It was all Lachlan had. He shut up. Whimpering, he clamped his lips together, his chin shaking. The man gave him the lion, and he held on to him with all his might, until the fur was wet with tears.
His fifth birthday was the last one he would celebrate for a very long time.
Lachlan would never see his mother again.
He would never go home.
And the flood in his soul would never truly subside.
CHAPTER ONE
San Francisco – Present day
Kayla
“How long do you have to be absent of dick before you’re considered re-virginized?”
Steph and Nicola look at me sharply, as if I’ve asked something that’s just blown their minds.
“Kayla,” Nicola admonishes.
“What?” I ask with a shrug and tilt my head at her. “Out of the three of us here, you’re the one who’d probably know. We practically had to shove dick in your face before you started getting it on with Bram. So, were you re-virginized or not?”
“I had a vibrator, you idiot,” Nicola says, sitting back in the booth and giving me the eye. I know that eye too well. It’s the “What the hell is wrong with you, and why are we still your friend?” look.
“Vibrators don’t count,” I tell her. “I’m talking actual peen. Was it like losing it all over again when Bram gave you the ram? The Bram ram. Wham, bam, thank you Bram?”
She rolls her eyes and exchanges a look with Steph. It’s only been a few weeks since Nicola reconnected with Bram, and she and her daughter Ava had moved out of my apartment and in with him. While I’m still a bit wary about Bram at times, mainly because hot Scottish men can’t be trusted, I have to say I miss having Nicola and Ava around. It’s kind of lonely without them, and I’m prone to just sitting around at night, eating frozen meals and watching reruns of The Vampire Diaries.
Of course, part of the reason I’m all alone and pigging out on preservatives is because I decided to take a vow of celibacy a few weeks ago. It’s not just no sex—it’s no flirting, no dating, no Tinder, no nothing. Boys, men, I’m not even giving them a second glance.
And I’d like to say that it’s all working out for me. I may be alone at home most of the time, but I’d rather be battling my urge to drink wine and online shop than to sleep with another guy who wouldn’t know a woman’s clit if it slapped him in the face. Hell, I’m sure when I jerk my hips, it literally is slapping them in the face, and yet they pretend like it doesn’t exist.
Not to mention the dates that go nowhere, the men who seem to have potential but then see you only as this half-Asian princess that they want all sweet and subdued, and meanwhile I’m all slapping them with my vag and cursing my head off.
It’s much, much easier this way. Less stressful.
“You all right there, Kayla?” Steph asks.
“Yes, why?”
“Because you’re holding onto the edge of the table like you’re about to go all Hulk on us.”
I look down at my hands, my knuckles whiter than my already pale skin. I slowly let go. Maybe I’m stressed after all.
“Are you sure this whole no men thing is a good thing?” she asks, taking a sip of her beer.
Truthfully, having her question it is exactly what I want to hear. Any excuse to just throw it out the window. But still, I’m nothing if not determined.
“It’s the right thing,” I tell her, raising my head and forcing myself to relax. I reach for my glass of wine, even though it’s my second glass and I’m already lightheaded. “It’s the only way,” I add gravely.
“And why are you doing this again?” Nicola asks.
I look at her and her deep brown eyes, then over to Steph and her baby blue ones. My two best friends, dressed to casually impress in foreign labels and independent designers. The two of them are the reason I’m doing this, with their happy, shiny faces and commitment to those damn McGregor brothers. Nicola just settled down, happily, with Bram, after their massive falling out, and Stephanie is married to his brother, Linden. It doesn’t help that I’d had a fling with Linden a long time ago, way before he and Steph got together, back when they were just friends. It’s not that he broke my Grinch heart (it’s three sizes too small), but sometimes I’m reminded of what I could have had and what I don’t have.
I’m jealous, that’s really what it comes down to. And when I get jealous, even of my friends, I can turn into a mean little ninja. And I don’t want to be a mean little ninja, just a regular one (though I do miss being a sex ninja). So, swearing off men meant swearing off disappointment.
