Author's Note—This story was written for the S2SL 2015 fundraiser for Hope for Caroline. Thank you to all those who donated back in February and supported such a wonderful cause, and thank you to Streetlightlove1 and her husband for their hard work on the collection.

I have extended the story with one additional scene at the end, thus the delay in posting it while I got that scene right. Thank you to iLoVeRynMar for her support and love in helping me with both the original version and this extended one. Thank you to RoNordmann for the banner that accompanied the story in the collection, and to lovingmellark for the gorgeous animated banner that accompanies the new version.

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins. The Gaelic phrases throughout the story are loose translations (and most are of the Irish variety) so please take them as such.

One final note: though a love of Outlander inspired the choice of Scotland as a setting (and channeled some Jamie Fraser into Peeta) the idea for this story was more spun off from the concept in the film The Holiday. It is NOT Outlander, and I respect that author's stance on fan fiction and not wishing authors to write fan fiction off that series (even if I don't agree with it, haha).

Rated M for language and strong sexual situations. All mistakes are mine.

"Here we are, m'dear. Hold still."

I grit my teeth and wait for the inevitable sting as Mags swabs the cotton ball along my palm. The antiseptic makes me squeeze my eyes shut while she carefully cleans the four-inch gash that had opened from just below my left thumb to the middle of my palm.

"How's that?" she asks, securing a large Band-Aid over the cut.

Giving her a weak smile, I rub my right thumb over the bandage and flex my fingers. "It's good. Thank you, Mags."

"Aye, so now we work on healing yer other wound. I'm afeared that will take much more than a bandage. What happened, lass?" She slides a mug across the table towards me.

I bite down on my lip to keep it from quivering. Anger and humiliation churn in my stomach. I pick up the mug and slowly sip the tea, keeping my eyes lowered.

"I heard the yelling, Katniss," she probes gently. "But if ye dinna want to talk about it…"

I sigh heavily and cut my eyes to her apartment door. It's been at least five minutes since I stormed out of my own apartment across the hall. I look into Mags's blue eyes and take a deep breath, deciding I might as well start at the beginning.

"I was let go this afternoon. The CEO decided that his niece would be a better accountant than me, so…" The chaos of the past ninety minutes still hasn't sunk in. It was already a shitty enough day being fired. I take a breath.

"So…I cleaned out my desk and I came home. And I guess they weren't expecting me," I finish bitterly, the scene replaying in my mind as I give Mags the sordid details: The "oh shit" look on both their faces. Gale scrambling for his clothes. Madge covering herself with a throw pillow that was comically too small to cover her boobs. His frantic pleas of, It's not what it looks like. Let me explain. Don't leave, Katniss. I knew he was serious when he used my real name. I didn't even stick around long enough to ask them why the hell neither one of them was at work. Gale had told me he had a business lunch when I texted him earlier in the morning. I hadn't called him with my bad news, not wanting to bother him while he was with clients—or so I thought.

"Oh, mo leanbh daor," Mags murmurs, reaching for my injured hand.

I heave a sigh of frustration. "It's just such a fucking cliché!"

Mags's eyes round. I don't think in the course of the year since I moved into my apartment and befriended my sweet elderly neighbor that I have ever cursed in front of her. Our conversations are generally limited to harmless things, like the historical romance novels she likes to force on me or if she needs anything from the pharmacy when I make a CVS run.

She gestures to my hand. "So how did that happen? Did he hurt ye?" Her voice holds more venom than I've ever heard before.

"Nah, he was too busy putting on his pants. This—" I gesture to my wounded hand, "this was because I threw a vase at him. That I regret...Not because I missed, but because…" I close my eyes at the first prick of tears behind my eyes and start again. "Because I didn't think and it was the first thing I grabbed and she…she had made it for me, Mags." And then the dam bursts and my tears fall freely.

"Oh Katniss!" She comes to stand beside me and urges me to my feet, wrapping her frail arms around me.

"What does it say about me," I whisper, after she's held me and let me cry for a while, "that I'm more upset about a broken vase than I am about Gale?"

The vase wasn't expensive. It wasn't particularly pretty. But it had sentimental value that can never be replaced. It had been the last birthday gift Prim had given me, thrown by her during an art class and hand-painted in varying hues of green, with dandelions scattered across the surface. There was also an inscription on the bottom in my little sister's meticulous cursive: Semper Tuens et Servans. Prim had held a fanciful obsession with Latin since fifth grade, and she had proudly translated the phrase for me as "always protecting, watching over."

Mags takes my hand and leads me to the couch. She keeps my hand sandwiched between hers as we sit, and she fixes those enchanting blue eyes on me.

"I'd say we'll find a way to put that vase back together. And if I may be so bold to say so, I think ye're better off without that lad. By the time he realizes what a good thing he fucked up, ye'll be on to bigger and better things."

"Mags!" I exclaim, unable to suppress my shock at hearing her swear.

"It's true." Her voice softens. "Ye ken what I think, Katniss? I think that ye might no see it now, but this is a verra good thing. Gale wasn't a good match fer ye. He was safe."

I wrinkle my nose and take another sip of my tea. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he was there fer ye after everything that happened. He was familiar, he was comforting, and he offered ye a sense of family that ye had lost. Ye were close to him, so ye dinna need to let him in. He was already there."

I swallow hard, forcing down the lump that's crowding my throat. There's a part of me that suspects she's right. Gale had pursued me for years and I had never been willing to cross the threshold from friends to something more—not until the days after the car accident that shattered my world, claiming the lives of my mother and my sister two years to the day after my father had suffered a massive fatal heart attack. And even after he and I started dating, I had felt a profound sense that something was missing.

Mags's hands squeeze mine. "I have an idea. Ye need a holiday."

"A holiday?" I ask dubiously, arching a brow at her.

"A vacation?"

I sigh. "It's a nice thought, but I'm gonna have to start looking for a new job, and a new apartment because if that bitch Madge thinks I'll ever live with her again—" Mags raises one hand and silences me.

"Ye've got all that insurance money banked, lass. I see the way ye live—no splurges, no indulgences. Ye'll be okay without a job for a wee bit. I've got a lovely cottage in Edinburgh that's sitting empty. Get yerself an airline ticket and go spend some time fer yerself. See the sights. Have a fling or two."

"Mags!" Her suggestion raises a blush on my cheeks.

Her slighty rheumy blue eyes sparkle with mischief. "It worked fer me when I was yer age."

Then her countenance grows more solemn. "Ye've no really had the chance to be young, Katniss. Too much responsibility much too soon. And too much loss. Ye deserve some time to yerself. Ye won't regret it. And the real world will be here when ye get back."

I purse my lips thoughtfully and look back towards the door. It does sound tempting—leaving all the bullshit behind and escaping for a little while.

"I don't have a passport," I argue weakly.

Mags snorts softly. "Please, lass. That's the least of yer worries. Just say aye."

Her face is so hopeful that I can't foster one more decent excuse.

"Aye," I echo.

She grins, pats my hand, and says with a wink, "I'll go find the keys."

Two weeks later I'm bound for Scotland, putting 3300 miles between me and the shambles of my life, on a very turbulent flight that quickly replaces my exhilaration with anxiety. The poor Irish man to my left has the misfortune of being witness to my paranoia. He's far more patient with me than a stranger should be and he generously buys me a drink from the flight attendant to soothe my nerves.

When we touch down and the pilot's smooth baritone comes over the intercom, welcoming us to Edinburgh, I can't get my seat belt off fast enough to disembark the plane.

It takes an insufferable amount of time for my luggage to spit out on the baggage carousel. Once I heave my suitcases off the conveyor belt, I make my way in the direction of a sign that proclaims taxi service. I step out into the autumn sunshine.

I scan the street outside the airport for a minute or two until I remember that I'm not looking for the familiar yellow taxis of America. On second glance, I spot a boxy black car idling a few feet up on the curb. There's a little lit placard on the roof, which looks like it might be a cab number. Righting my suitcase and rolling it behind me, I stride towards the car.

As I reach for the door handle, I hear a voice say, "Allow me." I spin around and find myself looking up into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. They immediately crinkle as their owner smiles at me.

He's handsome—blond and a couple of inches taller than me, and his broad shoulders fill out the tailored, obviously expensive grey suit that he wears very well. Those clear blue eyes lock on me as I take in the rest of his classically attractive features: long eyelashes, straight nose, strong cheekbones, chiseled jaw.

The way he's smiling at me is a bit unsettling. His mouth curls in such a manner that suggests he knows how to wield it, and given his hotness he probably uses it to his advantage often. My stomach executes a little back flip as he steps towards me, but when his hand settles on the door handle, I stiffen.

"Excuse me, I had this cab," I say politely.

"An American, are ye?" His words are stressed with a soft Scottish lilt— as if this guy needs anything else to up his rating on the 'fuck me' scale. He purses his lips at me, sending another ripple through my belly. I tuck an errant strand of hair that's escaped my ponytail behind my ear.

"What gave me away?" I ask drily.

He laughs. "That charming accent of yers."

"I don't have an accent."

"Aye, ye do. Where in America are ye from—the Northeast?"

"Pennsylvania," I reply, surprised that he has pinpointed me so quickly and correctly at that.

The cabbie sticks his head out the window and impatiently barks at us to get in, his heavy brogue made more indecipherable by his gravelly voice.

"Where are ye headed?" the blond man asks. "Perhaps we can share."

Ignoring the gymnastics routine well underway in my stomach, I clench my jaw and give him a terse smile. There is no way I'm going to sit beside this stranger in the tight confines of a taxi. What if those good looks are disguising something? I've seen American Psycho—and the guy I had just encountered is way hotter than Christian Bale.

I'm also not going to get into a turf war over this one cab. It's the airport—there will be tons of them coming and going. And, judging by the way he's dressed he probably has somewhere to be. I'm not in a hurry.

So I step away from the curb and wheel my suitcase to my side, motioning towards the car. "Go ahead. It's all yours. I'll get the next one."

His brows furrows and his mouth twists. "It's really no a problem to share."

The way he drops the 't' on 'not' and trills his 'r's' almost weakens my resolve. Almost.

"I can wait. It's fine. Have a nice day." To further affirm that my decision is final, I rummage in my purse for my phone and avoid his eyes, scrolling idly through my apps to look busy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the guy linger on the sidewalk for a moment, watching me carefully. I think he shakes his head before opening the cab door. I hear it slam shut, and glance up just in time to see the taxi pull away.

It's not until the cab disappears into the crush of traffic that a brief thread of Mags's voice winds through my mind. "Have a fling or two," she had said. The stranger's blue eyes swim before me, and I have a fleeting vision of them staring down at me as the blond Scot pounds into me. I gasp and nearly drop my phone, cursing myself for the foolish fantasy. Even if I am going to take Mags's advice and have a fling, it's not going to be with a total stranger, within two minutes of meeting him no less.

I shove my phone back into my purse, release a breath, and start looking for another cab, trying to put the image of the handsome stranger out of my head.

Mags's cottage, as it turns out, isn't really a cottage. When the cab comes to a stop in front of a beautiful Georgian flat at the end of a bustling street, I protest and show the cabbie the address on my phone. He laughs and explains to me that this is indeed the correct address. I pay my fare, and he kindly offers to wait while I test the keys that Mags had given me if I still have my doubts. I approach the door, fit the key into the lock, and to my shock the door opens. The cabbie gives a wave and drives off, leaving me standing in front of the flat.

It seems like a really nice area, just off the Royal Mile. There's a large pub directly across the street from the flat, and judging by the crowd standing outside of it it's popular. There are also few smaller shops and another restaurant further up the row. The buildings are old, but appear to be impeccably maintained. It may be the city, but it doesn't feel anything like New York or Philadelphia. There's something enchanting about Edinburgh and I feel myself growing more excited at the prospect of spending the next three weeks here.

