Lord Malcolm's Heart

Genres: Historical Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Victorian Romance

Synopsis

Having completed his family obligations, Malcolm MacLeod finds himself in Paris for a long awaited holiday. Parties, theater, cards, and of course women are in his sights for the coming weeks. What he doesn't expect is to run into a neighbor from Skye who is traveling with his red haired, temptress of a niece. Mac immediately finds he attraction far stronger than simple lust.

Sorcha MacDonald, the niece of Ivan and Ian MacDonald. Born and bred in America to their late brother, William, Sorcha has more on her plate than accompanying her ailing uncle throughout the continent. She must find a husband - quickly per the terms of her father's will, or forfeit her inheritance. The moment Sorcha lays eyes on Mac, she knows she's found her heart.

As in all love stories, there is a twist...Malcolm's two younger brother's Tavish and Kentgem. The pair have their own scheme to ensure the MacDonald fortune will become theirs. Or will it?

Release date: February 12, 2021

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Print pages: 230

Content advisory: Sizzling scenes

Sample

Chapter One

 

Paris, France

 

Malcolm MacLeod descended the steps of his family's Paris townhouse. He fulfilled his duties as he promised his older brother Rory. He escorted the trio consisting of his mother, sister, and aunt to Paris for a much needed holiday. Now it was time for him to rid himself of family obligations.

He glanced around before returning to the carriage. He dared not look toward the windows. His mother would be watching. She voiced her disapproval when he announced he wouldn't be staying at the family townhouse with them. Instead, he peered up and down the busy street. At long last, it was time for him to live life on his own terms.

His residence would be one of the finer hotels Paris had to offer. He'd sent word ahead, renting a suite. He was unsure for how long. Perhaps once he'd had his fill of Parisian nightlife, food, and whores he'd move on. To Vienna or Brussels or Italy. The world was his to explore; he had nothing to tie him to anything. Not family or work.

He quit his job with the family whiskey business after a dispute with Rory. Perhaps not so much a dispute as he disapproved of some unsavory things he'd found out about his older brother.

He had money of his own; it would be more than adequate to carry him for a couple years if that's what he chose. If he needed, there were several business opportunities he was interested in. But not now. Now was for him.

The carriage stopped in front of the hotel. A young man dressed in the establishment’s livery opened the carriage door. Mac stepped out and walked inside.

The hotel was bustling with activity. No one he recognized, at least not yet. That was refreshing as he wanted to disappear among the crowds.

He was shown to his suite. It consisted of a large living room with a small dining area off to one side. A bedroom with dressing area sat off the other side of the main room. He turned to the windows to look out at Paris while his valet, Rodney, oversaw his bags.

He heard the door close, then Rodney's familiar brogue. "Would you like a bath, My Lord?"

"Yes, and make sure they keep the bar stocked. I think I'll rest once I've bathed."

"Will you be going out this evening?"

Mac glanced at the man. He'd been his valet since he was a young boy at school. His fiery red hair had lightened over the past few years, giving way to gray. "I think I'll dine downstairs tonight. I'll write a few people I know are summering here and let them know of my arrival."

"Excellent idea, My Lord. I'll see to your bath now."

He nodded. Spying a couple of decanters on a side table, he walked across the room to investigate their contents. Whiskey and port. Champagne would follow later. The French loved their champagne. He poured a glass and savored a mouthful. It was smooth, going down easy.

He walked back to the windows and gazed out at the Parisian skyline and wondered what the city had in store for him. There was their excellent theater. He'd have to be careful. His mother also loved the theater and would more than likely go every chance she got. He wanted to avoid her at all costs.

Hearing Rodney politely clear his throat, Mac knew his bath was ready. He took off his jacket and went to find the tub, his glass of whiskey in hand.

 

Several hours later, he awoke, startled by the fact he'd fallen asleep. Normally he didn't do that, but the stress had been great these past months.

He dressed for dinner in silence and headed down to the hotel dining room. Tomorrow he'd go out and see what Paris had to offer.

Looking about the room from his table, he noted a familiar face. Of all the people on earth, Ivan MacDonald sat a few tables away with a breathtaking young woman. The MacDonalds were neighbors on Skye. His wife had died two or three years before. If they'd seen him, they didn't let on.

Mac placed his order before walking over to their table. Both smiled as he approached. "I can't believe my eyes," Mac said.

