.”

This time, the door swung open, and an elderly lady peered out. “No vacancies,” she announced.

“We’re not looking for somewhere to stay. I’m trying to find Douglas. Do ye know him?” I asked.

“Aye, but he’s naw here.”

I stifled a sigh, whether of relief or disappointment, I wasn’t sure. “Do ye ken when he’ll return?”

“Try the pub after five.”

She slammed the door, leaving us stunned.

Rory shrugged and dashed her hands together. “So we have time to kill. Want to explore?”

“Hell yes.”

We set out on foot and wandered the beach, finding stones to skim and chasing the tide. When Rory hopped over the rocks, her fingers found mine for balance. I liked her touch way too much but each time forced myself to let go.

At five, we found our way to the pub and took up a table in the corner, the barman promising to alert us if Douglas was spotted. Neither of us had seen any sign of Max. I’d kept an eye out for his motorbike, but no good.

Over a drink, Rory made friends with the people at the table next to us, fellow Americans who’d heard her accent. They were staying in the backpacking hostel and doing the exact slow tour of the Highlands that Rory wanted.

Another hour passed without sign of our man, and Rory turned to me.

“What do you want to do? Because I know what I think will happen next.”

A beer inside of me had loosened me up. “Tell me.”

“Max is around here somewhere, and we’re too far from home to drive home tonight. We need to get a room at the hostel, then we’re ready to head out to find him tomorrow.”

A room. A single room for us both?

Slow heat rolled over me.

“Fine by me,” I found myself saying.

She stood, and I followed. We walked in silence the short distance to the backpacking place and to the brightly lit reception.

At the desk, Rory greeted the assistant. “Hey, do you have a room for the night?”

He snorted and gave a headshake I both wanted and hated.

“Way too late for that. The private rooms are long gone. We have beds in the bunkhouses. One in with the guys and a separate one in with the ladies.”

Rory’s gaze drifted back to mine. “I guess we’ll have to make that work.”

He made the booking and read us the rules of the place. The alternative was sleeping in my car, so this was marginally better, though it didn’t help my case with trying not to lust after Rory.

We might not be sleeping in the same bed, but we had the evening together in a cosy pub, and all kinds of trouble we could get into.

We grabbed our bags from the car and found our beds for the night, agreeing to meet back out the front. I stashed my kit in a locker, taking only my wallet and phone with me.

It felt like I was going on a date. Taking Rory for another drink.

Frustrated by my mixed-up emotions, I fired off yet another text for my twin to ignore but to keep me accountable.

Maddock: I’m in Applecross with Rory. She wants to see you so we’re here. If you’re around, find us.

Then I forced my brain to go over the time I’d hurt him the worst.

The ex-girlfriend revelation.

The way his whole expression had dropped when I’d recounted what happened, the utter pain I’d witnessed before he’d walked away.

With that in mind, I left the room.

Outside, Rory waited. She grinned at me then linked her arm through mine. “Are you hungry? Will you do shots with me?”

“Anything ye want,” I muttered, though I’d be very much denying the one thing I wanted. To kiss her stupid. To push her against the white painted wall next to us and devour her mouth.

Find a dark shadow and fuck her.

So hard and fast we’d both forget ourselves, though she’d be biting her fist to stop from screaming my name. My body throbbed with need, and it hurt to cram it down.

She paused at the door of the pub. “You okay?”

I was far from that but gave a pained nod, and we went inside.

Rory’s new group of friends waved from the table, and she raised a hand to them then led me deeper into the bar.

“I checked my messages while I waited on you. No one is claiming anything to do with the money. A few people are scared that there’s a bill we need to split, so that was a good tactic.” She peered up at me through her eyelashes, suddenly appearing unsure. “But there’s something else I wanted to show you, if you’re really interested.”

From her bag, she drew out a tablet, unlocked it, and handed it over.

We settled onto padded stools at a little table, and I gazed at the screen and the pictures she’d revealed. These were her drawings. I’d had no idea what to expect, though assumed it was more of a hobby.

This was not that.

Rory had talent, a huge amount of it. She’d sketched entire fantasy landscapes, with made-up creatures, colourful and deadly-looking. Then there were people, both styled and lifelike.

