Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

you and your brother often have whisky heads, then?’

      ‘Only on special occasions, and in truth, it was mostly me. My father believed that the laird should be able to drink everyone under the table. When he gave Malcolm his first dram, he made him drink the whole lot in one swallow. Malcolm was sick. He never could hold his drink, but he became very good at pouring it down his sleeve or over his shoulder, or on one occasion into a suit of armour.’ Innes picked up a handful of soft sand, and watched as the grains trickled through his fingers. ‘Since I was not obliged to prove myself, I could drink until I was stotious.’

      ‘Like I was, on the sherry?’ Ainsley said, blushing faintly.

      ‘You were endearing. I fear that I was simply obnoxious, which is why I take good care not to drink too much these days.’ Innes wiped the last few grains of sand from his palm and pulled his jumper over his head. ‘Right, it’s now or never.’

      ‘You’re not really going to swim?’

      ‘I am.’ Innes pulled off his shirt and got to his feet. ‘I take it you’ll not be coming with me?’

      ‘I think this is one ritual you had better perform on your own,’ Ainsley said.

      Innes paused in the act of unbuckling his belt. ‘I think I’ve told you before that you see a deal too much,’ he said. Before she could answer, he grinned and began to unfasten his trews. ‘Now, if you don’t turn your back, you’re going to see a great deal more.’

      Ainsley looked up, deliberately running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. ‘I think the view from here is going to prove even more attractive than the one out there,’ she said, waving vaguely in the direction of Arran without taking her eyes from Innes.

      ‘If you keep looking at me like that, the view will be considerably more defined than it is right now.’

      She got to her feet, unable to resist flattening her palms over the hard breadth of his shoulders, down over his chest, grazing the hard nubs of his nipples. Innes’s eyes were beginning to glaze. Her own breathing was becoming rapid. He did not move. She slid her hands lower, to cup him through his trews. She trailed her fingers up his satisfyingly hard shaft. ‘I do believe you are my idea of perfect Highland scenery.’

      Innes pulled her to him roughly. ‘Did I tell you that you’re a witch?’

      She wanted him. He was more than ready. His mouth was inches away from hers. All she had to do was tilt her head. Ainsley laughed, that soft, guttural sound she knew he found arousing. ‘I think I’ll be perfectly satisfied just taking in the view,’ she said, freeing herself.

      She turned away, but Innes caught her and hauled her back. His smile looked like hers felt. Teasing. Aroused. ‘I’ll be cold when I come out of the water.’

      ‘And wet,’ she said.

      ‘And wet,’ he said softly.

      His hand covered her breast. Even through her corset, she felt her nipple harden in response. She shuddered. ‘I’ll keep the fire going.’

      Innes nipped her ear lobe. ‘I hope so, though I suspect that I’ll need a little help with my blood flow.’

      Her own blood was positively pulsing. ‘What did you have in mind?’ Ainsley whispered.

      ‘I am sure you’ll think of something.’ His lips found hers in the briefest of kisses. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind and decided to swim with me?’

      It was tempting, but she forced herself to wriggle free. ‘The best things come to those who wait, isn’t that what they say?’

      ‘I just hope it’s worth it,’ Innes said, laughing, pulling off the rest of his clothes.

      He stood before her quite naked, and completely aroused. Ainsley watched him making his way down the beach, long legs, tight, muscled buttocks, and thought she had never seen such a wickedly tempting sight in her life. ‘Innes,’ she called, waiting for him to turn around. ‘It already is.’

      * * *

      Innes began to run down the beach, forcing himself to continue as he hit the shallows, knowing that if he stopped, if he turned around, he would immediately turn back. The water was freezing. He’d forgotten. With the tide out, the shallows went on for ever. He’d forgotten that, too. It had been a joke between them, he and Malcolm, that you would reach Arran before it was deep enough to swim.

      It was over his knees now, and up to his thighs. He slowed, took to wading, his feet sinking into the soft sand, the flounder scooting out from under him the merest ripple of sand. When a wave hit his groin, he gasped and looked ruefully down. It wasn’t just a whisky head the water cured. He dipped his hands into the water, and splashed water over his arms, his shoulders, then caught himself as he dipped his head down to throw more over his face. Malcolm, who always dived straight under, used to laugh at him when he did this. Innes stood up, closing his eyes and lifting his face up to the sun. It didn’t hurt here. It didn’t hurt to think of him. The memories here were all good. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Ainsley had followed him down the beach and was standing in the shadows, clutching the blanket. He gave her a mocking salute and dived in.

      * * *

      When he emerged, fifteen minutes later, she was still there, holding the blanket open. Innes was shivering, and embarrassed at the effect the icy water had had on him. Instinctively, his hand moved to cover himself, but she was watching him, and her watching him was far better for his condition than the cold skin of his own hand. He waded out slowly, pushing his hair out of his eyes, relishing the rays of the sun on his back, his skin tingling from the salt. He liked to look at women naked, and he liked them to look at him, but it had always been in the privacy of a bedchamber, and it had never been like this. Ainsley found the idea of him as some sort of savage Highlander arousing, and he found that he liked playing the part. He’d never done that before.

      By the time he reached her, the effect of the cold was definitely wearing off. Ainsley handed him the blanket, which he wrapped around his shoulders. ‘Well?’ he asked.

      ‘The scenery was most elevating,’ she said, then blushed. ‘I did not mean...’

      Innes laughed. ‘Not quite, but it will be.’

      ‘I don’t know how it is, but when I am with you I say the most shocking things.’

      ‘Delightful is what I’d call them. Why is it, do you think?’

      ‘I will not pander to your ego by telling you.’

      They had reached the dune. Innes put some wood on the fire. ‘That’s a shame, because I rather like the idea of you pandering to me.’

      ‘What particular kind of pandering do you have in mind?’

      ‘You could heat me up.’

      ‘It’s only fair, I suppose, since you got so cold at my request.’

      ‘I did.’ He made a point of shivering, and tried to look soulful. ‘You could rub me down with the blanket.’

      She eyed him speculatively. ‘I could certainly rub you down,’ she said, pulling the blanket from his shoulders and shaking it out onto the sand, ‘but I don’t think we need the blanket. Lie down.’

      He did as she asked, his body already stirring in anticipation. Ainsley slipped off her undergarments, then sat on top of him. She was warm and wet. His shaft thickened, eager to be inside her, but she slid away from him, spreading her skirts around them, just as he had spread his kilt over the pair of them last night. Then she touched him, her hands forming a cocoon around him, and slowly, gently, delightfully, began to stroke.

      He bucked under her. She gripped him with her thighs. He closed his eyes, praying for control. It was agonising, her touch feathery, the slightest of friction, not enough but almost too much. He dug his hands into the sand. He dug his heels in, but it was unbearable. With a guttural cry and a surge of desire he would have thought impossible after the night’s