Turning back to Mags's flat, I head inside, gaping at the spacious entry hall and the airy open space beyond it. I shove my suitcase against the wall and begin to walk around, admiring the hardwood floors and the high ceilings. I tour the living room and the breakfast nook and the kitchen, running my hand along the glossy marble countertop and marveling at the décor. Mags had to have hired some kind of an interior decorator. As elegant as this flat is, it's also very modern. The Mags I know prefers homey and quaint.

I saunter along, finding new things to gawk at, including a very well-stocked wet bar just off the kitchen, complete with three beer taps. I give one handle a little jerk, and a dark foamy liquid drizzles out. Intrigued, I tug the other two taps, releasing streams of a dark reddish-amber and a paler amber hue.

There are several doors on either side of the wide hallway. I peer in the first one, which is clearly the master bedroom. A massive king-sized bed is the focal piece of the room, and it strikes me as a little odd that it's only half-made, sheets hastily pulled up and pillows askew. I shuffle towards the bed and smooth up the quilt. A heady scent lingers on the sheets, very woodsy and spicy, like cinnamon and pine. It's a delicious smell.

I continue on into the large en-suite bathroom and gape. It's immaculate. The shower is huge, with two showerheads and a bench running the length of the rear wall. Clear glass walls enclose the space—no frosted opaque doors here.

Across the hall is another bedroom, a good deal smaller than the master, and a second bathroom, which isn't an en-suite, but it does have a large old-fashioned claw-foot tub. It isn't quite as big as the jetted tub in the master bath, but it's utterly charming and romantic. It makes me want to light some candles, pour a glass of wine, and soak. A smile creeps onto my lips. I decide to do just that, once I get settled.

I had noticed a little market up the street, so I lock up and walk there to grab a few essentials—including booze and bath salts. While I wander the liquor aisle, a cheerful old man with a full beard and a potbelly engages me in conversation. He talks me out of the wine in my hand and places a bottle of whisky in my basket.

"When in Rome, lassie," he says cheerfully, winking at me. "That there's the best I have to offer. Tell Angus up there at the register that Willie said to give it to ye fer half it's worth. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you," I say, genuinely touched by his hospitality. Are all Scots this friendly? The blond stranger from the airport threatens his way into my conscious thoughts again, but I quickly push him away.

The selection at the market is limited in the way of bath goodies, but I find a small sachet of fragrance and some bubble bath. Once I've returned to Mags's flat, I fill the claw-footed tub and sprinkle the salts into the water. Then I undress and wind my ponytail into a loose knot. With a glass of whisky in one hand, I shut off the faucets with my other hand and sink down into the warm water. My muscles instantly relax. I take a tentative sip of the whisky. It burns on the way down, but leaves a pleasurable warmth in its wake. Smiling, I close my eyes and lean my head back on the rounded edge of the tub.

I lose track of time, and eventually the water becomes tepid and I start to get chilled. I tip back the rest of my whisky and pull the plug on the drain as I step onto the bath mat. Shivering, I glance around the bathroom and realize there are no towels.

"Great," I mutter, chiding myself for not checking before I got into the tub. I snag a washcloth from a small basket next to the sink and dab it over my wet skin to dry off enough to be able to walk to the en-suite and grab a full-size towel. I don't want to drip all over those gorgeous hardwood floors.

On my way out of the bathroom, I catch sight of my reflection. I gaze in the mirror, cocking my head as I study my naked body. I don't think it's anything special, but I do keep myself in great shape. I smile, feeling strangely free as I stroll across the hall.

A scream lodges in my throat. Standing in the middle of the master bedroom is the hot blond Scot from the airport. His blue eyes widen in shock and his lips part.

"What are you doing? How did you get in here?" I shriek.

He rakes a hand through his hair and attempts to keep those big blue eyes from drifting below my neck. Watching him nobly struggle to stay focused on my face reminds me that I'm stark naked. My heart starts to pound and my cheeks flame.

"I, ah—" His eyes drop briefly to my chest and then quickly flit away, though a trace of a smile flirts with his mouth. He grabs for a wool tartan plaid blanket that's draped at the foot of the bed and holds it out for me. I snatch it from his hands and quickly wrap it around my nude body.

"I'll ask you again—how the hell did you get in here? Are you stalking me? Did you follow me? I'll call the police, I swear!" My panic rises swiftly as I fire off question after question in rapid succession. He stares at me for a second and then gives a little chuckle that I'd probably find it sexy if I weren't so freaked out.

"I'm no sure we need to involve the police, lass. But I could ask ye the same question about how ye got in here…because I'll have ye know ye're standing in my bedroom."

"Y-your b-bedroom?" I stammer, incredulous.

He grins sheepishly. "Aye, my bedroom. And that would be my blanket keeping ye hidden from my prying eyes."

I shake my head at him, my bewilderment intensifying. "N-no. No…this—this flat belongs to my neighbor. She offered it to me for a holiday."

"Ah, aye. Would your neighbor happen to be one Margaret Mellark?" His handsome face takes on an air of amusement.

My jaw drops. Margaret is Mags's real name. "Y-yeah…how do you…?"

"She's my grandmother," he replies.

"Oh—oh!" I feel my cheeks burn hotter. I know Mags has three grandsons, as she talks about them occasionally and she has a few photographs of them scattered through her apartment. But the boys in those pictures are much younger than this man. He must be in his late 20s to early 30s. How long has it been since Mags updated those photos?

"Listen," he says gently. "Ye're shivering. Why dinna ye get dressed and then we can go have a drink and get this all set straight."

My traitorous teeth start to chatter and he gives me a sympathetic smile. "If ye'll just let me hang up my jacket I'll get out of yer way and give ye yer privacy."

Numbly, I nod. He shrugs his suit jacket off his broad shoulders and walks across the room to the closet. I watch his back muscles flex beneath his shirt while he eases the jacket onto a hanger and draws the closet doors shut. Without another word, he slips from the room and closes the door behind him.

My heart thumps frenetically against my ribs as the situation sinks in. My eyes sweep over the rumpled bed. It all starts to make sense. I stumble back into the en-suite and look around more carefully. The toothbrush next to the sink. The array of colognes on the sterling silver tray. The electric razor charging on the counter. The full taps in the bar. Even the meagerly stocked refrigerator. How had I missed all these little signs that someone lives here?

All my earlier excitement deflates and my anxiety swells. What was Mags thinking? Why would she offer me a place that was already occupied—and by her ridiculously hot grandson? I consider the possibility that perhaps she doesn't know—maybe this hot grandson is some kind of freeloader. But it doesn't seem likely, given the impression I've gotten of him so far, but then, my judgment has been less than intuitive lately.

Mind reeling, stomach roiling, I retrieve some clean clothes from one of my suitcases and dress quickly. Giving a quick glimpse in the mirror above the bureau, I unwind the bun in my hair and roughly drag my fingers through it to separate the waves. Then I take a calming breath and walk out of the room.

Mags's grandson sits at the breakfast bar, a small glass of amber liquid in front of him. He's tapping away at his cell phone, but when he sees me, he pushes the phone away from him.

"What can I get ye to drink?" he offers. His phone jumps and he grabs for it, hastily shoving it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Oh, I, um, had some whisky that I bought." I glance around for the bottle I had purchased earlier.

He rises from his stool and pulls out the one beside his. When I don't move, he pats the seat and one side of his mouth curves up in a half-smile. "Have a seat. I promise ye I dinna bite." He disappears around the corner and returns a moment later with a glass that matches his own.

"Try this one. It's my favorite." He extends the glass to me, and cautiously, I accept it, nearly jumping when our fingers brush. He frowns at me.

"Ye need no look like a scairt rabbit, lass."

"I'm sorry." I suck on my lower lip. "I'm just a little confused, and a lot embarrassed."

"Why?" He raises his brows and looks contemplative. "We'll get this straightened out, ye'll see. And if ye're embarrassed about me seeing ye naked…well, I'll have ye know I have seen naked women afore and ye have nothing to be ashamed of. Ye've got a verra nice body."

I inhale sharply, trying to deflect my humiliation at the notion he got a good enough look to compliment me. Or perhaps he's just being polite. I'm sure I'm nothing compared to the beautiful women that he likely beds.

"Please sit down." His honeyed voice holds a gentle pleading that I'd have to be completely heartless to ignore. Gingerly, I perch on the edge of the stool next to him and cup my hands around the tumbler.

"So you live here." I drum my thumbs on the lip of the glass to give my restless hands something to do.

He sits down again. "Aye, I do. Grams, ah, must have forgotten that. I've been calling this place home fer the last six months. Traded up when I took over the pub."

"The pub? The one across the street?"

He looks pleased. "That's the one. Ye noticed it?"

"It seems very popular. I noticed a crowd gathered in front a little while ago, around lunch time."

"We do verra good business. The place has been in my family fer four generations, so I hope I can continue to do well by it. My great-granda—Mags's father—he opened it. Then my da took it over when Granda and Grams moved to the States. And now…" he trails off and falls quiet, but I understand immediately. I had taken care of Mags's cats for two weeks when she flew home last spring when her son—obviously this man's father—had died suddenly.

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

"Thanks." He takes a healthy drink from his whisky, draining half the glass in one swallow. I take a sip too, and I immediately know that this is indeed better than the whisky I had sampled earlier. It's smoother and leaves a smoky aftertaste in my mouth.

"Enough about me though. Let's get to the bottom of how ye came to be in my room." His impossibly blue eyes—so much like his grandmother's, I now see the resemblance—sparkle. "Ye know, ye would have saved yerself some trouble if ye had just shared that cab with me."

"I couldn't have known who you were then—or where you were going! I wasn't going to share a cab with a total stranger."

He leans forward. "Did I seem strange? Or perhaps dangerous?"

There are those sexy "r's" again. Feeling the heat start to color my cheeks anew, I stare down at my whisky and jolt when I feel warmth through the thin cotton of my shirt. I glance down to where his hand is resting on my elbow. Swallowing hard, I look back up, directly into his eyes.

"Let's start over, lass. Fer starters, it would be proper if we introduced ourselves." He lifts his hand off my arm and holds it out towards me. "Peeta Mellark."

"Katniss Everdeen." I grasp his palm. A tingling sensation migrates up my arm and nestles in my chest.

"Katniss. That's a verra beautiful name. A plant, is it no?"

"Yeah, it is. My mother loved plants and herbs. She was a naturalist. My dad let her give my sister and me flower names but insisted they be unique ones."

"He sounds like a verra smart man."

My lips twitch involuntarily at the memory of my father, but I say nothing. After a moment, he clears his throat and asks, "So then, Katniss, ye say that Grams offered ye this flat fer a holiday?"

"Ah, yeah." I nod, and as briefly as I can, without getting into too many details about the turmoil in my life that sent me bolting all the way across an ocean, I explain to him that I'm going through some personal changes and Mags had thought a visit to Scotland would be good for me.

He chuckles to himself. "Grams thinks the world's problems can be solved in Edinburgh."

"It's a lovely country, what I've seen so far."

"Oh ye haven't seen anything. If ye'll allow it, ye'll have to let me be yer tour guide whilst ye're here. There's so much to see."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I think I have far bigger problems right now than some fanciful sightseeing. I'm 3300 miles from home, in a city I know nothing about, and now I'm going to have to find a hotel—"

"Hold yer tongue." He holds up his palm and fixes me with a serious expression. "Why do ye think ye canna stay here? Because of me?" He gives another one of those laughs, a low, sexy sound that vibrates through me and lands right behind my navel.

He continues, "It's a big flat. I have two bedrooms. We can move yer stuff into the guest one. And ye'd have yer own bathroom."

"Look, Peeta, it's very kind of you to let me stay here, but I'm not going to impose on you and—"

"Ye won't bother me at all. I work long hours. I'm no here much. Ye'll have the place to yerself a lot."

I close my eyes and consider his proposal. What alternative do I have? The thought of wandering around to find a hotel is unappealing for a number of reasons. As I open my eyes and meet Peeta's eyes, the way he's staring at me has my stomach tightening.

He puts down his glass and covers my hand with his. "Please. Say aye. I'll feel right awful if ye have yer holiday ruined on my account."

