Chapter 35
Lesson 34: One can learn to hate pajamas in the blink of an eye.
Bridget Jones Tally:
hurricanes—1
kilts—1
hands—4
I stormed down the hall like a hurricane, not even knowing what I would say when he opened the door. The only thing I did
know was that I refused to go to sleep thinking of him, the way I had done every night since the day that I’d arrived. I couldn’t
have stopped myself if I’d wanted to.
I wasn’t exactly sure where his room was, but it didn’t deter me. I’d knock on them all if I had to.
I turned the corner, and to my surprise, there he was, walking toward me. My feet began to run, and I didn’t stop until I
crashed into him. He grabbed me so tightly that we couldn’t breathe, then lifted me up and spun me around, laughing deep in
his chest while I covered his face with kisses.
“Miss Cooper,” he said politely, holding me a foot off the ground.
“Mister Brodie.”
“I wondered if we could maybe have a chat—”
I slid down his body and stopped him with another searing kiss that made my knees weak. Then I grabbed his hand and dragged
him back to my room. The door was still open, and I slammed it shut behind us. I went after him, kissing him ferociously,
as we backed our way to the bed.
I sat him down and straddled his lap. Then I noticed what he had in his hands.
“What is this?” It was plaid pajama bottoms and a soft T-shirt.
“Umm.” He wore a smile that flushed at the corners. “Well. What I wanted to say was—”
“Before you were interrupted.”
“Yes. Before I was interrupted.” He smirked, but then grew serious. “What I wanted to say was this. Alice, I don’t want to
waste any more time. I know that you’ll be going home soon, and I will kick myself for every minute that I wasn’t near you.
I don’t want to be presumptuous. I brought some pajamas. See?” He held them up to show me. “Nothing has to happen, but I wanted
to ask if maybe I could come to bed with you. Just to... to sleep next to you. Hold you, if you’d let me. If you’d want
me to.” He looked up at me through his eyelashes, having made an overture, and waited for my response. I stared at him, locking
eyes with his, dark and honest now, not glittering with their usually cheeky mischief.
“To hell with that plan.” I grabbed his pajamas and threw them across the room. Then I grabbed his sweater and dragged it
over his head. He laughed as I pushed his half-naked body down beneath me and planted a kiss on him that left no lingering
question as to how I wanted the rest of the evening to go.
“Christ,” he exhaled.
“Is this an acceptable alternative?”
“Aye. Very acceptable.”
When I sat up and finally looked down at his body, I let out an appreciative breath.
“Holy crap!”
I ran my splayed hands over his beautiful torso. I had been spoiled. His broad, muscular shoulders tapered down to a narrow
waist, and the muscles of his chest, arms, and stomach stood out. They were solid without being sculpted—the body of a strong,
active, outdoorsy man, rather than one who spent hours at the gym every day. His skin was smooth and perfect, and the feel
of soft skin over hard muscle made my head spin. He had a thatch of hair across the middle of his chest, which was soft and
manly, and when I ran my hands over it, the butterflies in my stomach went into tornado mode. He could not have been more
perfect for me had I constructed him myself, from star stuff and fevered sex dreams.
I wanted my mouth on him. I took my time kissing and tasting my way from his neck, across his flat stomach, to his hips where
he still wore his kilt. He took deep breaths and grumbled softly. I sat up and ran my hands across his arms. His hands came
up and encircled my waist and then slid up the silky satin of my robe to my breasts, where my hard nipples yearned for his
touch. He growled, a painful sound, as if he couldn’t take much more, and sat up to kiss me, but I pushed him down again and
coquettishly slid one shoulder out of my robe. It glided down my arm and then, slowly, off of my breast. The weight of it
pulled at my other shoulder, and a little wiggle had the other side sliding down to pool at the sash at my waist.
He groaned and took me in his hands, and my body writhed in exquisite anguish.
“My God, you’re perfect, Alice.” I shut him up with my mouth.
His kilt and my robe may as well have been sewn from wrapping paper for how long they lasted after that.
