Drop It Like It's Scot (The Hots for Scots Book 5) Read online

  Drop It Like It’s Scot

  Caroline Lee

  Contents

  About This Book

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Alistair Oliphant has devoted his entire life to his clan’s well-being. As one of the laird’s bastard sons, he’s determined to prove his worth by managing the Oliphants’ correspondence, alliances, land stewardship, trading schedules, and about a million other—boring—aspects of keeping a busy Highland clan going.

  When his father declares whichever of his sons marries and produces a son first will become the next laird, Alistair figures his destiny has finally arrived. The only problem is…he just doesn’t have the time to find a wife.

  Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because right under his oblivious nose, is a woman who is ready and willing, and just waiting to hit him over the head with her long-time crush. Lara Oliphant has grown up with the Oliphant bastards, but as their best friend’s younger sister, none of them have given her a second look. Which is a shame, because she’s done quite a lot of looking herself when it came to Alistair. And as a result of Lara’s embarrassingly voyeuristic lifestyle, she’s decided she’s the only one who can set the poor man straight.

  Or rather…not straight.

  If Alistair got any straighter, she could shove a wick up his rear and call him a candle. What he needs is someone to show him how to bend, how to relax…how to have a little fun. And Lara is just the woman to do it. Assuming she can convince him to see her as a woman, that is!

  Warning: Full of naughty shenanigans and ridiculous jokes, and more than a few eye-rollingly bad puns. Come for the spicy bits, stay for the humor. Welcome to another installment of the hilarious Hots for Scots series!

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Want the scoop on new books? Join Caroline’s Cohort, an exclusive reader group! Or sign up for my mailing list by texting “Caroline” to 42828 to get started!

  Steamy Scottish Historicals:

  The Sinclair Jewels (4 books)

  The Highland Angels (4 books)

  The Hots for Scots (8 books)

  Sensual Historical Westerns:

  Black Aces (3 books)

  Sunset Valley (3 books)

  Everland Ever After (10 books)

  The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet (6 books)

  Sweet Contemporary Westerns

  Quinn Valley Ranch (5 books)

  River’s End Ranch (14 books)

  The Cowboys of Cauldron Valley (3+ books)

  Click here to find a complete list of Caroline’s books.

  Sign up for Caroline’s Newsletter to receive exclusive content and freebies, as well as first dibs on her books! Or if newsletters aren’t your thing, follow her on Bookbub for a quick, concise new release alert every time she publishes a book!

  Prologue

  Lara held her breath as she pressed one finger against the secret door. Thanks to a liberal application of cooking grease—good for more than just frying—the hinges didn’t squeak as the door inched open.

  The sliver of light which illuminated the passage was tinted in blues and greens from the tapestry on the wall. She wasn’t sure who had hung the piece of ancient art in the laird’s solar, but she doubted many knew it hid an entrance to one of the many secret passages honeycombing the walls of Oliphant Castle.

  She doubted many even knew the passages themselves existed.

  But to be certain, she froze as soon as the door opened, waiting for an uproar or for the tapestry to be pulled aside.

  But as always, nothing happened.

  All she heard was the labored breathing of a man intent on his task. Grunts occasionally joined the panting, and she knew she was about to see exactly what she’d snuck there to see.

  Lara pushed the door open further until the wooden edge touched the tapestry, and she shifted forward. There was a hole in the fabric here, one probably made on purpose a generation ago for just this purpose.

  An enterprising young woman could stand in that spot, and through the rent in the tapestry, have a fairly unobstructed view of the goings-on in the solar. Which likely was terrible for security, but lovely for someone in her position.

  As the rhythmic pants turned to groans, an occasional slapping sound joined the chorus, and she smiled. This particular exercise was her favorite.

  The solar was simple; a desk and chair in front of a wall of shelves and cubbyholes for storing the ledgers, books and scrolls which kept the clan running. When the Oliphant had been in charge, this place had always been untidy, but now that his son Alistair had taken over the day-to-day running of the clan, Lara was impressed by the meticulous organization.

  She was impressed by many things Alistair did.

  The man was so devoted to his work, he even slept in the solar. There was a small cot, spartan in its comforts, tucked behind the desk, and one trunk. When he wasn’t training, his sword hung on the wall, and the only luxury was a rug spread before the hearth.

  A rug where Alistair himself now labored. Naked and gleaming.

  Lara smiled.

  With another grunt, the man levered himself up off the floor, using only the strength of his arms, and keeping his body straight as a board. Then he bent his elbows and lowered himself until his nose was touching the rug, then back up again. He did this twice, increasing the momentum, until his shoulder reached a height and speed that enabled him to lift his hands from the floor and clap them together before slamming them back to the rug to catch himself.

  The pressures of keeping the clan running likely necessitated some way to relax, to get rid of pent-up energy, and she knew Alistair didn’t train with the men as much as he used to. The calisthenics she caught him engaging in likely served the same purpose.

