Page 123 of Geordie

I glance at Connie. Her role was to be the godmother, but she's been standing in for me, and now my presence has ruined the visuals. Everyone in the church thinks she's me. “Let's have Connie stand between us during the ceremony,” I suggest.

“No, Lily, I was just the surrogate. Being a proxy is one thing. I have no right; you two are the parents.”

I shake my head and reach out for her hand. “Geordie and I always wanted you to be part of the christening and this baby's life. We think of you as a second mother.”

Connie's arm comes around me in an awkward hug. “It was enough you named your child after me, although, my mother is the only one who calls me Constance.”

Geordie shifts his stance; eyes soften, looking at the three of us. “Connie, you are as much of a mother to Innis as Lily,” Geordie says. “You kept the infant secure in your womb, nurtured her, and brought her into this life. You continue to nourish her and mother her even now. How could this be any different?”

“What about Kenzie? She was standing in for me?” Connie asks.

There's a knock, then a head pops in. “Sorry for interrupting. The bridal party says to take your time, but Father Campbell is a wee bit antsy.”

“Christ,” Geordie says, “I forgot the priest. Tell him he'll get a case as well and a bottle for you for your troubles. Tell Father Campbell we're coming out now.”

The curate grins. “I'll let him know.” The door shuts.

“Don't worry about Kenzie. Let her stand where she is beside Lochlan. Think of her as a proxy for you. You and Lochlan are the godparents. So, are we in agreement?” Geordie asks, striding away from the window.

Connie nods, smiling.

“I have one more request,” I say. Connie's mouth falls open. Her gaze darts to Geordie, who probably thinks whatever it is will cost him another case of whiskey. “I want Connie to stand between us—”

“Leannan, you've already asked this and we've agreed.”

I frown at him for interrupting me. “I want Connie to hold the baby during the ceremony,” I say, giving Innis back to Connie.

Geordie flings the door open; it bangs against the wall. “Let's go, before I'm handing whiskey out to the congregation for their trouble.”

The old manor house, or the residence, as Geordie calls it, is out of a period piece from PBS. Portraits of ancestors trimmed in gold, heavy, ornate furniture in plush velvet, a fireplace the size of a wall. I expect to see Robert Burns and his friends walk in at any minute. I try not to gawk like a tourist at the place or the countless celebrities Geordie introduces me to.

After leading me away from the last group, we walk into a dark passage to another section of the house. The hum of the guests is not as noticeable here. He stops, turning to me, my back against the wall, and I’m looking up at him.

“I could see you were overwhelmed by the company, so I thought I'd steal you away for a bit.” He slips an arm above my head, leaning in close. His lips and the scent of whiskey make my bra feel tight. “I've missed you these few days.” He takes my lips, pressing against me, his hand sliding up and down my waist.

“You had Connie to keep you company,” I tease.

He pulls back a little, smiling. “She's not you. I don't fuck her. That, I do with you.”

“Is that what you're going to do to me now? Take me like one of your male ancestors took a maid in this hall?” I'm so up for it, I can already see it in my mind. God, I've missed him enough to make up this silly fantasy. I need him to be the laird of the manor right now.

He pulls up the hem of the pale blue chiffon dress I wore to the christening and bunches my panties in his hand. His lips drop to my ear. “I should take you right here for making me wait.”

My heart pounds, my pussy wet, wanting him inside me.

“Or maybe I should make you wait instead,” he growls.

“Don't,” I say, grinding him.

“You're a wee slut.”

“I am,” I whisper, “but only for you.”

My panties rip as he tears them off. He's defiant, dropping them to the floor as if he can do what he likes with me. He hikes up his kilt, exposing his hard cock.

“Geordie, you're fucking commando. Were you like this throughout the christening?”

He gives a wolfish grin. “A Scotsman is always ready, lass. You should know this by now.”

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