Page 105 of The Highland Game

“Oh? Well, I just wanted to check something, and . . . aye, it seems I’m not the only one who’s ticklish. You’ve gone all squirmy.”

“Lass,” he warns in a tone that would probably be intimidating if he wasn’t currently tied up and blushing furiously beneath that blindfold.

Deciding not to push my luck (too much), I leave his balls alone. For now. But oh, don’t you worry, lads—I’ll be back. Like a villain in an action film, I’m already planning my triumphant return.

I dip the brush into one of the pots of paint instead—a deep blue. I hover it above Jamie’s chest in preparation for stroke number one, but before I can begin my masterpiece, there’s a loud knock at the door.

“Don’t come in!” we both shout at exactly the same time—my voice high-pitched with panic while Jamie sounds more irritated than anything else.

The awkward silence that follows makes me want to dive under the duvet and never come out.

“Oh . . . okay,” Da eventually says from the other side of the door. “Well, when you’re decent, could the two of you come downstairs? I’d like to have a chat.”

As his footsteps fade away, I lay a hand on Jamie’s chest. “Sorry. I’m too old to still be living with my da.”

Jamie lets out a sigh but manages a brave smile. “It’s all right. Trust me, I know all too well what living with family is like. Anyway, I suppose you’d better untie me.”

“Aye, I suppose I should.” And yet . . . I’ve already dipped my brush into the paint. Seems a shame to waste it, doesn’t? So I quickly scrawl my signature. On his cock.

It twitches as I do so, and Jamie takes in a sharp breath, which is followed by a low, rumbling laugh—a sound somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

When I remove his blindfold and he sees what I’ve done—signed my name on that—I expect him to crack up or come up with some cheeky remark. But instead? He looks at me like I’ve just given him the greatest gift in the world.

To have my name. On his cock.

Men are so bloody weird sometimes. Like, now you show me your emotions?

“I hope we’re clear that there are to be no more accidental kilt flashes.” I point a warning finger at him. “Because next time, I’ll skip the paint and get my name tattooed down there. So everyone will always know you’re mine.”

Jamie winces but then breaks into a wicked grin. With a casual shrug, he says, “So long as you put wee hearts over the i’s, I’m game.”

After cleaning up and throwing on some clothes, Jamie and I head downstairs. The pub is empty, save for Da and Elspeth, who sit together at one of the tables near the fireplace. Jamie and I exchange a puzzled look. What is she doing here?

“Sit down, you two,” Da says, gesturing for us to take the chairs opposite him and Elspeth. We do.

Da clears his throat. “Well . . . it’s clear the two of you have feelings for one another.”

For one horrifying moment, I think he might try to give us the talk. Which would be ridiculous at my age . . . but also exactly the kind of thing Da would do.

Mercifully, however, he steers the conversation in a different direction. “And I know you’ve been worried about how running competing businesses might affect things between you.”

Oh, thank God. Work talk—I can handle work talk.

“I thought perhaps,” Da says, his tone measured, “the four of us could have a conversation about it. Maybe come up with a solution.”

“Right . . .” Jamie says slowly. “But, Elspeth, as lovely as it is to see you—as always—can I ask what you’re doing here?”

Elspeth smiles knowingly and folds her hands on the table. “The two of you have been under the impression that being business rivals means romance is off the table.” Her eyes twinkle as though she’s enjoying our befuddlement far too much. “I’d say you’re starting to realise how ridiculous that notion is, but in case you need further convincing, Bryce and I thought we’d show you it’s perfectly doable.”

“Eh?” Jamie says.

“Aye, care to explain?” I say. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Well, work at the Bannock Hotel, and Bryce works here at the Pheasant, yet we manage just fine. So why can’t the two of you?”

A silence falls over the table.

Wait . . .