I start feeling those little tingles shooting up my arm once more. I let them pulse through me, enjoying the unfamiliar warmth that accompanies them. A flush claims my entire body, and I can only nod my acquiescence to him, though something tells me that I might regret it.

Peeta grins and squeezes my hand. "Then it's settled. My flat is yer flat, Katniss Everdeen. I'll go move yer things into yer new room, aye?"

He gives my hand one last pat and drains the rest of his glass, then excuses himself. I linger in the kitchen for a bit longer before going into the other bedroom. Both my suitcases are already near the window.

My body still buzzes from Peeta's innocent touches and his not-so-innocent gaze. I'm not used to guys looking at me the way that he just looked at me, but that's probably because they don't. Gale is the only man I've ever dated. I'm woefully inexperienced in romance and sex and being desirable.

But then again, my bruised heart is probably overreacting and I'm seeing things that aren't there. Maybe Peeta is just touchy-feely and flirty by nature. With his good looks and his confident manner, who could blame him, really? He's being nice, I convince myself. He is related to Mags.

I rifle through my duffel bag for my Kindle; reading will help to clear my head. I've just settled into the wide armchair next to the window when there's a light knock on my door.

"Come in," I call, my eyes skimming back and forth across the screen as I try to remember where I had left off on the plane.

"I'll be heading to the pub now. Ye're welcome to come have supper in a wee bit, if ye like."

"That's nice of you, but—" Any excuse I could have dredged up dies on my lips when I glance up. My mouth goes dry as my eyes roam over the delicious vision in the doorway.

As if Peeta hadn't looked incredibly attractive in the suit he had been wearing earlier, there just aren't proper words in the English language to describe how absolutely delectable he looks now. His styled blond hair has been tousled, bringing to mind an image of what he must look like waking up in the morning. A white shirt that hints at the planes of toned muscle beneath it hugs his biceps and stretches taut across his chest. My eyes follow the whirling loops of the script Mellark's where the name spans his pecs.

But that isn't even all of it. The shirt is tucked into a kilt. An actual authentic green-and-orange plaid kilt, pinned and held in place by a studded black leather belt. It shouldn't be possible that a man could look so fucking good in a skirt, but he does, God help me he does. I'm suddenly feeling wet between my legs and I have to shift discreetly to alleviate the tingling there.

"I, uh…" I force a casual smile onto my lips, praying that the indecent thoughts I'm having about what might or might not be under that kilt aren't blatantly obvious on my face. "What happened to the suit?" I croak out.

That throaty chuckle. "Oh, aye. I was in London this morning fer a meeting that required a more professional appearance. I dinna typically wear a suit to the pub. It's a wee bit more casual than that. This is what all my employees wear. I'm a hands-on owner."

"I bet you are," I mumble to myself. Peeta cocks a brow at me.

"Did ye say something?"

"Ah, no, nothing." I cough and quickly lower my eyes to my Kindle screen. "Have fun."

"Thanks. Enjoy yer reading. And maybe I'll see ye later."

There's a bit of hope tingeing his last sentence. I glance up and he winks at me as he closes the door. Heart galloping, I exhale and twist my body in the chair so I can peer out the window, but I'm dismayed to learn my room doesn't face the street. Setting down my Kindle, I rush across the hall and crouch down beneath the window in Peeta's room, peering over the sill to watch him stroll across the street. My eyes wander down to his kilt, wondering again if it's indeed true that Scots go commando beneath the skirts. My thighs clench and I sink to the floor, laying my head against the wall, and I find myself hearing Mags's voice, clear as day in my head: "Have a fling or two."

I look over the window ledge again, just in time to see Peeta disappear inside the pub, but not before he holds the door open for two women, with a little gesture with his hand to wave them past. Charming, even from a distance.

Yeah, this could be a very, very dangerous arrangement.

Back in my room I try to read, but I have a hard time focusing. I can't get Peeta out of my mind—nor can I stop hearing Mags's illicit suggestion taunting me again and again. My lust-addled mind keeps summoning fantasies of Peeta's body pressed against mine, his mouth scorching my skin, his name falling from my lips amidst cries of ecstasy. I imagine slipping my hands under that kilt and grabbing his firm ass. My panties become damper and damper, and I nearly toss my Kindle aside so that I can slip my hand inside my jeans and get myself off. I can't remember the last time I had such a strong need to do that.

But I come to my senses and shame washes over me in a deluge. What is wrong with me? There's no way when Mags made that comment that she meant for me to have a fling with her grandson. I feel dirty for even entertaining such a thought. I can't look at Peeta that way. I can't let a pair of enchanting blue eyes and a lot of sculpted muscle and a sexy Scottish accent and a fucking kilt affect me so strongly.

With a sigh, I struggle to keep my attention on my book. I manage to read for about an hour, holding my deviant sexual thoughts at bay. But soon the ominous rumbling of my stomach becomes too persistent to ignore and I realize I haven't eaten anything all day. I power down my Kindle and head into the kitchen.

Outside the large window the sky is a swirl of brilliant pinks and purples and greys as twilight descends. I can see Peeta's pub across the street. Small floodlights illuminate the Mellark's sign and twinkling lights adorn the awnings. A warm glow spills from the large front windows, and as before, there's a sizable crowd assembled on the sidewalk.

I consider his invitation to come over there for dinner. I lick my lips involuntarily at the thought of seeing him in that uniform again. But the pub looks busy. Does he really need his new roommate loitering around his restaurant while he's trying to work?

Still, when I open the fridge and see the woefully under-stocked shelves, it's the pub or the market. I grab my jacket and venture across the street, jostling my way through the throng of patrons.

There's even more people congregated inside waiting for tables. I smile politely and elbow my way to the hostess. She smiles and cocks a strawberry-blonde brow at me.

"Just one?" she asks.

An increasingly familiar brogue says, "She's with me, Leevy."

I spin around and find Peeta standing right beside me, wielding that sexy smile. At this close proximity, the recessed lighting casts shadows on his skin and I can just see the stubble speckling his jaw. That delicious smell from his sheets wafts between us; it must be his cologne.

"Ye came," he says, pleased. "I've got just the place fer ye." Before I can utter a word, he loops his arm around my waist and leads me to the corner of the bar, where there is only one stool remaining.

"Have a seat. Give me a few and then I'll be back to join ye."

"Peeta, no," I protest, scanning the bustling pub. "I just came for a bite to eat. I don't want to bother you. I know you're busy."

"What kind of host would I be if I invite a lass to my restaurant and dinna give her some special attention?" he scoffs.

Shit. My stomach does a swan dive at the way he says "special attention."

"Ye are right though. We're heevin' and hopefully will be all night, but I'll make some time fer ye in a wee bit. Until then, Finnick'll take verra good care of ye…Finn!" Peeta signals one of the bartenders.

This Finnick guy is presently leaning up against the polished wood counter, clearly flirting with the woman in front of him. He looks over at Peeta and me, and even at a distance I can see the dimples framing his wide mouth when he smiles. The woman appears deeply disappointed when Finnick swaggers towards my end of the bar. Like Peeta, he's very handsome, with coppery hair that glints reddish gold when it catches the light. He's tall and broad and also fills out his uniform very, very well. But unlike Peeta, there's a bit of a cocky arrogance to the way Finnick carries himself.

Peeta smiles at me. "Finnick, this is Katniss. See to it that she's well taken care of, aye?"

Finnick gives me a leer and winks, his dimples even more pronounced, his aqua eyes twinkling. "Aye, Peet, I'll take good care of her."

Peeta's gaze shifts from Finnick to me, and then he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before he walks away.

"So Katniss, what'll it be?" Finnick drawls. His accent is thicker than Peeta's and it brims with intent. He reaches down beneath the lip of the bar and plucks something small and white that he places on his tongue. It's definitely a tactic to draw my attention to his mouth—and it works.

"I, ah…I'll just have some water," I reply.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows whatever was in his mouth. "Nay, ye dinna need water. Ye need a good pint or some whisky, aye?"

"Oh, um…" I scan the handles along the bar. "Maybe a cider or something?"

"Verra good choice." He retrieves a frosted glass and tips it under the tap, keeping his eyes fixed on me as the foamy brew fills the glass. He pulls the handle and expertly tilts the glass back just before the cider reaches the top. He slides it across the bar to me. "Are ye eating as well?"

"I'm starving. What's good?"

His lip curls and his eyes roam my face. "Sae makes a delightful chicken pot pie."

"Okay, then. I'll take that."

He turns his back on me to tap the screen on the register on the back wall, and I can't help but admire his physique. His shoulders and back are easily as broad as Peeta's, maybe more so, though I think they're about the same height. His waist is a bit wider too.

"So then Katniss, whilst yer waiting fer yer supper, tell me about how ye came to be on the good side of my boss, when I havena heard yer name before today. Has he been hiding ye away from us?" He arcs a copper brow at me and those dimples bracket his mouth.

"Oh, um, no, it's kind of a long story," I reply, reaching for a beverage napkin that sits beside my pint glass. Finnick grins and sweeps his eyes up the length of the bar.

"I've got a minute or two."

I play with the edges of the napkin as I give him the same version of events that I had related to Peeta that afternoon. Finnick listens, giving me his full attention until one of the other bartenders barks at him to 'stop flirting and do his job.'

Finnick purses his lips at me and says, "Flirting is part of my job. And I'm doing my job verra well, am I no, lassie?"

"Um, yeah," I reply, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at my lips.

"So ye ordered something, did ye?" Peeta's voice causes me to twist on the stool and I nearly drill him with my knee because he's standing so close to me. He chuckles and places a hand on my knee.

"Easy there," he warns playfully, clasping my knee. Damn those fucking sexy "r's." I offer him an apologetic smile.

"Finnick recommended the pot pie," I say.

"Aye, that's Gram's recipe. I think ye'll like it." He places his hand on the bar, to the left of me, as he asks Finnick, "So what do ye think of my new flat mate here?" I feel his other hand come to rest on my shoulder. If I reclined even slightly my back would make contact with his firm chest.

Finnick replies, "I think ye're a lucky bastard yer gram is forgetful. The only thing my gram ever forgets is my birthday." He pops a sugar cube into his mouth. "But I should warn ye, Katniss, it's a verra good thing that Peeta's flat has thick walls. I roomed with him at university and he could fell a forest with the way he snores."

"Shut up, ye wee clot. I dinna snore. Only when I've been drinking."

"Aye, that explains it. We did a lot of that back then." He smirks and heads down the bar to take orders.

"I dinna snore," Peeta says, his mouth nearly grazing my ear. "But ye need no worry. The walls are thick. I'll no disturb ye."

I don't know what to say to that, so I take a drink and nod towards Finnick. "He's a character. You've been friends for a while?"

"Aye. But Finn's a bit of a wandering soul. He just got back from a year in Brazil. I never quite know when he's coming or going."

"Peeta!" the hostess calls, waving to him from the front of the bar. He sighs.

"You're not here to entertain me. Go work. I'll be fine," I assure him. I sip my cider and gaze around the pub, taking in the décor and the ambience. It feels very stereotypically Scottish and yet not in a clichéd or cheesy way. Cozy, I think, is the best way to describe it.

Popular, however, was a bit of an understatement on my part. The pub is completely thriving, and Peeta doesn't have any time to devote to me, and neither does Finnick for that matter. So I eat my dinner alone—which is excellent—and I have a second cider.

But I can't stop yawning. It finally dawns on me that jet lag has caught up to me, and to my tired body it's after 2 a.m. I signal Finnick and settle my check, refusing to hear it when he insists Peeta wouldn't want me paying.

I scan the pub for Peeta and finally locate him chatting with some patrons who are drinking and shooting pool. Stifling another yawn, I wave to him. He says something to the group he's with and then strolls towards me.

"I think I need to go to bed," I say, and he laughs softly as I succumb to a wide yawn.

"Aye, that's a verra good idea. Ye look exhausted." He narrows his eyes at me. "Ye dinna pay yer tab, did ye?"