"Malcolm MacLeod, how is it you're in Paris?" Ivan MacDonald inquired.

"I accompanied my mother, sister, and aunt here. Now I'm on my own."

He nodded, gazing at the young woman. "May I introduce my niece, Sorcha MacDonald?"

"A pleasure, Lady MacDonald. Are you enjoying Paris?" Mac asked the ginger-haired beauty who sat before him. She wore an emerald green gown that fit her figure probably better than it should. He felt his cock stir under his kilt.

"I love Paris, though there is only so much shopping a woman can do. Are you staying here?"

"I am."

"Please, then, join us," MacDonald said.

Before Mac knew what happened, he was seated with Ivan and Sorcha MacDonald, enjoying a fine meal.

"If I may ask without sounding rude, you don't sound like the rest of the MacDonald's. Your accent indicates you've lived in America."

She smiled. "I was born and raised in Boston."

"My brother, Sorcha's father, William, moved to America when he was a very young man. He met Sorcha's mother in Boston, and they married."

"Both my parents are dead, which is why I'm with Uncle Ivan."

"Did your mother not have family in America?" Mac inquired. He was intrigued with this young woman.

"None that wanted me."

"William's will was quite specific. He left everything to Sorcha with one stipulation."

A young man brought their meal, leaving the conversation up in the air.

They were enjoying cordials at the end of the meal when Mac asked a probing question. "You're not yet betrothed, Sorcha? I find it hard to believe a lass as beautiful as you doesn't have a roomful of young men biding for your attention."

"It's part of the reason we're here," Ivan said grimly.

"How's that?"

"Did you know your brother, Tavish, is about to be betrothed to my niece, Una?"

"I had no idea. Ian's daughter?"

"Yes. Since they found out about Sorcha's fortune, the two of them have been trying to get Sorcha to court your brother, Kent."

"I knew nothing of this. This is the first I've heard of any of this."

"I believe the three are up to something devious," Sorcha said.

"Such as?" It wouldn't surprise him at all, though he couldn't recall being told of any of this. Perhaps they were keeping it from family until they had it all in place.

"As I have no children of my own, Sorcha is my heir. All my estates and money will be hers as stipulated in my will. Ian has been furious at me for years that I'd not leave it to his two daft sons."

Mac shifted his weight in his chair. "So Tavish becomes betrothed to Una, and Kent attempts to woo Sorcha so he will fall into your and her fortune once they marry." He shook his head. "Sorry bastards. Sounds just like something they'd try and pull."

"Aye, the two have always been a scheming pair," Ivan said.

He looked Ivan, then Sorcha in the eyes. "I can assure you both I am nothing like either of them."

"No, you're not," Ivan replied. "You've always been fair and honest. Just like your father raised you to be."

"You mentioned there was one stipulation to William's will. What exactly was that?" Mac asked.

"Before Sorcha can inherit from her father, she must marry. I know it's old-fashioned, but it's still done. If she hasn't married by the second anniversary of her father's death, the money will be forfeited and disbursed among various organizations in America William either was a member of or a patron."

"I take it we're talking a substantial amount of money?"

Ivan sat back in his chair and smiled. "My brother was one of the richest men in America."

Mac shifted in his own chair, trying to absorb what he'd just been told.

Sorcha met Mac's eyes flirtingly. "Does this mean you wish to court me, Malcolm MacLeod?"

"Sorcha!" Ivan reprimanded his niece. "I apologize for my niece's forwardness. She's not usually so bold concerning such matters."

"There's no need to apologize, sir. No harm was done."

Mac glanced at the young woman who locked eyes with him. She smiled. "Have you plans for tomorrow? Uncle and I are going to visit the Louvre. There is an exhibition of the Dutch Masters that is said to be quite extraordinary."

"That is, if you have no other plans, Malcolm," Ivan added.

"I have few plans while I'm here. This is a holiday for me, and I would love to visit the Louvre with you both," Mac replied.

"Wonderful," Sorcha exclaimed.

The trio finished up their meal and left the dining room. Mac needed to get back to his suite. This blue-eyed seductress was doing exactly that. Seducing him before her own uncle. It was apparent there was a deep attraction between them. Seduction. He knew it would happen—probably sooner than later.

Then what? He hadn't come to the continent in search of a wife, but one as breathtaking and articulate as Sorcha MacDonald certainly appealed to his primal instincts. Her fortune didn't hurt, either. He could be swayed to change his mind.