At least, it’s supposed to. It’s easier when I’m alone at home, at work, at my mother’s, at the gym, or even out for dinner. Anywhere where temptation is limited. Tonight though, Steph and Nicola practically dragged me out of the house and took me to our hangout, The Burgundy Lion pub in the Haight district, for a girls’ night. Being around booze and boys is never a good idea when you’re abstaining from dick. Luckily, I left the house wearing no makeup, yoga pants, and a baggy t-shirt that says “No Pants Party,” so it’s not like the guys will be clamoring to talk to me. Unless they think the “no pants” thing is an invitation.
“I’m doing this because my battery operated boyfriend always knows the right spots and I let my fingers do the talking,” I explain with a tired sigh. “And I’m sick and tired of dating in this stupid city. I’m just spinning my wheels, wasting my time, and I swear the men are just getting stupider. I can’t even get laid properly anymore. It’s like all the men in San Francisco are either taken, gay, or afraid of greedy vaginas.”
They exchange another glance, this secret kind of communication they seem to have now. My theory is that having a McGregor dick inside of you gives you a form of telekinesis. They are forever bonded by Scottish cock.
“What?” I say. “It’s true. And you both would agree, if you didn’t have your own vaginas snatched up by those kilt-lifters.”
“Would you stop saying vagina?” Nicola says. “The word is ceasing to have meaning.”
“Yeah, for me.”
“Hmmmm. If Kayla ceased to have a greedy vagina, would she even exist at all?” Steph muses with a twinkle in her eye.
“Whatever,” I tell them, taking a large gulp of a Napa zinfandel. “My life will be easier this way. You’ll see.”
Nicola’s phone rattles on the table and she peers at it. “Bram’s on his way.”
I groan, putting my chin in my hand and letting it slide over my face. “Ugh, why? I thought we said it was a girls’ night. The last thing I want to see is you two making eyes at each other and your stupid innuendo.”
“Linden’s coming too,” Steph says sheepishly.
I give her a hard look.
“Sorry,” she says, not really sorry at all. “But if it makes you feel better, Linden and I are boring and married, so that whole swoony, making eyes stuff is over.”
“Oh, please,” I say while Nicola makes a similar sound of disbelief. “You’re even worse than Bram and Nicola, because you’ve got a case of the smug marrieds. Remember Bridget Jones? I’m Bridget. And you’re…the rest of them.”
Nicola nods. “It’s true.” Then she looks to me brightly. “So you just need to meet your Hugh Grant.”
I glare at her. “She doesn’t end up with Hugh Grant!”
Nicola frowns in confusion.
“Oh, like you’d even want a Mark Darcy,” Steph supplies. “Besides, Linden and Bram aren’t coming alone.”
Oh god. Something cold washes over me.
“What? Who are they with?” I ask slowly. If it’s a guy, I’m going to be very upset, particularly if he’s a single guy.
Another glance. I can practically hear the giggles in their heads.
“Their cousin, Lachlan,” Steph says.
Lachlan McGregor. As if there aren’t enough damn McGregors in the city already, let alone the world. I haven’t met Lachlan yet, score another point for staying at home, but Steph and Nicola haven’t
shut up about him from the few times they’ve met. He’s a rugby player, he’s so mysterious, he’s so built, blah, blah, fucking blah. All the stuff that I never needed to know because that sort of shit is my sexual kryptonite, especially in this city where a rough and wild man is a needle in a very metrosexual haystack.
“Why would you do that to me?” I cry out, patting down my messy top knot. “I came here in my pajamas. I don’t have any makeup on, my hair isn’t even brushed. Jesus, are my teeth even clean? Do I stink?” I quickly sniff my pits and then breathe into my hands. Mmmm. Eau du Wino.
“Do that to you?” Steph repeats. “I didn’t know he was coming until an hour ago. Hell, I didn’t know they’d be stopping by at all.”
“Argh,” I say, running my fingers under my eyes, checking for puffiness. “I should have known they would. They practically live here.”
“Well, I do work here,” Nicola points out. “And Linden’s best friend James runs the place. And, well, so what if Lachlan’s here? You don’t have to sleep with him.”
I reach for Steph’s lilac Balenciaga bag, a present from Linden that I’ve always wanted to steal, and rummage through it for a compact and some makeup since I didn’t bring a single thing with me, not even money since we usually drink for free at the Lion.