"I certainly did," I reply, smirking at him. "You're giving me a place to stay. I'm not taking handouts here too."

His handsome face shows mild irritation. "Ye're my guest, Katniss. I can treat ye to a meal."

"I'm a paying customer. And I tip generously. Ask Finnick." I feel yet another yawn coming on, and though I struggle to fight through it, it's futile.

"Did ye want me to walk ye home?" he offers kindly.

"Ah, no, I'll be fine," I say, though I can't deny his chivalric offer sends a warm sensation leaching through me.

"Alright," he relents. "But I'm no gonna take no for an answer when it comes to showing ye around the city. Will ye allow it?"

I grin through a yawn. "I'll allow it. Good night, Peeta."

"Night, Katniss," he drawls.

The next day I don't see Peeta at all. He's gone before I wake up. I try not to take it personally that he had seemed so eager to show me around but he's nowhere to be found when I'm itching to explore.

I push down my disappointment and do a little sightseeing on my own, touring the Royal Botanic Garden (which makes me think of my mother) and National Gallery (Prim would have loved that). I also take my Kindle to a small park two blocks from Peeta's flat and find a bench to read on, braving the brisk early autumn air. The city is so pretty that it seems silly to be cooped up inside.

On my way back to the flat, I stop by the market to fully stock Peeta's fridge. For a guy who owns a pub, he doesn't appear to cook a lot, but I guess he did say that he doesn't spend much time at home. With some of what I've bought I'm able to make a decent stew, even if it is far too much for one person. I think of Peeta, and store the rest in the refrigerator, in case he's hungry when he gets home.

After dinner, I slip into my flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved t-shirt, pour two fingers of whisky, and grab an actual paperback book from the stash in my luggage. There's a chill in the apartment, so once I figure out the fireplace flue, I start a fire and curl onto the couch in the living room. I read longer than I normally would, telling myself it's not because I'm waiting up for Peeta. Around midnight the words start blurring on the page and my eyes are leaden. I extinguish the fire, check the lock on the door, and head for my room.

A noise startles me awake some time later. Instinct causes my heart to beat a little faster, until I register where I am and realize it must be Peeta returning home. I yawn and burrow further under the quilt. Then I hear his voice outside my door. I sit up a little, thinking that he might be calling to me, but another voice answers him—a voice that is decidedly female. I hear Peeta say something else indecipherable and then his door closes.

I turn on my side and grab my phone. It's half-past two. There's only one reason why a man brings a woman home in the middle of the night. My stomach knots unpleasantly.

Peeta hadn't said anything about a girlfriend—but I hadn't asked. It's also entirely possible that whoever he's brought home could be just for tonight. There's no way he doesn't just bat those eyelashes and have women lining up for a roll in the hay with him. If he walks around regularly in that damn kilt, speaking in that "Fuck Me" accent—panties have to drop left and right.

It's better, I tell myself as I sprawl onto my back and stare at the ceiling. It's for the best if he's taken. It makes things a thousand times easier if he belongs to someone else and I'm not tempted by him. He's Mags's grandson. I can't sleep with him. It wouldn't be right, no matter how much the thought of what Peeta Mellark could do to me has me on edge.

Sighing, I pound my fist into the pillow a few times and get comfortable. As I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep, I murmur a silent prayer that Peeta is right and the walls are thick, because even if I can't have him, I sure as hell don't want to hear it whatever it is that's going on across the hall.

The flat is quiet when I make my way into the kitchen the next morning, groggy from a restless night's sleep, intent on conquering Peeta's complex coffeemaker. To my surprise, I find a full carafe of coffee in the pot and a shot of espresso beside it. A Post-It note is affixed to the front of the coffeemaker.

Katniss—

Sorry for being a dreadful host yesterday. Not sure if you're a coffee drinker, but help yourself. There's tea in the cupboard if you prefer. I'll be back around 11. Would love to show you Edinburgh Castle if you're up to it.

—Peeta

The thoughtfulness of his gesture brings a smile to my face as I grab the mug he left out and pour myself a cup of the coffee. I add a bit of milk and hunt through his cabinets for sugar, finally locating it behind a spice rack.

As I'm stirring the coffee, a redheaded woman stumbles into the kitchen, wearing what can only be one of Peeta's button-down shirts, which she's conveniently left unbuttoned, and a pair of nearly see-through panties. She's pretty, though I imagine when she's all made up, she's probably strikingly beautiful.

"Who are ye?" she asks, not disguising her annoyance at all.

I cringe inwardly at the thought of making small talk with her, but I decide to play nice. I can see how this might look to her if she's Peeta's girlfriend and not just a one-night stand. Finding a strange woman in her boyfriend's apartment? Hits a little too close to home now.

I muster what I hope is a bright smile. "Um, hi. I'm Katniss. I'm a friend of Peeta's grandmother."

She wrinkles her nose and looks me up and down with a scornful expression on her face. My explanation does sound a little ridiculous, I suppose.

"Ye're American," she says, as if that makes me infinitely more offensive.

"Ah, yeah, I am. Mags—that's Peeta's grandmother—she offered me this flat for a holiday, and well, she must have forgotten that Peeta lives here now."

The woman looks unconvinced or disinterested, or perhaps both. She sashays past me, and without a word, she snatches the espresso from the counter. The shirt shifts as she does, exposing one of her huge breasts. It doesn't faze her and she leans against the counter, her cool green eyes trained on me.

"My Peeta has such a big heart. How nice of him to give ye a place to crash fer a few days."

Her tone lacks sincerity and her pronoun use is not lost on me. I'm not going to bother to correct her and tell her I'll be staying here a little longer than a few days. I'll leave that to Peeta.

"I hope we werena too loud last night," she continues. The demi-tasse cup doesn't hide her smirk as she lifts it to her lips.

"Not at all. I'm going to go shower," I lie as I pick up my coffee and lean past her, tugging the note off the coffeemaker. "It was very nice meeting you." Another lie. I pad back down the hall to my room.

While I'm holed up in there, I decide it's probably a good idea to call Mags and let her know I'm settled. But it rings and rings and she doesn't pick up. And that's when I remember that it's still the middle of the night in the States. She must have silenced her phone, as she usually does before bed. I leave her a brief message, thanking her again for the use of her place, but I opt not to mention Peeta. It's not really the kind of thing to ramble on and on about on a voicemail.

After I drink my coffee and read for a bit, I do wind up showering, and by the time I'm dressed and I've applied a little bit of makeup and pulled my hair back in a simple ponytail, I emerge from my room and find myself alone in the flat. Thankfully Peeta's girlfriend is gone.

I clean out the coffeemaker, humming quietly to myself as I wash and dry the carafe and clear the dregs from the basket. (Those fancy contraptions never have the paper filters that make for easy clean up.) When I turn back to the sink, I nearly slam into Peeta.

"Oh! You scared me. I didn't even hear you come in." I press my hand over my leaping heart.

He's back in a suit, this one a deep charcoal gray, with a merlot-colored shirt. It ticks my pulse up another notch. Apparently he just looks fucking irresistible in whatever he wears.

He places one hand on the counter, bending towards me slightly. "I dinna mean to startle ye. I tried to be quiet so I could listen to ye singing. Ye have a verra lovely voice."

"I wasn't singing." I blush.

"Aye, ye were."

I bite my lip and wipe my hands on my jeans. "You're back early," I say.

"I took care of my business quickly. Ye got my note, then? Are ye up fer a tour of the castle? Or maybe something else, if ye dinna fancy history."

"Oh no…I like history. The castle sounds wonderful. Are you sure you don't mind?"

His mouth quirks. "I dinna mind at all. I've been looking forward to it. Give me a minute to change and we'll be on our way."

I pace around the kitchen while I wait for him, looking for something else to clean to busy myself, but Peeta is fast, and a couple of minutes later, he strolls into the kitchen, wearing a long-sleeved cream-colored Henley that clings to him in all the right places and a pair of faded jeans. He grins at me as he slips on a leather jacket.

"All ready, then?"

"Ah, yeah. I guess I should get a jacket?"

"Aye, there's a bite in the air this morn. And it gets windy on the bike."

"The bike?"

He crosses to a narrow closet near the front hall, and pulls a helmet from a shelf.

"This should fit ye alright," he says, offering it to me.

I turn it over in my hands. "A motorcycle?"

He grabs another helmet and his eyes dance. "Got to get in what wee time I have left before it gets too cold and I have to put her in storage. Ye're alright with it?"

"Ah…" Though I've never been on a motorcycle before, I'm not afraid of riding on one. It's something else that makes me wary—him. The idea of sitting behind Peeta, my body pressed up against his, my arms wrapped tight around him, my cheek resting on that soft leather jacket, inhaling the scent of him…yeah, no. My thighs clench. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

He gives a little nod and shoves his helmet back in the closet, then motions for me to hand mine over.

"It's okay. It's no fer everyone. I'll squeeze in a ride later in the week. It's no that far if ye dinna mind walking."

I give him a smile, though I feel a little guilty that he presumes my discomfort is about his bike. He waits for me to grab my coat, and as I return, buttoning it up, he gives a playful bow towards the door and offers me his arm. He gazes at me intently, but after a moment, when I haven't moved, he withdraws his arm and opens the door, holding it for me. Murmuring a quiet thanks, I jam my hands into my coat's pockets and step outside as Peeta locks the flat.

It may be a bit chilly, with the sun not yet at its highest point in the sky, but it's a beautiful fall day. We walk in silence for the first half-mile or so, as I look everywhere, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. I can feel his eyes sporadically shifting to me, but he doesn't say anything, until we come to a bustling intersection and have to stop for traffic.

"So, ah, what is it that ye do back home, Katniss?"

"Oh, ah…I'm actually, ah, between jobs right now." I avoid his eyes, feeling a twinge of embarrassment over confessing my unemployment.

He smiles kindly. "So it was fortuitous timing that Gram gave ye a push to take a holiday?"

"You could say that." I return his smile.

The exchange is enough to nudge open the lines of communication. We begin to chat as we walk, and Peeta points out various landmarks. It's impossible not to be drawn in as he talks. He has a way of speaking that makes me feel as if I am the only one in his presence, despite the crowded streets.

"And ye see that building over there?" he asks, motioning to a nondescript but classically simple gray-and-white brick-front, with a wrought iron railing and flight of stairs leading downward. "That's mine too," he says modestly, just a trace of pride on his face.

"Yours?"

"Aye. Da left me the pub, as well as that building there. Houses some offices and about twenty flats on the upper floors, but the entire ground floor has been converted into a nightclub. It's more of a project fer my brother, but I'm doing my best to help get it off the ground. That's where I was this morning, and why I was in London the other morn."

"Wow." It's a lame reaction and I know it, but between my incredulity at his drive and my own insecurity over basically not having a career I feel completely inferior. I'm at a loss for words.

"We've only been open fer a month now, but we're doing verra well so far. I'll have to bring ye by one night."

My throat and chest tighten simultaneously at the thought of being in a dark nightclub with Peeta, sultry music pulsating, a pleasant buzz from a couple of drinks migrating through our veins, my back flush against his chest as he clutches my hips and we sway together…

Shit. Stop it. He has a girlfriend. You can't afford to think like that.

"Are ye a football fan?" he asks, bringing my attention back to him.

"Well I don't dislike sports. My, ah…" I lose my words again, wondering how to avoid bringing up Gale. "One of my friends is…was a big football fan. He used to schedule his Sundays around the Philadelphia Eagles."

Peeta laughs and shakes his head, gesturing towards a billboard promoting an upcoming soccer game. "I dinna think we're talking about the same sport, lass."

"Oh, right." Idiot, I chide myself.

"I dinna know if ye've seen anything in America like the spectacle of a Scottish football match. I have to turn away some of the crowd that comes to the pub to watch, or risk getting a citation fer violating fire code. But game days are great fer business." He motions to the castle looming ahead of us. "Almost there."

Edinburgh Castle is a sprawl of buildings and monuments, and Peeta insists on showing me all of them. He refuses to let me pay for admission, and he shuns both the guided tour and the audio wands that are available for rental at the gates.

