He swiftly pulled her undershirt off over her head. “Okay, get ready. We’ll strip down to our underwear, then get in the house before our skin figures out it’s suppose to goose-bump.”

She had to giggle at that. “How come you’re not yawning every five minutes? You’ve been up as long as I have, and did most of the work.”

He tapped the tip of her nose, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. “Because I’m not growing a baby.” He stopped to pat her stomach. “How is he, anyway?”

Megan slipped out of her boots. “Shhh. He’s having a nap.”

“Oh,” he said, bending down to unlace his own boots. “We’ll probably have to burn our clothes and use a whole bottle of shampoo to get the smell out of our hair. Slip off your pants and run inside.”

“Okay, on the count of three, we run,” Megan said without bothering with her pants. “Okay…three!” she shouted, giving Jack a nudge and bolting into the house.

He was one step behind her, when Megan suddenly skidded to a stop. “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here!”

Could it possibly get any worse?

Jack gathered his clothes, boots, pack, and rifle in his arms, and walked home barefoot. Yes, Laird, I was trying to strip your daughter down to her birthday suit on the front porch so I could have my wicked way with her—first in the shower and then in an honest-to-God real bed for a change.

Jack took his own porch stairs in two strides, dropped his boots, and discovered his main door was locked when he ran into it trying to rush inside. He tossed the rest of his clothes in the snowbank, including his pants this time, then blatantly mooned God and Frog Point when he bent down to retrieve his key from under the mat.

Dammit to hell. He couldn’t lose the image of Grace MacKeage staring at him and Megan in shocked surprise, and the stove poker falling out of Greylen’s hand with a clang.

Instead of turning toward his bathroom, Jack went to the cupboard, pulled down the scotch, and drank straight from the bottle.

There hadn’t been any vehicles parked in the driveway, so how had they gotten here? Jack took another swig of the scotch, relishing the burn sliding down his throat as he walked to an east window. He looked outside and spotted a snowmobile parked on the lake in front of Megan’s house. Well, that explained that. He wrenched open the woodstove door and set a match to the waiting kindling.

Taking another swig, he walked back out onto his porch, grabbed his rifle and pack, and set them inside. No need leaving a weapon available, in case the laird decided to come over for a little fatherly chat. Jack went back to the woodstove and added some logs, then stood naked in front of its stingy heat. How was he going to marry Megan without ever having to face Grace MacKeage again?

The whiskey finally reached his tired muscles, and Jack knew he’d better get in the shower while he still had the strength. Dammit to hell, Megan was supposed to scrub his back—and he had intended to thoroughly scrub her front.

He turned on the shower, waited until the water ran hot, and stepped under the spray. Maybe he could sneak over later tonight, after her parents went home.

He snorted, dumping half the bottle of shampoo down over his head. The way his luck was running, he’d probably crawl into bed with Camry.

Despite his total exhaustion, Jack came fully awake when his blankets moved and a slightly chilled but sweet-smelling body slid into bed beside him. He smiled into the darkness. “Have you no shame, woman, sneaking over here after what just happened at your house?”

She snuggled against him with a shiver. “You seem to have more than enough shame for both of us,” she said with a giggle. “I didn’t know a person could turn that red. Or that every inch of skin blushes,” she finished, her cold hand sliding down his torso and finding a particularly sensitive area.

Jack sucked in a gasp and quickly chased after her wayward hand. “How come you’re so cold?” he asked, pulling her hand up and holding it against his chest.

Her toes started a slow, sensuous journey up his leg. “I just threw on my boots and bathrobe to run over here.”

Jack rolled to face her, tossing his leg over hers while still holding on to her hand. “What time is it?” he asked, gasping again when her lips brushed his collarbone.

“It’s three hours past our shower date,” she said between kisses, her lips traveling up his clean-shaven jaw to his mouth. “You have a very comfortable bed, Jack,” she whispered, continuing her journey to his cheekbone and then his ear. “Let’s see if our magical place is just as beautiful on a real mattress. Will you take me there?” she whispered directly in his ear.

“S-sure,” he half-growled, half-yelped when she softly bit his earlobe. “Okay, that does it,” he said, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him until she was straddling his waist. He released his grip and immediately captured both her breasts in his hands, making her moan, first in surprise and then pleasure as she leaned into him.

She wiggled provocatively, lifted up on her knees, and with Marauding Megan determination, settled down over his shaft with another sweet sound of pleasure.

“You seem to have started without me,” he barely got out when she began moving on him.

She groaned, increasing her tempo. “You’re catching up quickly, though.” She dropped her head back to arch her breasts into his hands, her own hands bracing herself on his chest as her fingers flexed into his muscles.

He felt her muscles tightening, her body pulling in on itself, and he let go of her breasts to take hold of her hips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he desperately petitioned. “Make it last.”

“Next time,” she said even more desperately, grabbing one of his hands and pushing it down between them. “Come with me, Jack. Now!”

With a growl of resignation and no small amount of anticipation, he gently began to intimately caress her. She always promised to go slow next time, and when next time came, she was even more demanding.

Maybe he’d get her calmed down in thirty or forty years.

Every coherent thought in his head suddenly vanished when Jack felt her heading into their magical place, dragging him with her on a cresting wave of blinding heat. His shout of release blended with hers, and together they traveled through the cosmos, flying hand in hand, their three hearts beating as one.

Megan collapsed on top of him with a groan, snuggling her head under his chin with a sigh. “Okay,” she muttered against his neck. “You deserve to marry me.”

He pulled the blankets up over them. “That’s it?” he said, holding her in place to catch every last lingering contraction. “That’s your proposal?”

“I am not asking you to marry me, Jack. I’m telling you we’re getting married in March, on the spring equinox. My family’s got a thing for the solstices and equinoxes. You got a problem with that, Coyote?”

“No, ma’am.”

She dropped her head down to his neck with another yawn. “Good. Because William and Kenzie and Father Daar will want to attend, so we need to have it before they leave.” Jack felt her smile against him. “I’m going to be the first one in my family to have a dragon as a groomsman.”

Jack snuggled her against him with a resigned sigh. He’d bet his boots he was going to be the first one in his family, too.

Epilogue

A t precisely 7:08 p.m. on March 20, the exact time of the vernal equinox and during one of the worst spring blizzards in recent history, Jack finally kissed his very pregnant bride in front of an eighteen-hundred-year-old priest, two drùidhs, six time-traveling highland warriors, and a whole slew of MacKeages and MacBains—none of whom thought it at all strange to have a dragon in the wedding party.

Well, a few of the spouses did—especially Walter Sprague, Elizabeth’s husband. The poor high school principal had nearly fainted when William had walked into Gù Brath’s huge living room with Elizabeth on his arm, then taken his place beside Kenzie and Matt, the other two groomsmen. Jack had considered asking Simon to be his best man, but seeing how there was to be a mythological creature in attendance, he had asked Robbie MacBain instead.