We spent the next six hours devouring each other in an Olympic tangle of recurring orgasms that paid reverent homage to the sixteen long days of frustrated foreplay that we had been bludgeoning each other with. These tantric sessions were punctuated by bouts of laughing at each other’s jokes, short naps, and hungry, exhausted cuddling, which led, of course, to more sex.
The physical chemistry between us was electric. Explosive. I have no idea how we had managed two weeks without ripping each
other’s clothes off. Yes, it was raw, animalistic passion at its best, but there was an underlying tenderness there as well:
a sweetness and an eagerness to make sure that the other was comfortable and happy. We cared about each other. He was very
careful to listen to my cues and seemed to intuit everything that I would like. When we napped, we held on tightly, unwilling
to let go even in sleep. He smelled so good. We fit together. It felt natural.
We were very fortunate indeed that a late start was scheduled for the next day. Robbie had correctly assumed that we ladies
would enjoy the luxury of sleeping in that morning to spend more time in the castle rooms and gardens. Isla had left at some
dark early hour and sent a knowing text to Robbie, thanking him for selflessly giving her the entire room for the night, and
telling him to sleep late and drink some water.
By the time we got up, we could see from the window that some of the early risers were out walking the grounds, or sipping
tea and coffee in the sunshine and birdsong-saturated garden. It was spring, after all, and it was good to see that Scotland
occasionally remembered it.
We, however, did not soak up the sights and sounds of our beautiful surroundings. Instead we soaked in a steamy clawfoot tub
together and enjoyed very different sights and sounds indeed. Afterward, as we got dressed for brunch—and my goodness, we
were starving!—I heard Robbie curse from the other room.
“Something the matter?” I asked, as I applied a little mascara.
He laughed ruefully. “I didn’t think to bring anything but my kilt and my pajamas! Ugh. The walk of shame is especially dangerous
when you happen to know half the guests in the hotel.”
“Well, there’s always this...” I said, dangling the silky pink robe from a finger. He scoffed. I secretly hoped he would
bump into at least one or two of the ladies so that he would have a funny story to tell me later.
“Maybe I’ll just go bare-arsed. Tell them that I’m doing research for my upcoming nude history tour.”
“Ooh—yes please! I vote for that option.”
“Oh, you’ll pay for that, Alice Cooper. If you thought for even one moment that I had forgotten about those pictures that
Berrta showed me, then you are sorely mistaken, darlin’.”
I stepped closer to distract him with a kiss and then whipped his towel off.
He growled low in his throat and kissed me back, pressing his naked body against my clothed one, showing obvious signs of
interest.
“Dinnea get me started again, ya wee hellcat.” He thickened his accent knowing that it turned me on no end.
“Fine then. Go on back to your own room. If we stay here any longer, we’ll not only be late for brunch, but you’ll have to
carry me down to it, because I’m already having enough trouble walking as it is.”
“Hmm... Okay.” He shoved me backward onto the bed with a smile. “I’ll carry you down then.” He jumped on top of me, ignoring
any pleas of protest I managed to squeak out between fits of laughter as he kissed his way up my body, tickling my waist with
deft fingers and my neck with his overgrown stubble. “Not a bad bargain for me, truth be told. Hurry up. Get your kit off.”
He bit my ear lobe and reached down to tickle my knees.
“Never!” I wheezed. “I’ll call the police and have you arrested for undue temptation and titillation!”
“Ahh, but you’re a Yank. You’ll not know the phone number.”
“Pfft! 999. Come on, you’ll have to try harder than that.”
“Hmm... harder, she says...” He kissed me passionately for a few seconds, pressing against me in a way that was making
my head spin. Then he stopped abruptly. “No, you don’t! We’ve got to go get some brunch before we pass out. It would be an
embarrassing thing to explain to the paramedics.” He stood up, pulling me up with him before wrapping his kilt around his
lithe body and pulling his sweater on. He clipped his sporran over the worst of it and gave me a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Wish me luck.”
Fifteen minutes later when I strolled into brunch, I realized—as everyone else had, no doubt—that the huge, goofy smile I
was sporting hadn’t left my face since the evening before.
Brunch was amazing in every way, and yet I remember almost nothing about it but the way Robbie looked at me.