For Love of a Grump: A Grumpy Soft for Sunshine Collection

Chapter 11

Shower and a shave: Check.

Black button-down shirt pressed: Check.

Boots cleaned and polished: Check.

Mortification that his ward had made arrangements to take himself off for the night to give them some alone time for a date night—along with suggestions on what that date should entail: Check.

The lad was certain Malcolm had no game. And, okay, he’d been out of it long enough that whatever skills he possessed were rusty. But he still had a notion of how to woo a woman. More importantly, he had a clear understanding of his own limitations and knew when to call in reinforcements. That request had been its own form of awkward, but his coconspirators assured him everything would be sorted, despite the short notice.

The only thing remaining was to pick up his date.

A knock on his door had him scowling. If anyone needed a bloody thing and ran this night off the rails, Malcolm just might kill them.

But it wasn’t a tenant or Raleigh or any of their handful of other employees standing on his stoop. It was Charlotte herself.

She was gorgeous, dressed in some kind of dark red wrap dress that hugged every one of her curves. She’d paired it with knee-high leather boots and a smart little leather jacket. The only thing stopping his tongue from falling right out of his mouth in a drool was the look on her face. It wasn’t panic, exactly, but it definitely wasn’t excitement either.

“What’s wrong?”

“Raleigh just stopped by to pick up Gavin.”

And saw her looking like this? No question she was ready for a date. “So… he knows about us?”

She scooped the hair back from her face with a nod.

“Did he hassle you?”

“No. He told me to enjoy myself.” The pinch on her face suggested she definitely wasn’t.

Shite. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe faced with actually telling people about them, she’d realized she didn’t want this. Didn’t want him.

“And that’s a… problem?”

“No, I just… feel strange about the whole thing.”

Malcolm considered tiptoeing around the issue and decided that would just waste precious time. Better to rip the bandage off. “About us? Or about the fact that Raleigh now knows?”

“I feel fine about us. It’s just… we—you and I—feel like a very personal thing. I’ve dated over the years since I took over Raleigh’s care, but it was always something I kept very separate from him. And I just don’t know how to feel about the fact that apparently he and Gavin are playing matchmaker.”

Malcolm wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it either, but he wasn’t going to fight it, as their interference was getting him exactly what he wanted. God and Charlotte willing. “Do you want to call the whole thing off?”

“What? No!” She stepped inside, laid a hand on his chest. “No, I’m just still processing having different sectors of my life collide. I definitely still want this.”

The night? Or him? Both?

Only one way to find out.

He snagged the keys to his 4x4. “Then let’s go.”

When this relatively last-minute opportunity had presented itself, he’d made the executive decision against taking her out to The Stag’s Head. Showing up in the local pub wouldn’t give them the kind of privacy they’d both been craving, not with everybody and their brother stopping by to say hello, as was the way of small villages. He’d elected not to drive to one of the other nearby villages, either. Not when they had ready access to options that had already been kitted out to be comfortable and inviting.

When he pulled up in front of the cottage, Charlotte frowned. “What are we doing here? Is there something wrong we need to handle for guests before we go to dinner?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong. I just thought we’d both be more comfortable having our date away from prying eyes, so I booked it for the evening.” He also really hoped this would lead to some conclusions they’d been denied up to this point.

“Oh. That was thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

For once, she waited until he came around to open the passenger door, allowing him to escort her to the cottage. He had no idea what to expect, given the time constraints, but he’d been promised food and ambiance. Turning the key in the lock, he opened the door, and they stepped inside.

A fire crackled in the stone hearth. Flowers were scattered everywhere—in vases and pitchers, draped across the mantle. Petals had been sprinkled over the crisp linens of the freshly made bed in the corner. Electric candles flickered on almost every table or shelf. The whole ambiance had Sophie stamped all over it. A massive basket sat on the rough wood island. He could see the neck of a wine bottle sticking out among an assortment of other goodies nestled inside.

Yet another peculiar look flickered over Charlotte’s face. Damn it, Malcolm wished he could read her better.

“What?”

“Did you arrange for all of this?”

“Sort of. I asked Kyla about renting the place for the evening, and she said she’d take care of it. Obviously, she got help from Sophie, with all the flowers. What’s wrong?”

