Page 15 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which Lucas pays the price.

Lucas…

Three years ago…

My heart’s a stone in my chest. I’m facing hellfire now.

It’s worth it.

This night with Cat - finally being able to touch her, be inside her, hear her moan through her orgasms - it’s worth everything I’m about to face. But not yet.

Her glossy black hair is tangled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes drooping. For four years, for fourteen hundred and sixty-one days, I have wanted this moment, holding Cat in my arms. I pull a blanket folded over the back of the couch, settling it over her.

“So,” she says drowsily, “what is this place? Is this the infamous Stewart Love Nest?”

I hear the jealousy she’s trying to hide and it gives me more satisfaction than it should. “ There’s been no other women here.”

“Naw, are ye daft?”

“Well, my Mum’s borrowed it a couple of times, and my sisters bring the bairns here when it’s warm.”

“Ainsley and Emily, aye? A boy and a girl each?” She slides her leg over my thigh and I can feel my chapped, overworked cock rise hopefully.

“Aye. Their husbands are good men.”

Laughing, she says, “I canna imagine how their dating habits went with a protective brother like ye.”

Putting my arm under my head, I smile at the ceiling. “When some lad was brave enough to show up to take them out, I’d be chopping wood in the front yard,”

She frowns. “Did ye have a fireplace?”

“No.”

That sets her off into another round of laughter. I’ve always loved watching her laugh, head thrown back, joyously and unapologetically loud.

“What do ye do here?” she manages, settling back on my chest.

“I fish.”

“Ye dinnae fish,” she scoffs .

“Aye, I do. What do ye think I do when I’m not guarding your pampered arse?”

“I’m not sure,” she says. “Maybe pull tractors across fields for fun?”

Now that makes me laugh, and all that laughing makes her rub against me in a very enticing way and I’m inside her again, carefully holding the small of her back to make sure I dinnae hurt her in this position.

After putting her back together in the great room, I carry her up to my bedroom and we start all over again.

Desperate, then slow. Bracing my arms on either side of her head, watching every subtle change on her beautiful face.

Her green MacTavish eyes wide, awed as she watches me too.

Two perfect tears spill down her cheeks as she comes for me again.

I build a little blaze in the stone fireplace to warm up the room and let her doze on my chest for a while.

I touch her everywhere, mapping her skin and the curves of her until I know every inch.

The long scar at the base of her spine. The five freckles on her left shoulder, how her hip curves so gracefully.

When the night sky is edging toward dawn, regretful, I wake her up. “I have to bring ye home, sweetness.”

“It’s not like I have a curfew,” she groans, rubbing her nose on my chest. Right over my heart.

“Aye.” I run my hand through her curls, silky and thick. When she rode me, she’d bent forward, kissing me, her hair dropping like a curtain around us, sealing out the world. “Come now, it’s time,” I check my watch. “I’ll help ye get dressed.”

She watches me in the car, her face lit by flickers of neon and traffic lights as we head back into town.

“Are ye gonna turn into Stoic Lucas again?”

That startles a laugh from me. “Stoic? You’ve been calling me that?”

“There has been a certain reputation established…” She smiles impishly as we turn into the parking garage. Scanning the cars parked around us, I lead her into the lift.

I can feel her growing unease as I stay silent in the lift, both of us watching the numbers climb. When I finally escort her into her flat, I cradle her face in my hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

“Why tonight, Lucas?”

Resting my forehead against hers, I breathe in her sweet almond and lavender scent. “Because ye are beautiful and infuriating as feck, Catriona McKenzie MacTavish, outrageous and cheeky and because I needed to be inside you more than I needed air.”

“That’s…” She licks her lips and I follow the movement before kissing her again. “That’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever said to me, Lucas.”

“Get some sleep,” I whisper. “We’ll talk later.”

She wants me to stay. I know it. I canna do that. I’ll never be able to leave if I do. “Aye,” she relents, going up on tiptoe to kiss me again. “I like being able to do that, kissing ye.”

“I like ye kissing me too. If your mouth is on mine, ye canna give me cheek.”

Cat’s eyes narrow, making her look even more feline. “Aye, you’re back to your usual.” Still, she gives me another kiss as I leave and I wait, listening for the sound of the beep that tells me she activated her security system.