“Of course I don’t have to sleep with him. But I don’t need the temptation. And what if he’s still around when my vow wears off? I could get my own Scottish dick before he jets back to the homeland.”
“I thought you were against Scottish dick,” Steph says.
“I’m against McGregor dick. And didn’t you say that Lachlan isn’t his real cousin anyway. He’s adopted?”
She nods. “Well, let me make this easy on you, hon. Even if you were your usual cock-gobbling she-devil, I don’t think he’d be interested.”
I pause. “Hey, cock-gobbling is my word. Don’t be stealing my shit. And also, why, is he gay?” One of my brothers, Toshio, is gay, and I wonder if I can set the two of them up.
“I don’t think so,” Steph says. She looks at Nicola. “Actually, I think Bram said he had a date with some Justine woman.”
Nicola scowls. “Yeah. Same Justine that Bram went out with, remember?”
“You said it wasn’t really a date though—that his dad set them up,” I point out.
“Yeah.” She pouts at the memory anyway. She and Bram had a pretty tumultuous start together. In fact, they pretty much hated each other. Then she had to get all sappy and fall in love with more than his dick.
“Okay, so he has a girlfriend,” I say to Steph. “You could have just said so.”
“I think it was just a date or two, I don’t know,” Steph says. “Regardless, he’s kind of hard to get to know.”
“Yeah, really,” Nicola says, nodding vehemently. “I think he’s said two words to me and he’s over at our place a lot.”
“I don’t need a guy to talk in order to fuck him. Which I’m not. Because of my vow and shit.”
Nicola gives me an eyebrow raise and holds it for ten seconds. Such talent.
“You’d miss the dirty talk too much,” Steph says with a grin, and I know she’s thinking about her husband and his filthy mouth.
“Hey,” I say, thumbing my chest. “I talk dirty enough for the both of us.”
“You definitely do with us, anyway,” Nicola says.
I snort, pulling out Steph’s compact and peering at my face. Even without makeup I know I don’t look that bad. From my mother’s side I got high cheekbones, her dark eyes, and long, black lashes that don’t need any mascara. From my father, I got full lips and freckles. But still, I could look a lot better. My cheeks are blotchy from the alcohol, my thick mess of hair is unruly, and I’m dressed like a bag lady.
And you’re all the better for it, I remind myself. Untalkative Scottish peen is the last thing you need.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say.
“Huh?”
I look at Steph blankly. “Oh, sorry. I was talking to myself. I do that. You know this.”
“There they are,” Nicola says. I can hear the stupid grin in her voice.
I sigh and look back to the front door of the bar. Beneath the low lighting, amid the wood finishing, green and brass décor, and the rigged jukebox that only plays James’ music, steps in Bram, Linden, and Lachlan McGregor. The Scottish trifecta of hot guys.
But even as that thought hits my brain, I blink, my eyes trained on Lachlan because I’m finally taking him in for the first time. I realize that “hot guy” is an understatement. While Linden and Bram are stupidly good-looking in their charming, handsome ways, Lachlan is a whole other beast.
Because, he basically is a beast.
Lachlan is a good half a foot taller than Bram—and that says a lot already because Bram is pretty tall—and nearly twice as wide. Like a redwood tree, he goes up and up and he’s solid and probably unmoveable, and I already have this urge to run across the bar and slam into him, just to see how immense he is. I have a feeling I would bounce right off of him. I mean, his physique seems lifted from a superhero comic, from his thick arms that are covered in masses of dark tattoos, and his expansive, firm chest, to his mountainous shoulders and v-shaped torso. Even dressed in a plain moss-green t-shirt and dark jeans, he looks larger than life.
And I can’t stop staring. I don’t even care because everyone else in the bar is staring at the Scottish trifecta, even though I manage to glide my fingers over my mouth to make sure I’m not actually drooling. He’s probably the most stunning man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I immediately want to rub myself all over his face. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
While Bram nods his head in our direction and Linden waves, Lachlan’s eyes scan the crowd intently, almost like he’s a cop searching the place for suspects. Or a criminal looking for opportunity. There’s a hint of electric danger in his searching gaze, and for a moment I wonder what it would be like to be looked at the same way. I’d probably burst into flames.