She pressed her red-painted lips together for a moment before flashing a sheepish smile. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that they gave us the honeymoon package.”

“Ah.”

What more could he say? He’d been hoping to romance her. All these trappings were in service to that. But now he understood her discomfort with the idea of others knowing about them. The idea that Kyla and Sophie had set up the cottage with the idea of seduction in mind made him feel a little weird, too. He’d known them as wee girls.

“I just think it’s interesting that this is happening right on the heels of Gavin announcing he thinks we should get married.”

Malcolm dropped the keys. “He thinks what now?”

“He thinks it would give us a better case for being his custodial guardians if things go awry with Simon. I mean, he’s probably not wrong, but… that’s a lot.”

It sure as hell was. But instead of allowing himself to fall down that rabbit hole, he focused in on the more immediate part of what she’d said. “You talked about Simon with Gavin?”

“In broad strokes. He’s a smart boy, and he’s worried, so I explained the plan.”

It wasn’t what they’d agreed to, but he trusted her judgment in this. She’d done a hell of a good job raising Raleigh, so he knew she had good parenting instincts.

“How did he take that?”

“Well, he wants to stay with us.”

Some thrumming tension he’d been carrying around for weeks began to relax. “Good.” Malcolm didn’t think he could take having someone else he cared about walk away.

“I think he’s kind of dubious about the likelihood of success of Plan A, so he’s worried about the rest. Hence his matchmaking efforts tonight.”

It was obvious in the way her fingers nervously plucked at the sleeve of her coat that she was worried about the whole thing. “Do you want to talk through all of it?” That wasn’t remotely what he wanted for tonight, but she’d hardly settle in for pleasure if she was stewing in anxiety. And if there were decisions to be made regarding Gavin’s welfare, better they face them head on.

Charlotte angled her head in consideration. “Right now, no. Because there’s nothing we can do to change the situation tonight, and a lot of people have gone to the trouble to see that we get the night to ourselves. It seems a damn shame to spend that talking about the things we’d be talking about on any given day, anyway. I really just want to spend some time with you.”

Reassured, Malcolm grunted and strode over to the island to investigate the contents of the basket. He pulled out the bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. There was also a container of chocolate-covered strawberries that were no doubt Angus’s doing, a box of crackers, and a loaf of crusty bread. On the counter, a small slow cooker held what appeared to be some sort of stew. The scent of it already had his stomach growling as he opened the fridge to find a charcuterie board. “Do you want to eat? It looks like they’ve set us up with all kinds of stuff.”

“Malcolm.”

He turned around to find her draping her coat around the back of a kitchen chair, her attention wholly on him.

“Eating is not what I have in mind right now.”

Oh, thank God. Oh, hell yes.

“It’ll keep.” He shut the refrigerator and stalked toward her. “What do you want?” Based on the simmering lust in her eyes, he was pretty sure they were entirely on the same page, but confirmation was always smart.

She flowed into him, snaking her arms up his chest to toy with the hair at his nape. “Take me to bed.”

Her husky order had his erection reporting for immediate duty. They’d been circling around this for a month. Longer, really, if he considered all that sniping they’d done as some kind of foreplay. It would be so easy to tumble her onto the bed and head straight for sweet relief. But that wasn’t what he’d promised. He’d said he wanted to take his time. Given he had no idea when they’d get another opportunity for this, he was sticking to that plan.

Curling his hands around her hips, he pulled her forward, lowering his head for a long inhale as he skimmed his lips along the column of her throat. The scent she’d dabbed there was something spicy and floral that made him think of tropical beaches where swimsuits were optional. “You smell delicious.”

“Mmm, you feel delicious.” Her hands were bold as they slid up his chest, tracing, molding to the muscles there, even as she tipped her head to one side in blatant invitation.

Accepting that gift, he explored the new angle of her throat and began to slowly back her toward the bed, enjoying the friction of their bodies brushing, separated by only a few layers of fabric. Her fingers worked at his shirt buttons, until she could spread the fabric wide and press her mouth to one pec, tongue darting out to tease his nipple.

“Careful, woman. Turnabout is fair play.”

“I’d be very disappointed if it weren’t.” With one hand, she guided his to the knot tied at her waist.

