Page 1 of Christmas Games
1
April
Rory was pretty sure he knew how babies were made, but he’d never expected it to involve holding his naked wife upside down by the ankles. He was as strong as the Highlands, but wasn’t entirely confident he could hold up one hundred and forty pounds of the most precious human in his life for half an hour.
‘Are you sure this is necessary?’ he asked, biceps bulging as his grip tightened.
Zoe lifted her head, her long red curls swishing across the wooden floor of the cabin.
‘Absolutely. It’s gravity. Science.’
‘I don’t want to drop you.’
‘You won’t,’ she answered cheerfully. ‘And if this doesn’t work, then we’re going to have sex in the middle of the standing stones.’
‘The ones just off the A835?’
‘Yup.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, according to Bra—local legend, they’re built over a convergence of ley lines.’
Rory gritted his teeth at the almost mention of his mother’s new husband. The dowager Countess of Kinloch, and the most buttoned-up person he knew, was now married to Brad Bauer, a Hollywood superstar twelve years her junior and only seven years older than Rory himself. Brad was bonkers and Rory’s mother a royal pain in the backside, but thankfully they lived in LA.
‘Zoe, those stones were put up by a local farmer a few years ago forOutlander-obsessed tourists.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Dammit. Okay, I’ll ask Fiona if she knows any other good spots. There’s a full moon coming up and I want to take full advantage of it.’
Rory lifted her onto the bed.
‘Hey! It hasn’t been half an hour yet.’
Tucking Zoe into his body, he nuzzled her cheek. ‘Your face is redder than your hair, and there are definitely other things we could do to help make a baby.’
She grinned and reached down to his cock. ‘Plan B?’
Rory rolled her onto her back with a growl and she giggled.
‘Zoe MacGinley, as far as making babies is concerned, I’m only ever Plan A.’
A couple of hours later,Rory was on the telephone in the Kinloch estate office, hiding behind his alter-ego of ‘Greg’, whilst listening to a five-minute dissertation on flowers. Posing as a member of staff usually made dealing with the public quicker and easier.
‘They must be blue hydrangeas, but not those terrible electric blue ones, they have to be lavender blue as per the colour wheel I emailed. And white heather, not purple as it can’t clash. To be honest with you, Greg, I can’t be sure of the quality of your computer monitor, so I’m going to courier up the mood boards I’ve created. The actual boards. Do you appreciate the significance of this?’
Rory ran a hand into his messy blond hair and bit back a sigh. He’d heard the term ‘bridezilla’ before, but presumed most men getting married were happy for their only responsibility to be showing up on time.
Mr Campbell Monteith, however, was not most men. He ran a successful interior design business in Edinburgh and was marrying an American human rights lawyer and socialite he met in St. Barts. The wedding was going to be featured in magazines throughout the world, and if anything was off point, it would reflect on the creative ability of the groom.
As such, Campbell had morphed into a micromanaging groomzilla who had the estate offices on speed dial. Rory usually left dealing with people to Zoe, but she was on the other line, so he was taking one for the team.
‘Yes, Mr Monteith. I fully appreciate the significance,’ he replied in a thick Scottish accent.
‘And I need written confirmation that the earl will be in attendance.’