"I told ye I'd be yer guide, so that's what ye're gonna get," he says, with a coy smile. I don't offer a protest. None of the elderly tour guides are quite as nice to look at as Peeta, and I quickly learn that it's better to be on our own schedule, not dealing with the clusters of other tourists trying to stay together with their guided groups.

He knows his history, and his talent with words is on display again, as he recounts details of fierce battles and thrilling victories. I'm struck again by what a natural storyteller he is. I can't take my eyes off of him as he speaks, and I probably miss half the things he's pointing out because I'm so enamored by him.

It's when we're admiring the Crown Jewels that I feel his strong frame closing in on me. When he speaks, his breath tickles my neck and he practically rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Which would it be," he teases, "if ye could have any of them?"

"I'm not really a jewelry girl," I offer, studying the extravagant gems.

He bumps my shoulder lightly with his elbow, coaxing me to turn and look at him. "Then ye havena had the right man to spoil ye." There's a hint of suggestion in his tone.

"No, that's not it," I reply quickly, though Gale was definitely not one for lavish gifts. "I guess I just prefer simple things."

Peeta watches me, a pensive expression on his face, and I feel a little awkward. Judging from his apartment and his two businesses, I don't think he's lacking for money. He probably showers his girlfriend with luxuries. I hope he doesn't think I was insulting him with what I just said.

But he doesn't seem too offended if he is. He gives me a kind smile and asks, "Well, should we go and find a bite to eat? Ye must be starving."

"I could eat," I concur.

He takes me to a little street café not far from the castle. It's not the kind of deli that I'm accustomed to at home, and I spend several minutes scanning the menu for something that looks familiar, let alone appealing.

"I can order fer us, if ye'd like," he offers. I acquiesce, but I fight him when it comes to paying for the sandwiches. He concedes, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Pity the man who tries to go a round with ye," he laughs, accepting the bag from the cashier.

We walk across the street into a quaint city park and claim a bench opposite a stone fountain. Peeta places one sandwich in my hand and unwraps the other. We eat in companionable silence until our sandwiches are gone. As I'm balling up the waxy paper, Peeta turns my wrist and gently glides his thumb over the cut on my palm.

"How did ye do that?" His thumb traces the curve of the wound again. His eyes bore into mine, waiting for my explanation. That fluttering sensation spreads through my abdomen.

"Oh, ah…" I glance down at the cut. It's healing nicely but it's still visible. My chest constricts. When I look back up at Peeta, the concern on his face almost compels me to tell him the whole truth.

"I, ah, cut it. On a vase that had broken." I'm acutely aware of the fact that he's still holding my hand in his, his thumb delicately caressing the wound. "Your grandmother bandaged it up for me when it happened."

"Aye, Gram is a right good healer. Ye're lucky ye dinna need stitches. Does it hurt?" he asks gruffly.

"Not anymore." There's a breathy cadence to my voice. His eyes fasten to mine, drop to my mouth, and then flit back up again. He licks his lips, his tongue resting on his bottom lip longer than it needs to. He starts to lean in. Panic wells in me, obliterating those pleasant flutters. He's going to kiss me. He can't kiss me.

"I m-met your girlfriend this m-morning," I stammer, just before his lips can land on mine. Shame wells in me, because though I did the right thing, there is a part of me that wanted to let him kiss me. He freezes and draws back, finally letting go of my hand.

"Girlfriend?" he asks. His brows jump and his mouth toys with a smirk. "Oh, ye met Lavinia."

"I don't know. She didn't give me her name when she was strutting around half naked in one of your shirts, drinking the espresso you made her." I exhale and fold my hands in my lap, hoping he doesn't see them trembling.

I don't mean to sound jealous—and I don't really have a right to give him that impression, especially since I just evaded his attempt to kiss me—but something flickers in his countenance that suggests he heard the trace of envy in my words.

"I made the espresso fer ye, just like my note said." After a moment he shakes his head and rubs at his jaw. "Lavinia is no my girlfriend. She works fer us—my brother and me—at the club. She came into the pub last night with her friends. She had too much to drink and I dinna want her going home alone in that condition, cab or no."

He reaches for my hand again, but I flinch and he recoils, visibly hurt.

"I gave her my room. I slept on the couch last night." He pauses, and his voice softens. "Did she make ye feel uncomfortable?"

I chew on my bottom lip and shrug. Staring down at the cut arcing across my palm, I expel a long breath. "It's not a big deal. I could see how it might have looked to her, if she was your girlfriend," I explain.

"She said something to ye."

"It's nothing, Peeta. I get it."

"There's nothing to get," he bites back. "She doesna mean anything to me. She's just a friend. What did she say to ye?"

When I don't answer, he shakes his head. "I can assure ye, Katniss, she isn't my girlfriend. I dinna have anyone in my life right now."

"Okay, I believe you," I say, hoping to dispel some of the tension simmering between us.

"What about ye? Is there someone ye left at home who's waiting fer ye to come back, someone who's missing ye?"

My fingers skate over the cut. "No," I say quietly. "If he's missing me, it's his own damn fault."

I can hear Peeta's steady breathing and feel his gaze on me. I don't want to see pity there, so I keep my eyes trained on my hands and spill all about Gale.

When I finish, Peeta makes a noise of disgust. "Fucking coward. God Katniss, I'm so sorry ye had to find out like that. Only a bloody arsehole would cheat on his woman, and in her own home."

While thinking about what Gale did to me still invokes my anger, I've been doing a lot of soul-searching since I've been in Edinburgh. I know that part of that has to do with the man sitting beside me, because in the three days I've known Peeta, I can say, with a fair amount of guilt, that he's stirred more feelings in me than Gale ever did. Hell, even Finnick flirting with me last night made me feel more alive, more connected to someone.

"I didn't try very hard," I admit, my eyes still downcast. My breath hitches when Peeta's finger tips my chin and forces me to look at him.

"Whether or no that's true, it's never okay to cheat. Dinna blame yerself. A bastard like that dinna deserve ye."

The look that passes between us has my heart stuttering and my insides twisting. A strand of hair whips across my face, and Peeta's hand meets mine as we both push it away. Neither of us moves for a long moment.

"Well then…we should get back. It's getting late and I told Rye I'd be at the club tonight." His tone grows huskier. "Did ye want to come along with me?"

"Oh, ah, no thank you."

"Come, Katniss," he insists. "Ye can't stay in all by yerself another night. Ye think that arsehole ex of yers is sitting at home?"

The mere mention of Gale sparks something in me. Peeta may be using his name as emotional blackmail, but it does the trick, and I relent.

His smile is radiant. "Let's go then." As he did earlier that morning, he offers me his arm. I swallow past the wild thrum of my pulse, and hesitantly I link my arm through his, resting my hand on his strong upper arm. His leather jacket is buttery soft beneath my fingers. Instinctively, I find myself walking a little closer to him as we set off for his flat.

"Katniss! Are ye ready?"

"I'll be right out." I call back.

I wrinkle my nose at my reflection and set down the tube of lip gloss on the counter. Pressing my lips together to set the color on them, I adjust the bust of my dress and give one last glimpse in the mirror. I don't particularly like the dress—I had bought it for Gale's company Christmas party last year—but it's the sexiest thing I own, short and black with a plunging neckline and thin straps.

Peeta's back is to me as I enter the kitchen. I tuck my purse under my arm and clear my throat. He turns. The look that crosses his face makes my heart beat faster. His eyes roam up and down my body, and I don't miss the bob of his throat as he swallows.

"Ye look verra beautiful," he says quietly, his voice taut.

"Thank you," I say, fidgeting a little under his intense stare. "Oh, um, I guess I should get a sweater or something?"

He shakes his head. "We can take a cab. Ye'll be okay fer the short time we're outside. The club gets hot, even though we try to keep it cool. Ye dinna need yer purse either. Ye're with me tonight."

I'm a jittery mess on the taxi ride to Peeta's club. Every time I breathe I inhale the seductive notes of his cologne, and I can feel myself growing warm as I allow myself to indulge in all sorts of fantasies about unzipping the trousers of his grey suit, straddling him, and riding him right there in the back seat of the cab.

I really do need to get laid. And I'm playing with fire having these thoughts about him, because it can't be him who fucks me. While my attraction to him is undeniable, there are just too many reasons why I can't get involved with Peeta Mellark.

His voice shakes me from my reverie as he announces that we've arrived. He opens the door and climbs out, reaching for me. I slide along the back seat, careful to hold the hem of my dress so it doesn't ride up, and I accept his hand. I stumble a little as my feet seek purchase with the sidewalk, and my palm flattens against his firm chest to steady me. His hand covers mine instinctively, and I forget how to breathe for a moment.

"Thanks," I whisper. He nods and steps back hastily, moving to pay the cabbie.

It takes some effort to get inside the club. Peeta grips my hand tightly and ushers me down the choked stairwell. A simple neon sign above the door proclaims its name: The Hob. I motion towards it and he has to lean in so close that my mouth nearly grazes his ear when I ask the significance of it.

"When Grams was younger her da dinna approve of my granda at first. They used to meet at a dance hall where they could be together without her da finding out. It was called the Hob."

"That's sweet that you named it for her," I say.

He grins. "They started it all. Without them I wouldna be here." He laces his fingers through mine and leads me along the perimeter of the dance floor towards the bar. I immediately recognize the redhead behind the glossy black counter as the woman from Peeta's apartment. The vulpine smile that had been aimed at him instantly shifts to an icy glare as she spots me. Peeta doesn't seem to notice; his attention remains on me.

"Can I order fer ye again?" he asks, almost shyly. I nod and he requests something called a Nightlock. Lavinia doesn't look thrilled as she prepares the cocktail and strains it into two martini glasses.

"You're drinking too?" I say, surprised, when he hands me one of the bluish-violet concoctions and keeps one for himself.

"I'm no officially working tonight. Sláinte," he replies, and carefully clinks his glass against mine. I sip the drink and make a face. It's not bad but it's strong. I'll need to pace myself with these.

He shows me around the club, stopping periodically to introduce me to some of his employees, until we come to a series of private booths near the back of the room. The one we stop beside is clearly only meant for two people. A cushioned bench curves halfway around a small round table. He sets his drink down and takes a seat, looking at me expectantly.

"Ye're doing it again," he muses, pursing his lips at me.

"Doing what?"

"Looking like ye're scairt of me." He looks a little like a wounded puppy. To prove that it's not fear that's making me so skittish, I slip onto the bench, settling right beside him.

"Do I seem scared?" I challenge, arching my brows at him.

I don't miss the rapid flicker of his eyes downward. I had felt my dress shift a little as I sat, and I know my right breast is perilously close to slipping out.

His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. "Ye might want to fix yer dress." But he sounds almost pained to be advising me to do so, and he licks his lips.

Whatever it is that's brewing between us needs to be quelled fast. I adjust my dress and take a long gulp of my drink, and then I ask him to tell me how Mags came to live in the United States if she loves Scotland so much. There's no better way to squash sexual tension than bringing up a guy's grandmother. And it works—mostly. He launches into a lengthy story of his family's ancestry, but somewhere along the line, I start to focus more on his mouth again, and that only serves to get me thinking about what that mouth could do to me.

I'm in the middle of a vivid daydream where he has me spread-eagle on the very table we're seated at, his tongue parting my wet folds, when I hear his name called. My panties are soaked when I snap back to attention and see a man who vaguely resembles Peeta standing before us.

Peeta introduces me to his brother Rye and then apologizes for needing to step aside for a bit. They walk off together, their heads bent in serious conversation, and I slump back against the booth, my pulse still racing from my erotic fantasy. I down the rest of my drink and vacate the booth to go for a refill. A pretty blonde bartender hands me my next cocktail and she doesn't question me when I say I'm with Peeta.

I loiter near the bar, sipping my drink, watching the couples grinding on the dance floor. I find myself swaying slightly to the music. It's never really been my kind of scene, so I'm surprised at how at ease I feel in the club, even with Peeta nowhere in sight.