Malcolm watched her eyes go impossibly darker as his fingers pulled the knot loose. He unwrapped her, parting the sides of the dress until it slipped from her shoulders, leaving her standing there in a confection of black lace that served her breasts up like a feast.

“Fuck me,” he murmured, tracing the edge of one bra cup in reverence.

“That is absolutely the idea. Touch me, Malcolm. Taste me. Take me. I want you.”

Christ, the woman was going to bring him to the edge with her words alone.

Unwilling to end this so quickly, he dug deep for some control and nudged her to sit on the bed. She leaned back on her elbows, staring up at him with some combination of lust and a dare in her eyes. With slow deliberation, he unzipped the boots. Charlotte watched him, unmoving, as he slid first one and then the other from her tiny feet. Taking advantage of her position, he reached around to release the catch of her bra, growling in satisfaction as it opened. She slipped it off and reclined back on her elbows again, full, beautiful breasts on display, just for him. But he needed more. He wanted her entirely bare. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of the tiny excuse for a thong she wore, he worked them down her legs, until she wore nothing but a Mona Lisa smile.

“God, I just want to look at you.”

“I hope you’ll do more than look.” She skimmed her own hand down her belly, fingers delving into the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs. “I’d rather wait for you, but patience isn’t really one of my virtues.” Her other hand cupped a breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

Scooping her up, he tossed her further back on the bed. The mattress dipped as he crawled up to join her, replacing that hand with his mouth on her breast, and slipping his own fingers beneath hers to explore her slick folds. And, oh, it was even better than he’d imagined hearing her hum of pleasure as he worshipped her. Each time he felt her getting close, he backed off, changing tactics until he felt that gathering again. He licked and sucked and stroked her, until hums turned to moans, and moans turned to incoherent pleas in a torrent of Spanish. When the whip of release flashed through her, strangling his fingers, she was every bit as lovely and flushed as he’d dreamed. And so very wet.

Malcolm slipped his fingers from her core, drinking in her gasps from the aftershocks as she slowly came down from the climax. His cock was straining, demanding some action, but he thought he’d rather torture her with his mouth next, see if he couldn’t get her screaming his name.

Charlotte’s eyes opened and fixed on his. She struggled up, hands shoving at his shoulders.

Worried, for a moment, that he’d done something wrong, that this was her saying no, he fell back. Releasing her.

“Oh no. I know that look. You can drive me out of my mind later.” With more dexterity than he’d expected, she unfastened his kilt, exposing him to her hungry gaze. “And I can assure you, I’ll return the favor.” She bent, pressing a kiss to the bobbing tip of his erection. “But right now, I need you.”

He could’ve fought her. He was twice her size. But why the hell would he, when the idea of Charlotte Vasquez taking what she wanted was so damned arousing? So was the picture she made, throwing one leg over his hips and rising over him, those magnificent breasts swaying as she lined up his cock with her entrance. Eyes on his, she sank down, taking him in on one long, slow slide.

At the tight wet heat of her, he nearly blacked out, because she was the best fucking thing he’d ever experienced. And as she began to ride him, her breasts swaying, she looked like some kind of pagan goddess. Malcolm thought he’d happily sacrifice himself on this altar for the rest of time. Her body gripped his like a glove, taking him deeper with every undulation. And no matter his good intentions, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Clinging to his last vestiges of control, he reached between them, thumbing her clit until she detonated, dragging him with her into the fire.

Later—a long time later—Malcolm returned to consciousness. Surrounded by flowers and candles and the scents of good food and sex, with a warm, naked woman draped over his chest, her leg threaded with his, he felt complete and utter contentment.

Rousing himself enough to stroke her hair, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You know, I have a new appreciation for all the posh little touches you insisted we have at these places. It really does add to the ambiance.”

Charlotte began to laugh, a little giggle at first that morphed into great gasping hilarity. She was still laughing when he kissed her and rolled her beneath him.