Mac poured a glass of port and sat back in one of the upholstered chairs. Ivan MacDonald was a private man, not one to show off his wealth. He'd built his late wife a manor home on Skye not far from Castle MacLeod. His estate was large, though modest by some standards.

Then it came to him. Ivan MacDonald was also a member of the peerage. Few knew of it, as Ivan didn't let that fact be known except to those close to him. He'd inherited the Earl of Aberdeen title when his wife's father had died.

No wonder Kent and Tavish were so keen on getting into his good graces. Marriage to Sorcha, along with the money she would inherit from Ivan, would prove a financial bonanza for the two of them. Bloody bastards.

***

Sorcha sat at the dressing table and stared into the mirror as her lady’s maid, Mary, brushed her ginger hair. Though she loved her uncle dearly, and enjoyed his company to no end, she was pleasantly pleased when Malcolm MacLeod walked into the hotel restaurant. He was an extremely handsome man with dark ginger hair and brown eyes that could cut you down in a heartbeat. Had he been alive during Culloden, she imagined he would have been a fierce warrior. He preferred the outdoors; his muscular body was proof of that. Not that Sorcha could actually see his muscled body. Except for his well-developed, well-muscled calves which could be seen by all as the man proudly wore a kilt.

He'd been a breath of fresh air to speak with. Far better than his two siblings and their failed attempts to win her over. Though it was Kentgem who wished to claim her for a wife, she knew the two had other plans. Marry her cousin, Una, and her and together, they'd be a force to be reckoned with.

It wouldn't happen. Not when she could have Malcolm as a husband.

She shook her head. Husband. Since when did she want or need a husband? Her father had raised her to take care of herself. A man would simply get in the way of letting her have her freedom. She never intended to be some man's object.

She sighed. That was all well and good, but the fate of her own father's fortune was at stake. She must find a husband.

"You must sit still, My Lady. I cannot brush your hair if you're going to be moving your head about," Mary said quietly.

"Sorry. I got caught up in my thoughts."

"Did a Frenchman catch your eye?"

"No, Mary. He was Scot."

"Scot? Who is he?"

"Nay, I'll not ruin it right now by divulging the details. I need time to plan."

"Plan what, My Lady?"

"How I'm going to catch him and marry him."

"Don't be tricking the man. 'Tis not a nice thing to do."

"I won't need to trick this man. Trust me on that."

She needed to find a husband. Quickly. Before her uncle decided to choose one for her. While he was having a good spell, it was just a matter of time before his health took a turn for the worse. He meant for her to be married and settled before he left this earth. He'd promised her father that much. She'd also agreed. Agreed, but only if it were on her terms, and it was marriage to a man she could stomach to wake up to in the morning. Malcolm MacLeod seemed to fit her requirements completely.

She wondered how he'd gotten the scar that ran down his left jaw. The long scar had a tick, which she noted when their conversation drifted to his brothers, Kent and Tavish. He probably received it sparring with one of his brothers. The MacLeod lads had been known to be a lively bunch. Fierce.

"Uncle and I are visiting the Louvre tomorrow. I think my new yellow dress would be perfect for the occasion."

She didn't have long to act. There was no telling when her uncle would fall ill again, and her deadline loomed in front of her. She hadn't any idea exactly what Malcolm's plans were. How long would he really stay in Paris? She needed to devise a way to spend some time alone with him. To speak with him without every ear in Paris listening in.

 

Chapter Two

 

Mac found Ivan and Sorcha MacDonald waiting on him in the lobby of the hotel. They appeared to be in deep conversation when he approached. His breath nearly left him when he saw her turn around. Clad in a gown of yellow, she looked even more beautiful in natural light than she had in the restaurant the night before.

She was the most beautiful woman in the room, made apparent by all the other men's heads turning to catch a glimpse of her. Even those with wives on their arms discreetly strained to look. She was a goddess, and even he was not able to resist her. The cock stand he had made every primal urge within his body crave her more than ever.

"Good day," Mac said as he approached them.

"Good day, MacLeod," MacDonald replied. "I hope you're ready to walk. My niece has our visit mapped out to the last minute."

The ginger-haired beauty joined them. "Seconds uncle, seconds. Neither of you will find yourselves bored today, and you'll thank me when we've finished," she said. "Good day to you, MacLeod," she added.

