Accidentally A Bride

By Mary Malcolm

Dallas writer Gwen Taylor loves her debauched life—free-flowing booze, exotic locals, and all the men she desires. The only problem is all that partying sometimes makes her forget important things, like why she's waking up naked in Davenroe, Scotland the night after the fire ceremony. And who is that delicious-looking man who seems so intent on spending time with her? Artist Grant McLeod will do anything to convince this feisty embodiment of Aphrodite herself to stay in Scotland. In fact, he married Gwen during the festival and now has 48-hours to seduce the stubborn woman into remaining married to him, or he might lose her forever. Once Gwen discovers the truth of their marriage, she figures there’s no harm in enjoying the remaining hours they have together. Only, the longer she’s with Grant, the less she wants to leave. Now she has to decide—trust the life she loves, or trust the man who promises her the life she never thought she deserved?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781509201006

Book preview

Inc.

I really am sorry. She placed a light kiss against his still rosy cheek.

His hot breath caressed her ear. No apologies needed.

She let a trail of kisses fall along his jawbone and then lightly against the corners of his mouth. Does that mean you don’t want to kiss and make-up?

His breath hitched as he pushed back the long strands of blonde hair that had fallen across her face and took over, gently kissed upward. Her cheekbone, her eyelids, her temple. Then back down. When his lips settled on hers he explored her mouth with his tongue, creating an erotic puppetry so tantalizing that it sent shockwaves of heat to her already-pulsing sex. With his fingers tangled in her hair, he walked them both slowly backward until they were at the edge of the bed, and then strewn across it. He ran his hand down the length of her thigh, maneuvering her leg over his.

The sheet slipped and cool morning air grazed her nipple into a tightened, wide-awake bud. The kiss intensified, each struggling to gain control over the other. Gwen moaned when he captured her bottom lip with his teeth then released only to suck it into his mouth in a manner that suggested further oral exploration to come.

Praise for Mary Malcolm

"ACCIDENTALLY A BRIDE is Snarky, Sexy, and Seductive as Hell."

~Tracy A. Ward, author of Fair Play

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"Mary Malcolm has created a witty, sexy romp through the Scottish countryside [in ACCIDENTALLY A BRIDE]. Gwen is a modern woman who knows what she wants, and Grant is determined to love her any way he can get her. Readers will love this sensual story of kicking out the baggage and taking second chances."

~Sidney Bristol,

New York Times and USA Today Best Selling Author

~*~

"DINER GIRL is not your average Cinderella story…it is so much more."

~Long and Short Reviews (5 Stars)

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"…it’s somewhat ridiculous how much I loved reading THE TEXAS MILLIONAIRE’S RUNAWAY WIFE."

~Stephanie Cage Blog (5 Stars)

~*~

…thank you Mary Duncanson for this brilliant, mind-blowing read.

~Bookish Love (5 Stars)

Accidentally

a Bride

by

Mary Malcolm

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Accidentally a Bride

COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Mary Duncanson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by RJ Morris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0100-6

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Cindy, who has been my editor from the beginning and has always had my back.

And to my mom and dad, who support unconditionally. I love you all!

Chapter One

Gwen Taylor awoke to the sound of voices outside and the distant echo of a rooster’s crow. A trail of spittle clung to the pillow as she lifted her head. A mistake. An I shouldn’t have drank so much last night, now my brain wants to kill me mistake. To pay the price, she put her head back down, cheek landing in the wet spot.

She was in one of those white structure tents like what they had at her sister’s wedding, but where? Blearily she rubbed her eyes and, moving at the speed of a stubborn mule, sat up. She was naked, on a bed. Okay, this is good. A bed in a tent. A large tent, sure, probably fifteen by twenty. And it had furniture, besides the bed. Which would have seemed very odd were it not for the fact that she’d woken up in stranger places. Like the basement of that teahouse in Japan while she was working on her autumn in Okinawa story, but ended up drunk on sake.

At that time, the drinking alone or even waking up someplace unfamiliar wouldn’t have been weird were it not for the chickens. And the two guys tied to chairs wearing nothing but high heels and ball gags. Needless to say, she hightailed it out of there lickity split, no explanation necessary.

Last night though…her last memory was of drinking with the Scotsman. What was his name? Tempting as sin, the man had a voice that sent waves of arousal to all her lady bits. That much, she remembered. Gwen pressed fingertips to her temples in hopes of eliciting a memory. Whiskey always had a way of causing temporary amnesia. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she moved to stand. The pounding in her head prevented it and she sank back down clasping the sheet tighter, as if to fend off her naked regrets.

