Stolen (Wild Mountain Scots, #3)
Stolen: Chapter 21

In the dark of my bedroom, I stared at a sleeping Maddock.

Couldn’t stop.

Even in the barely there light, he was a bolt of colour. Vibrant. Stealing all my thoughts. Just as, in the shower, he’d stolen some piece of me I didn’t know I’d had until it was in his possession.

My heart thundered, and I pressed my fingertips to the ache.

“Stop overthinking,” Maddock said, his eyes closed.

“What? I…”

He reached out a long arm and brought me flush against him. His leg pushed between mine so I was riding his thick thigh, and his hand cupped my butt.

With his free hand, he brushed the hair from my eyes.

All the better to see me.

“Knock it off,” I complained and buried my face in his chest.

“Why? What is it ye dislike?”

Nothing. I disliked nothing of his magic, but I wasn’t about to admit that.

At my lack of reply, Maddock rumbled an amused sound then eased back into sleep.

Still, I couldn’t rest. His heartbeat under my ear matched mine. His warmth surrounded me, and his scent soothed me. Addicted me.

I liked him far too much.

Tomorrow, he’d leave. For good. I might see him at the wedding, but then I’d be the one on a short visit. There was no future here.

At this reminder, unhappiness rippled through me, and I rolled out of his arms to the cold edge of the bed. Facing the wall, I tried not to feel a thing.

Somehow, during the night, I found my way back to him. I spooned him, and he drew my arms around him like I was protecting him, despite him being so much bigger than me. I allowed it all, living in the moment and knowing nothing but this and right.

His phone ringing woke us both, and I jerked up, entirely too comfortable in the early-morning light, and…horribly content.

Maddock reached for his jeans, draped on my chair. I scooted away, but he dropped back to the pillows and hauled me onto his body once more.

His gaze took in his screen. “Gabe,” he murmured, then answered the call. “Shite,” he muttered into his cell. “Why?”

At whatever Gabe told him, Maddock groaned. He moved the phone from his ear and regarded me.

“How long will it take to get back to the airport.”

Inexplicably, my heart sank. “A couple of hours.”

Maddock repeated that to his friend then killed the call and tossed the phone to the chair. “Fuck it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Gabe and his da argued. Gabe has to leave the States or his da won’t let us use the jet. Apparently, he has somewhere else to be.” His nostrils flared in irritation, and he stared at the wall for a moment.

Then he twisted to face me. “I’ll need a lift back to the airport. But I need ye to promise me something.”

“We’d better get dressed.” I wriggled away and fled to the bathroom.

“Dinna ghost me.”

His voice stopped me in my tracks.

Slowly, I turned around.

On the edge of my bed, he gripped my sheets in his fists, his features tortured.

Why did this hurt? The same ache in my chest compounded, and emotion welled.

“When I’m back in Iceland, and then Scotland, I want to keep talking. Don’t cut me off.”

“I wasn’t… I mean…” I stumbled over my words. But I could neither hurt him nor lie. “I don’t want to ghost you,” I finally managed.

His intense stare remained, then he blinked away the severity and lifted his chin to release me.

I readied for the trip fighting the urge to run the other way.

In the car, silence reigned.

In a fit of some unknown urge, I reached for his hand, entwining our fingers as I drove.

“Why did ye stop painting?” Maddock drifted his thumb over my hand.

I swung a surprised glance at him. “How do you know I stopped?”

“Your ma talked me through your art on the walls. Everything from when ye were four to fourteen. Nothing after. And no easel in your room. Ye have printed digital art, and a few sketches, but no paint.”

“You’re perceptive.” I chewed my lip for a minute. I’d never talked about this. Never really worked it through in my own head. It took a couple of false starts before I settled on a straight answer. “Martin, my birth father. He’s the reason. I found out about him when I was fourteen. He was so interested in my artistic side, claiming that was all him, and he bought me my first graphic design tablet. A top-of-the-range model. I guess I felt I had to learn digital art to make the best use of that gift.”

“Do ye miss it?”

“I…don’t know. He died last year, you know. I’m not even sure if I miss him.”

Fuck, what was I saying? Running my mouth without engaging my brain. I pressed my lips together and stopped my uncontrolled nonsense.

It wasn’t until we neared the airport that Maddock spoke again. “I’m worried about the money ye have. What will ye do now? Go to the police?”

“I already tried. The bank is claiming the money wasn’t put there in error, so the police said it’s not a crime. They won’t investigate unless the bank changes its mind or I tell them it was put there by a criminal. Which I don’t know so can’t say. I have no more leads.”

Maddock glowered at the open expanse ahead. “It feels off. Dangerous. As if someone is using ye.”

His words sank in. I had the exact same sense myself. That there was far more to this story than I could guess. That someone who knew me had done this.

But I was all out of ideas.

At the airport gate, we passed security and drove right up to the plane. This time, no limo waited, just the cabin crew opening the plane’s door, and Gabe standing on the tarmac.

With his hands jammed in his pockets, he lifted his chin in a greeting.

Maddock peered out of the windshield, and his gaze darkened. “He has a black eye.”

I spotted the bruise. “Do you think his dad did it?”

“Bet you’re right.”

I reached for the door, but Maddock stalled me. He cupped my face then brought me in for a soft kiss.

Way too tender. Panic lashed me. “Don’t say anything,” I begged.

“Calm, lass. I’m naw going to, aside from reminding ye of the promise ye made.”

I shivered under his heavy attention. “Okay.”

Another kiss, and he gave up a noise of frustration. “I’m going. Dinna get out. Drive away before I climb back in and try to take ye with me. I’ll text ye when we land.”

I needed that. To not stand there waving him off while emotion hung from me in tatters. It was better to leave. To curl up around this weird ache in the comfort of my room and force my brain to set Maddock back into his previous position.

A guy I flirted with on my phone.

Someone I didn’t really know.

Nothing of this…whatever.

Maddock searched my gaze then jerked the door open and swung out of the car. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and returned to my window.

“Drive safe,” he ordered.

“Fly safe,” I mouthed back.

Then I gunned the engine and sped away.

Fly safe. Fly safe.

The miles flew by, and I barely noticed them, driving on autopilot while my thoughts lingered elsewhere.

At home, energy coiled inside me, uncontrolled and debilitating.

I did something I hadn’t even considered in years. From my closet, I found my easel and oils. Most were still good, even after years stored away.

Then I painted.