Page 55 of Blindsided
“Can’t wait,” I murmur around a pin before pulling it out and slipping it in. “Why is your kilt so well worn? Do you do these Highland Games every year?”
“Every year,” Mac says proudly. “Three years ago, I won the entire thing. The Clan Logan tartan is lucky and legendary.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course it is.”
Mac looks down at me with arched brows. “Are you doubting my grand words, woman?”
I look up at him, and he’s got a salacious smile on his face that I can’t help but smile back at. “Dundonald is a small town, right?”
“Aye.”
“So, can I ask if the people you go against are young, professional athletes from around the world? Or perhaps, grey old geezers who use walkers to meander up to the castle once or twice a year?”
Mac bursts out laughing. “Oh, fuck off with you.”
I giggle to myself proudly. “I knew it.”
“You know nothing. You should have seen me in the log throwing competition last year. I was facing off against some of the biggest blokes in the county, and I beat them all by miles.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m surprised you could compete. I thought your legs are worth a lot of money. Seems like a dangerous sport for you to risk your most prized property.”
I glance at him in the mirror, and he pins me with a wicked look. “I’m afraid someone else’s legs are my most prized property these days.”
I can’t help but smile back at him with the biggest, dopiest, happiest smile I’ve ever felt.
Suddenly, his smile falls. His eyes turn to saucers, and his entire face distorts into a horrifying look of pain.
“My cock!” he booms and buckles over in agony.
I lower my chin and my eyes go wide when I see that my hand is currently up under Mac’s kilt and the needle I’m holding is definitely stuck to something.Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!
Without thinking, I yank the needle out of what I’m quite sure was his shaft and quickly lift the kilt to inspect the damage. My gasp draws everyone’s attention when I see…
Mac’s bare penis.
And balls.
And well, whatever parts of a naked man’s crotch might exist down there because the idiot isn’t wearing his boxers! Why isn’t he wearing boxers? He knew I was going to be eye level with his kilt! Was he trying to get a rise out of me? God, he is a cheeky bugger, and he deserves a severe walloping for this one. Or perhaps a tiny poke to the penis?
No, that’s taking it too far, Freya.
“Would you mind lowering my kilt so the entire Harris clan can stop staring at my cocker, woman?”
I drop the kilt and turn to look around at everyone who’s blatantly watching the spectacle.
“Why the fuck aren’t you wearing boxers?” I screech accusingly while sitting back and replacing the pin into the cushion on my wrist.
Mac’s jaw drops in disbelief as he cups his dick over his kilt. “You don’t wear bloody boxers with a kilt. Free ballin’ is the biggest perk to wearing a kilt!”
“Pardon me for not realising you wanted to rub your balls all over the lucky and legendary Clan Logan tartan,” I mimic his voice from earlier, and his eyes go lethal on mine, actually scaring me a bit. “Look, I’m sorry! But if you were wearing boxers, then the damage wouldn’t have been so severe!”
“Excuse me for thinking my cock and balls could take in a bit of scenery for a bloody moment. I didn’t know you were going to attemptmanhoodslaughter!” His voice hitches to a high-pitched nerve-wracking tone. “Christ, I think I’m bleeding.”
“I’ll, erm, go get you a medical plaster.”
“You’re going to need gauze, woman. And maybe a very big cast. You should well know the state of me by now. A plaster would hardly cover my bloody pee hole.”
“Would you stop shouting!” I exclaim, standing up and stomping my feet. “I can’t think when you’re shouting like this.”