  Lara had no idea why he did them naked, but she absolutely did not mind.

  The pushy-slappy one was her favorite, because the momentum did all sorts of interesting things to his dangly bits.

  Rather like a pendulum.

  She licked her lower lip, watching his muscles bulge and gleam with sweat, watching his buttocks clench and his bollocks swing. Her breaths came faster and faster until she was panting in rhythm with him, and her hands came up to cup her own breasts through the wool of her kirtle.

  Blessed Virgin, he is a beautiful sight, is he no’?

  With one last grunt, Alistair clapped his hands together, then lowered himself to his chest and rolled over, splaying himself on his back on the rug. He was breathing heavily, and the sweat beaded on his forehead—and other places.

  Hungrily Lara’s eyes dragged over him, wishing she could step out of her hiding spot and offer to clean him.

  Mayhap with my tongue.

  The thought of dragging her tongue—her lips—across all that beautiful skin caused an unconscious whimper to escape her. Her hands tightened around her breasts as Alistair abruptly sat up.

  “Who’s there?” he called, his gaze immediately going to the corridor door.

  Silently cursing herself and her obsession, Lara stepped back into the secret passage.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could imagine Alistair pushing himself to his feet and padding, naked, to
the solar’s door. There was the sound of the door opening, and she imagined him poking his head out.

  When his voice came, ‘twas clear he was facing the room. “I think ye should ken I dinnae believe in ghosts, drummers or nae.”

  Oliphant Castle was home to the laird, his family, a dozen servants like Lara, and one ghostly drummer who was said to portend doom. But if Alistair didn’t believe in him, then he’d likely begin to investigate.

  Hands shaking, Lara pulled the door shut a bit faster than she’d intended, and stood, back pressed against the stone of the secret passage, for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Part of her wanted him to find the door, find her, discover the illicit feelings she’d had for him for years.

  But the rest of her knew that, to Alistair Oliphant and his brothers, she’d always just be their little sister’s best friend.

  Dropping her hands to her side, Lara smoothed her kirtle, took a breath, and head held high, slipped down the dark passageway. She was needed in the kitchen, which was about as far away from the laird’s solar as a lass like her could get.

  But a secret grin tugged at her lips. She had duties, aye, but this little excursion had been worth it. Very worth it. If she had her way, Alistair would soon find a way to relax every day.

  With her.

  Chapter 1

  “Any idea why Kiergan was so keen on this meeting?” Alistair asked his brother, as they climbed Oliphant Castle’s front steps.

  “Nay,” rumbled Rocque, frowning down at his boots. “But it cannae be too important, else he would’ve interrupted training.”

  It wasn’t often Alistair was able to train with the other warriors. He made sure to keep fit, but there just wasn’t time to attend Rocque’s sparring practices and training sessions. Today had been an exception, as he’d finished the trade agreements the previous day.

  So, as they crossed the great hall, he nudged his brother in the side. “Ye ken my twin doesnae need any sort of excuse to interrupt training, aye? Remember the time Kiergan slept late and showed up with that story about a rabid badger and the virgin?”

  Rocque’s chuckle seemed forced, and Alistair frowned.

  “What has ye so thoughtful? Ye were fine during training.”

  Rocque was the largest of the Oliphant bastards, and the most skilled when it came to the martial arts. This was why their father, the laird, had made him the commander of the Oliphant warriors. When he wasn’t focused on his men and their skills, he was happily ensconced in his little cottage with his new wife.

  Now, Alistair’s brother startled and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ve just been thinking.”

  They were headed for the laird’s solar, which had become Alistair’s domain in the last years since Da had turned the running of the clan over to him. “Aye? About what?”

  “Merewyn’s pregnant.”

  The way Rocque flushed when Alistair turned, proved the big man hadn’t intended to blurt out the announcement like that.

  And when his brother ran his hand over his auburn hair and looked away, Alistair could guess why. Still, he forced a smile and clapped his hand on Rocque’s shoulder. “I’m glad for ye, brother. Truly I am. Ye will make a fine da.”

  “Aye, I’m—we’re—verra happy. Mere’s been blessed without sickness, unlike Fiona.” Their brother Finn had married Fiona earlier that summer, and even if he hadn’t announced she was carrying, the whole clan would have known it from her frequent bouts of morning illness. “She says that’s a sign she’s carrying a lad, but I dinnae ken if ‘tis true.”

  He said the last part in an almost apologetic tone. They’d reached the solar, and before they went in, Alistair stopped him.

  “If she does bear a son, Rocque, ye’ll make a fine father and a good laird.”

  His brother eyed him doubtfully. “Ye mean it?”

  “Aye!” Alistair forced a smile. “The Oliphants will be lucky to have such a strong laird.”

  “If Fiona gives Finn a son first, the clan will have a diplomatic laird,” Rocque countered.

