Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The hard downpour of chilly rain had not stopped by the time they reached the long dirt road driveway leading off into a rolling green valley. Craggy mountains rose up in the not-so-far- off distance and the choppy waters of a nearby lake in the valley below those mountains called to her, though it was probably too cold for swimming, fed as it was by the runoff of high mountain ice and snow.

Two little black dots on a grassy knoll was what she could only assume was Hamish's house, cabin and a few outbuildings for chickens she couldn't see until they were pulling into the front yard. At which point, a hundred or more sheep came flocking down the hillside behind the house. As if they'd recognized the sound of the car and were enmasse responding to the unified cry of "Daddy's home".

She could practically hear their exuberance. Daddy… It was a wayward thought, one pulled up from the depths of her psyche to pierce her like a storm of tiny needles. Prickling, that's what it was. And it was creeping through her from the inside out, making her tummy twitch and her tender bottom crawl.

He'd spanked her. Like, actually, factually and more than a little painfully, spanked her.

And god, but her pussy hadn't stopped tingling, burning, or throbbing since he'd yanked her facedown over his thigh. He hadn't removed her skirt or her panties, but with every layer of clothing soaked all the way to her skin, they might as well have been flesh-to-flesh. It was sooo… intimate. So… unexpected–the hurt, the fire and shock, and oh, the pleasure of it.

The one thing she'd always wanted and dreamed about having in her life–someone who cared for her enough to spank her and correct her behaviors–and it was a mirage. A distortion of the rain, the flat tire, him and her and one "I'm sorry" too many.

Hamish had warned her. She couldn't say his discipline had been a complete surprise. But still, she needed to remember, every single sopping wet, musky, fur-smelling sheep had more of a right to call him Daddy than she did.

The car jolted as he skidded slightly to a stop between the house and cabin. On the left side, the bigger cabin with its roof buried under a thatch of green-growing grass, was two stories with a wrap-around porch and ground-to-second-story-eaves glass windows. He'd left a first and second story light on, and the light pierced the hard rain, lending a warm and welcoming glow to the interior.

To her right, the cabin she had rented was smaller, the one-room variety, with or without a loft. It looked like something freshly plucked from two or more hundred years in the past and plunked down whole right here in the twenty-first century.

"Wow," she breathed.

"You said you wanted a taste of history," Hamish reminded. "My family has owned this property for the last 700 years. This cabin was used by crofters hired to care for the sheep, which I now oversee myself, with the help of four hired farm hands from town. The original home burned down in the 15th century and was replaced with this structure. At the time, the house was located right on the lakeshore. That flooded all the way to the roof in the Great Storm of 1726, and it was then moved to where it's sitting now."

"Wow," she breathed again, loving everything about the cabin from the sod roofing to the tiny windows, and all the carvings she could kind of see under the shadows of the front porch.

"Wait until you see the town," Hamish continued, studying her from behind the steering wheel. "The marina has been working pretty much as is since the 17th century. You paint, right? I'll take you to town whenever you like. With a little imagination you could easily take what you see and make a period piece out of it. If that's your thing. Honestly, I don't know what you like to paint."

"Portraits and landscapes, mostly." Gazing up at all the intricate carvings along the eaves of the roof, she nodded. "I'd love that," she said, albeit distractedly. "Are those gargoyles?"

"The original use was to scare away evil spirits, so no need to be afraid."

"No, no," she rushed to clarify. "I know that. It's just… I've never seen a gargoyle in anything but pictures before."

Hamish gave her a knowing side-eye. "Want to see inside?"

She nodded.

"Wait here." Shouldering open the door, Hamish got out into the pouring rain. She watched as he sauntered around the car to open her side. He offered his hand, palm up, to help her out, and damn if that didn't bring that rush of titillating prickling back in an unstoppable tidal wave of sensation. He was so handsome, so authoritative. She needed to get a grip on herself. This just wasn't healthy, for either of them.

And yet, did she take his proffered help? She sure did, her tummy all a-flutter with the world's biggest butterfly swarm. The minute she was out of the car, did she take back her hand? No, she didn't. Did he let go of her? Nope, he didn't either. With her hand firmly captured in his, he led her through the rain and up the three cobblestone steps onto the porch of the little cabin.

They stood at the front door with rain drippIng from their hair and faces while Hamish dug through his pants pockets. He checked all four, patting down his breast pocket, his butt, his thighs. Releasing a slow sigh, his eyes closed and his head tipped all the way back on his neck.

The low growl of words that slipped from his mouth were in a language she could only guess was a string of curses muttered in Gaelic.

"No key?" she guessed.

He sighed again, letting go of her hand. "It's in the car."

She watched him descend the steps back into the pouring rain. Popping open the passenger side of the car, he ducked inside to search for his keys.

The rain continued to pour, drenching the small of his back, butt, and pouring down his legs. His jeans were getting darker and darker as they absorbed the liquid in. Really, she ought to be the one fetching his keys from the car. After all, this was her rental and it wasn't like Hamish owed her anything. They barely knew one another–although he had spanked her; twice, in fact. And scolded her. And stood up for her on the plane, and helped her at the airport when nothing was going right… drove her here–he'd done a lot for her, actually.

Maybe she should make him breakfast in the morning.

Yeah, like that would help put distance between them.

Chloe sighed, admiring the view he was presenting. It ought to be criminal for Hamish to have a butt like that.

If only she could stop ogling it.

"Ach!" he crowed, pulling out of the car with his keys held high. "Success!"

"Yay!" She clapped, then flapped her hands, sending rain droplets flying as he stuck the key in the lock. He tried to twist, but the key was stuck. When he twisted harder, jiggling the handle and cussing the rain under his breath, he twisted the key. She heard the snap and saw the jerk of his hand falling from the lock when the key broke off in the lock.

Hamish closed his eyes. She could feel his frustration, even when he laughed. It wasn't a happy sound.

"This is all my fault," Chloe whispered, shocked.

Hamish laughed again, but he wasn't any happier than before. "One bare bahootie skelping, coming right up."

"No!" Her jaw dropped, her little foot stomping the porch cobbles before she caught herself. "B-but… I didn't say I was sorry!"

"Didn't you?" he challenged.

Her breasts heaved beneath the thin cloth of her summer dress, her breaths quickening as she realized what she'd actually said, while not an apology, did in fact walk hand in hand with "sorry".

Her hands clapped to her cheeks, just not the ones on her face. "I didn't mean to. I–"

He tsked at her and pocketed his keyring.

"Stay here," he commanded, but he needn't have bothered. Her legs were rooted where she stood.

Tsking, he tucked his keyring back in his pocket, left the broken length of key buried in the lock until he could assemble the right tools to fix the situation, and stepped back out into the rain.