* * *

Charlotte wassore in places she hadn’t known she could still get sore. And that was saying something, since she’d been doing home renovations for the past several months. But oh dear Lord, was there anything better than multiple orgasms with an attractive, interesting man who thought you were gorgeous? No, there definitely was not. They were so far and above the self-assisted variety as to not even be on the same scale. Who knew that Malcolm Niall had that much passion pent up behind his stoic mask? As far as she was aware, only her. The knowledge of that felt like some glorious, sexy secret just between the two of them, and she couldn’t stop smiling, even as she stood just outside a cottage with multiple broken windows, a chunk of missing roof, and clear evidence a family of rodents had taken up residence.

“Grab the shovel, my boy. We’ve got work to do.”

Picking up the handles of the wheelbarrow, she pushed it inside the next project on her renovation list. She and Gavin would clear out as much as they could, then see what Malcolm wanted to do when he arrived later. He’d been tied up with managerial duties this morning, helping move a flock of sheep from one part of the estate to another. The idea of seeing him again after last night only had the smile spreading wider.

“You’re in an exceptionally good mood today,” Gavin observed.

“It’s a beautiful day that I get to spend with one of my favorite people.” Swinging an arm around his shoulders—and holy shit, he’d grown already—she stretched up to press a smacking kiss to his cheek.

“Uh-huh.” He passed over a shovel. “Are you sure it disnae have anything to do wi’ a usually snarly estate manager? One who was actually whistling before coffee this morning?”

It tickled her to no end that even Malcolm’s eternal grumpitude had been obliterated by last night. Schooling her girlish delight into the semblance of a stern expression, she fixed Gavin with a look. “Okay, fine, it might have something to do with him. We appreciate your little matchmaking efforts. But Malcolm and I can take it from here, thank you very much.”

“Can you, though? Because Raleigh thinks you’ll get in your own way.”

Fists balled on her hips, she glared at him. “You’re talking about us with Raleigh?”

“Duh.” Gavin shrugged shoulders that were far less thin than they’d been a month ago. “I wanted to know if you’d dated anyone before, while you were raising him. He said no.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. “There were a few people. No one who really mattered, which is why he never knew about them.”

“He figured you kinda skipped all that because of him.” Gavin scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor. “I just… I don’t want you to do that because of me. You deserve to be happy.”

Charlotte’s throat went thick with emotion. This kid. She pulled him in for a hug. “Thank you, baby. I appreciate that. And we are happy. With each other and with you.”

The sound of a footstep had her turning, heart lifting as she expected to see Malcolm in the doorway. She wanted to share this moment with him, as they’d shared countless others. But the hulking shape in the door wasn’t Malcolm. He wasn’t wearing a kilt, and he moved wrong. But it was the instant snap of tension in Gavin that told her who he was, even before he spoke.

“How touching.” The man angled his head, studying her. “So you’re Mac’s latest whore. I have to say, his taste has improved.”

“Don’t you talk about her like that!” Gavin shouted.

Simon—because this had to be Simon Elliot—took a lunging step inside. “Don’t you take that tone with me, lad.” His tone dripped with venom and the kind of mean that was bred into the bone.

The change in Gavin was instant, his terror a palpable thing.

Like Malcolm, Simon was a big man, well over six feet and broad with muscle. But where Malcolm made her feel safe, this man felt like a threat. Charlotte could smell the alcohol on him, though he didn’t appear to be staggering drunk. She suspected he was the level of intoxicated that was just enough to exponentially raise the stupid quotient, without dulling the reflexes much. It was a recipe for violence.

In that moment, she was excruciatingly aware they were alone.

Without taking her eyes off Simon, she reached for one of the shovels. “Gavin, get behind me.”

His father sneered. “Hiding behind a woman?”

Choking up on her grip, she held the shovel like a baseball bat. “A woman who’s going to kick your ass unless you leave this property immediately.”

“Sure. I’ll leave. But no’ without my son.”

Fury lit a fire in her blood because she could feel Gavin’s vibrating anxiety. “Over my dead body. He’s not going anywhere with you.”

With an ugly smile, Simon stepped closer.

Fear crawled through her belly. She’d do whatever she could to stop this man, up to and including bodily harm. But what if she wasn’t fast enough? The shovel had decent heft, but it was awkward, and she wasn’t accustomed to striking a moving target. In her peripheral vision, she assessed the space for other potential weapons. But there was nothing. They hadn’t brought in any other tools. Hadn’t even gotten started yet on the work. Where the hell was her phone? If she could manage to dial Malcolm… But she had no idea where he was on the estate and whether he even had coverage.

