Page 90 of Single Daddy Scot
Epilogue
Two Months Later.
ELLA
‘Hi. My name’s Natasha.’Wow. She’s so... blond. ‘Mac and I go way back.’
‘Do we?’ asks Mac from behind.
‘Bawbag, I was tryin’ to play nice! Would you prefer me to have told the truth?’ The statuesque woman’s responding stare is sort of scary as Mac steps in line with me; his expression genuinely confused.
‘Fine.’ Her shoulders rise and fall in frustration. ‘Have it your way. I’ve known him since I caught him playing the spunk trumpet while watchin’ porn. Wearing headphones. On his parents’ new sofa. I was tryin’ to save Ella some embarrassment. Sorry,’ she adds softly, her gaze sliding to mine. Then, ‘Satisfied?’ she asks of Mac, her tone full of antagonism and her gaze full of scorn.
‘See, she does know you!’ interjects someone from the small well-dressed crowd nearby, people dissolving into laughter while Mac stands next to me, visibly stunned.
Well-dressed because we’re at Fin and Rory’s wedding breakfast. After the pair got hitched on holiday, they now want to share their love with everyone who counts. And that includes me, apparently. We’ve spent the weekend in Scotland—Mac, Louis, and myself—touring the highlands and taking in the gorgeous scenery. The lochs and mountains, plus the little village where Mac was born and raised. And there’s just one word to describe the place: idyllic. Though Mac’s one-word description is a little different. His isdeliverance.
And now we’re staying in a castle. An honest-to-goodness castle—one with turrets and everything! What’s more, this little piece of grey stoned gorgeousness belongs to Mac’s sister and her husband, Dylan Duffy. Yes, that’stheDylan Duffy—Dylan Duffy, the movie star. Something Mac failed to mention until recently. And oh, how I’d fangirled when he’d told me.I fangirled hard. Which led to a few cross words, because not only is Mac a tiny bit on the jealous side, he also isn’t a fan of Dylan. Seems that’s as a personanda cinematic icon. I’m not complaining as cross words led to me being plastered against the living room wall with both legs dangling over Mac’s shoulders.Good times.So good, I doubt it’ll be the last time I ever mention Dylan’s name.
And Scottish weddings. Wow. So much manliness in kilts. And it’s not a one-style-fits-all kind of item. Some men wear them with jackets and some with just shirts and vests. Some with polished shoes and long socks and ribbons and some with the little fuzzy bag on the front.A sporran, I think it’s called.Mac sports a white shirt, a vest, and super rugged black boots. And nothing else but a spray of aftershave.
Yep, that’s right. Though what my Scotsman wears under his kilt is no one’s business but mine.
If you’d asked my opinion of men in kilts last week, I would’ve been ambivalent, but today, I’ve totally changed my mind. In fact, there was a moment earlier in the day when we didn’t get out of our room because of said kilt. Mac had stood in the bay window getting dressed, all broad chest and manliness, wearing nothing but that strip of tartan, the epitome of raw manliness.
‘What do you wear under that thing, anyway?’ I’d asked, genuinely curious. And genuinely turned on.
He’d turned his head to look at me, one taunting brow quirked.
‘How warm are your hands?’ he replied. ‘Because you could find out for yourself. And then, maybe afterwards, I could get my tongue around a little French.’
He’d flashed me a devil of a smile before turning and stalking towards the bed where I sat, wrapped in a towel, applying my make-up.
Let’s just say I didn’t stop at a manual examination. And I made sure Mac wasn’t completely naked under his kilt for the day.My lipstick totally counts.
As for French, I gave him all he could handle.
‘Plus fort, plus fort!’ Harder, harder!
‘Oh, mon Dieu, oui, là, juste là, n’arrête pas!’ My God, I’m almost there. Don’t stop!
‘Look at it this way.’
As Natasha speaks, my attention snaps back, my current look completed by reddened cheeks. Her brows raised in good humour, I realise the conversation hasn’t moved much further.
‘At least, havin’ seen the goods, I can confirm to this lot exactly why you’re with the lump.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I know you’re interested in him for more than his wallet and good looks ’cause I’ve eyed the goods,’ she declares. ‘Seen the sausage. Viewed the trouser snake, albeit inadvertently.’
Someone in the crowd coughs. It sounds suspiciously likecough-bullshit-cough.
‘Okay, so when there’s boaby, I’m no’ gonna no’ look, am I?’
‘Poor Ella needs a translator,’ some comedian pipes up. ‘Nat’s saying she’s seen Mac’s meat and two veg.’
‘I saw the meat; the veg weren’t on display that night.’ As though the admission was mine, the heat in my cheeks deepen.
