Highland Fling (3 page)

“Yes. My mother always says, 'neither a borrower nor a lender be.'”

Brodie brought his hand towards her face. Between his fingers was the safety pin she had given him earlier. She took it from him and laughed as he pushed himself closer to her, trapping her between the bar and him. His muscular six-foot frame pinned her gently to the shiny wooden surface as he pressed his hips against her. His hard length nestled at her back set her blood dancing and she was left in no doubt as to what exactly was under his kilt.

“Brodie...” She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him. But she couldn't afford to have him. The emotional cost of having him and then leaving to go back to Glasgow may very well crush her. As a child she had cared deeply for her friend and the short time she had spent with him today had proved that those feelings had only been hidden rather than lost. He moved slightly and turned her in his arms.

“It'll be very embarrassing if I have to move away from you just now. It's not like I have a sporran on to hide my predicament. Dance with me,” he urged.

Fiona chuckled and placed her arms around his neck. They moved slowly into the throng of couples on the makeshift dance floor. Brodie caressed her hips as he brought his hands down over her bottom and squeezed, drawing her closer to him and rubbing himself against her. His groan of desire was muffled by the skin on her neck as he skated his lips over the delicate flesh.

“You're not doing anything to improve your predicament,” she warned him.

“I don't care,” he muttered, nibbling gently on the lobe of her ear. He stroked the cheeks of her butt before moving the fingers of one hand lower, prodding between her legs and almost reaching her core, despite the layers of cloth between them. It took all her will power to draw back slightly, preventing herself from rubbing harder against him.

“Brodie, this is dangerous. We're in public.”

“Hmm.” He started to move, steering her through the other couples and farther away from the bar. The sudden chill of night air made her gasp as he grabbed her hand and dragged her out into the street. The road was lit by a few street lights, but it was much darker than the pub had been. Even still, she could see the tenting of his kilt and smiled at the effect she clearly had on the handsome islander. It felt good to know that she was desired – and by the same person who used to tease her for being ‘a ginger.’ He seemed to like her mane of long red hair now.

“Why are we out here,” Fiona asked, breathlessly. He stopped and looked at her then grabbed her hand, pulling her along the road. “Where are we going?”

“I'm taking you home.”

“You are? Why?”

“Because, if I stay out here with you much longer, I won't be responsible for my actions.”

“And what actions might those be?”

“Stop flirting, Fee. You were the one who, a few hours ago, was telling me she was not ready and doesn't do one-night stands.”

She allowed him to drag her along a few hundred yards. She really did want him. Her nipples were like tiny rocks chafing against the fabric of her bra and her legs like jelly. She needed his strength, his hardness to press against, to disperse the frustration that mounted with every minute that passed. If she went into this with open eyes, she couldn't be too badly hurt surely.

She dug her heels in, and Brodie came to a stop, turning around and raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Would you be interested in a fling? A holiday romance, I suppose. No strings attached.”

“I thought men were the unromantic ones.” He inched close and caught her around the waist. “And yes, much as I want more from you, I'll take what you're willing to give for now. You know, as we grew up, I always assumed you and I would marry. We were best friends and I thought we always would be. Then the summer before university, you wouldn’t speak to me and since then I’ve wondered what I did to upset you. I really wanted to make it up to you and hoped that one day you’d be my girlfriend. I guess I didn’t want that childish notion to end. So yes, Fiona Campbell, I will be your Highland fling and I’ll keep my fingers crossed for more. ”

He really did want her and always had. As a child she had also just assumed she would marry her best friend. If only she could reconcile her past to be with him. But that wasn’t possible. The past could not be undone and she lived in Glasgow while Brodie lived on the tiny island.

“OK, a fling it is. But let's take it slow, for now.”

Brodie pressed his lips against hers as he tangled the fingers of one of his hands in her long thick hair. She granted his tongue access, causing him to groan. He pulled her hips closer to him. She was lost in his warm, sensual kisses, rubbing herself gently against him, increasing her own desire. Neither of them noticed the car headlights until the driver hooted the horn. They looked up to see some of the people who had been in the pub earlier grinning at them through the windscreen.

“We're in the middle of the road,” he pointed out.