She needed to buy time. Get him talking. If he was talking, he wasn’t acting. That gave more opportunity for somebody to drop by. She prayed with everything she had that Raleigh or Connor or one of the others would feel a sudden urge to check on the status of things. There’d be safety in numbers.

“How did you find us here?”

“Somebody was asking questions about me. About my boy. A buddy of mine overheard. Didnae take too much detective work to trace it back to Hamish Colquhoun. Everybody ’round here knows he’s thick as thieves with the MacKeans. After that, it just took some well-placed questions at the pub to find out about the boy that got hired on at Lochmara. Didnae expect to find him working with my old mate Mac Niall. Kinda thought he’d have offed himself by now.”

The casual way he suggested that Malcolm would’ve committed suicide had Charlotte’s blood turning to ice.

“Come to find out he’s running this place. He’s come up in the world from the old days. But I ken the truth. No matter what he’s done since, Mac’s still a drunk. He’s still that guy who got so jaked he permanently crippled a bloke in a pub brawl.”

She didn’t believe him. Malcolm had admitted to turning to the bottle after Miranda died and he lost Robyn. But she didn’t for a moment believe that he’d have lost control that badly.

“You know nothing about Malcolm.”

Her defense seemed to amuse him. “I know he’s taken something that disnae belong to him. I want it back.” His gaze slid behind her. “Time to come home, son.”

“No.” Charlotte tightened her hold on the shovel.

“Do you really think you’re going to stop me? A wee slip of a thing like you?” His gaze raked over her, oily and viscous. “Although, with those tits, maybe no’ such a slip. A good handful, those.”

“You’re a cretin.”

He made a little lunging motion toward her, pulling back at the last second before she swung. With a twisted grin, he did it again and again. She realized he wasn’t going to actively attack her. At least, not without getting her to take a swing first so he could claim self-defense. She just had to hold out until someone could get here.

Oh, please, God. Send someone—anyone—to help.

Simon continued to provoke her, springing and stomping and waving his hands. Charlotte continued to pivot, keeping herself between him and Gavin. Maybe if she could get him to move enough, they could get to the door…

Evidently tiring of the game, Simon darted closer, hands outstretched. She swung, feeling the whump of the shovel connecting. But Simon didn’t slow. With no effort at all, he twisted, yanking the shovel from her grip. Her tiny hands were no match for his brute strength.

Instinctively, she raised her fists, bracing herself to leap, scratching and pummeling whatever she could reach.

But someone else hurtled through the door with a roar. Simon turned, only to be driven back as Malcolm used momentum to slam him into a wall.

His face twisted with rage, he pressed one forearm across Simon’s throat. “Get the fuck away from my family!”

Simon began to laugh. At least, that’s what Charlotte thought that noise was, sawing out of his constricted throat.

“Your family? They’re no’ your family. And I’m no’ going to hand over my child just because you were careless enough to lose yours.”

For one instant, Malcolm’s face went bone white. Then the rage was in control. He drove a fist into Simon’s stomach, doubling him over. Simon shoved away from the wall, sending Malcolm staggering back with an uppercut that made his teeth click. With a shake of his head, he was in it again, dealing brutal blows that snapped Simon’s head back. Something crunched. Blood sprayed from Simon’s face. With a bellow, he retaliated, getting in a couple of jabs before the tide turned yet again.

Someone had to put a stop to this before either of them did more damage. She needed to find her phone. To call for reinforcements. But she couldn’t leave Gavin alone in here.

Rushing to where he’d crouched in a corner, tears streaming down his cheeks, she grabbed his hand. “Come on. We have to go.”

He let her pull him to his feet, and they skirted the brawling men to get out the door. Charlotte immediately sprinted for the truck. Her phone was, blessedly, still in the cupholder. She dove for it, hesitating for a moment with her thumb over the pad. Should she call Raleigh? Connor? Or should she go straight for the police? Once they got involved, whatever control she had over the situation was lost.

But as she heard the continued thud of fists on flesh, she understood that control was already gone.

She dialed.

“999. What is your emergency?”