"I'm ready. It's been several years since I was last at the Louvre," Mac replied.

"Then you won't be disappointed. Not that anyone could ever feign disappointment after visiting this phenomenon."

Though the museum wasn't a far walk, the trio took a carriage. Mac noted MacDonald seemed withdrawn and tired today. Yet in spite of his own feelings, he put his niece's happiness first.

As they entered the Louvre, Sorcha took his arm. As soon as she touched his arm, it was as though a sensation of heat burned through his limb. If she felt it as well, she kept it to herself.

The trio made their way among the crowds. Sorcha remarked on how she'd never been to the museum when there wasn't a large crowd. There was always the best the art world had to offer.

They were about an hour into the expedition of Dutch artists when her uncle excused himself. Mac thought he looked a bit pale at the hotel, but put it aside as being the older man was Scot and probably didn't spend the time out of doors as he once had.

"I apologize for my uncle. His health isn't what it used to be," Sorcha said softly as she watched her uncle walk through the crowd until he disappeared.

"Then he's ill?" Mac inquired. "I only ask because his coloring looks off."

"Yes, which is one of the reasons for making this grand tour of the continent. Not only does he want to see new cities or revisit places he's been, he wants to enjoy them with me."

"That's quite a sacrifice on his part. I take it his illness is not common knowledge?"

She shook her head and looked up into his face with blue orbs. "Not outside the family."

"That's quite a lot for him to leave you with, lass."

"He's not dead yet, but I see your point. I'm his heir, and sooner or later, I'll have to face my uncle and his sons."

Mac patted her hand. "I have the feeling you'll have no problem with them. What can they do? Your uncle indicated he's made his will quite clear as to how things are to be once he's gone. Just like your own father."

"He has, but I still don't trust Ian or his sons. Ian's always thought he and those idiots he calls sons had some right to everything my uncle built."

Mac chuckled. "They don't stand a chance. Your father raised you well."

"He did," she replied proudly. "However, that doesn't dismiss their schemes."

"Nothing can come from it right now. Not even my brother Kent can help them. So why don't we enjoy our day and put them out of our minds?"

"You make a fine point, MacLeod. Let's enjoy the day."

He peered down at her, already enamored by her beauty and charm.  "Why don't you call me Malcolm or Mac when we're alone?"

"Very well, but only if you call me Sorcha. As you've probably guessed, I despise the pomp of society."

"Then Sorcha it is," he replied as he tucked her arm close to him. His body was on fire with want. Something he hadn't felt in quite some time.

They spent the next three hours walking through the exposition of Dutch Masters and some of the minor collections that surrounded the featured one. One could spend days looking at everything it offered.

"What do you say if we come back another day? I'll introduce you to one of Paris's many fine pastry shops. That is, if you're up to it."

He nodded. "Aye, I think we've taken in as much as our eyes and minds can take in for one day. Some coffee and a pastry sound superb."

"Come. If we're lucky, we'll be able to get a table outside."

He let her lead him through the museum and outside to the street. From there, they walked arm and arm lazily through the crowds doing much the same as they were this beautiful day.

When they reached the shop, she slipped through the crowd to the counter. Mac stood with her, amused as he watched her make her selections in perfect French. He paid for their food and coffee after which he let her lead him to a small sidewalk table situated in front of the shop.

"Isn't this perfect after being inside?" she asked. She sat in one of the wrought iron chairs and let Mac assist.

"It is. I would have never thought to do this."

"One of the simple pleasures I love about Paris."

A young man brought out a tray with two steaming coffees and plates. He then set another plate down with four different pastries.

"I thought we should have a choice," she said laughingly as she carefully chose her pastry.

"Choice is always good."

He bit into the flaky pastry, tasting the creamy filling as it danced on his tongue. Mac watched Sorcha as she did the same. He wondered what it would be like to lick this very cream off her body. Very specific parts of her gently curved body.

He silently cursed himself for having not worn a kilt. Instead he'd opted for trousers, and at this very moment, his cock was pushing the very limits of its confines.

"Mac? Are you all right?" She asked oh-so-innocently as she seductively placed a piece of pastry past her pouty lips and into that mouth. A mouth that was meant for kissing. Kissing him all over.

"Aye. I'm fine. I was merely enjoying the flavor. It's quite delectable."

"It is, isn't it?" she replied as she, this time, licked the fork.

He quickly looked away. "Have you decided where you want to go after Paris?"

