He’ll show her exactly what’s under his kilt.
The first time I saw Mr. McGowan, he was walking into our class wearing a kilt. Our substitute professor, he was big and brooding, masculine, and had a sexy Scottish brogue going on.
Maybe I didn’t need that extra tutoring, but I sure as hell wanted it.
I noticed Molly the moment I stepped into the classroom. She was the wee lass with the fire-colored hair, the intense green eyes, and a body that had me burning alive. I didn’t want to look away from her because I knew she was mine.
Maybe there was a rule about staff not fraternizing with students. But given that I’m just the substitute professor, and that I wanted her like a fiend, I was about to cross some lines and break some rules.
Warning: You ever wonder what’s under a man’s kilt? Well, this story won’t leave you in the dark. It’s short, of course filthy, and has a Scottish hero with a sexy brogue. He only has eyes for his heroine, and will teach her a thing or two about how good it can feel to get dirty.
It was a hot May day, hotter than I ever remembered it being before. My hair was sticking to the back of my neck, and I grabbed a hair tie and lifted the long, heavy locks off my nape. After tying it in a messy bun, I glanced around the room. Everyone seemed miserable.
I was tempted to just leave, to skip this class and head back to my apartment to take a cold shower, but before I could do anything, the door opened. I expected to see Mrs. Lane walk in, her big belly rounded, her expression annoyed. She was due next month, but she looked miserable every time I saw her.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Lane who stepped through the door.
The air seemed to get hotter, thicker, and the room grew silent as everyone stared at the man who was like no one I had ever seen before. And I didn’t mean that in the literal sense.
“Good morning, class. I’m Alastair McGowan, your substitute professor as Mrs. Lane is no’ able tae be here.”
He had this thick Scottish brogue going on, but then again he was wearing a kilt. God, and does he look good wearing it.
He set his briefcase on the desk, turned to face us, and my breath stalled. The substitute professor was over six feet tall, heavily muscled, and had this commanding persona that surrounded him.
I shifted on the seat, my dress sticking to my legs, my body heating, which had nothing to do with the fact it was hot as hell in this room. I’d been attracted to plenty of guys, but this was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
It was a desire that was intense, consuming, and had my brain in this fog.
And the one dirty thought that kept slamming into my head, over and over again, was … what’s under that kilt?
* * *
I saw her sitting in the back, her red hair this fiery mass atop her head. The room was stuffy, hot, and even from the distance I could see the light droplets of perspiration dotting her temples.
If I dinna have self-control, I would have gotten hard right then. Just thinking about leaning in and licking away those droplets, and tasting the saltiness of her, could have made me so fooking hard.
But control was key.
She shifted on the seat, her dress riding up her thighs. Good God.
I moved behind the desk and took a seat. The battle with keeping my self-control was a losing one, and I felt myself start to get hard. Fook. I cleared my throat and looked at the wee lass that would be mine.
Fook the rules. I dinna care if she was a student and I was her professor for the foreseeable future. I dinna kno’ what had gotten into me, but hell, I was no’ about tae let this feeling go.
I kne’ what I wanted … her.
She’ll be mine.
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.