Page 57 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SEAN
A week after the storm, a quiet peace had settled over our lives, a calm so profound it felt almost alien.
I sat in an armchair in our upscale Glasgow hotel suite, a cup of coffee in hand, and just watched her.
Beth was across the room, humming softly to herself as she folded a cashmere sweater and placed it into an open suitcase on the bed.
The chaotic, restless energy that had always surrounded her, that nervous vibration of a woman constantly braced for the next blow, was gone.
In its place was a serene, unshakable confidence that radiated from her in warm waves.
It was in the easy way she moved, the genuine, unforced smile that played on her lips as she caught me watching her.
It was the face of a woman who had walked through fire and discovered she was fireproof.
I had thought she was beautiful before, a captivating mess of wit and vulnerability.
But this version of her? The one who had faced down her dragons and won?
She was magnificent. She took my breath away .
“What are you staring at, McCrae?” she asked, her Scottish lilt full of playful amusement.
“A work of art,” I said, my voice completely serious. “I’m contemplating how much I’d have to donate to a museum to get you installed as a permanent exhibit.”
She laughed, a rich, full-throated sound that was quickly becoming my favorite sound in the world. “I think you’ll find my acquisition price is far too high,” she quipped, tossing a pair of jeans into the suitcase. “And my maintenance requires a steady supply of good coffee and bad jokes.”
“A price I am more than willing to pay,” I said, rising from my chair and walking over to her.
I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against my chest, burying my face in the fiery silk of her hair.
It smelled like her shampoo and something else, something uniquely, wonderfully Beth.
“So, you’re really doing it? You’re packing? ”
“Well, I can’t exactly stay in Glasgow, can I?
” she murmured, leaning back into my embrace.
“My mother is currently on a self-imposed exile to one of our more remote properties to ‘recover from the humiliation,’ and my father is busy with a small army of lawyers dismantling Stewart’s life, piece by fraudulent piece. Staying here would be… anticlimactic.”
“I saw the headline in The Mail,” I said quietly. “‘Glasgow’s Grande Dame in Disgrace.’ They’re not holding back.” I hesitated, then asked the question that had been on my mind. “Are they... do you think they’ll get a divorce?”
Beth let out a short, humorless laugh. “What? And unravel decades of carefully merged assets and social connections? No. That would be far too messy, far too expensive. And much too public for my father’s taste.
He won’t divorce her.” She turned in my arms, a new, steely certainty in her eyes.
“But make no mistake, he’ll be calling the shots in that household from now on.
The quiet king has finally taken back his throne. Mum’s reign is over.”
“I might have a suggestion for your next destination,” I said, my lips brushing against her ear. “Since Glasgow is officially off the table.”
“Oh, do you?” she purred, tilting her head to give me better access. “And where might that be?”
“California,” I said softly. “Come home with me, Beth. Come meet my loud, insane, wonderful family. My mother is already planning a welcome dinner that will probably involve enough food to feed a small army. My father wants to talk to you about Scottish history. And for the rest of my big family, sisters, brothers, cousins… well, you’ve already survived Fury and Sienna.
The rest of them are practically harmless in comparison. ”
She turned in my arms, her blue eyes searching mine. “Are you sure, Sean? I mean, your family… they’ve read the stories on social media, no doubt. They know my history.”
“My family knows that I’m in love with a brilliant, strong, and incredibly brave woman,” I said, my voice firm as I cupped her face in my hands. “That’s the only story that matters. The rest is just noise. Besides, they all have their own stories. Trust me. You’ll want to hear them all.”
A slow smile went across her face, the one that still made my heart do a stupid little flip-flop.
“Well,” she said, a mischievous spark in her eyes, “I suppose if I can handle a Wall Street conqueror and a woman who could intimidate a Bond villain, I can probably handle a few more McCraes and Gracens.” She rose on her tiptoes, her lips finding mine in a kiss that was full of promise and a quiet, joyful certainty.
“ Alright, McCrae. You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s go meet the parents.”
The kiss deepened, and my hands slid from her face down her back, pulling her flush against me.
The simple act of packing a suitcase was quickly forgotten, replaced by a much more interesting, and infinitely more satisfying, activity.