Unfortunately, as they get closer and Lachlan’s eyes finally meet mine, I see nothing but indifference in them.
I quickly look away, suddenly aware of how I must appear, and curse myself once again for letting my friends drag me out here when I could be watching Damon Salvatore instead. At least I don’t care if he sees me in my pajamas.
All the better for your vow, I tell myself. I refrain from adding a shut up rebuttal. See, talking to myself again.
“Hey sweetie,” Steph says to Linden, grinning at him like an idiot, just as I called it. I ignore the pleasantries the couples make and stare down at my wine instead, waiting for the dreaded introduction. My eyes slide over to the floor and I take in their shoes—shiny dressy ones for Bram, Keds for Linden, and hiking boots for Lachlan. They look worn and beaten and oh so large.
“Kayla,” Bram says, almost delicately. I love how they treat me like I’m a bomb they’re about to diffuse.
I slowly look up to meet his dark eyes.
“This is our cousin, Lachlan.” He steps aside slightly and gestures to the beast of a man. “Lach, this is Kayla.”
I play it cool. I nod and say, “Nice to meet you.”
What I really want to say is, “Can I please lick your face?” Because it’s a damn good face, especially up close. He’s all frowny, like he’s trying to figure out why he should care who I am, and it makes a deep line appear between his eyes and I kind of want to run my finger over it. His eyes themselves are this vivid, sharp hazel, leaning more toward green. There’s a deep hollow beneath his cheekbones, his wide jaw is lined with a perfectly scruffy beard, and his hair is brown and thick and tuggable. Then there are his lips. They’re show-stopping lips. They are lips I need between my legs.
At that thought, the heat builds in my core, and I can feel my face flushing.
It just makes him frown more.
“Kayla,” he acknowledges. His voice is very low and very rough, like he belongs in a 40s noir film, and his Scottish b
rogue is a million times thicker than Linden or Bram’s. My name coming from his mouth sounds like some kind of Gaelic dessert. Naturally that thought puts an image of him spreading me open on the table and eating me like a dessert.
Jesus. I need a cold shower, stat.
“We should get a bigger booth,” Nicola says, and her voice brings me back to reality. Even though I don’t want to tear my eyes away from Lachlan and all his brooding, hulking glory, this is the perfect time for me to be smart and get the hell out of here.
I quickly finish the rest of my wine before getting out of the booth. I move myself away from Lachlan, afraid that being close to him is something like orbiting around a black hole, and prepare my excuses to leave when Bram reaches out and touches my arm.
“Kayla, can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, and I stare at him in surprise. He looks serious for once, and for some reason I feel like a little girl who’s gotten herself into trouble. Probably because I’m usually getting into trouble.
“Okay,” I say quickly and shoot Nicola a worried look. She just shrugs, seeming surprised herself, and the rest of them move over to a bigger booth.
Bram pats the table of the booth where we were just sitting. “Have a seat. I have something to ask you.”
“If you’re asking me to move in with you, the answer is no,” I tell him, reluctantly sitting back down.
“Ha ha,” he says dryly. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor.” He pauses, his dark brows coming together “You work for The Bay Weekly, right?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. I think about quitting my job every day, but I don’t tell him that.
He clasps his hands in front of him, showing off a shiny silver watch that probably cost a fortune. “As you know, I’m still trying to get funding for the apartment complex. Lachlan is here to help—he’s made a lot of smart investments himself over the years, so he has money, and charity is dear to his heart as it turns out. But we’re missing more investors, and we’ve been trying to do everything to secure more.”
I nod along, not understanding how I can help at all. Even though Bram has rubbed me the wrong way a few times, the guy actually has a heart of gold and has been trying to get funding for his apartment complex in the city. He bought it all with his own money, and he’s been opening the apartments to lower income families, the sick and elderly, and other people in need. As Nicola explained it, he can only do this on his own for so long before he runs out of money, and so far the city of San Francisco hasn’t been so giving with something it so desperately needs.