Shower and shave.

A fresh suit. Staring out my bedroom window, I dial the Chieftain.

“Lucas.” Cormac says, “My daughter’s well?” The man gets less sleep than I do, yet he always sounds alert.

“Aye, Chieftain. She’s fine. Safe. May I speak with you? ”

There’s a silence, I can hear his fingers tapping on his desk. “My home office, in an hour.”

The Chieftain still lives in the enormous mansion he renovated for his family when he and his wife Mala first got together.

It’s on the outskirts of Edinburgh, close to the coastline.

Bits and pieces have been added on since, a huge pool house holding a pool and a hot tub.

A putting green. Two arbors and a multitude of terraces.

He’d added on by buying his neighbors out and demolishing their mansions.

You’d be daft to say no to Cormac MacTavish if he wanted to buy your home.

His office is in the back with a separate entrance and another set of gates and guards to go through.

“Stewart!” My friend Rory steps out of the guardhouse, and leans in my car window, “Dinnae have ye on the schedule for today.”

“Last minute meeting with the Chieftain,” I say.

“Ach, best not keep ye, then.” He raps his knuckles on my door and clicks the remote, opening the heavy iron gates.

The next time Rory sees me, he might be carrying me out in a body bag.

The stone entryway to the Chieftain’s office is buzzing; his personal assistant hurries by, guards are changing shifts, and two of Cat’s cousins, Logan and Kai are arguing about a missing shipment of C4. “Ye know Uncle Lachlan’s got it,” Kai rubs his eyes.

Logan’s known as the loose cannon of this generation and he brightens. “Aye? I gotta give him a call.” His gaze falls on me. “Hey, Stewart, good to see ya, brother! And not having to trail after my Bessie of a cousin? True braw.”

“Good to see ya both,” I say as there’s a round of handshakes and back-slapping.

“If the Chieftain lets you loose within the next hour,” Logan grins like a bairn on Christmas morn, “ye should come with me to check out the new shipment of long-range flamethrowers, these bastards can blow apart a warehouse in-”

“Mr. Stewart, the Chieftain will see ye now.” Miss Kevin, a butler/personal bodyguard and the most sought-after employee in the entire MacTavish empire, is standing at the door, their suit and appearance impeccable.

“Thank ye, Miss Kevin.”

We walk down the hall today, footsteps echoing on the polished parquet floor. “Ye look especially dapper today,” they say, casting me a side glance. “I like to think of myself as one of the better-dressed in the Chieftain's employ-”

“No question there,” I agree.

“But your suit is quite distinguished, Tom Ford’s 2024 collection?

” Miss Kevin nods approvingly before leaning just a touch closer.

“It would be a shame to see blood on it. One can never get bodily fluids out of a good wool suit.” Leaving me at the office door, they give me a smile before strolling away.

“If that was meant to be reassuring, ye mightily missed the mark,” I mutter before knocking on the door.

“Enter.”

Cormac is frowning at something on his laptop, tapping angrily on the space bar. “I feel my father was remiss by not telling me how much of a Chieftain’s life is wrapped up in paperwork and utter shite,” he says, pushing it away.

I stand in front of his desk, ramrod straight as if I’m still in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment.

“No need for formalities,” he sighs, directing me toward the group of leather couches and an enormous coffee table by the fireplace. “I’d offer ye a drink but I’m thinking you’re on duty.” He raises a brow as I remain standing.

“Always am.” It’s my practiced response, but it’s true. Even though Cat has a backup bodyguard who is meant to give me a break every week, it’s hard to shut off the mindset. Seating myself, I search for the right words.

Taciturn, my mum used to call me.

Stoic, according to Cat.

My mates in the SRR christened me ‘silent but deadly.’ I might not have much to say, but what comes out is always the truth.

“Chieftain, I’ve violated a bodyguard’s first law.”

The room is dead silent, soundproofed so outside household clamor canna intrude. So, I can hear the change in his breathing just before his fist comes at my face.

***

“Naw, are ye daft?” - Scottish slang for “Are you kidding?”

Bessie - Scottish slang for a peevish or ill-tempered woman.

True braw - Scottish slang for everything’s going well.