"It depends on my uncle."

"Where would you like to go next?"

"Italy. There are so many cities to choose from. I suppose we could start in the north. Milan. Then work our way down to Naples, Rome. After we've toured Italy, I would like to see St. Petersburg. However, with my uncle's health and the fact that it would take most of the summer to tour Italy, it will have to wait."

Mac nodded. "You'll return to Scotland and Skye?"

"Yes. It's where my uncle wishes to spend his final days, and where my husband and I will live. Once I find him."

"Perhaps it won't come to that. Not yet."

"I hope you're right, but in the meantime, I want to enjoy every remaining moment with him, and with you. Would you mind if we head back to the hotel? I should look in on my uncle."

"Not at all. Should I have these two boxed for us?"

"That's so thoughtful, Mac. My uncle loves these."

"Then you must take them to him," he replied.

He left her to finish her coffee as he went in search of a box. A few moments later, they were casually walking back to the hotel. Occasionally, Sorcha would have them stop, and she'd admire something in a shop window.

The closer they got to the hotel, the more he realized he was not looking forward to their day ending.

Inside the lobby, she led him to an out of the way seating arrangement. "Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Mac."

"Thank you for inviting me." He didn't want it to end. He wanted to take her somewhere private and taste those luscious lips and explore what was under all that fabric.

"How about if I send you a note regarding dinner after I check in with my uncle? Unless you have other plans."

Mac shook his head. "I have no plans."

"We'll probably dine in our suite. I'll send you a time and where shortly."

"I look forward to it. I hope your uncle is feeling better."

She looked around. "Would you mind terribly escorting me to our suite?"

The words fell out of his mouth without effort. "I would be happy to."

He led her to the grand staircase, her arm linked in his. He was amused when she led him down the hall on the same floor his own rooms were on. Was it fate tempting them or at least playing with them?

"Once again, I enjoyed the museum and your company. I look forward to your note regarding this evening."

"Until later. Thank you for a delightful afternoon, Mac."

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek before opening the door and disappearing.

Mac stood there dumbfounded for several moments before touching his cheek where her lips had been just moments before. He turned and walked down the corridor to his suites.

The first thing he did was walk over to the crystal decanters and pour himself a healthy splash of whiskey. He downed the glass and poured himself a second. This time he sat down on one of the well-appointed chairs in the room. He picked up a book he brought along with him to read in times such as these. When he had nothing else to do or was traveling.

The words, however, blurred together, and he found his thoughts wandering back to Sorcha MacDonald. He hadn't planned on any of this. What he intended was much different. The Paris nightlife, the French whores. Instead, he found himself deeply attracted to an American.

He found himself not wanting all that. What he wanted was to pursue what had been handed to him. The most beautiful lass he ever laid eyes on who had a mind better than most men. No, instead of drinking and whoring his way across the continent, he wanted to see where this might lead. He had no ties binding him to his family. Sorcha, on the other hand, might need his assistance if her uncle were truly as ill as she laid claim to. Whatever the case, Sorcha MacDonald was well worth his attention and affections. Affections he intended to show her soon. She wanted his as well, and together they'd figure it out.

He set the book down and closed his eyes for what he thought were a brief few minutes. Instead, he found himself being awakened by his valet, who had a piece of cream-colored paper in his hand.

Sorcha and her uncle wished him to dine with them at seven this very evening. He reread the note a second time, and smiled.

***

Mac felt the breath leave his chest as Sorcha walked into the room that evening. He and her uncle stood as she entered wearing a stunning garnet colored gown. Her blue eyes met his as she greeted him with a warm smile. His heart began pounding in his chest.

"It's lovely to see you again, MacLeod. I trust you survived our grueling walk through the Louvre?"

He smiled. "Yes, though I imagine it would take several days to see all the works their walls hold.”

Sorcha smiled and greeted Ivan. "It's good to see you feeling better. You gave me quite a scare this afternoon."

"I'm fine, niece."

"Come, let's dine," Sorcha said.

The dinner conversation was lively with Sorcha leading the conversation into a variety of subjects pertaining to their visit to the famous museum. Most of her discussion revolved around why there were no known women painters ever included.

MacDonald, who'd been fairly quiet during the meal, finally spoke up. Mac noted his coloring was off and any exertion on his part was well thought out in advance.