"Did you want to dance?"

I glance up. A man towers over me. He's attractive enough, with dark-blond hair and a hulking frame that is squeezed into a pair of jeans and a black V-neck that hugs his toned chest. His accent isn't Scottish, but he's definitely European—Danish or Swedish maybe?

"Ah, sure." Peeta's MIA, and it's just a dance.

"I'm Cato," he calls over the thumping bass of the music.

"Katniss."

"That's a weird name," he says. "Where are you from?"

I bite back a retort at his comment. I'm already starting to regret my decision to give this guy the time of day, but I plaster a smile across my lips and answer, "The U.S."

"Nice. I like American girls." He steps closer to me and grins down at me. My fake smile tightens. I definitely didn't make a good choice here.

I'm relieved when the song ends and a deep voice says, "There you are."

I turn and look into an unfamiliar face. His gleaming white teeth nearly blind me, but his smile is far kinder than Cato's, so I play along, letting this new guy lead me to a different part of the dance floor, away from Cato.

"You looked like you needed rescuing," the guy says, tugging me closer to him, as this song is a bit slower, and the dance floor has gotten infinitely more crowded. "I'm Gloss."

"Katniss. Thanks, yeah I did."

As it turns out, Gloss is an American too, and as we dance, we chat amiably. He's kind of a pretty boy, not really my type, but he's nice enough that I allow one song to turn into two. When the third song begins, he plants a hand on my hip and flashes me a smile. I can't say that I'm attracted to him, but I let him leave his hand there as we continue to move together.

Then I feel a firm hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I gasp as I come face to face with Peeta. His eyes flash as he practically growls, "I'll be cutting in now."

Gloss protests, "Hey, man, I was—" but Peeta doesn't let him finish, pulling me flush against him and gripping my hips. He holds me in place with his hands and his dark gaze, completing dismissing Gloss, who must take the hint, because he mutters a curse and stalks off.

"What are ye doing?" Peeta snarls. His eyes are a darker shade of blue than I've seen them. A muscle above his jaw ticks furiously.

As much as his hands on me has my body strung like a tightrope wire, and I'm desperate for more of his touch, I struggle to free myself from his grasp.

"What is wrong with you? I was just dancing!" I hiss.

His nostrils flare. "That dinna look like dancing."

"Why do you care if I dance with someone?" I place my hands on my hips and jut my chin up defiantly.

"I care if ye dance with someone who is no me. Do ye know how I felt when I came out of my office and found ye with another man? Ye're here with me tonight, Katniss—me."

I gawk at him, a maelstrom of emotions whirling through me. "I-I didn't think you meant that I…that we were here, together, like that."

He makes a little noise of exasperation. "Are ye blind, Katniss? Have ye no seen how I look at ye? I've wanted ye since the first moment I saw ye—and I'm no talking about when I saw ye naked in my bedroom. At the airport…do ye know how fast I ran to reach that cab at the same time ye did, just so I might have the chance to talk to ye?"

I can't even process all that he's confessing. It's too much. I shake my head and push through the crush of bodies on the dance floor, sensing Peeta close on my heels. He grabs my arm as I reach the front of the club, and he drags me into a corridor just to the left of the lounge.

"Why are ye running from me?" he asks. The angry, heated Peeta that grabbed me on the dance floor has vanished and the wounded puppy dog has returned.

"Because," I start, pausing to blow out a breath. "Because we can't do this. You can't want me."

He advances on me, his countenance shifting again. My body responds immediately to the predatory glint in his eyes. I feel my nipples peak against the thin fabric of my dress and damp heat rushes between my thighs. I might as well duck into the women's room and get rid of my panties, because they're pretty much ruined at this point.

He backs me into the wall and places one hand just above my head. "Ye canna tell me who I can and canna want. I do want ye. Half the men in this club tonight want ye. Ye just dinna have any idea the effect ye have."

I scowl. "Men don't want me. Gale didn't want me."

Peeta grunts low in his throat, a scathing smirk on his lips. "Stop worrying about that arsehole. He dinna deserve a woman like ye…beautiful, and smart, and sexy. Ye're better off without him."

My pulse is stuttering in my throat. Blood thunders in my ears. The things he's saying to me are fast undoing me, and I need to regain control of the situation before I do something crazy, like kiss him.

"We can't do this, Peeta," I say, hearing the tremor in my voice. "You're Mags's grandson, and—"

"I can assure ye that Grams isna concerned with who I fuck."

"And I'm just getting out of a relationship…and I'm only here for a couple of weeks," I continue, my chest heaving with each rapid breath I take and each excuse that spools off my tongue. "And we're basically living together, so it's just best that we don't cross that line."

His mouth twists and for a moment I think that he's going to kiss me anyway, but he straightens up and scratches at his jaw.

"I wish ye werena so scairt," he says.

"I'm not scared!" I yell, bristling at his accusation.

"Ye are. Maybe no of me…"

An odd chill slithers down my spine and I have to lower my eyes when Peeta's expression becomes empathetic bordering on pity. The predator has retreated. Now he's gazing at me like I'm some kind of a wounded animal who needs to be put out of her misery. I feel all of about sixteen years old.

"I understand, Katniss, I do," he says gently. "Ye're holding back because of what happened with your ex. Ye're afeared of feeling fer someone new. I get that. But ye're thinking too much. Sex can be just sex. We could be verra good together if ye'd let me show ye—"

"I think I'd like to go home," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

He engages me in a visual stare-down that must last a minute but easily feels like five or ten. The defeat is back in his voice when he finally nods and says, "If that's what ye want."

I nod once. "That's what I want."

Neither of us speaks the entire way back to his flat.

Once I'm in bed, I don't sleep.

Every time I try to close my eyes, my brain and my heart engage in battle. I think about Peeta across the hall, so tantalizingly close. It would be so easy to throw back my covers and tiptoe into his room, strip off my pajamas, and crawl under his sheets to let him make my body sing in a hundred different ways—I'm sure he's a phenomenal lover. But then the rational side of me asserts herself, telling me that in spite of what Peeta said, despite the fact that he wants me, I'm doing the right thing.

Still, I'm wound tighter than a spring, and I need some kind of release. It doesn't take much to feel the first stirrings of desire in the pit of my stomach when I visualize the way he looked at me in that corridor, like a hunter moving in on his prey. I can't even imagine how it would have felt to let him fuck me right there, right up against the wall…

I roll onto my back and wedge my hand past the waistband of my pajama bottoms, directly into my underwear. My eyes slip shut as my fingers pass through the slippery moisture already accumulated there and light over my clit. At the first touch, my back arches off the mattress and I bite down on my lip to stifle my sigh. My nipples stiffen, grazing the flannel of my pajama top, and I slide my other hand under the fabric and up my rib cage to pinch one of the taut buds. A spike of heat strikes me between the legs and I draw faster circles around my clit. That blissful sensation coils tighter and tighter and my teeth clamp down harder when I dare to push one finger inside myself. I'm so wet that I easily add another. Hastily, I stop squeezing my breast and shove my hand down my pajamas to join my other hand. Two fingers pump in and out of me while I use two more to rub my clit. White-hot pleasure pulses through me as I come, lightning quick, a silent whimper seizing my body. I throb around my fingers and sag into the mattress, succumbing to the aftershocks that have me quivering for almost a full minute after the first waves inundated me.

My head lolls to the side on the pillow, neon circles of light dotting my vision. I find myself staring at the wall that borders the hallway, facing Peeta's room, an empty ache inside of me in spite of my diminishing orgasm.

The next day passes without any sign of Peeta. I try not to read too much into it. He told me himself that he's not around a lot, so I keep reminding myself of that, convincing myself that it has nothing to do with the way he and I left things last night.

Later that evening, my lack of sleep and some residual jet lag dually conspire against me, and I doze off while watching an old movie on Peeta's enormous flat-screen. The ding of an incoming text message startles me awake. I hit pause on his DVR and reach for my phone, groaning a little as I stretch my cramped body.

My stomach lurches when I see the blue bubble on the screen:

Gale Hawthorne

Today 9:42pm

I miss you.

Delivered.

More texts follow in rapid succession: I miss us. You havent been to your place in days. Where are you?

I slam the phone down on Peeta's coffee table, wincing at the thunderous smack it makes against the glass. Shit. I'm lucky that it didn't break—but it wouldn't be the first time I shattered something because of Gale Hawthorne. My fingers idly wander to the cut on my palm.

It's been over three weeks since we last spoke. I had given him exactly fifteen minutes of my time before I left for Scotland. I met him at a Starbucks near his office on his lunch break. He had pleaded with me to forgive him, summoning up all kinds of shared memories in his desperation to get me to give him a second chance. But after I had gotten him to confess that that afternoon with Madge had not been a one-time lapse of judgment and he admitted they had been sleeping together for almost eight months, I had thanked him for his belated honesty and told him that we were through. I might have thrown in a "fuck you" for good measure, and I most certainly didn't tell him my plans to leave the country.

I had ended it. I had been emphatic. And it's been complete silence from him since that day. So why now—why tonight?

Leaving my phone where it lies, I spring to my feet and pace. Do I answer him? I don't answer him, right?

The phone pings again.

Gale Hawthorne

Today 9:44pm

Can we talk please?

Delivered.

I close my hand over the phone and sink back down on the couch, rubbing my other hand over my face. And then against my better judgment, I tap his name.

"Catnip, thank God," he exclaims after just one ring.

"What the fuck, Gale?" I snap. "What could we possibly have to talk about?"

"We have a lot to talk about."

"You cheated on me. I ended it. That's about all there is to discuss."

He sighs. "I've given you a few weeks to cool off, and I thought—"

"Cool off? Are you kidding me?" I clench my fist so tightly that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palm. I launch into a tirade about how three weeks is hardly ample time to heal from a betrayal as deep as his. Gale usually matches me in terms of fire, but he remains silent, letting me vent, until I pause to take a breath.

"Are you done?" he asks quietly. I can hear how hard he's struggling to keep his temper in check.

"What did you want to talk about?" I grit out, studying my palm, now speckled with little half-moon grooves. "Are you still with Madge?"

There's a beat of silence on his end. "I told her that I owed it to you—"

"No. No way. I don't want anything from you, Gale. There's no going back from this."

"You really want to throw away all that we had?" he asks.

He's really going to go there? My disgust rises, and I seethe, "I didn't! You did! For eight months you fucked another girl! And who knows how much longer it would have gone on if I hadn't caught you! Tell me, Gale, were you ever going to tell me the truth?"

More silence. I take a deep breath. "Why her, Gale? You were playing with fire by sleeping with my roommate, of all people. Why Madge?"

This silence is longer. Much longer. I hear his heavy breathing on the other end and he clears his throat before answering, "Because, Catnip," he says, pain lacing his words, "she wanted me. And she showed it."

I don't give him the courtesy of a goodbye before I disconnect the call. I power down my phone and leave it on the table. As I stalk around the flat, with Gale's accusation ringing in my ears, I feel nauseous. He's the one who did wrong, yet I can't shake the notion that he's blaming me for his infidelity, as if I pushed him into Madge's arms.

But it's not like he showed me much affection beyond sex, which we didn't even do that frequently. I try to remember how he reacted to that dress I wore to his Christmas party. think Gale might have told me I looked pretty. Contrast that to Peeta's reaction when he saw me in it last night, the way his eyes feasted on me like I was some kind of rare delicacy. He had told me how beautiful I looked. He had made me feel sexy, and he had told me outright how much he wanted me.

Fuck Gale. I do need to stop thinking about him. I think I need a drink. And more so, I need to see Peeta. Despite how he and I left things last evening, I know that he will be a sympathetic ear to listen as I drown some of my sorrows in a pint. He'll make me feel better; he's already made it clear how little he thinks of Gale. I need an ally right now.

I shut off the television and head into my room, where I shed my pajamas and rummage through my suitcase for some clothes. I find a little camisole with lace along the bust and the hem. I tug it down over my bare breasts, not bothering with a bra, and layer a sweater over the cami. After putting on my skinny jeans, I leave my hair loose and apply some makeup, spritz on some perfume, and slip into the same heels I wore last night.

