His Scottish Siren (The Dominion #2)

Chapter One

Luna

I was overwhelmed by the size of the airport, and although I had a book on my device to read, there were way too many comings and goings for me to disappear into my head.

On top of that, I hadn't downloaded the app to keep me updated on the flight.

Every thirty seconds, my eyes would stray to the board closest to me to find out when we would be boarding.

As it had changed several times already, I couldn't control the trigger that kept my body on high alert.

I groaned inwardly, thinking about the cortisol release from the stressful situation, and here I was wanting to shed pounds.

I should be thanking my lucky stars I was going to Scotland and finally seeing the land of my ancestors.

And I would be, I told myself, once my feet were firmly planted on Scottish soil.

My mind had been busy with visions of the plane landing and me making a sweeping exit, dropping to my knees, and kissing the ground, and what the conservative Scots would think of my blatant display. I was making myself crazy and took some deep, anti-stress breaths to help calm my racing heart.

I glanced up at the screen to see the boarding information had changed.

The front ten rows were finally boarding.

Wait! When did that happen? I looked at the line, which was nearing the end, and jumped to my feet, sliding my heavy pack onto my back.

But the arm strap caught on my wrist, and my bracelet fell to the floor, scattering beads in a thousand directions.

Crap! The only piece of jewelry I'd brought for my backpacking Scotland trip had just fallen apart, and there was no time to collect all the freshwater pearls.

Finally getting the pack on my back, I begrudgingly left the pearls behind and tried not to think this was a sign of more chaos to come.

I practically jogged to the stand. At least I had my passport and ID ready.

“Have a nice flight,” said the gate agent as she closed my booklet with my stamped boarding pass nestled inside.

I glanced up to see who the beautiful Dutch accent belonged to.

The blonde was perfectly coiffed, with ruby-red lips—ugh!

In a word, gorgeous, and a reminder I'd been flying for hours and probably looked like it.

But she wasn't looking at me, but at someone behind me.

I turned to look, my pack throwing me off balance.

I would have fallen if strong hands hadn't reached out to steady me.

“Thank you. Sorry, I'm having a tough time, but you don't need to know that.

Oh, sorry, ugh, I'm rambling.” I stopped talking long enough to take in the handsome stranger who'd kept me from falling.

Holy Hannah! The man was tall, like really tall, but didn't have the slumped posture that often accompanied someone taller than everyone else and slouched to fit in.

This guy was not that. His tight-fitting dress shirt showed off large biceps, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing more muscles and a tattoo that wrapped around his arm.

It may have been a dragon, but some of the ink disappeared beneath the fabric.

My face was hot as my eyes traveled up to take in the rest of him.

Gazing down at me were eyes that looked amused and were the color of midnight blue with a golden limbal ring that served as a frame around the irises.

I was stunned; I'd never seen anyone with that color before, as they usually followed the color of the eye or were black.

On him, they reminded me of a predator, maybe a lethal cat, or perhaps like the dragon snaking up his arm.

“Oh, um, hello. Sorry to bump into you. Thanks for the rescue.” I quickly turned my back, heading down the boarding bridge, my pack half hanging, when I felt the weight suddenly disappear.

“Now, now, lass, where are your manners?”

I knew my mouth was hanging open when I turned back around, my eyes instantly locked on his commanding gaze. “I'm sorry?”

“Are you?”

“Huh?”

“Are you sorry?” he asked in a thick brogue accent.

“For what?”

His lips quirked up in what I assumed was a smile. “That is the question, indeed.”

I had to hand it to him. He'd kept me so engaged I'd forgotten all my angst. It was like a holiday from myself, but like all holidays, it came to an end.

Before I could say another word, he'd taken my pack onto his back and made a scooting motion with his hand, prompting me to continue walking.

It was just the two of us left, and I could feel his gaze on me as I walked ahead.

Who the hell was this guy, and why was he carrying my bag?

I handed the flight attendant my ticket when I boarded, and she directed me to a seat just on the other side of business class.

I turned to look at the handsome stranger, who seemed to instinctively know what I was thinking.

“Go sit, lass; I will place your bag in the overhead for you.”

Sweet relief filled me. I wasn't all that tall and couldn't reach the bin. He must have sized me up on the walkway and figured that out.

“Uh, thank you, Mr...?”

He smirked in the most beautiful way. His lips were perfectly formed, not too thick or thin, just sheer perfection. When he licked them, I imagined him running his tongue over my body and making me clench with pleasure.

“Artair is fine, lass, no need for Mister.”

Huh? His words literally startled me back from la-la-land. “Arthur?”

“Close, but this is the Scottish Gaelic form, pronounced, AHR-ter.”

The way he said his name sounded like sin wrapped around my favorite food.

“Oh. Thank you, Airteer.”

A low chuckle escaped him. “We'll work on it, lass.”

He closed the overhead compartment with an efficiency that spoke of his actions being well-rehearsed, gave me a wink, then disappeared around the curtain. The flight attendant gave me a dirty look and swished the curtain closed.

During the flight, I found myself steeped in feelings of annoyance at what money could get you. He was only a few feet away, but we were worlds apart. In economy, I ate my in-flight dinner, squished between a guy who wouldn't shut up and a woman who barely squeezed into her seat.

In his section, I heard the clinking of real silverware and the ding of glasses being filled.

He was probably chowing down on a steak right now while I ate dry tortellini in tomato sauce with a wooden fork.

To make matters worse, every once in a while, Artor, or whatever his name was, chuckled at something or spoke.

His deep, growly Scottishness caused all kinds of sensations to ping in my lower region.

