Page 1 of The Castle of Carnal Desires

Chapter One

“It’ll be the civilized world’s number one sextination.”

I let my head flop forward onto my desk. I could tell my boss was excited that he made up a new “it” word by the amount of times he’d dropped it into our ten-minute conversation.

I tuned him out as he prattled on about the details. Ever since Thomas Ellengrew, multibillionaire hotelier, had met his third wife and discovered the joys of Viagra, he’d been set on building a chain of boutique hotels that catered to clientele who were seeking to air their fetishes in a discreet and exclusive location.

When he’d brought it up at the annual board meeting, I wasn’t the only one who’d hoped that old Tommy would get caught up in his new wife’s new cleavage and forget the idea completely. No such luck.

“And that’s why you are the only one who can do this for me, Aili. I trust your instincts, and I know you can make this a success. Plus, you’re Scottish.”

“I’m second generation American,” I protested, but I knew it was a done deal. When Thomas Ellengrew decreed something, it may as well be set in stone.

“Close enough. You look Scottish, and that’s good enough for me. I want you there by the beginning of next month. I have personally hired the contractor and the sexologist to help you with the specifics. They have already begun the structural work to the old place. You’ll love the castle, Aili. It was the site of one of the worst clan massacres in Scotland!”

Obviously the perfect place to put a sex hotel, I thought, but I wisely kept it to myself. I actually liked my job most of the time.

We went over the minutiae of the transfer for another thirty minutes before I could get off the phone. After that, I busied myself around my office so I could put off the inevitable. I was going to have to go to my parents’ house and tell them I was moving to Scotland. Like my day could get any worse.

Exactly eleven days later, I pulled my hire car to a stop in front of a crumbling castle that was perched on a hilltop outside the town of Fulcairn, about an hour or so east of Inverness. My eyelids felt like sandpaper, my clothes were rumpled and jetlag was kicking my ass. It had been a long eleven days.

I still felt a little raw from my family farewell at the airport, even though my stay in Mother Scotland was a temporary one. My gran had given me a quilted down jacket and her grey eyes, identical to my own, had sparkled with mirth. “Listen to me, lass. You’ve never felt the cold until you get into the evening air of the Scottish Highlands.” She’d chuckled to herself then, like it was some big joke.

Now, as I stepped out of the car and into the wind, I think I finally understood the punchline. The wind sliced straight through my sweater, and I leapt for my jacket in the backseat of my rental. As I wrapped its warmth around me, I assessed the situation.

In the fading evening light, I took in the castle for the first time. Scaffolding wove its way around the building like a steel girdle, though there were no workman at this time of the day. They were probably all at their centrally heated homes, drinking whisky and watching tv. That’s what sane people did on cold, miserable nights.

I, on the other hand, was about to spend the night in a draughty old castle, that had limited heating and, last I’d heard, no electricity. At this point, I wasn’t even sure it had a bed.

I grabbed my bags and headed towards the wooden double doors. As I got closer, the door swung open and a huge man strode from the darkness. As he stepped into the fading light, I sucked in a breath.

The guy was gorgeous, like the cover model for every bodice ripping, highlander romance novel that had ever found its way onto my bookcase. Except he wasn’t wearing a kilt, just a well-worn pair of jeans that hugged his thighs, and a cable knit sweater. He had a jaw that could cut glass and hair that was rakishly long.

“You must be Aili Gowan. Mr Ellengrew said you’d be arriving today, so we thought we’d stay and help you get settled in. My name is Harris McTavish, the owner of the firm doing the renovation on the old place. Do you have any other bags?”

I nodded and pointed towards the car, because I’d been rendered mute. He started down the path towards my rental before he stopped and looked back. “Oh, by the way, welcome to Scotland, Miss Gowan.”

He gave me a panty dropping smile and continued striding toward the car, while I stood there like a fish gasping for air and vainly hoping my underwear didn’t spontaneously combust.

I pinched my own arm.Head back in the game, Aili. He is an employee. You do not sleep with employees. It is unprofessional, and you’re better than that.Hopefully that little pep-talk would get the message across to my inner sex-fiend, but I had my doubts. If my lady parts had hands, it’d be making little grabbie motions. The mental image made me chuckle.

Dusk had fallen over the countryside during my exchange with the hunky Harris. I could see the muted glow of the village of Fulcairn in the distance. It was rather magical.

A noise behind me made me whip around, and my jaw swung open unattractively for the second time today. Harris was walking toward me from the front door of the castle again. Surely I hadn’t been staring at the horizon that long, had I?

As he got closer, I realized it wasn’t Harris, but he was definitely his doppelganger. Or maybe…

“Holy shit, you’re twins!” My lady parts imaginary hands went from grabbie to flailing wildly in excitement.

The man in front of me gave me an identical panty dropping smile as Harris. Damn, I was screwed.

“Pa says my Mam uttered those exact words when the doctor put me in her arms. It was a bit of a surprise, they say. I’m Derek McTavish. Welcome to theCaisteal Bàs.”

“Castle Death? I thought the place was called Dun Durell.” My Gaelic was extremely limited, pretty much only the basics and a few swear words. But death I knew, because my Gran had muttered in Gaelic about me catching my death when I went through the boob-tube phase of 2005.

“It is just a local nickname. It was the site of one of the greatest massacres in clan history, ye ken?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Are you in business with your brother?” He didn’t look like he was in construction. Unlike his twin, he was dressed in tailored pants and a blue button-down shirt. Maybe he did the books?

---