He was still distracted by how good her massage felt and was only able to manage an interested, “Hmm?”
She peeked at him, her lips tugging farther up. “Give up control.”
“Aye, ye said that before,” he mentioned speculatively. “But what does that mean?”
Shrugging, she focused on the muscles in his hand once more. “ ’Tis verra freeing to ken ye dinnae have to do everything all the time, and ye can allow someone else to take command for a little while.”
“If I did that, ‘tis possible the clan would collapse.”
“Would it?” she asked quietly.
And he had to think about it. “Well, I’ve been the one in charge of correspondence and schedules and harvest and—” He sighed. “Finn handles our trade, thank St. Elzear, and Rocque handles the training of our warriors, but everything else…”
“Have ye considered turning some of yer duties over to yer other brothers?”
“Dunc is busy in his forge, and Malcolm is my resource, the problem solver. He handles the things I dinnae understand.”
“And Kiergan?”
He snorted softly and closed his eyes. “What about him?” He loved his twin brother, aye, but the man avoided responsibility like…like something you’d arduously avoid. A pile of cow shite? Nagging mothers-in-law? The priest after a night of debauchery?
Avoided responsibility like a pile of cow shite.
Aye, as colloquialisms went, that one could work.
“Kiergan is a smart man, Alistair. He’s a charmer, the same as Finn.”
“Finn uses his charm to work out trade agreements to better the clan’s future. Kiergan uses his to woo women into bed.”
There’d been a time when he’d thought Lara was one of his twin’s conquests. St. Elzear knew that Kiergan often teased Lara and Nessa, making them both laugh. But at Malcolm’s wedding celebration, Alistair had been surprised to discover that what the two of them felt for one another was merely friendship, and that Lara’s heart lay elsewhere.
She was in love with another man, yet she stood here, rubbing Alistair’s hand and worrying about his happiness.
When she spoke, her words were cautious. “Yer twin brother is kind and generous, and aye, a charmer. He’s funny and—”
“He lacks responsibility.”
“Because he’s never been given any,” she was quick to return. “He also has a fair hand and a gift for phrases, if ye’ve never noticed. Ye could turn the clan correspondence over to him and save yer hand for more important things.”
Slowly, Alistair sat up, his eyes opening to see that same twinkle in hers once more. “More important things, lass?”
With a smirk, she gently placed his hand down in his lap. Mayhap ‘twas just her way of signaling the massage was done, but in doing so, she covered his erection. And he was left with his palm only an inch from his aching member.
It took all his willpower not to touch himself, to clench his hand into a fist instead.
“Giving up control doesnae have to be painful, Alistair,” she said with a smirk, stepping away from him.
He felt a momentary spike of disappointment, but she didn’t go far; Lara grasped her hands in front of her and leaned her hip against his desk.
“Giving more responsibility to Kiergan…” He let the thought trail off.
“Just consider it.”
‘Twas a command, and his brows rose at the realization. Give up control.
“I confess,” he ventured, “there seem to be benefits to giving up some control.” He never considered asking Kiergan to help, or delegating, but if he did, then once this bloody celebration was over, he might have a bit more time for himself. Assuming Kiergan accepted.
She smiled softly. “Think of it this way, Alistair: One of yer brothers might verra well end up as laird. What will happen if ye’re still the one running everything? Ye need to allow them some control as well.”
He frowned. “That is…a verra good point.”
“See?” Her smile grew. “Giving up control can feel good.”
Snorting, he shook his head and sat forward in the chair. “I dinnae ken about that, lass.”
“I do. Women have to do it all the time.”
“Give up control?” He thought for a moment. “I suppose ye’re right.”
“Aye, it can be frustrating, especially if the man who controls us willnae listen to our thoughts or feelings. But if ‘tis something we choose to do, it can be verra freeing. Liberating, almost.”
Alistair shook his head. “I’m sorry, lass. I dinnae understand.”
She cocked her head to one side, studying him. Finally, she nodded. “Give me a command.”
“What?”
“I will give ye control over me for a moment. Give me a command for something I wouldnae normally do.”
Scenarios flashed in his mind, one after another. Lara, feeding him slices of an apple. Lara, sitting on his lap. Lara, on her knees in front of him, her hands gliding under his kilt, her lovely lips parted in desire…
‘Twas that image which caused him to croak out the command, “Get on yer knees.”
Something new flared in her eyes.
‘Twas desire, aye, but also anger. The anger flashed for a moment, then was gone as she bowed her head.
“Aye, milord,” she murmured, as she grabbed her skirts and sunk to her knees.
St. Elzear’s left nostril! She was kneeling behind his desk, only inches from his knees. The fantasy of her smiling as she lifted his kilt and reached for him had his cock going rock-solid.
But…
But the memory of that anger was impossible to ignore. She’d been angry at his command, yet had followed it anyway.
Was that what she’d meant about choosing to give up control?
Nay. Nay, instinctively he knew giving up control to someone he trusted wouldn’t result in anger. And he hated the thought of her being forced to do anything she didn’t want to.
Suddenly disgusted by himself, he reached for her shoulders. “Nay, lass,” he croaked, standing and pulling her up as well. “Nay, I dinnae want that kind of control over ye.”
She was standing now and was close enough she had to tilt her blonde head back so she could look him in the eyes.
“Do ye no’?” she murmured.
“I dinnae.” He was firm. “I dinnae need that kind of control over anyone.”
“Then why do ye want to become laird?”
The question struck him like a blow, and his hands dropped from her shoulders. In fact, he even took a step back, staring at her. His expression was likely a mixture of horror and surprise, but he couldn’t hide it.
He’d spent the last few years working for the Oliphants. When Da had announced that ridiculous race in order to become the next laird, Alistair had been genuinely angry. Angry that his contributions and sacrifices were being ignored like this; angry, because the position, which should be his, was now being left up to fate.
He’d been angry all summer, ever since Da’s ultimatum. But now…?
Fook.
She hadn’t touched him when she’d delivered the question, but she’d rocked him just the same. Staring up at him with those changeable eyes, Lara’s beautiful lips parted. “If wielding power over me makes ye uncomfortable, Alistair, why do ye want more of it?”