Page 25 of Plaid Attitude
His daughter was carrying a duck for some reason.
And Coira’s gaze was locked on his cock.
He should have been embarrassed. He should have blushed. Instead, he propped his fists on his hips and raised his brow, resisting the urge to thrust his hips forward and ask her if she liked what she saw.
Obviously, she liked what she saw; she hadn’t looked away from Doughall Junior since he’d turned around.
His daughter on the other hand…
“Jeez, Da,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and stomping across the cottage toward the kitchen table.
“Jeez?” echoed Coira, her wide-eyed gaze finally popping up to his.
He grinned and shrugged. “I cannae keep up with the language the kids use these days.”
Despite her blush, she smirked. “With their strange new music and baggy pants?”
“Pants in general are evil.” He nodded solemnly. “’Tis more natural to let yer bits hang loose in the wind.”
At those words, her gaze dropped back down to his cock, now standing straight and proud from its nest of wiry hair.
She licked her lips, and Doughall Junior gave a desperate leap.
“Da, even baggy pants would be preferrable at this point.” Bessetta had her hand over her eyes. “Or a bucket. Or a sack of potatoes.”
“Do ye want a sack of potatoes?” Coira asked wryly.
Since his daughter’s eyes were closed, he couldn’t resist the urge to thrust his hips forward this time. “Nae thank ye, I’ve already got a sack.”
From the table, Bessetta groaned, “A sack of shite!”
He burst into laughter and reached for his kilt.
As he settled it around his hips, he saw Coira’s lips tug into a disappointed grimace—which made his grin even prouder—before she sighed and turned to the table. “So, Bess, ye’re saying that ye dinnae listen to bad music or use slang us auld people dinnae understand, or drive too fast?”
“I have nae idea what ye’re talking about,” she muttered. “This is the medieval era!”
Doughall was focused on buckling his belt. “What’s the medieval era?”
Shrugging, Coira moved toward the table. “The era in the middle?”
“Of what?”
Coira was saved from answering when Bessetta peeked between her fingers and saw Doughall was dressed, so she lowered her hand with a scowl. “Ye ought to be ashamed.”
Coira’s grin was a little wry as she settled herself on the stool across the table from his daughter. “Aye, and I’m sorry, lass. We were speaking of ye and yer fears.”
Fears?
Doughall was there in an instant. “What is it?” He took Bessetta in his arms and lifted her, duck and all. “Are ye hurt? Was it Edgar?” Heknewthat bastard couldn’t be trusted.
But Coira was making frantic “nay, nay, it’s aright!” gestures behind his daughter’s back, and Doughall frowned as he realized Bessetta had gone toherwith whatever this issue was. Deciding to trust them both, he slowly eased his hold on his daughter.
Who was now crying.
Fabulous, ye made her cry again.
“Bessetta?” he promoted gently. “Can I help?”
