The Highland Fling(49)

She runs her finger over the felt of the board and strokes the triangle sections. She starts with one finger, and then adds two . . .

“What are you doing?” I ask, shifting on the bench.

“Stroking the triangles.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Drunk, and I haven’t stroked anything in a long time.”

“Stop it.”

She glances up at me, eyebrow raised. “Is this turning you on, Rowan?”

“No.”

Yes.

“Are you . . . sure?” she asks in a seductive voice.

“You know, two can play at that game.” I bring my finger to one of the triangles and start to slowly massage it.

Her eyes zero in on my finger, and her tongue peeks out, wetting her lips. “That’s a nice cadence you’ve got going on there. Looks like good pressure.”

“Aye. Really good pressure,” I say, dropping my voice.

Really getting into it, she strokes her triangle harder, faster.

Jesus. I swallow hard, watching as her tongue pokes out and wets the top of her lip. That tongue, what I could do with it . . .

This can’t be one sided.

So I pick up the pace, eyeing her, and when her gaze lands on my finger, I slow it down, really dragging out the “pleasure.”

“Oh God,” she says, her free hand traveling up her chest to her neck.

“Uh . . . do you two need a second?” Hamish asks as he steps up to our table.

We both jump and snap away from the board, hands going to our laps.

I clear my throat. “Just playing backgammon.”

“I’ve never seen it played like that.”

“American way,” Bonnie says.

“Aye, well, if you’re done playing, another table would like it.”

“Sure, yup, all done.” Bonnie folds the board and shoves it toward Hamish. He thanks us and takes off. Bonnie glances at me. “Were we just . . . jerking each other off with a board game?”

“I wasn’t . . . were you?”

“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “Nope . . . not even a little.”

“Good, because my dick is way bigger than that felt triangle.”

Her mouth falls open as I smirk and finish off another pint.



“You’re not so bad when you’re drunk,” Bonnie says, tossing a ladder ball clear across the playing area and missing the playing ladder completely. The sun is setting, the cast-iron lights that surround the courtyard are flickering on, and we’re currently battling a couple of tourists—Jim and Yolanda—who are on their second honeymoon. They’re staying at Under the Goat’s Kilt Inn and decided to extend their visit one more night because they’ve loved their time in Corsekelly.

They’re also destroying us in ladder ball.

“You’re tolerable,” I say as I toss a ball as well, which whacks Jim in the shin. “Sorry,” I call out. He just waves in response. Third time I’ve done that—you’d think he’d have faster reflexes by now.

“I’m more than tolerable.” She whips her arm back and flings a ball. “Tallyho.” It wallops Yolanda in the arm. “Oof, sorry, Yolly!” Bonnie calls out. “They must think we’re aiming for them.”

“I did on the last one,” I admit. “Wanted to see if he would move.”

Bonnie chuckles and grabs my arm. “I just aimed at Yolly. Thought maybe if I aimed at her rather than at the ladder, I would hit the ladder. Didn’t work.”

“Solid logic, though.”

“Thank you.”

From across the court, Jim says, “I think we’re going to call it a night.”

“Ahh, well, make sure you ice that welt.” Bonnie waves. “Enjoy Corsekelly, and stop in the coffee shop for subpar coffee tomorrow morning.”

They take off and Bonnie sighs, leaning against me.

“I think I should get home too,” I say, my brain feeling sluggish, the effects of way too much beer.

“Me too.” Bonnie wobbles as she starts to walk away. “Hey, where did Dakota and Isla go?” I glance over at their table, which is now vacant. Hell, almost the entire pub is vacant. When did that happen? She reaches for her phone and scans a text. “Oh, they went for a walk. Gah, do you think they’re holding hands? Oh my God, what if they kiss?” She grabs my shirt and shakes me. “Do you think they’ll kiss?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe?”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see that. Dakota has the softest lips—she is constantly moisturizing them. I bet Isla will be immediately delighted by them. And the passion behind the kiss—think there’ll be passion?”

I shrug. “Maybe?”

“Ugh, you’re so . . . boring.”

“Is that so?” I hold her up by her arm and guide her away from the pub and toward her cottage. “If I’m so boring, then how the hell did I entertain you all night?”

“Duh, I entertained you.”

“You wish. I was entertained because I entertained you.”

Her nose scrunches up. “That makes no sense.”

“Sounded right in my head.”

She glances around, seeming to catch up to the fact that we’re walking. “Where are you taking me?”