Chapter Thirty-Six My First Love
“ Y ou go up here on the right.”
“This is a road ?”
“Like the roads in Scotland are better?”
“Hush, you.”
I laugh when Douglas swats my knee. In turn, I put my hand on his knee—and slide it up under his kilt. The car almost swerves off the rutted disaster that my dad really needs to have widened and resurfaced. “Sorry, are my hands cold?”
“N-no. I... I didn’t think you’d be up for that sort of thing yet, pet.”
My grip tightens around him, and I feel him harden at once, rising. “I’m up if you are—and you’re very up.”
“God, Georgia...”
I should behave—but I don’t. “I can’t help it. You turned me into a Douglo-maniac. It’s like a nymphomaniac, except I only want to be with you.”
Douglas jerks the wheel and gets us back on the dirt and gravel path that leads to one of the grassy foothills in the mountains. My dad owns several hunting lodges (or remote getaway cabins, since a lot of people who come here don’t hunt at all) in this area. If he sold them all, he could retire to the Florida Keys. Land in New York would fetch a pretty penny, but it’s held in trust. The acreage is always supposed to be here in case other Orcs and clans need somewhere to go. We call them “clan lands” even though we’re the only ones who’ve used them in decades. Now that most humans can’t tell a “monster” from Mick Jagger, having a secret, remote hiding place is kind of a moot point.
Right now, I let my hand wander back to the semi-hard cock I’ve missed so much over the past few days as I think about what it would be like to leave the modern world behind and live like the Orcs of the past generations. My father is one the last of the great landsmen, knowing how to hunt, fish, farm, stock game, cultivate forests for timber, craft weapons, and a hundred other skills.
I make a mean mocha double whip, and Douglas can avoid an audit like nobody’s business.
What would it be like to live out here, just Douglas and I, starting a little family, maybe having another Orc family a few miles away for company?
But most of the time it would just be him and me. No wonder Orc couples have such a tight bond. They had to be everything to each other.
“All the old traditions and things fade away, I guess,” I whisper.
“Hm? What’s that?” Douglas squints ahead in the bright Sunday sun.
“Being up here makes me feel like we’re back in time,” I explain. “No one around for miles. Game to hunt. Rivers to fish. A little cabin that we’re not supposed to use...” I reach into the pocket of my jean shorts and twirl a silver keyring on my finger. “Except that I stole this from the pegboard in the kitchen when I went to see Mom yesterday.”
“Georgia!” Douglas chides, but he chuckles. “You’d go mad without someone to manage and all the people to tend to.”
He’s right, but I scoff. “Would not.”
“You lie, my love. But even if you were telling the truth, think about your brother. Georgie, running the coffee shop alone? He’d stop letting people order and start assigning them food based on the look of them.”
“One, now he has Claire, and she softens him up. Two—you’re right. But , Georgie would be right each time. He’s a very intuitive chef. He knows just what a person should have.” My stomach rumbles. “Speaking of what a person should have, he packed us an armload of Cornish pasties.”
“Mmm. Solid choice.”
“He must have imagined I’d need to keep my caloric intake high.”
“I hope he packed some electrolyte lemonade as well, then!”
We laugh and lean on each other as Douglas brings the car into the semi-circle drive that crosses in front of the smallest of my father’s cabins.
Douglas doesn’t get out of the car, just pauses and looks up at the rustic little place. “Georgie and Claire came for a honeymoon... here?”
“No! No, no, in one of my father’s nice, fancy A-Lister lodges. This is more like the... C-List.”
“But it’s beautiful. Well-built.” He nods at the cabin, then his eyes shift to me. “Like a certain blonde bombshell I know.”
“Blonde bombshell.” I fan myself. “I love it.”
“Mmm. And I love you. You know... Not all the old ways have died. If you really crave the solitude, there are Wickstaff lands out in the Hebrides and Highlands. I’d build you a cottage.”
“And we’d hunt, fish, and farm?”
“Aye.” Douglas looks down at his middle. “I think I’d lose about three stone that first year, but we’d learn.”
He’d do anything for me. “I love you. I don’t want to step back into the 1800s, Douglas. I just like to visit them for a little bit. Weekends and Sunday afternoons where we can be alone in the world.”
“Aye. I’ll drink to that.”
THE PICNIC TAKES PLACE on a sunny patch near the cabin, Georgia leaning on one hip while she eats, showing off her long, toned legs, enslaving me further with every casual caress of her hand on my arm or leg.
She’s tucked away two pasties and is working on her third . My stomach flip-flops.
