“I am a terrible human,” she mumbled to herself.

And then the knocking came again.

Suffused with new anger, she stormed to the door.

“Ten minutes!” she yelled, ready to unleash her fury on who was surely Thea, wanting to do a last-minute touch-up before they left for the church. “I want ten freaking minutes to myself before…” She threw the door open, yelped, and then promptly jumped behind it, shielding herself from view.

“Hiya to you as well,” Duncan said, and she could hear that devil of a smile. “You sure are a sight, Elaina. Though I only saw ya for a wee second.”

Elaina burrowed farther into the corner between the wall and the open door.

“What the hell are you doing here?” But she couldn’t help it. She was smiling. For the first time since Duncan had arrived in Greece, Elaina Tripoli felt something she hadn’t thought was there. Hope.

“May I come in? We’ve already had one conversation like this, and I think I’d like to have this one face-to-face,” he said.

“But you are not supposed to see the bride. It is very bad luck.”

The door moved slowly toward her, and she knew Duncan was waiting for her to stop it, to refuse his entrance, but how could she refuse the man she thought she might not see again after last night?

“Elaina,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door so she stood in plain sight, bad luck be damned.

He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but nothing came out. His right palm flew to his heart, and he pressed his lips together, holding back…something. So Elaina waited until he was ready.

Duncan cleared his throat, and she tried not to notice that his eyes shone a bit more than they had last night, brimming with emotion she’d not seen from him before. Though his eye was still bruised, it was no longer swollen, and she let him drink her in, holding her breath as he did. He stepped toward her, where she was still pinned to the corner, more by sheer paralysis than anything else.

“I think we make our own luck, aye?” he said, taking her hand in his, and Elaina felt him trembling. Then he brought her palm to his lips and pressed a small kiss there.

“I don’t deserve you, Duncan.”

She moved her palm to his cheek, and he leaned into it. Deserving or not, right there, in that one gesture, Elaina knew he was hers and she his.

“Aye,” he said. “Ya sell yourself too short, love. I’m plenty responsible, in my own way, for what happened yesterday. And I don’t blame you for being angry.”

He pulled her hand to his chest, and it was only then that Elaina’s eyes were able to focus on the man who stood before her. She’d seen him in his kilt before, but a T-shirt or jumper had always accompanied it. He was the one who was a sight.

“Oh, Duncan. Look at you.”

He grinned, and though his heart hammered against her hand, she felt it slow to an even rhythm.

“You’re not mad about the eye?” His smile faltered with the question. “It’ll be in all the photos.”

She reached for his face with her free hand, letting her thumb brush over the bruise.

“You’re beautiful,” she told him. “This happened because of what you did for me, and I won’t forgive myself for thinking otherwise.”

He took both her wrists in his hands and lowered her arms to her sides. “We have to be done with the apologies and blame, Elaina. I’m here to marry you, dammit. It’s time to move forward. Promise me that from this moment on, we leave yesterday behind us because, fucking hell, I’d love to do that. It’s the New Year tomorrow, after all. Let’s start it with no regrets. Let’s start it as husband and wife.”

A smile tugged at her lips. That’s what she was hoping for when the knock sounded on the door—to move forward. To start her future with the person she loved most.

“Step back and let me look at you, then,” she told him, and he obliged.

Duncan raised his chin and tugged at the lapels of his navy jacket, preening for her.

“Ya like what ya see, aye.”

She nodded. “Very much. Especially the socks.” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the socks themselves she liked but the way they hugged his muscular calves. Duncan wasn’t an athlete specifically, but he’d never owned a car. In the small part of Aberdeen where he’d grown up, he’d told Elaina he’d always loved walking. So by the time he was old enough to drive, he was in no rush to do so.

Duncan loved the outdoors, and Elaina loved the way it naturally sculpted his body.

“Actually,” she amended, “I’d like to get you out of those socks. I would like to get you out of that entire gorgeous ensemble, but Thea will kill me if I ruin my makeup. And I will kill me if I ruin this dress.”

Duncan held up a hand, hesitating for several seconds before letting his fingertips graze the neckline of her dress. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t stop him.

“I don’t have words, Elaina. Not the right ones to tell you what I see when I look at you.”

“Try to tell me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His fingers traced the scalloped neckline, each glide of his skin against hers sending ripples of goose bumps down her arms, her legs, her spine.

“It stops my heart, and not just because you’re in that dress. Every day I see you and remind myself that you said yes, I lose a few seconds of my life.” He inclined his head toward the exposed skin on her collarbone and kissed her once. Twice. Once more.

“Then call me heart-stopping,” she squeaked out, her knees threatening to buckle.

“You’re heart-stopping,” he said, his lips continuing to follow the trail his fingers left. “And if I don’t kiss you—because shite, Elaina, other than last night, it’s been nearly a week—I’m not sure it’ll start beating again.”

She licked her lips, trying to remember what Thea had called the lipstick. A lip stain? It’s not supposed to rub off for hours, she’d said.

Well. Time to put it to the test.

She grabbed him by his…purse or whatever you called that little pouch that hung over the front of his kilt, hiding one of Elaina’s favorite parts of Duncan. She grinned and then crushed her mouth against his. And when his tongue slipped past her parted lips, she tasted his hunger—and his all-consuming love—and she fed off both.

“Marry me, Elaina Tripoli,” he said against her lips, and oh how she loved the sound of those words.

“Yes,” she replied. “My answer to that will always be yes.”

He chuckled and kissed her again.

“What about after today, when you’re my wife? I can’t ask you to marry me then, can I?”

She ran her fingers through his hair, loving that he wore it longer these days. It gave her something to grab onto when she needed him closer, just as she did now.

“You can always ask me to be yours,” she rasped against him. “And I’ll always say yes.” She gave his hair another soft tug.

He let out a quiet moan. “El-ain-a…” he pleaded. “We can’t. Not now. I’ve got to sneak my arse out of here and see you at the church for the first time.”

Her hands traveled to his neck, down the length of his back, then stopped to cup that lovely varéli through his kilt.

“Are you a true Scotsman?” she asked, and there was that delicious moan again. How she loved the things she could do to this man—and those he could do to her. Pity they couldn’t do those things right now. She would test the boundaries of her lipstick, but with only minutes before she had to leave for the church, she was not about to push it any further.

Duncan stepped back and cupped her cheeks. Surely they were flushed far beyond explanation. She’d need a few minutes to cool down before her family saw her.

“I am a Scotsman, aye,” he said. “But I am also a gentleman when it’s forty degrees and windy as hell. So you’ll have to make do with my tartan knickers,” he added, then proceeded to tease his wife-to-be by lifting his kilt just enough for her to see the McAllister tartan in undergarment form.