A Laird to Hold Angeline Fortin (most important books of all time .TXT) 📖

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you did that on purpose,” Scarlett scolded him.

“Me?” His grin was all false innocence. “The bathing chamber is too tiny for me to turn around in. I had to come out to dry myself.”

“I understand, but the timing is suspect. Has this round of celibacy turned your attentions elsewhere?” She’d meant it as a joke but as they emerged, the words caught with some truth in her throat.

“Och, my sweet lass.” He released the towels and strode in all his glorious nudity to the hospital bed. He dropped down beside her, and his lips were on hers a second later. Hot, hard, and passionate, with promises of carnal delight that couldn’t be fulfilled quite yet. She moaned with pleasure then a disappointed sigh when he pulled away and stroked her cheek.

“Beidh mé grá duit that am féin. I told ye that long ago, aye? I will love ye across time itself. This journey of ours only gives me chance to prove it, aye? There will ne’er be another for me. In any time or any place. I’m fore’er yers.”

Another sigh, this one ripe with satisfaction, squeezed her heart. She raked her nails through his short beard. “And I am yours. Always.”

He kissed her again with aching tenderness then moved away to pull on his scrubs. Scarlett’s heart rate sped at the sight of his bare buttocks and muscled thighs before they were concealed. How could she be angry with anyone for a similar reaction to such splendor? Truly, she ought to sell tickets. The profits would solve their money problems tenfold.

Laird toweled his hair dry then slipped his shirt over his head. He’d taken to the convenience of a modern shower with a joy and enthusiasm he hadn’t exhibited for any other aspect of contemporary life. Including the limited clothing available to him. They’d really have to plan a shopping trip when and if Emmy and Connor retrieved her purse.

At least some underwear.

Laird needed another layer between certain parts of him and the thin scrubs. No wonder eyes followed him every time he left the room to find food.

Once dressed, he returned and slipped in close to her on the narrow bed. Gazing down at their bairn, he cupped her head with his hand. “What is this skin time the woman spoke of?”

“Skin contact is supposed to help with the same things the incubator does,” she told him. “Helping with her body heat and your heartbeat can soothe her, too. You should try it.”

“Aye, I will.” He nodded. “When I’m certain I willnae crush her. She terrifies me.”

“But she’s alive and well,” Scarlett whispered. “We did the appropriate thing in coming, I think.”

“Aye, now if we can only be assured of returning home when the time comes.” Knowing the subject weighed heavily on them both and didn’t need to be mulled over for the thousandth time, he changed the subject. “Hae ye thought aboot what we should name her?”

Scarlett dipped her head to press a light kiss to the baby’s pate. “No. I know we’d talked about some names but none of them suit her. We could name her after Emmy,” she proposed. “In thanks for her assistance.”

“I’d wager she would say she did nothing.”

A smile lifted her lips. “She would. But I like the name anyway. So maybe.” Her momentary bliss slipped away and her hand swept down the baby’s back again. “Why do you think Donell was so hell bent on saving her? I mean, doesn’t it seem odd after five years for him to come along? Just to make sure she survives?”

“Do ye believe he has some nefarious purpose?”

“Emmy told me that Donell said I wasn’t just one of his projects, but the project,” she told him. “Then to insist that the baby must live? I feel like he has some plan for her and I hate I don’t know what it is.”

Laird slipped his arm around her and pulled her close, pressing his lips to her temple. “He wouldnae save her only to hurt her, lass.”

“Why then? What could he possibly want with her?”

“I dinnae ken, but I can assure ye, the moment I see him again, I’ll—”

A knock at the door cut him off and they both looked up as the nurse stuck her head into the room. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Ms. Thomas, but you have a visitor.”

Scarlett frowned. “I thought I was clear; there are to be no visitors.” By all reports, the paparazzi still hung about the lobby like wolves waiting for their prey.

“I know and I do apologize, but she insisted.”

“Enough of that.” A sharp tone Scarlett knew all too well rose from out in the hall. Five years or five days, the grating sound of Olivia Harrington’s voice was all too recognizable. One time starlet of screen and stage, she knew how to make her words carry. Scarlett cringed and looked up at Laird mouthing her apologies. “I’m going in one way or another so stand aside.”

Barely a second after Scarlett nodded her assent, the door swung open and her mother swept in with all the dramatic posture she assumed on the stage.

“Scarlett, darl—” She froze at the sight of them snuggled together on the bed. “My God, it’s true. What is the meaning of this?”

Scarlett’s one-time agent, Tyrone Halliday, followed her in and also paused mid-step. He scratched his bald head but managed to dislodge his surprise before her mother even twitched. Coming around the far side of the bed, he bent to kiss her cheek. His probing gaze lingered on the baby sprawled across her.

“You look rough, Scar.” He’d never been one to cushion truth where he found it. Brutal honesty was one of the things she’d ever truly liked about him. “What have you done to yourself?