She hasn’t touched the bannock. What if she doesn’t? What if that’s not proper picnic lunch food? What if she’s full?
I swallow hard, fighting to get the lump of deviled egg down my suddenly sawdust-coated throat.
What if she only wants a sliver of it? It’s not exactly sweet. Why didn’t I bake a proper cake?
Because I can’t bake!
Why didn’t I learn to bake?!
“Babe? You don’t look so good.” Georgia rises to her knees and hands me a water bottle.
I swallow it sloppily, water splashing over my chin and front. I pull the plastic bottle away and snag it hard across one tusk, sending more water cascading down my thin white shirt.
“Bloody hell!”
“Ooh.” Georgia makes a breathless noise, even as she rushes to hand me napkins. “Do you realize how hot you look in a wet t-shirt, Doug? I thought that was strictly for girls, but I was wrong.”
“Minx.”
“I prefer vixen.” She rubs her nose to mine.
“Your chin fits right between my tusks,” I marvel, not for the first time.
“I know. I’m way smaller than you.”
Wet and all, she presses to me, stroking my damp face. “You’re the perfect fit for me,” I whisper. I swallow again, thumb stroking over her smooth peach cheek, so fair and so different from my green skin, so different from Nicola’s, too.
“You are the most beautiful to me.” I pull her hand into mine and capture her fingers, netting each one between my own so I can kiss the tiny hills of her knuckles, dwarfed by the mountains of mine.
“And you are the most handsome to me. The second I saw you—you took my breath away. Like, literally, because I had a cookie in my mouth, and I gasped when I saw you. Sucked that thing down my windpipe.” She groans against my shoulder for a moment. “So unsexy.”
“On the contrary, I thought it was highly seductive.”
More laughing, more nuzzling. More marveling at how she fits against me, under me, and with me in all ways.
“You are my first love,” I murmur.
Georgia’s eyes widen. “Me? I— No, I—”
“You are my first love ,” I repeat firmly. “My first. My only . I have loved and cared for others. I have never been in love with another. You are what they mean when they say ‘true love.”
“And you are mine, Douglas. Honestly.” Her sweet blue eyes overflow. “I don’t know why I’m crying. No, I do. Because I’m really happy,” she whispers.
My small and gentle smile broadens. “You know, my grandmother’s ring is at home in my chest of drawers. Waiting for my bride.”
Her breath catches, and her eyes widen even more. “Oh, honey, I—”
“It wouldn’t fit you, Georgia. And the thing is... I always felt some strange nagging guilt that I didn’t propose to Nicola with it. And lately, I’ve been looking at it.” I sit up a little, and she flows with me, two currents in the same stream. I reach for the bannock in its cheesecloth and set it out on the blanket. “I’ve been having this feeling that it’s just not right.”
“Oh.” Her face falls.
I’m not only all thumbs, I’m an arse as well. I hurry to save the smile I love. “I’ve never wanted to use that ring. You see why?” I lift her hand to my lips again. “My mate’s hand is far too small—but it fits just right in my grasp. The ring I never wanted to use was never meant to be used, love.”
Georgia nods, face unclouding, sunshine back in her gaze. “That’s so sweet. Do you want me to cut you a slice?” She reaches for the knife in the picnic basket.
“Aye.” I push out my plate, hoping my voice isn’t quivering. I’ve shoved the ring into the bottom of the bannock, dead center. “Long and thin, please, love? I like the middle. That’s the best bit.”
“Really? I like the way it gets crispy on the edges.” Georgia smiles and slices. “See? We’re perfect. You eat the soft middles. I’ll eat the hard parts.”
For a second, we try to be mature, and then we giggle like teenagers.
“I have one soft middle that I’ve very much missed eating,” I confess, hand on her thigh.
“And a hard bit I’ve been dying to wrap my lips around.” She presses the knife down with a grin and then frowns.
“What?”
“I think you’ve got a big clump of oats in the center, hon, it’s... It’s... Not oats?” Georgia puts my slice of bannock on a paper plate, and then peers at the middle of the cake.
“Something the matter?”
“Sweetie... I think you baked a measuring spoon in the middle!” Georgia whispers, trying not to laugh.
“I didn’t!” I sit up in false shock. “Never!”
“I think so, look at this, there’s something metal.” Georgia clicks the tip of the knife to the center of the cake, and sure enough, there’s a tiny metallic sound.
I groan. “Promise you won’t tell your brother.”
“I’ll never tell. I’m sure he’s done something similar at one point. Probably not lately.”
“I suppose you don’t want any now?” I prod.