I scrolled through, wide-eyed at her skills. “This is incredible.”

Something jolted my memory. “This is what ye meant on the hillside, when I joked about ye needing the use of your arm.”

She raised a hand. “Guilty. I’m left-handed. Without that, I have no career. Well, not that I have a career yet. I only just graduated. But I did apply for an internship with a gaming company, and God, do I want it.”

“They’d be idiots to turn ye down. I’ve never seen anything like this. Seriously, you’re amazing.”

Her too-pretty smile had my stomach flipping over, so I snapped my gaze once more to the screen. In the corner of each picture was a logo, a robin.

I pointed at it. “For your middle name, aye?”

“How do you know that? Oh, from the hospital. That’s right.”

She blew out a breath and took the device back.

I used the pause point to order us drinks and to break some small degree of the tension holding me taut.

“There’s something else we can do this evening,” Rory said on my return with the glasses. Beer for me, white wine for her. “I don’t think my could-be-missing-a-million list is complete. There’s definitely one roommate whose name I can’t remember, but there might be other people, too, ones I worked with in organising parties and shit like that. Will you help me look through my social media? I’ve got a few accounts so it’ll be easier with your help.”

That I could do. Maybe staring at pictures of her with ex-boyfriends would help my focus.

I agreed, and she navigated to a page filled with pictures of her having fun.

“Call out the names of people I’m hanging out with anytime from last spring and before. I always tagged my friends so it should work. I’ll check this one.”

Scrolling back, I got to work. “Fiona and Heather.”

“Check. Both replied. No go.”

I moved on through the pictures. There were a series with her and some douchebag guy draped all over her, so I found his name. “Cyrus.”

“Ew. An ex of about two weeks. He never gave me money for anything so nope to him.”

I returned my gaze to the pictures of Cyrus. On each, she’d commented ‘Love ya!’ like they were more of a couple than a two-week fling, but what did I know.

I kept on searching. “Penelope and Johnnie. Wait, I think you already said those names earlier in the car.”

“I did. Johnnie is another ex, but we dated for three weeks this time.”

“Long-term relationship then.”

She eyed me in amusement then focused back on her phone.

On the posts with Johnnie named, she’d added the same ‘Love ya!’ comment for him. I didn’t like his face. She’d mentioned he was English, and he had a preppy over-styled look to him. The arsehole was in a suit in a club, for fuck’s sake.

“Ye tell people ye love them a lot,” I groused, irrationally annoyed by the guys she’d spent time with.

Rory shrugged, entirely nonplussed. “It’s a nice thing to say.”

“Aye, to a person ye actually love.”

“No chance of me falling into that trap. Besides, what difference does it make to you?” She arched her dark eyebrows.

I replayed my own words. “Shite. I didn’t mean to sound judgemental.”

“I was going for jealous, actually.”

She didn’t drop eye contact, and I allowed it, letting the punch of power wash over me.

“Maybe I am,” I said like a fool.

Rory tilted her head. Then slowly, she moved in until her red lips hovered over mine.

The noise of the bar, the chatter of other people, all faded to nothing until all I could see and sense was her. Pressure grew, hot and urgent.

I didn’t care that people were around. I wanted this kiss.

Even if I’d regret it.

“Rory,” I said, urgency filling my tone.

“Rory!” another voice trilled.

We broke apart, and Rory drew in a heavy breath then summoned a smile for our interrupter—one of the lasses she’d met earlier.

“You asked if anyone had met a guy named Max. I found someone.” The woman bounced on the spot. “Tel, come here.”

Tel, a heavyset man with a shock of black hair, joined us. The woman repeated her claim, and Tel nodded.

“He looks just like ye.” He pointed at me. “I worked on a boat with him yesterday morning. He has a tattoo of a robin right here.” Tel pressed his chest.

A tattoo of a robin?

Rory gave a short laugh. “That’s him! I have the same tat, but I can’t show you because I have it somewhere entirely different. Did he say where he was heading next?”

The man waffled on, but I’d lost the ability to listen.

Max and Rory had matching tattoos? Fuck.

Fuck all of it.

Unable to stop myself, I leapt up and stormed out of the pub.