"I have a box at a theater tomorrow evening to take Sorcha to see an Italian opera she has been begging me to take her to see. As I'm not sure how I'll feel then, why don't you do me the honor and escort her in my place."

"I couldn't possibly..." Mac began to reply.

"Oh, please, MacLeod. You have no idea how long I've waited to see this particular production."

Mac glanced toward the older man, who nodded his head. "It's true. She's been after me ever since she arrived to take her to Italy to see the original. You'd be doing us both a huge favor."

He nodded and picked up his glass of wine. "Very well. You've talked me into it."  He watched her over the top of his glass as she smiled and squealed at his answer. He shifted himself in his chair to adjust his cock as the damned thing took on a mind of its own. It seemed to have a habit to do that whenever the red-haired beauty was around him.

"You're sure you won't join us, sir?" he asked MacDonald.

"I'm sure. Evenings are hardest for me, and there is no reason for Sorcha to sit around a hotel room when she could be in the company of a young man, enjoying all that Paris has to offer," he replied.

Paris was more progressive than London. A young, unmarried woman being seen in the company of an eligible bachelor at the theater would not be given a second glance. Mac was thankful for that as he knew he had to kiss Sorcha and kiss her senseless.

"Verra well. The theater it is."

The evening progressed, as did the conversation. Mac was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to talk with Sorcha on a number of topics most women would either have no knowledge of or would find distasteful. Discussing the virtues of French literature shouldn't be, but the majority of young women would have been brought up not to discuss something so colorful. He learned Sorcha had attended boarding school in England for a couple of years, until she convinced her father she couldn't adapt to their strict rules. The rules about what was tasteful reading for a woman her age were among her many complaints.

She returned home to America to finish her education with tutors. Mac smiled as he imagined her giving her teachers a run for their money.

"What do you find so amusing?" she asked, her blue eyes dancing with mirth.

"Imagining you as a student."

"Why is that so hard? Is it because I'm a woman who wants to know more about life other than needlework and keeping house?"

Ivan didn't stop her. He obviously enjoyed knowing he had a niece who wasn't afraid to take on any man who dared challenge her. Instead, he looked on, amused.

"That's what makes you unique, Sorcha. Most young women are satisfied with exactly that. It's nice to be able to carry on a conversation with an equal."

She challenged him further. "Equal? You look at a woman as your equal? If you do, you're one of a kind, Mac MacLeod."

"Why shouldn't men and women be equals? Why can't a man be strong enough to take on what a woman might not be able to? Such as something she physically cannot. But as far as mentally, why can't the two sexes be equal? I can see it adding some passion to the relationship."

"Passion? I like that," she replied.

Finally, Ivan MacDonald rose and excused himself. "If the two of you will excuse me, I think I shall retire for the evening."

"Are you all right, uncle?" Sorcha asked, concerned.

"Aye. I'm simply tired. All this lively conversation has worn me out."

They both said their good nights to the older man before moving to the couch and chairs near the hearth. Though the days were quite pleasant, the evenings could still bring a chill.

"May I ask what ails Ivan?" Mac asked quietly as he poured himself a whiskey from a decanter sitting on the table in front of them.

"His heart. The doctors say it's weak. There is no guarantee he'll survive this trip."

"Ah, I'm sorry, lass. Life has no guarantees. Your uncle is stronger than you know. He'll see you through this important life's journey."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he loves you verra much, lass."

"I feel guilty. He should be at home rather than taking me to see all these wonderful places."

Mac took a sip of his whiskey. "No, this is what he'd much rather do. Seeing you enjoy life."

"You truly think so?"

"Aye. Your beauty and enthusiasm for life are what keep him going. Savor every moment you have with him."

"I will, and I hope you'll find it in your heart to join me—us."

He polished off his whiskey and set the glass down on a table. "I can't give you an answer now. I do have business matters I need to attend to. Matters I've already scheduled, but I promise I'll seriously consider your offer."

"Fair enough."

"I should go," he said. "I'll see you for sure tomorrow evening. I'll come for you here."

"I'm looking forward to going to the French theater."

"As am I."

Mac drew closer. He kissed her in a ravaging kiss, his lips moving hotly over hers, urging them to part for him.

 

She clung to him as she savored the heat pulsing through her body, the taste of him in her mouth. His tongue tangled with hers, the stroking deepened, possessing her as if he owned her. The kiss was hard and passionate. Mac deepened the kiss, taking her mouth so thoroughly she felt breathless. His hand moved down to her breast, cupping the fullness, making the nipple harden. His palm abraded her nipple, and it hardened even more, forming a dark pink peak beneath his hand. Desire invaded her, a wrenched groan of pleasure from her lips.

