Page 22 of Lochlan

CHAPTER10

KILTED

KENZIE

Lochlan ushered in a frosty wind before closing the door, dropping the temperature in the room. The place is already chilly; he must be one of those men who doesn't feel the cold.

I set down my glass, reach for my bag, and slip my phone into my back pocket. I might not get another opportunity like this to prove that I was here. Fifteen or twenty minutes should be enough time to get a picture and get back on the couch before he knows what happened.

I trail to the bed, pulling my shirt over my head. Before I toss it aside, I notice the shirt's buttons are lopsided. There's no way to deny I was fooling around with Connell in the storage, but he never mentioned it. I don't have time to waste wondering about his motives; I need to be quick and get this done.

Shimmying out of my pants, I leave them with my shirt. I'm down to my underwear, but if the photo is going to look like we had sex, everything has to come off. I pull down my bra and unhook the back, then push down my cotton panties and drop them with the rest of my clothes. The chill of the room has bumps running along my arms. If I'd known I was going to be naked in his bed, I'd have worn something lacy instead of white cotton.

This isn't a date, I'm on a mission—at least that's how I'm framing it in my head. I'm just trying to get a picture to satisfy Poppy's stupid initiation.

There's a huge, neatly made bed in the far corner of the room. I hate to destroy such perfection, but this has to be staged just right. I pull the dark-blue covers aside and rumple them a bit. This won't work; it could be anyone's bed. I look around for something of his that I can use to show there's no doubt we were together. Nothing, nothing in this part of the room is personal except a bottle of MacTavish whiskey and a tumbler. He must do a lot of night drinking to have it sitting on the nightstand.

I'm rubbing warmth into my arms, aware of the minutes ticking away, until I spy a wineglass on top of the dresser with MacTavish Cellars etched on the front. I can use that as a prop, but I need something else. Maybe there's something in his dresser?

I pull open drawers, pushing sweaters, T-shirts, boxers, and socks aside. As I search through the third drawer, my fingers find something solid. Under a long muffler, there's a framed picture of him with his arms around a dark-haired female. The photo wasn't taken here; it's somewhere in Europe, but not Scotland. Before I put the photo back in place, I notice a large, blue envelope. The photograph was sitting on top of this. I'd like to find out what secrets it contains—I even finger the clasp briefly—but there's no time. I give up on the dresser and replace the two items, dropping the muffler back in place.

There's an old stand-up wardrobe a few paces from his bed. I step to the closet and look through his clothes. This guy must be a neat freak, because everywhere I look is color-coordinated and sectioned, like a men's ad for organized closets.

I rifle through shirts, jeans, pants until I spot his kilts and pull one from the hanger. I lay it on the bed, then pull my ponytail loose. Running my fingers through my locks, I tease my hair into wildness to look like we had a bit of rough sex. He's a big man, so it fits with the story I'm trying to capture.

I locate my phone from my pants pocket and place it on the bed, then slip the kilt around my hips, trying to fasten it with its buckle sewn at the waist. The waist is bigger than mine and it falls to the floor. I yank it back up, wondering how to keep it around my waist. I'll sit on the bed with it pooled around my hips; I just need to get it in the shot. If anyone has visited the winery, they'll know it's a MacTavish plaid.

I scan the room again. The difficulty is where to position the camera. There needs to be as much of the room in the frame as possible, so no one can deny I was here. Facing away from the camera is the best option if I want a shot of my bare back. It should work if I aim the camera at the full-length mirror hanging near the corner. I scoot to the edge of the bed and grab my phone. I hold it up, trying to position myself, the kilt, the bed, and anything else I can get in the shot.

The wineglass. Shit, I forgot the wineglass. Grabbing a bunch of fabric to keep it from falling, I dash to the dresser for the glass. Repositioning myself on the bed, I arrange the kilt. Holding the cell in one hand and with the other hand the glass, I tip it towards my lips like I'm about to drink, turning slightly to give a profile.

“What the holy fuck are you doing?”

I move the phone a little to the left to see Lochlan standing a few feet away; pissed and breathing fire would be an understatement. My thumb swipes the button, and the picture is taken. In two strides, he's yanking the cell out of my hand. I try to grab at it, but he keeps it from my reach. He glances at my failed attempt, erases the image, then glares back at me. “What the fuck is this? Are you from the tabloids trying to catch me out?”

“Your photos inspired me tonight. I thought I'd tried to take one.” It's a feeble attempt, but it's the best I can come up with on short notice.

“Your lying has to be a lot better than that. Tell me why you're here.”

Looking at the man's dark face, I can't pass it off as a failed seduction, or maybe I can.

“Alright, I'll tell you everything if you turn around and let me get dressed,” I say, making a turning motion with one hand to hurry him along.

The side of his mouth quirks up into an evil grin. “Oh no, lass, if you get dressed, I lose the advantage. You'll stay as you are until I get the truth.”

I lunge for my clothes, exposing more of my body than I wanted. His reflexes are quicker. Before I'm able to reach the pile, he scoops it up and places it in the closet and slams the door shut. For an extra measure of security, he leans against the wardrobe, arms folded, waiting for an explanation.

I huff out a frustrated breath, tuck my legs against my chest so he can't get another look at my breasts, and stare straight ahead to avoid his gaze.

“Can you at least turn the heat up? You've let cold air in each time you walked through the door.”

“Ah, no. I'm curious to hear this tale. If you want to get warm, then avoid another lie.”

“I wanted to get to know you better?” I’m trying for sincerity. “That's why I tried to kiss you in the breakroom.” I steal a look to gauge his reaction.

He arches an eyebrow. “Then why were you enjoying Connell's company in the storage?”

“He came to check on me; we were talking,” I shoot back. “He's been considerate; he's even offered to teach me about wine.”

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