Page 60 of The Highland Game

And yet, like an unwelcome guest at the worst possible moment, reality forces its way back in. The strains of ceilidh music; the chatter and laughter. The world is waiting just beyond these walls—a world where Jamie McIntyre isn’t supposed to make me feel like this.

“Jamie,” I manage finally. “You need to put me down.”

For a moment he doesn’t move. Hesitation flickers in his eyes, and his hands remain firm against my thighs. But then he exhales sharply—something low and frustrated slipping between his teeth—and sets me carefully back on trembling legs.

The second my feet touch the ground, I step out of his reach like he’s suddenly turned radioactive. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape my chest entirely. And although I can feel his gaze boring into me, I don’t dare meet it.

“Maisie—” His voice is rough with something unspoken. Regret? Frustration? Desire? Maybe all three, but I cut him off before he can say anything else.

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “I . . . I have to go.” I swiftly move towards the garage door.

Jamie calls my name again, rough and hoarse, but I don’t look back. I slip outside and then away as fast as my legs will carry me.

What happened back there wasn’t part of the plan. And it can never, ever happen again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

JAMIE

I fall back onto my bed, still fully clothed, and stare up at the ceiling. My entire body aches, like I’ve somehow managed to cram a week’s worth of graft into a single day. And yet my mind refuses to settle. It keeps replaying everything—the success of the beer garden’s opening event, the busy crowds, the laughter and music, all those smiling faces. Aye, it was a bloody good night.

But that’s not what’s stealing all my brainpower right now, is it?

No, there’s only one moment I can’t stop thinking about.

The kiss.

Christ above. That kiss.

One second Maisie and I were having a blazing row in the garage, and the next . . . well, I’m still not entirely sure who moved first. Did she lean in? Did I? Doesn’t matter now. All I know is that suddenly my hands were round her waist, her mouth was on mine, and I was done for. She’d tasted of raspberry lip gloss and something else too. Something purely her.

The friction between us had been enough to tear my sanity in two. My cock had hardened almost instantly, straining against my jeans like they’d suddenly become two sizes smaller. But it wasn’t just the pressure or the movement that unravelled me. It was the heat. It radiated through every layer of fabric between us, until it felt like my skin might catch fire just from being near her. Then she let out this sound—a soft little moan that was pure sin wrapped up in silk—and I swear I nearly lost it on the spot.

Almost before I knew what I was doing, I had her pressed against the wall and was grinding against her, deepening our kiss, gripping her tight just to keep from flying apart. Even through my burning desire, I couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect she felt in my hands. How perfectly she fit against me, like she belonged there.

Then she shifted—just slightly—but fuck, it was enough to hit all the right spots at once. My world tilted dangerously on its axis as white-hot pleasure spiked through me so sharply I nearly saw stars. For one terrifying second I thought I’d embarrass myself completely and come undone right there in the garage like some horny teenager. And truthfully? Had it happened, I wouldn’t have given a damn.

My body responds to the memory, and I squirm, adjusting myself down there.

But just as things had been really heating up in that garage, we heard someone shouting from the beer garden, and Maisie bolted quicker than a ewe from a sheepdog. Just like that—gone.

I wanted to go after her. Hell, every fibre of me screamed to go. But someone was hollering my name, and since the beer garden is my responsibility, I couldn’t exactly pretend not to hear.

Anyway, I had to linger in that garage for a few minutes to cool off. Strolling back into the beer garden while pitching a tent in my jeans wasn’t exactly the triumphant ending to the opening event I’d envisioned. I had to breathe deeply and recite my times tables until I could face people again.

After that, the rest of the evening passed in a blur: pulling pints, clearing glasses, smiling at jokes I wasn’t really listening to. Even after we finally closed, my family kept me up for ages, going on and on about how proud they were of me. Any other time, I’d have been chuffed to hear that—though I’d have rather shaved my hair than admit that to them. Tonight, though, I just couldn’t focus. My head had been somewhere else entirely.

Or rather: with someone else entirely.

I grab my phone from beside me and check the time: 12:54 a.m. Way too late to pop over to the Pheasant, even though part of me wants to. We need to talk about what happened. Don’t we? I mean, you can’t just kiss someone like that and then not discuss it afterwards. Can you?

Groaning loudly, I drag myself off my bed and collapse into the chair at my desk instead. There’s only one thing for it: Highland Legacy. As soon as the familiar loading screen appears on my monitor, some of today’s tension eases from my shoulders.

This is what I do when life turns messy: log in, kill some monsters, forget about reality for a while.

I spend a few minutes flicking through the available quests, searching for something that looks suitably mind-numbing. Then a notification pops up in the corner of my screen: SassyLassie has logged in.

What are the odds? I’ve barely touched the game in weeks, and she’s been completely MIA. Yet here we are, online at the exact same time.