"We must stop," he whispered.

"But I want more."

He chuckled at her greediness. "You shall have it, just not tonight." Widening the distance between them, Mac looked at her in awe. She was more than he'd hoped for in a woman. Could they possibly take it to the next level?

"I look forward to tomorrow."

"As do I."

He walked out of the MacDonald suite and walked briskly to his own. Sorcha was already getting under his skin. He hadn't planned for any of this to happen. He was usually quite grounded and in control. Of course, that was before he'd made life changes of his own.

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. He drank it down quickly and poured another. Perhaps this would be a perfect way to start anew. He could accompany Sorcha and Ivan throughout the continent for as long as he was able. Return them to Scotland if and when the time came.

Sorcha, however, was another story. How was he going to be able to stay away from her? They were immensely attracted to each other. Their kiss certainly proved that.

 

Chapter Three

 

Sorcha entered the room wearing a deep sapphire silk gown. Her ginger locks were swept up off her neck. It was all meant to turn heads. Mac did his best to hold back his enthusiasm.

"She looks stunning, don't you think, MacLeod?" Ivan MacDonald said of his niece.

"Aye, she looks grand," Mac replied. His eyes never left Sorcha's.

"Thank you both. This is one of the gowns I had commissioned since we've been in Paris," she said as she twirled around for them.

"'Tis true what they say about ladies’ fashion in Paris. It's incomparable to anywhere else."

"The two of you need to be on your way. The theater will be crowded," MacDonald said.

"Ivan's right."

Sorcha kissed her uncle's cheek. "Thank you, uncle."

"No need. Enjoy your evening."

Mac escorted her from their suite, downstairs to an awaiting carriage. He couldn't get the perfume she was wearing out of his head. He wondered if she'd had it made for her since their arrival.

She ascended into the carriage and Mac followed. He sat across from her, his gloved hands resting in his lap. Scandalous thoughts raced through his head as he tried not to look too closely at this young woman. The woman who could gave him a massive hard cock stand just by merely looking at him.

"This is an Italian opera," she mused.

"Yes. It's supposed to be the latest rage. Italian opera," he replied clumsily.

She smiled as though knowing she was making him uncomfortable. "How are we to understand what's going on if it's in Italian?"

"What they're saying isn't important. It's a love story, and most anyone can understand that."

"Have you seen an Italian opera before?"

Mac shook his head. "No, but my mother has. I recall her telling us that the emotions were so high, you didn't need to understand what they were saying."

"Then this will be a wonderful prelude to our visit to Italy," she said. "You are joining us, aren't you?"

"There is no reason why I cannot."

"Then why not commit and join my uncle and me?"

"I need to work out a few things before I say for sure."

"Fair enough. You should speak with Uncle Ivan regarding when he wants to leave."

The carriage slowed, indicating they must be in line for the theater entrance.

Mac ran his hand along the tufted seat. "I will. Now why don't we enjoy the opera?"

"Yes, let’s, though I'm not sure what's going to be more entertaining, the opera or all the women dressed up in their finest."

Mac barked out a laugh. "Lesson one about Paris. The women are always dressed in their finest."

The carriage stopped. Sorcha gazed in fascination out at the crowd of people entering the building. "You don't feel you're out of place wearing a kilt?"

"Never, lass. I'm proud of where I come from. Clothes can't change the man. Whether I wear a kilt or trousers, I'm still the same man."

The door opened, and Mac descended the carriage. He offered his hand to Sorcha. The electrifying sensation was there, only this time more so than in times before. Whatever it was, she felt it as well as he had. She gripped his forearm tightly as he navigated them through the crowded lobby.

Once they were inside the box MacDonald had rented, Mac removed his great coat before assisting Sorcha. Though the theater had gas lighting, it was still hard to get a really good look at his surroundings.

Noting a table filled with various decanters, he walked to it. He glanced over at Sorcha, who was enthralled by the experience. She had seated herself in one of the four chairs at the edge of the box and was looking not only around, but at the stage where the performers would be shortly.

He poured a small glass of wine for her and a glass of whiskey for himself and joined her. Handing her the glass of wine, he settled in the chair next to her as they waited for the opera to begin.