Locking the flat behind me, I jam my key into my pocket, along with my credit card, and hurry across the street to the pub.

Mellark's is even more crowded tonight than it was the other evening. I scan the bar, looking for Peeta, but I don't see him. I stroll around the perimeter of the dining room area, my eyes darting among the tables to see if perhaps he's being social and visiting with his patrons. No Peeta. Shit. I didn't even consider, in my muddled mindset, that Peeta might not be at the pub. He's probably at the Hob.

"Kitty Kat! Come have a drink with us!"

It takes a moment for me to realize that the voice is addressing me, but as I turn towards the pool tables, I see Finnick lounging on one of the couches, a half-empty pint glass in his hand. He's wearing an off-white cable-knit sweater and a pair of dark jeans. I'm surprised there aren't women crawling all over him.

"So you hang out here even when you're not working?" I say as I approach him.

"The bevvies are cheap." He pats the seat next to him on the couch, a suggestive glint in his aqua eyes. I sit down, craning my neck to scour this area for Peeta.

"Peeta's not, um, working tonight?" I ask, hoping the question sounds nonchalant.

Finnick takes a swig of his beer and shrugs. "I havena seen him, nay."

Disappointment surges through me, but I keep a smile plastered on my lips so that Finnick can't see my reaction.

"So what brings ye here tonight? Just looking for yer flat mate?" he asks.

"I felt like a drink," I reply. "And drinking alone is no fun."

His eyes twinkle as he polishes off the last of his pint and sets down the empty glass. "I'll volunteer to drink with ye, lass. But I'm already a few in. Ye'll have to catch up."

I let Finnick buy me a beer—some kind of reddish lager that I don't really care for but I pretend I like it—and we chat. Well, he chats, telling me all about his time in Brazil, and I listen, until one of his friends interrupts us to tell him it's his turn on the pool table.

"Do ye know how to play?" he asks with a churlish grin. I sense some kind of trap in his question, but I'm great at pool. I know I can surprise him with how well I wield a cue stick.

"I might have played once or twice," I say coyly. He chuckles and stands, offering me his hand. He pulls me to my feet with more force than necessary, allowing him to wind an arm around my waist to steady me.

"Good. Then I dinna have to go easy on ye." He winks and strides over to the rack to select his cue. "Lasses first."

It's apparent from the moment I place the cue ball and line up my shot to break that something is not right. There are an inordinate number of red balls, and a pink ball, and there are no stripes. As I straighten back up to study the arrangement, I feel a hand on my hip and Finnick's voice hits my ear.

"Ye havena played snooker afore have ye, Kitty Kat?"

It takes some time for me to catch on to the rules of Scottish snooker, but for all his cockiness Finnick is a patient teacher. After a practice round, he declares that I'm ready for a real match. We agree on 13 frames, and wager that the loser will buy the next round.

Things start off innocently enough. We take our turns, drinking and joking and laughing in between breaks. As soon as I get up four frames to his two, however, the mood shifts.

A split second before I strike the cue ball, preparing to pocket the green ball that I've called, a sharp gust of air hits my neck. I jump and the white ball ricochets across the table, hitting the rail and rolling to a stop. I huff and turn to see Finnick trying to hide his smirk.

"That's playing dirty," I accuse.

He flashes that dimpled grin at me. "Ah, but it's much more fun to be dirty, is it no?"

I shrug, not missing the implication behind his words. "If that's how you want to play."

As soon as he lines up his shot, I step behind him and deliberately jostle his pool cue, batting my eyelashes at him when he turns and glares at me.

"Oops, you missed."

His eyes darken. "So I did."

We continue playing, the actual match seemingly forgotten, as he attempts to distract me more than I can distract him. It fuels me how he responds to deliberate brushes of his arm, or the grazing of my hip along his when I saunter past. It does feel a little bittersweet that it's not Peeta giving me the attention I crave, but I can't do these things with him. It wouldn't be fair to him to tease him when I've so thoroughly dismissed his affections.

Of course, I know I wouldn't be doing these things if Peeta were here. That wouldn't be fair to him either.

On Finnick's next shot, I peel my sweater off, leaving me in just my camisole. He gapes at me as I drape the sweater on the arm of the couch.

"It's getting warm in here," I say.

He takes his shot, missing wildly, and he lets his eyes flit down to my chest, keeping them there as he says, "Doesna look like ye're all that warm."

I straighten my back as I approach the table for my shot, knowing my pebbled nipples are visible against the thin camisole. Between the beer and our flirting, I do feel warm. I ready my next shot.

"I wouldna go fer that ball," Finnick says, hovering behind me. He pushes my hair over one shoulder, causing me to shudder.

"Oh?"

"Ye have a better shot at that one there," he murmurs. He's practically draped across my back, with his hands planted on the edge of the table, boxing me in.

"That's your ball!"

A raspy laugh hits my neck. "Oh, lass, ye want to get acquainted with my balls ye just need to ask."

I drive my elbow backward, giving him a nudge in the ribs, hoping it's enough to keep things light and limited to playful flirtation. I have no intention of letting this go any further than that. I would never do that to Peeta.

I take my original shot. The blue ball drops into the right side pocket. When I twist around to tease Finnick about blue balls, he isn't there. Instead, I find myself pressed up against Peeta's broad chest. He's wearing his Mellark's t-shirt and his kilt. Finnick was wrong—apparently he is working.

"I think ye'd better come with me." He glares down at me with fire blazing in those blue eyes and his jaw set firmly. My heart starts to thump and my blood sizzles. Before I can protest, his hand encircles around my upper arm and he forces me to walk with him. He doesn't stop moving until we're past the bar and into a small office just off the kitchen.

He slams the door and my pulse quickens. The expression on his face is positively carnal. It has more adrenaline surging in my veins and desire knotting my stomach.

"What was that out there?" he asks, his accent thick in the midst of his restrained fury.

"W-what was what?"

"The wee show ye were putting on with Finnick. Are ye trying to kill me?"

"I was just playing snooker."

"Like ye were just dancing last night? First the club and now this." He huffs and raises his eyes to the ceiling. I see a vein throbbing in his neck just to the left of his Adam's apple, and that muscle by his jaw ticks furiously too. When he leans forward and braces his arms on his desk, his biceps flex below the sleeves of his t-shirt.

I don't dare move an inch as I wait for him to lift his eyes to mine. Guilt wells in me as I realize the likelihood that Peeta saw everything I was doing with Finnick.

He turns and faces me. "Why? Why canna it just be me, Katniss?"

The lust choking his voice is so palpable that my thighs clench involuntarily. My teeth sink into my bottom lip to cease its trembling. I can't chance saying anything, even though I feel like I owe him an apology. I don't trust what might slip out in my condition. I can only stare back at him.

Abruptly, his lips curl into a dangerously sensual smile.

"Ye know what I think?" he says, advancing upon me. "I think ye do want me and I think ye're lying to yerself if ye say otherwise."

I shake my head violently, but it only invites one of those sexy laughs to rumble in his throat. As he begins to reach for me, I flinch. Hurt flints in his eyes.

"There ye go again. Why do ye wince when I move to touch ye? Ye'll let perfect strangers in a nightclub put their hands all over ye, and ye'll let Finnick pin ye to a billiards table. But me…"

"It's not you, Peeta. It's me." I don't mean to whisper, but it's all that my vocal chords can manage. "I'm not…I'm not in a good place, and…" I'm having a much harder time generating excuses tonight.

"I can make ye feel good, Katniss, if ye'll allow it. If ye'll let me just touch ye…"

My breath sticks in my throat when his fingers graze my wrist and he slowly drags them up the inside of my arm. A trail of goose bumps rises in his fingers' wake. I shiver again and I know he sees it.

"Do ye want me to stop?" He smirks at me and doesn't wait for my answer before dragging the tips of his fingers along my shoulder, teasing the edge of my camisole's strap, en route to my clavicle. Heat licks along my collarbone and blooms fully in my chest.

"Peeta," I warn.

"Katniss." My name slithers past his lips in a sinuous hiss, full of intent. His other hand curves around my hip and pulls me against him. A gasp finally frees itself from my throat a moment before he angles his head and descends on me. My body hums with current. Instinctively I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable contact. After several agonizing seconds, I feel his lips brush mine in the softest kiss—the exact opposite of how I've imagined him kissing me for the first time. I figured when we finally gave in to the sexual tension simmering between us that it would be rough and urgent and passionate.

Not that this isn't passionate—it's just an entirely different kind of passion. My eyes flutter open, and when I see the way that Peeta watches me, his face scant inches from mine, his breath fanning against my lips, my knees buckle. I fumble behind me to plant my palms on the door for some leverage. My body is strung so tight that I think I really might snap and send my nerves fraying into a thousand strands.

"Go on," he challenges. "Tell me ye dinna want this." His index finger follows the line of my jaw, skimming my chin to tip it towards his waiting mouth. "Tell me ye dinna want this and I'll leave ye alone. I'll stop pursuing ye fer the rest of the time ye're here."

"I don't…" I whimper, unable to finish my thought.

"Say it, Katniss. Say ye dinna want me. I need to hear ye say all of it or I canna believe ye."

Every word he speaks ghosts across my lips. I can feel the heat radiating off him, rousing every cell in my body. I struggle to find my breath. His fingers clasp my hip possessively, and his other hand cradles my neck.

"I can't say it," I whisper.

"Then say ye want me. I want to hear ye say it."

I gaze right at him. "I want you."

The firm pressure of his lips on mine steals what little is left of my breath. I sigh into his mouth and moan when his tongue seizes the opportunity to plunge past my parted lips. This is the kind of kiss I was expecting, but oh god, it's about a hundred times better than I could have imagined. He slides his tongue along the roof of my mouth before retreating, coming close to my tongue but never claiming it. I clutch at his shoulders as he whirls me around and walks us across the room. He backs me into his desk. My fingers dig into strong muscle as I pull him closer to me. His tongue dives deeper, daring mine to follow. I acquiesce, touching my tongue to his, allowing him to seize it and stroke it sensually. His mouth takes greedy pulls off mine, and our kisses quickly stoke the fire that has been smoldering between us. It's now a conflagration. I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin.

He nudges my legs apart and moves into the space between them. One of his hands lands on the small of my back and tugs me forward to meet the thrusts of his hips. There's no mistaking the prominent bulge beneath his kilt. His erection rubs against the seam of my jeans. His other hand tangles into my hair and holds me in place as he continues to kiss me. I try to keep up with him, but the combination of his tongue possessing mine and his hard-on pressing into me has me spiraling out of control. The longer he kisses me, the hungrier I get, clawing at him. I drag my hands down and palm his ass over his kilt, moaning a little as he tenses from my touch.

He sucks on my lower lip, nipping it gently before releasing it, and he mumbles something in Gaelic against my neck.

"What…did…you…say?" My words come out in spurts, like a rusty spigot.

His lips blaze a trail down to my collarbone, and he lifts his eyes to mine briefly, just long enough so I can see the lust dilating his pupils.

"I said I havena ever wanted anything as much as I want ye right now, Katniss. Ye canna know…" He yanks down one side of my camisole and eagerly sucks my nipple into the heat of his mouth. I keen and bow my back, digging my fingertips deeper into the wool of his kilt, feeling his ass flex again. His tongue rolls over my nipple in dizzying spirals before his teeth gently tug on it. He gives equal attention to my other breast while his fingers snake between us to unsnap the button of my jeans. As he releases me from his mouth, he holds me in place with an impassioned stare while he eases my zipper down. It creates enough slack for him to wedge his hand inside my jeans and right past my panties. I rock my hips in an attempt to get his fingers to make contact with my throbbing clit.