Okay, think about this. What was his name? What was his name? What did we do last night? Right. Like that was the question she needed to ask. No, the more pertinent question should have been, what didn’t she do? Considering her past snafus…she should really consider taking fewer assignments abroad. Then again, staying in North Texas would make working as an exotic travel writer a little more difficult. Her clothes were nowhere to be seen.

The tent flap fluttered sending a wave of sheer panic through Gwen’s veins. She scurried back onto the bed and yanked the blanket tight under her chin. The fluttering stopped but now the voices from earlier stood right outside the opening. She strained to hear what was being said, but couldn’t make out the words. Then she heard laughter. Gwen heaved a sigh of relief that no one had come in, then resumed glancing around for her clothing.

She and Judith, her photographer, had come to Scotland to write about the various summer festivals that took place in rural areas. With those festivals came a lot of drinking. Who knew the Scots held their liquor so well? Still, how could she have imagined all that imbibing would land her in a strange tent presumably in the middle of nowhere? The scenario was possibly the farthest thing from her imagination when she’d hopped on the plane out of DFW. All she could really hope for now was to be fully dressed before anyone returned.

There’s my bonnie lass, that tempting as sin voice said as the flap pushed open.

Too late.

Gwen swung her eyes to the rich baritone timbres but was temporarily blinded by the murderous sunlight streaming through the opening. She covered her eyes and groaned when an invisible rail spike slammed through her temporal lobe. She did not feel the least bit bonnie as the stranger suggested, so she croaked out a reply. Please don’t take this the wrong way, she swallowed past the bales of cotton that made speaking nearly impossible, but if you plan to kill me, could you do so quietly and in the dark?

A laugh rumbled from his lips and the tent flap fell shut behind him.

No murderen’ planned today.

Good. That’s good. Gwen’s eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light and she focused on the man before her. Much taller than most of the men she’d met on this trip, he had to be over six and a half feet. His broad shoulders blocked the entire entrance. Curly auburn hair hung down to his shoulders. She’d never been into redheaded men, but imagining the height-appropriate package that hid inside those blue jeans created a pulse of instant wetness that made her thighs squeeze. No good. The motion caused a slight friction and intensified her already over-heated reaction.

I’ve made worse mistakes. She remembered the last man she’d slept with while drunk: the next day the man reminded her of a toad, with his small, darting eyes, nervous face, and twitchy tongue. Then he followed her around for weeks after. Really, I always shop in the women’s section, he promised before the restraining order kicked in. Sure.

Shall we have a tumble? the redheaded man asked, sitting next to her on the bed. His hand inched toward the place where her thigh hid beneath the blanket. Up close his eyes mesmerized, light brown with bright flecks of yellow gold dancing in the centers. They crinkled around the corners as a smile lifted his lips. Soft-looking, sensuous lips between which his tongue darted to moisten now. The way that tongue moved ever so slowly over his bottom lip created a sensual—impossible to ignore—image so tempting that the blanket slipped a few inches away from Gwen’s originally iron-tight grasp.

She blinked and as if that nanosecond of darkness was enough, the spell broke. Gwen inched away. I’m sorry, I just don’t remember…

The man acknowledged the distance, with a sweeping gaze and a slight nod. "Yes, it’s the uisge. My paw’s whiskey. You’ll feel better soon, I promise."

She tried again to focus. Loud, pulsing music, their bodies pressed tight as they danced in front of the fire, his hand slipping across her cheek, down her arm. The taste of whiskey and honey on his tongue. These images stood out because she hadn’t towered over him. At six foot even, barefoot, she stood eye to eye or in heels, taller, than most men she dated. You’re one of the men who came to Davenroe, right? There had been a parade of men who arrived as the sun set. Not a literal parade, it started with a few carfuls then more as the evening progressed. By the time the dancing began, the men outnumbered the women three to one. Fairly good odds on getting laid had that been her plan.

It hadn’t.

No, lass, he said with a deep belly chuckle. I live in Davenroe. My family did come out last night though. He ran his index finger intimately up and down her thigh. Something that should have given her straight up heebie-jeebies, but instead sent cascading shockwaves of desire to the bundle of nerves already pulsing at the apex of her sex. If she didn’t stop this madness, she’d spend the rest of the day sprawled in bed with this stranger whose name she’d yet to