As soon as we landed, I tore off my seatbelt, practically hurdled over the woman next to me like I was on a mission, and stood in the aisle.

I needed to get off this flight and away from all these people.

Coupled with my earlier stress, I was way overstimulated.

All I wanted was the nearest pub and a pint of whatever local brew they had before figuring out how to get to my hotel.

I had to jump to reach the handle of the overhead bin and managed to release the catch, but before I could make a second jump to retrieve my bag, a carry-on in astronaut silver toppled out and hit my shoulder before it dropped to the floor, taking me with it.

I let out a loud “Ow!” and the curtains flung open to reveal a pissed-off flight attendant and Artie, or whatever, glowering down at me. I was so done with this bullshit traveling stuff and didn't need their grumpy faces giving me attitude.

“What?” I demanded in an unkind tone. “I just want to get my stuff and get off this plane.”

Mr. Sexy, whose name I couldn't pronounce for the life of me, stepped in front of the attendant and helped me to my feet. With one deft move, he lifted my suitcase down and handed it to me.

“All you had to do was ask, lass.”

I glared up at the sexy giant. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt the good time you were having.” I crossed my arms and pouted, then uncrossed my arms and pressed them down my sides. I was seconds away from a full-blown tantrum, and I didn't even know why.

His knowing smirk was too much. I pushed past him and practically ran for the door.

The crew frowned as I pressed my way to the front, but I didn't care.

I wanted off this plane, and now, so no one would see my tears.

I was way out of my depth in every way and needed a quiet spot to recover where I wasn't crowded by so many bodies.

The door opened, and the tarmac of Glasgow airport lay before me. The plane landed in the place I'd been dreaming about for so long, yet I was in such an upset that getting on my knees and kissing Scottish soil was the last thing I felt like doing.

If my attitude hadn't decided that fact, then the weather did.

We'd landed in a torrential downpour, and of course, my rain jacket was crammed down in the bottom of my bag.

To get it out would hold up the line. Screw it!

Shrugging my shoulders, I held onto the railing, made my way down the passenger stairs, and hurried inside the building.

Despite my speed, I was soaked and relieved that I'd spent the extra money to make sure my carry-on luggage was waterproof.

I joined the line to pass through their version of customs, which consisted of two people at either side of a long tunnel scanning passports as we walked through.

Around me, accents rang out, and I couldn't help the smile that lightened my mood.

I really was here, and now things would get better, I just knew it.

I'd spoken too soon. When I arrived outside, there was a huge queue from another flight waiting for a taxi.

I was freezing, and the rain came down at an angle, so no matter where I stood, I got wet.

Some of the local women stood around in short skirts and shirts, seemingly not bothered by the biting cold rain.

Granted, it was September, and when I'd left Canada, it had been a warm 18 degrees Celsius, so I assumed for them, this was “normal” weather, whereas for me, it felt like late fall.

Scanning around, I saw nowhere I could go and hide from the rain while I waited for the logjam to ease. I huffed and turned to go inside when I bumped into a hard, muscular chest, hitting my nose on a breastbone.

“Ouch!” I glared up to see What's-His-Name staring down. “Artie, you couldn't possibly be waiting for a taxi, where's your private vehicle, hmm?”

“Artair. I'm here to offer you a ride.”

Now I felt kinda bad for being such a brat. “How do I know it's safe? I mean, how do I know you won't hurt me?”

“Oh, I'll most certainly hurt you, but not in the way you're imagining. Did you know that when one's arse has been striped with a belt and the blood flows to that area, the entire body heats up?”

He raised his brow, looking so sexy it was indecent.

I gulped at the promise in his eyes. “You mean you're going to spank me?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

My heart beat out of control, and a charge like lightning streaked through me, making my clit vibrate. This was such a cliché, and I wondered if my girlfriend back home had set this up, but there was no way she was capable of something like this.

“What if I don't want you to?” I spoke so quietly I wasn't sure if he'd heard me.

His head tilted slightly as he continued to gaze at me. “Then I'd call you a liar.”

My belly was doing flip-flops at an alarming rate. How did he know? “By agreeing to the offer of a ride, am I also agreeing to be spanked?”

How could something that was potentially so dangerous also be so appealing at the same time?

“Come with me. I will drive you to your hotel, and then we can go for dinner. If your mind isn't made up by then that I'm not a criminal out to harm you, then we will part ways amicably.”

I held up my phone and took a picture of Artair. “I'm sending this to my friend with a note saying if they don't hear from me in twelve hours, to send this to the authorities.”

He smiled. “It's about time you did something with your safety in mind. You can also give your friend my full name: Artair Grant McFarlane. And you are?”

“Luna.” That was all I was willing to tell him at this point.

I typed him into my contacts and added his phone number when he gave it to me, which I tried right away. The call went through, and he answered it.

“Do I have your permission to take you on a date and show you around my home?” He spoke on the phone, but his gaze held mine.

“Home?”

“Aye, Scotland.”

How did we get from a ride and dinner to him becoming my personal tour guide? If I agreed, I'd also be “agreeing to more,” he'd said. Is this the more—the spanking and whatever else came with it?

Take a chance, Luna, my inner voice coaxed, have the adventure of your life with a strapping Scottish man.

“Yes, Artair, you have my permission, for now. If dinner and the ride aren't up to snuff, then the deal is off.”

He smiled, not seeming the least bit put off by my conditions.

Slinging my relinquished pack on his back, he shifted his own bag in his other hand and held his free hand out to me.

I almost cried with relief at how warm his grasp was and instinctively moved in close to his body.

Heat radiated from him as he escorted me to the parking lot.

I felt safe for the first time since entering the Vancouver airport and beginning this journey.