“Yes, it appears so.” She buried her head against his chest to hide her embarrassment. As they moved to the side, the car drew up alongside them, the car engine quieting, accentuating the low burr of the electric windows as they were lowered.

“Get a room!” shouted Donald. Gerry whooped loudly and started a round of applause, while Craig tunelessly whistled the wedding march.

Fiona continued to push her face into Brodie's shirt but she giggled as he called back to their tormentors, “Jealousy is an ugly emotion. And you guys would know all about being ugly.” The relief of pressure on her shoulder told her that Brodie had removed his hand and was making a rude gesture as the revellers drove off.

Once the noise of the car engine had abated, Fiona extracted herself and grasped his hand, heading off in the direction of home. As they walked, she told him about Glasgow and her life there. Brodie spoke about how pleased he was that all the crofters were making it through the recession.

“You didn't really need a new tractor, did you?”

Brodie tightened his lips and two lines of discontent appeared between his brows. “What are you implying, Ms Campbell?”

“That you told my dad you wanted a new one so you could give him your old one and he wouldn't refuse to take it.”

“You don't give your dad enough credit, Fee. He knows fine that I didn't need a new tractor. But he's sensible. He'd rather swallow his pride a bit than risk the croft going into receivership. Not that we would let that happen. The whole story of my desire for a new tractor was just an act so neither of us looked like we were being unmanly. Everyone knows the truth. It's all a game.”

“So you are giving my dad a relatively new tractor for nothing?”

“It's an investment. If the croft goes under, the estate doesn't get the rent.”

“Yes but...” He placed his finger over her lips. She knew the cost of the tractor would be at least a year's rent for the croft.

“But nothing. OK? There is nothing more to be said on the matter. We look after our own on Kilrigh. Even those who go off and hide in Glasgow for five years.”

She was about to protest when he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the field, taking care to shut the gate behind him. The deep lowing of the cows didn’t deter him as he gingerly side-stepped cow pats, heading for a barn on the other side of the field.  Fearing he would drop her, she remained silent until he put her down, opened the barn door and ushered her inside. He pulled a cord in the centre of the barn and a solitary light bulb illuminated.

“When did Kilrigh get electricity in barns?” she asked, frowning. “And why are we in Angus MacDonald's barn?”

“Angus will be tucked up in bed and won't notice we're here. Over the last few years, we’ve been generating some of our own electricity. This barn has a small wind turbine on the roof that powers the light. And I brought you here so I could kiss you in private.”

“Oh you did?”

“Yes.” He bowed his head and captured her lips as he backed her up against one of the old wooden pillars in the barn. This time the kiss was not tender and had no finesse. It was raw and powerful; full of need and desire. They touched, caressed and stroked one another’s bodies frenetically, until he started to roughly palm her breast. She turned her attention to fighting with the buckle at the side of his kilt. Eventually managing to free it, she set about opening the other and sighed with relief when the heavy tartan garment dropped onto the barn floor.

He fucked her mouth with his tongue, a foretaste of what he what he wanted to do with his cock. Pulling her skirt up and growling with frustration, he ripped her lacy underpants at the seam.

Fiona thought she should protest but, if she was honest, this was the hottest thing she had ever done and she was enjoying herself. He ripped the seam at the other side and what was left of the skimpy garment fell onto the floor. He pushed his knee between her thighs and pressed against her. She withdrew from the kiss to nip and suckle at the skin on his neck and shoulder.

Fiona rode his thigh, the heat in her belly becoming an inferno, her desire now unquenchable. She grasped his buttock, digging her nails in and urging him to rock harder and faster against her as she curled her fingers around his long thick erection, providing friction for him. He bit into her shoulder.

“Mmm, kiss,” she pleaded, waiting for him to move his head before catching his lips in a desperate kiss. A rough battle ensued as she licked, sucked and nibbled at his tongue and lips, attempting to keep contact despite the frantic movement of their hips.

“I'm going to come,” she managed through her ragged breath.

“Me too,” he breathed, into her ear as he rested his cheek against her and pumped harder into her clenched fingers.