Mac gazed at her from the corner of his eye in the darkened theater. She was lost in the music, the piece.

He placed his hand on hers, and she turned to look at him with those sensual eyes. She was trying to tempt him, and it wouldn't take but a minute to kiss her.

He didn't just simply kiss her. He opened her mouth with his and took what he wanted. She kissed him in return. Mac knew how to use his mouth as a sensual instrument, his mouth firm and bold, a lover's kiss.

He lowered himself to the floor in front of her. He was going to have her, at least taste her, touch her. She was as beautiful as Mac had dreamed. He cupped one breast, forcing it from the dress. She didn't stop him as he nuzzled her skin, flicked his tongue around her taut nipple. She gasped.

Mac suckled her gently, drawing one nipple between his teeth. She reclined against her chair, trying to force her eyes to the stage, failing miserably.

He spread her legs and lowered his head. She jerked as he closed his lips and tongue over her most intimate place. She was open to him, felt no shame, only a burning need.

"Mac, this cannot be proper!"

Mac continued, on and on until he felt her begin to unravel above him. As the music swelled, he took her over the edge. She called out for him, her hands threaded through his hair, pulling him close to her.

"Mac, please!"

As he finished ravaging her, he wondered what it would be like to actually make love to her. Soon. Soon, he would make this woman his.

Slowly, he raised himself to his seat. His cock throbbed in need of release. Though she was receptive, the last thing he wanted to do was lose control of himself. With Sorcha, that was a real possibility.

He took her hand and held it in his bigger one as they quietly sat, eyes glued to the stage below.

For the first time in a long while, Mac's passion sizzled. Never in his life had he felt such desire for one single woman. For not wanting marriage in his future any time soon, he certainly had blown a hole in his own belief.

A dark thought crossed his mind. Would it be possible Kent might return to the continent once he found out where Ivan MacDonald had taken his niece? Kent was far smarter than he let on. It wouldn't surprise him if he came to Paris to ask for Sorcha's hand in marriage. Something Mac refused to let happen.

"What has you so preoccupied?" Sorcha asked as intermission began.

"I was thinking about being with you." It wasn't totally a lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth either.

"Liar," she replied with a grin.

"Beg pardon?"

"Mac, I've known you a short time, but the one thing I know is that you're a terrible liar."

He smiled as he moved his frame around to face her. "You're right. However, in my defense, that part is true. It's just that there is more to it."

"Such as?"

Mac stood and offered her his hand. She stood and walked with him to where the decanters sat. He poured them each a glass of sherry. "I'm worried once Kent and Tavish figure out where your uncle has taken you, Kent might follow."

"To try and convince my uncle to allow a marriage between us?"

"Yes."

"But they know you're here."

He nodded. "I told you my obligation ended when I delivered my mother and sister to the family townhome."

Sorcha arched a brow and took a drink of the sherry. "Then it's time we depart Paris. The one thing my uncle does not need is your brother hounding him over me. He's figured the bunch of them out. I'll not let them damage my uncle's health further."

"Agreed." He hesitated, not believing what he was about to say. "I think I need to have a talk with your uncle about us."

"You wish to court me, Malcolm?" she asked coyly.

"Isn't that what I'm already doing? I just want his blessing."

"Especially in case Kent shows up."

"Do you think you and your uncle can be ready to leave day after tomorrow? I'll secure a traveling coach to take us to the south of France. Or we could go by train."

She smiled. "Yes, we can be ready. I think the warm sea air will help Uncle. Or so the doctors told us."

"Understand, Sorcha, I might be overreacting about Kent. But his past behavior leads me to think otherwise."

She put a hand on his chest. "I trust your judgment."

He looked down at her. She wasn't a tall woman, her head barely coming to the top of his shoulder. This petite minx was a fighter. "Thank you."

"One of my uncle and father's sisters lives in Provence. Ivan wrote her and told her we'd visit."

"That's excellent. That'll be good for your uncle, having her to talk with."

"I'll have him write her again and let her know we're on our way."

"Excellent. Italy isn't so far away, you know."

She smiled, and her hand cupped his cheek. "I know. I want to see it all with you."

He covered her hand with his larger one. "I can't wait. Now if you could be convinced to leave with me, how about we walk to a restaurant across the street? We can have dinner and enjoy a leisurely walk back to the hotel."

"I need no convincing, Mac."