This quiet, domestic bliss, I realized as I lifted her into my arms and carried her the two steps to the bed, was the most profound victory of all.
I took my time. Her eyes patient, waiting for pleasure.
I laid her down on the bed beside a half-packed suitcase, scattering a few neatly folded garments in the process.
“Your packing skills leave much to be desired, McCrae,” she teased, even as her fingers worked at the buttons of my shirt.
“I excel at unpacking,” I murmured against her neck, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear that always made her gasp. “Especially when it comes to you.”
Her laugh turned into a soft moan as my hand slid beneath her sweater, finding the warm skin beneath. “We have a flight to catch,” she protested weakly, her body arching into my touch.
“We have hours,” I countered, pushing her sweater up to reveal the delicate lace of her bra. “And I plan to use every minute of them showing you exactly how much I’m going to miss having you all to myself once my family gets their hands on you.”
My mouth found the swell of her breast above the lace, and her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me to her. “When you put it that way...”
I smiled against her skin, my hand sliding up to cup her breast through the thin fabric.
Her nipple hardened against my palm, and I brushed my thumb across it, relishing her sharp intake of breath.
“Have I mentioned how much I love the sounds you make?” I whispered, moving to give the same attention to her other breast.
“Only about a thousand times,” she gasped, her hips lifting to press against mine.
“Make it a thousand and one, then,” I said, reaching behind her to unhook her bra with practiced ease.
Just as I was about to pull the garment away, a sharp knock at the door interrupted us. We both froze, staring at each other with a mixture of frustration and amusement.
“Ignore it,” I suggested, lowering my head to continue my exploration of her perfect body.
The knocking came again, more insistent this time. “Sean! I know you’re in there! Open up, it’s important!”
I groaned, recognizing Danny’s voice. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Beth laughed, adjusting her clothes as I reluctantly rolled off her. “Your timing is impeccable, Beckford!” she called out, her voice laced with good-natured irritation.
I stood, straightening my rumpled shirt. “Why are you not back home making me money?” I called out, striding to the door and yanking it open.
Danny stood there, looking windswept and triumphant, clutching a copy of The Sun like it was a winning lottery ticket. His golden blond hair was disheveled, and his dark eyes were bright with excitement.
“You are not going to believe this,” he announced, pushing past me into the room without waiting for an invitation.
He threw the paper down on the bed, narrowly missing Beth’s open suitcase.
The headline was massive: “AMERICAN HERO: Motivational Millionaire Risks Prison For His Scottish Lass!” Complete with a dramatic photo of me being led away in handcuffs and a smaller, flattering picture of Beth.
“What the hell?” I picked up the paper, scanning the article with growing disbelief.
“It’s everywhere,” Danny said, practically vibrating with energy as he paced the room.
“The story of the ‘billionaire’s daughter’ and her ‘protective American lover’ taking down a ‘crooked lord’ has exploded.
You’re trending on Twitter. You’ve got fan pages popping up on Instagram.
People are calling you the ‘Motivational Avenger.’”
Beth moved to my side, reading over my shoulder. “This is... surprisingly accurate,” she said, sounding bemused. “Though they’ve made me sound like some kind of damsel in distress.”
“Who cares?” Danny exclaimed, throwing his hands up.
“The point is, Sean is no longer a PR risk. He’s a romantic hero!
Marcus Thorne—brilliant man, by the way—used this as leverage.
The audiobook publisher, terrified of the bad optics of suing a ‘hero,’ has not only reinstated the multi-year contract but has also renegotiated the advance—upwards. ”
I stared at him, trying to process this information. “You flew all the way from the US to tell me this? We could have done a video call, Danny.”
“Oh, that’s not all,” Danny said, his grin widening.
“I’ve been fielding calls all week. I’ve booked you for a series of high-profile—and extremely lucrative—speaking engagements and TV appearances across Britain.
The BBC wants you for their morning show.
Graham Norton’s people called. And the advance offers for your next book?
Let’s just say you might want to consider upgrading from millionaire to multi-millionaire status. ”
Beth squeezed my hand, her eyes wide with surprise and pride.