Fiona felt the climax roll from her groin to her belly before it exploded through her body. Her legs went weak as she screamed out and she grabbed Brodie's shoulder to hold herself up. He was quick and tightened his grip on her waist, holding her shuddering body to his own.

He moved his free hand around her clenched fingers, tightening her grip on his cock. She was barely aware of his last few thrusts before he cried out a profanity and warm liquid spewed over both their hands.

He leaned his head on the pillar beside her, his ragged breath blowing her hair. Fiona leaned back, trying to find her equilibrium, and let go of his slowly deflating cock. She rested her hand lightly on his hip and looked up at him.

“Well that was–” She was lost for words. She had never had such intense sex. And it had never been so good, or so hot, despite the fact that he had not penetrated her.

“Fucking fantastic,” he supplied and lifted his head to grin at her.

“A fair assessment of the situation.” Fiona nodded her agreement then placed a delicate kiss on her new lover's mouth.

He deepened the kiss for a few moments then pulled away.

“Come on, we need to get you home. Your dad will be worried.”

“Maybe.” She swung her bag, which had been on her shoulder the whole time, around and fished inside it, bringing out wet wipes, paper tissues, and a small black bag. She picked up her destroyed knickers and placed them inside the little bag then cleaned her hand with a wet wipe after offering one to Brodie. He cleaned himself up and shook out his kilt. As he refastened the buckles, he looked around, his brow creasing into a frown.

“What's wrong?”

“My sporran it's...” He hit the heel of his hand of his forehead and grimaced. “Damn, I left it in the pub.”

“Rory will keep it safe.”

“Yeah, but my keys are in there.”

“Will the doors of the Big House not be open?”

“Not in the tourist season. A couple of years ago there were a number of break-ins, so we tend to lock the doors now.”

“Oh, that's a shame.”

“Anyway, it means I'll have to wake up half the house. Which will make me very popular, I'm sure.”

“Why don’t you sleep at the croft? You'll be up really early anyway, so no one will have had time to worry about you being missing.”

“Are you sure?”

“You can sleep on the couch.”

“Can I use your phone to send a text to my Dad to let him know I'm okay? His phone is off but he'll get the message when he wakes up.”

“Of course.”

They placed the tissues and wet wipes into Fiona's little black sack and headed back off into the night as Fiona explained that the little bags were usually bought by people for their dogs, but that she found them useful for all sorts of things. She dropped the bag in the croft's big household bin as they passed it in the yard. They crept into the kitchen only to find her dad and Bella sitting at the kitchen table. Bella was pouring over recipe books.

“Hi, you two. Come on in. I'll make you some cocoa. Bella's stressing about making Sarah's wedding cake.”

“Oh, you won? Congratulations.” She walked round the table and placed a peck on Bella's cheek.

“Yes, but now I have to decide what to make.”

“Surely you just make the cake that you won with. That's the one Sarah liked.”

“It wasn't fancy though.”

“But it was the one Sarah wanted. If she'd wanted fancy, she'd have gone for that awful fruit concoction I saw Margaret Grey bring.” Bella seemed to be mollified by that. “Dad is it okay if Brodie stays the night on the couch?”

“It's fine if he stays but he can have Bella's old room.”

“Bella's old room? Does Bella have a new room?” She was confused. The croft house only had 3 bedrooms. And her room was still her own.

“Yes, she sleeps with me. Come on, Bella. Let's leave the young ones to it.” He placed the steaming mugs of cocoa in front of them. “Night, kids.”

Bella and John left the kitchen leaving Fiona staring at the door, mouth agape.

“You didn't know?” asked Brodie gently.

“You did?”

“Everyone does. It's no secret. Did you expect him to spend the rest of his life pining for your mother? I've heard tell that she's shacked up in Glasgow with someone half her age.”

“That's entirely his fault.”

“Oh for goodness sake, Fee, get a grip. Your father and my mother did not have an affair. The two times when your mother claims they were 'at it,' they were at social functions where they were seen all night. Witnesses attested to it. Believe me, my own father checked and if he had thought my mum was unfaithful even once, he'd have thrown her out. Your mum used that alleged affair as an excuse to leave your dad. She wasn't interested in the truth and she poisoned your mind to him.”