My heart has stopped beating evenly. It’s now tap dancing like a drunken spider. If she doesn’t realize it’s a ring soon, I’m going to rip the bannock in half and show her.
Not elegant, but it’ll get the message across...
“No, baby! I still want some! Especially with that blackberry jam. I’d eat anything with blackberry jam. In fact...” Her eyes glint with wickedness and lust. “I wonder how it’d taste on you?”
“Eat up your lunch like a good girl, and we’ll find out.”
Georgia slices again and again the fork clinks.
You can’t cut a pearl with a bread knife, can you?
“I’ll just get that spoon out of here,” she stage whispers, fingers pushing at the bottom of the cake.
I just nod. It’s all I can manage.
Georgia’s face changes from amusement to consternation, then, finally, to awe as she pulls out the circle of gold with its beautiful pearl and halo of diamonds. Crumbs cling to it, but I deftly grab her wrist and blow them off as she continues to stare, open-mouthed.
“What? What is this?” she whispers at last.
“You are my first love. My only love. My true love. I have waited half my life to find you, Georgia Fenclan. Will you be my bride? My mate and my wife, mother of my bairns, and heart of my home for the rest of our lives?”
My talkative Georgia... She’s suddenly mute, tears coursing over her cheeks as she nods. She doesn’t stop nodding until I pull her into my arms, kissing her cheeks and her lips, wiping away the tears that fall faster than I can catch them.
“Georgia?”
HE ASKED ME.
Now.
So soon. Probably too soon for his cautious nature and all he’s gone through.
But he means it. He means it.
He’s mine.
When he kisses me, his lips give me back my voice. “My love. My husband and mate. All the things and all the people—you are everything to me, Douglas. Yes, I’ll be your wife and mate. Bride. Lover. Everything.” I let him slip the ring on my finger, my hands and voice shaking in unison.
“Thank you.” His sigh is so deep and heartfelt. “I know it probably can’t be this year that we’ll wed, but thank you a million times for letting me show the world you’re waiting for me.”
“What? Why can’t we marry this summer? I’d marry you tomorrow, silly.” I stroke his face, the gorgeous creamy pearl and shining diamonds resting on his green skin as I cup his cheek.
“Well... Ye’ll want a big wedding. You deserve one. You’re the heart and soul of the town, everyone’s friend, the smiling face they see in the morning or at lunch. You deserve a big bash. And your family just came over from Scotland a few weeks ago. We’d have to ask them to come again so soon...” He trails off.
He has valid points. My future husband (eee!) is smart.
But he doesn’t understand everything about me just yet.
“My whole life has been full of parties and people. You’re right. I’ll always be in the public eye, and I like it there. We can invite all the people who matter to us whenever we want to get married, sweetheart, but let me tell you something.”
“What?”
“The wedding is only one day, not my whole life. On our wedding day, I only care if you’re there with me. That’s a day for me and you. Everyone else is extra.”
“You wouldn’t be sad if it was smaller?” Douglas licks his lips. “And sooner?”
“I’d say let’s get married tomorrow—but I want to enjoy being engaged for a few weeks at least.” I lean on Douglas, and he goes down on the blanket. I sprawl on his chest. “So, I’m a little bit of a social butterfly, hm?”
“A beautiful one, indeed.”
“Well, I’ve been waiting my whole life to have someone to cocoon up with. My other half.” I bend my head and plant a lingering kiss on his lips. I feel his erection stirring against my middle, and I instantly feel an answering throb inside.
“Pinch me?” Douglas whispers, looking up at me with dreamy eyes, his arms stretching back and folding behind his head.
I lightly dig my finger into his cock where it’s covered by his kilt. “I have better ways to convince us both that we’re not dreaming.”
Douglas sighs. “Mm. Come here, darling bride.”
“I’ve never made love as an engaged person,” I whisper against his mouth as we roll to our sides.
“Hmm. Get used to it. It’s essential practice for making love as a married person.”
“I didn’t think you could do it,” I sigh between kisses.
“Hm? Didn’t think I’d get up the courage to ask you?” Douglas asks, the faintest note of injury in his voice.
“No! I didn’t think you could top the last picnic you took me on, but...” I raise my hand above my head and let the afternoon sun catch the jewels. Reflections sparkle down on us.
Magical.
Love is magical.
Douglas is magical, and I know he’ll never believe it, but he doesn’t have to. I believe it enough for both of us.
“But you did it, sweetie.” I beam at him. “You just keep making things better.”
I love the way he looks at me, eyes full of heat, but also so sincere. It’s a quiet, deep kind of heat, an intensity that I can tell will last a lifetime.
“Aye—because everything is better with you.”