Auctioned - A Dark Scottish Mafia Romance: The MacTavish Stolen Brides Series - Book Four by Arianna Fraser

Author:Arianna Fraser [Fraser, Arianna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

In which we visit Alastair’s Fortress of Solitude.

Sorcha…

I’m kneeling on the bed in front of Alastair in the darkened room. The only sound is the surf crashing against the sand below the house.

Why am I so calm?

The fancy dress is off, crumpled in the corner and he’s making a slow visual circuit of my flimsy scraps of lingerie.

His huge hand wraps around my neck again, I can feel his callouses against the thin skin there, the warmth of his palm.

“So beautiful…” he muses. When his mouth comes down on mine, my hands go up to push him away. Instead, I’m gripping his bloody shirt and pulling him closer.

***

Earlier…

It was still dark when we landed on a tiny, deserted runway. I could see just enough to know that we were on an island, but the lights were few and far between. Is this Alastair’s personal fiefdom? It’s been clear to me that this man does not like to share, so the private island concept makes sense.

“Where are we?” I asked. “Is this your fortress of solitude, then?”

That got me a slight half-smile.

“Something like that,” he answered vaguely.

The waiting jeep took us to a compound close by, the only source of light on the island. The air was warm and slightly damp - like we’d just missed a rainshower - and the night music from little creatures like the crickets and toads played for us on our way through the iron gates. The main house was built on a point where the ocean surrounded it on three sides. I got a glimpse of the blue hue of a swimming pool and an elaborate tropical garden as I was ushered into the house.

Alastair took my hand, walking me through the huge, two-story entry as Callum peeled off, having a hushed conversation on the phone. While my husband’s penthouse might be cool and sterile, in shades of grey and cream, this place was bursting with colors taken from the surroundings, blues and greens in the oriental rugs and artwork, heavy, hand-carved furniture and sheer drapes on every floor to ceiling window and door.

“Are you hungry?”

We’re in the enormous, restaurant-style kitchen and I’m overwhelmed by all the stainless-steel appliances.

“I’m not even sure how to locate the fridge in this place,” I laughed. “I’m grand, though. Dinner on the jet was plenty.”

Why was I saying this? I should be stretching this moment out because after being pulled against his extremely prominent erection I’m certain he wants to use it on me.

My answer seemed to please him, because he swept me up in his arms, the way he used to do when my feet were healing.

“My feet are fine,” I protested. He smelled too good, being this close to him. Even with the bullet wound in his arm, he loped easily up the stairs to the second-story hallway. The hall stretched down to another massive bank of windows overlooking the ocean.

“I’ve not yet carried you over the threshold,” he said, “certain traditions must be observed.”

I could feel myself softening, and my arm crept around his shoulders.

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