  And if I could manage to find myself a wife, who’d give me a son, the Oliphants could have a laird who actually kens how in damnation to run the clan!

  But Alistair just shrugged. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

  At the beginning of the summer, Laird Oliphant had gathered his six sons together and explained, since they were all bastards and all born the same year, there was no fair way to choose which would succeed him as the clan’s chief. Therefore, he’d leave it up to fate, and declared whichever son married and presented him with a grandson first would become the next laird.

  Charming Finn had already long been in love with Fiona and had made short work of securing her hand in marriage and planting his seed. Finn’s twin brother, Duncan, might not have intended to fall in love with Fiona’s twin sister, Skye, but the stoic goldsmith and the firebrand were now happily married.

  Then Rocque had married his long-time mistress Merewyn, the clan’s healer and midwife. Most recently, Rocque’s twin, Malcolm, had found love with Evelinde. Alistair was still amused by that as Malcolm, the scholar of the family, had decided the smartest way to go about it would be to find a widow with sons…he just hadn’t counted on falling in love with his new wife and her bairns. But he did, and Alistair didn’t think the man could be any happier.

  And every single one of them has a better chance of becoming the next laird than ye!

  Damn Kiergan for not agreeing to Alistair’s scheme. He’d proposed his twin—the rake who had a different lover each fortnight—find him a wife. ‘Twasnae as if Kiergan had duties to see to, and he was infinitely better suited to wooing females than Alistair was.

  When it came to women, Alistair was all…stiff.

  In more ways than one.

  Apparently, his vigorous calisthenics weren’t helping to temper his unfulfilled needs.

  Sex, lad, just say it. Ye havenae had sex in ages, and yer humors are out of order. Ye just have to make time to find a willing wench.

  His brother was still watching him warily, so Alistair clapped him on the shoulder once more. “Truthfully, Rocque. Ye and Finn—and Duncan and Mal—are all good men. We have our differences, but if one of ye become the next laird, I’ll be happy to follow ye.”

  “Nay, ye’ll writhe in irritation that ye have to serve one of us.”

  Alistair blinked and dropped his hand. “I wouldnae— What makes ye say that?”

  His brother shrugged. “Ye practically run the clan now as ‘tis, Alistair. Ye do the work of a seneschal and the laird. ‘Twould be a cruel twist of fate to no’ have the title as well.”

  Frowning, Alistair shook his head. “I would ken ‘tis what’s meant to be.”

  “Ye believe yerself to be the best choice though, do ye no’?”

  Rocque wasn’t going to let this go, and Alistair was surprised. The largest brother of theirs was usually considered the brawn of the family, while his twin, Malcolm, was the brains. Since when did Rocque get so…introspective?

  “I think…” Alistair began carefully, “I’m the one among us who has the most experience with running things. I ken what the clan needs.”

  He’d spent the last two years living in the room they were about to enter; the laird’s solar had become his territory when Da had passed on the day-to-day business of running the clan to Alistair. Hell, he even had a small cot moved into the room so he could work late into the night.

  His brother was nodding. “Ye’ve devoted yer life to the clan’s needs. But are ye happy doing it?”

  Alistair reared back. “What?”

  Chuckling, Rocque shook his head. “Yer reaction tells me ye havenae even considered the question. But here’s some advice, brother…” The big man winked. “Marriage has taught me that what I once thought I wanted isnae what really matters. I had to stop and consider my goals and what was truly important.”

  “The clan is important,” Alistair snapped with a frown, wondering what the hell Rocque was
speaking of.

  “Aye, but so are ye.”

  With a nod, Rocque jerked his head toward the solar door, apparently not realizing how he’d rocked Alistair with his casual statement.

  I’m important?

  Well, aye, of course Alistair was important. He was the brother who was running things, was he not?

  But there was something in Rocque’s tone which told him his meaning had been more than that.

  “Are ye two going to stand out there forever?”

  The bellow came from inside the solar. Frowning, Alistair glanced at the door, which was open just a crack. It had sounded like Finn, although he and Kiergan often sounded alike.

  ‘Twas not uncommon for the six brothers to meet like this, but for Kiergan to be the one to call the meeting, was odd. Alistair was curious and replying to his brother allowed him to bury whatever feelings Rocque’s words had raised so unexpectantly.

  “Keep yer kilt on, we’re coming.”

  Beside him, Rocque’s chuckle rumbled. “ ’Tis what she said.”

  Rolling his eyes, Alistair reached for the door. The dumb joke had been invented earlier this summer by—had it been Malcolm or Kiergan? ‘Twas impossible to remember, but ‘tis what she said was now running rampant through the clan and—

  Thank St. Elzear he happened to be rolling his eyes at that particular moment, because Alistair’s gaze landed on the bucket perched atop the door.

  He froze, his palm flat against the oak slab, his gaze darting from the bucket to the sliver of the room he could see through the opening, then back to the bucket.

  “What’s wrong?” Rocque asked from behind him.