Page 87 of Midnight Mooring

“I do.” Cameron wound her arms around my neck, pressing her curves to me. “Though …” She glanced back at the window that was now smudged from where we’d fucked against it. “I don’t think that’s what they had in mind when they put this design feature in.”

I grinned. “No? It’s the first thing I thought of when I walked into the room.”

Cameron stepped out of my embrace to turn on the taps of the bathtub. “That’s because you have a very dirty mind, Forde Dallas.”

I cupped her arse in my hands, grinding against her. “I have eighteen years of fantasies to fulfill, Ms. McQuarrie.”

Cameron laughed, leaning back against me. She looked up at me with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Oh? Is there a list? Because I’d like to see that.”

“There might be a list … but you can’t see it.” I caressed her stomach, my hands roaming upward to cup her tits. I kneaded them, making her moan, her head falling back against my shoulder. “Every second of the list is going to be a fucking awesome surprise.”

“I … I think I can get on board with that.” She moaned before pulling my mouth down to hers.

I’m lost in her, I thought as we kissed like teenagers who’d just discovered sex. But it wasn’t the bad kind of lost. It was an abandonment of every fear and shitty thing I’d let others make me feel about myself.

It was the kind of lost I didn’t realize I’d been hoping to find my whole fucking life.

36. Cameron

The weekend on Scaris was one of the best of my entire existence. I didn’t want to leave. I was sore between my legs from the amount of sex we’d had, the food was phenomenal, the couple’s massage was incredible, our walk through the woodland peaceful, and Torin even drove us to the lodges on the other side of the property so we could see how my designs were coming together.

They looked great and when we told Torin we’d book one in the future, along with a day in the adventure park, he insisted we choose a weekend next spring, and our stay would be on the house.

“Makes it hard to hate the bastard,” Forde had grumbled later.

We’d also caught a brief glimpse of Cailean Montrose, the middle brother who lived at the resort, when we were out walking. Cailean never came over to Glenvulin with Torin, and he was something of a mystery among the islanders. From what I could tell, he was very like Torin in appearance, just a little younger, maybe leaner and slightly more classically good-looking. However, when he saw us, he turned on his heel and strode in the opposite direction, disappearing among the trees.

That antisocial reaction fit with the only gossip we’d heard about Cailean. Word had it he was once the youngest MMA fighter in the Ultimate Fighting League before a tragic incident at an unregulated event led to his early retirement. Word had it he began as Torin’s security when he was a professional poker player. Cailean had also done security for their youngest brother, Daire, the Formula 1 driver. Gossip suggested Cailean, for whatever reason, didn’t speak much and kept to himself, though he was involved in a lot of the resort maintenance.

I knew from Daire’s interviews with the press that the brothers were originally from Fife, but he’d done a fantastic job keeping their family history private. The media had done some digging and posted stories about an absentee father and them losing their mum at a young age, and how Torin had raised his brothers.

But no one knew the facts. All anyone really knew was that they’d rose from nothing to obvious wealth. They’d spent a fortune on the risky venture of this resort, and I couldn’t imagine three clearly ambitious men risking everything they had on this. The resort was a dream, but they had to entice people to make the journey to it. I wished them well because it truly was a spectacular place to rest and recharge.

Forde offered to drive home this time, and the closer we came to Oban and the ferry terminal, the more I wished we could turn back. It had been a blissful time away from the prying eyes and ears of our neighbors.

When he looked at me, I knew Forde recognized what I felt.

“We just ignore them and live our lives. They’ll get used to us,” he’d said as we waited to board the ferry.

His assurance had soothed my concerns, so I donned my hat of optimism, refusing to let our good vibes die just because we were returning home.

Clearly, a jealous, vindictive turd of a human being had other plans for us.

We’d decided to drive back to Forde’s first. The garage was shut because it was a Sunday evening, but we knew before we even got out of the truck that something was wrong. Forde’s front door was bashed in.

“Fuck.” He flashed his teeth in a feral look of anger before he turned to me. “If I asked you to stay in the truck, would you?”

“No. Way.”

“Aye, that’s what I’d thought you’d say.” He shoved open the driver’s-side door. “Just stick beside me.”

The memory of shattering glass filled my mind, and fear suddenly overtook my bravery. “Maybe we shouldn’t go in. We should call the police.”

Forde seemed torn, and I knew if he were here alone, he would have stormed into the house with a crowbar. However, as his gaze roamed my face, I watched him change his mind. He slammed the door shut and pulled out his mobile. For me.

PC William and DC Alice had given the house the all-clear before they invited us in. The living room and kitchen were untouched. The only damage was to the front door and Forde’s bedroom, where all four of us now stood.

His pillows and duvet had been shredded. There were bits of fluff and fabric everywhere. Even the mattress had a huge slice in it; whoever broke in had taken a knife to the center of it.