His mouth captures mine again and our tongues seek each other out immediately. I ruck up his kilt and give his naked ass a squeeze. Then I slide my hands around to his front, whimpering when my fingers wrap around his cock. I gasp when I realize how big he is, but I love the feel of the weight of him in my hand. He's so hard and his skin is so warm. His mouth falls open against mine, our kiss becoming sloppier in our desperation for each other.

"Fuck, a mhuirnín, ye canna do that." He groans as I squeeze him gently.

"Why not?" I grip him harder and he bucks into my hand.

"Because I want ye so badly that I'm afeared I'm going to come afore I'm inside ye." As if to make his point, he shifts his hand and parts my folds with his fingers. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip when he presses two fingers against my clit. I realize it wouldn't take much for him to have me falling apart at the mercy of his hand. I understand how he feels.

I cradle the back of his neck and bring him down to my mouth. "Then you'll just have to get inside me." I sweep my tongue inside his mouth and he groans louder.

"Are ye sure? I dinna want—"

"I'm sure," I breathe.

He looks almost pained for a moment before he withdraws his hand from my jeans and rounds the desk, rooting through the drawer. He mutters a soft "fuck" and then crosses to a closet in the rear of the room. I lie back on my elbows, taking a couple of shallow breaths, and then he's back looming over me, a triumphant smile lighting his face. He rips open the foil packet and I watch him, mesmerized, as he unbuckles his belt and lowers his kilt. I lick my lips and my whole body tingles with anticipation as he sheathes his cock with the condom.

"Thank God fer stocking the dispensers in the bathrooms, aye?" He grins at me, and peels the other side of my cami down, baring my breasts to him. "Now it's yer turn. Take off yer jeans."

I stand on shaky legs and start to ease the tight denim down my thighs. Peeta swallows and wends one hand around my neck, crushing his mouth to mine. With his other hand he yanks my panties down to my knees, where my jeans are bunched up. He pushes his cock inside me with one rough thrust, the movement of his body urging me up onto the desk. A half cry, half sigh slips from my lips—he's so big that it hurts a little as he fills me. He pulls back and pumps into me again. With each subsequent thrust I slowly adjust to the feel of him inside me, as discomfort melts into sheer bliss.

He groans. "A mhuirnín, ye're so tight. Jesus, I dinna know how I'm going to last."

He levers one hand underneath me, tilting my pelvis toward him so that I can take him deeper, and I cry out as he hits a spot that has me clenching my walls around him. He curses and drives into me deeper still, slanting his mouth over mine. My breasts jostle from the force of his thrusts. The sound of our bodies colliding is erotic, and it's even more so watching him disappear repeatedly inside me. I can't stop stealing glances at his cock, moving in and out of me.

The sweet ache low in my abdomen intensifies. I shut my eyes and whimper through a crest of pleasure. I'm shocked to feel my climax suddenly right there, though I don't want to succumb to it yet. Peeta drops his mouth to my neck and sucks, and his fingers pluck at my nipple, and his cock hits my clit with each thrust. All of the colliding sensations are too much, and I come—hard. It's more intense than anything I've ever felt before.

My moans and spasms incite something in Peeta. He grunts, and fucks me with a brutal pace until I feel him crush me to him and his cock throbs inside me. His body trembles against mine, and more indecipherable words tumble off his tongue amid reverent whispers of my name.

His pulsing cock triggers a minor aftershock through me, and I finally collapse back on my elbows, dazed. "Fuck," I whisper.

"What?" He stares down at me, concern filling those blue eyes. "Ye look a bit stunned. Are ye okay?" He removes the condom and refastens his kilt in place, then draws me to him, resting his forehead on mine.

I feel a blush bloom on my flushed skin. My breathing has yet to return to normal, but a delicious calm claims my limbs. "I didn't know it was possible for sex to be this good. It's never been like this for me. I never…"

Pride flits across his face and I can practically see his ego swelling before me.

"Ye mean to tell me ye've never had an orgasm afore?" He sounds incredulous. I shake my head.

"No, I have. I've just—I've never come without…um, just by…"

His eyes fill with understanding. "Ye mean ye've never come just from being fucked?"

I lower my eyes, suddenly feeling very naïve and inexperienced admitting such an intimacy to him. He lifts my chin and looks right at me. The Gaelic that he mutters sounds dirty and seductive, and then his lips are on mine again. He kisses me hungrily, thoroughly, as if we hadn't just sated our desire for each other a few moments ago. When he pulls back, his eyes are even darker than before.

"Do ye know," he whispers, "what it does to me to know I've done something fer ye that no other man has done? Do ye feel how hard I'm getting fer ye again?" He takes my hand and guides it under his kilt. Sure enough, I feel his cock stiffening against my palm.

"Go home. Take a wee nap if ye need to." He pulls my camisole back up over my breasts and adjusts both straps on my shoulders, then brushes his lips over the hollow of my throat. "Because I'm no finished with ye and I plan on keeping ye up all night."

The combination of his wet mouth and his heated words turn my spine to liquid. I'm still a trembling mess from my orgasm, not even sure I can stand. He gives me one last kiss, branding me with the heat of his lips. I can still feel the burn of them when he draws back. He nods to the door and gestures to the pitching of his kilt.

With a hoarse whisper, he says, "Go. I canna go out there yet."

I manage to fasten my jeans and get my legs to work. We exchange a final glance before I leave him in his office and rush past the hostess stand, stumbling out into the chilly autumn night.

"Please tell me this is no a dream and I'm no imagining ye naked in my bed."

My eyelids flutter and when I fully raise them, Peeta's handsome face is staring down at me.

"Hi," I say, coughing to find my voice, rough with sleep. "I guess I nodded off after all."

"And ye decided to take yer nap in my bed?"

I stretch languidly, and the sheet slips down over my left breast. "I figured I was just going to end up here anyway, right?"

"Aye. Ye're verra right." He wets his lips and bends down to suck my lower lip between his. It's a short kiss, but my body responds readily. I was a little sore when I got back to the flat, but that seems to be forgotten.

I whimper in protest when he releases me and stands to cross the room. Rising up on my elbows, I watch him shrug off his leather jacket and pull his shirt up over his head. When he turns to hang up the jacket, I admire the toned plane of his back, the sinewy cords that my fingers dug into just hours ago when he fucked me on his desk.

My breath hitches when he turns and faces me. With a wicked smile, he unbuckles his belt and lets his kilt hit the floor. My nipples pull into tight buds as he starts to saunter towards me. I shake my head and hold up a hand. "Stop. Please—I want to look at you."

I couldn't properly admire his body earlier. But with him naked before me, I let my eyes rove over his chest, all muscle and sparsely smattered with blond hairs. My gaze wanders down to his defined abdominals, his cut pelvis, and his cock, semi-hard but getting harder as he stares back at me. My pulse speeds up and I crook my finger at him. He grins and climbs onto the bed, tugging down the sheet to fully expose my nude body to him.

I feel a little shy under his scrutiny, but his expression as he studies me, coupled with the sight of his cock getting fully erect, assuages my nerves a bit.

"I have to say, I knew ye had a good body when I saw ye that first day. But ye're fucking gorgeous, Katniss. Ye are." He braces his weight on his forearms and flattens his palms over my breasts. "Ye've got these perfect tits that fit right in my hands. Did ye know I've spent the last three hours thinking about getting my mouth on ye? Here—" he massages my breasts more deliberately before one hand slithers down my belly and urges my legs apart, "and here." Goose bumps fleck my skin as he starts to touch me. I moan my approval and lift my hips to him.

He whispers, "God, a mhuirnín, yer cunt...it's so wet." I grimace, and he gazes down at me, one brow arched pensively as his fingers still on my clit.

"What is it?" he asks. "Ye made a face."

"Oh, um, it's just…I…ah…wasn't expecting to hear that word."

"What word? Cunt?" he asks, and I nod. He looks thoughtful again. "Ye dinna like that word?"

I blush. "I-I…it's kind of a…ah, um, it's kind of a vulgar word in America."

"Then I'll try no to say it if it bothers ye, aye?"

I gyrate my hips, trying to spur him back to action, but he keeps staring at me.

"What do ye call it then?" he asks thickly, dropping his head to my chest to flick his tongue over my nipple.

"I guess…I guess I say 'pussy'." More warmth creeps across my cheeks.

He chuckles against my breast. "Like a wee cat? That seems no better than cunt, but if ye prefer it then I'll say it."

"I really don't care what you call it. Anything sounds hot when you say it."

His fingers start to move again, causing me to gasp as he pushes one inside me. "In that case," he gives each of my nipples a kiss before he aligns his mouth with my ear, "I'm going to lick yer pussy now."

"Oh god, Peeta," I moan.

He runs his tongue along the shell of my ear and gives the lobe a nip, then edges down my body, his cock brushing my belly and thigh. He eases his hands under my ass and levers my pelvis upward. Instinctually, my pussy clenches, anticipating the first strokes of his tongue.

"Peeta, please!" I'm openly begging now—I don't care.

But he hesitates, his hand lightly running up and down the inside of my thigh. "By the way I got yer sweater back from where ye left it. And when I did, I made it verra clear to Finnick that ye were mine—mine," he repeats, spreading my lower lips with his hand. He looks directly at me as he drags his tongue up the length of me. I shudder and arc up, bracing my feet against the mattress.

He urges me to drape my legs over his shoulders, looping his arms around my thighs to hold me in place and bring me even closer to his face. He swirls his tongue over my clit and then uses the tip of his tongue to press down harder on the bundle of nerves. As he licks me slowly, again, and again, he pauses to raise his eyes to mine so that I can see him savoring my taste on his tongue.

I'm so incredibly aroused watching him go down on me that he has me shattering against his mouth in no time. Hot waves of bliss course through me. He's relentless, continuing to lap at me until I'm convulsing and pleading with him to stop.

"Stop?" He swathes his tongue along his bottom lip and shakes his head. "I'll no be stopping, a mhuirnín. We're just getting started."

He plants a kiss on my pulsing clit then showers my inner thighs with light brushes of his lips before slithering up my torso and dragging the flat of his tongue over my nipple again. He stretches across me, yanking open the bedside table drawer. His hand soon holds a condom, and he rises onto his knees, straddling me as he tears the foil open.

Before he can ease the condom down his shaft, I tense my abs and lean forward, where his erection juts out at me. I flick my tongue against the head of his cock. He groans. I look up at him and do it again, this time tracing the circumference of the head. He drops the condom to the bed and frames my jaw with his hands, forcing me up onto my knees to meet his mouth in a frenzied kiss. Our tongues duel and our hands roam, and that fire sparks in my belly again even though I just came. I take his cock in my hand and grope for the condom with the other.

He watches me, eyes wide, as I struggle to work the latex down over his shaft. He smiles and cradles my neck, guiding my lips to his. This kiss is a completely different tempo from our embrace moments ago. It's slow and sensual and as his tongue explores mine unhurriedly, he helps me get the condom on him.

"Ye're just exquisite, do ye even know?" he says, easing me back down. He wraps his hand around his cock and I keen as I feel his head teasing my clit. He penetrates me an inch, then withdraws, slides in deeper, then withdraws, and then, without warning, he rolls us over so he's on his back and I'm atop him.

"God I love the way ye respond to me," he says, thrusting up, filling me. His hands find my hips and he coaxes me to start moving with him. "Aye, Katniss, just like that. Use me. Ride me."

I rock my pelvis forward. "Oh, fuck…" I'm able to take him so deep at this angle and he feels amazing. I brace my hands behind me, gripping his muscular thighs, and glide up and down on his cock, setting a steady pace to try and keep from climaxing again too soon.

Peeta's fingers curve around my hipbone, while his other hand pinches my nipples and kneads my breasts. His soft growls and quick breaths encourage me, as do the things he says to me: how perfect my tits are; how much he loves the feel of me on his cock; how hot and tight my pussy is. It's addicting being wanted this much—and hearing him say it. How have I ever lived without this kind of passion?

I lean down to seal my mouth to his. He gathers my hair in his fist and sits up, kissing me roughly as I buck my hips faster and faster. He holds me close, urging me to lock my legs around his waist. His own thrusts falter.

"Are ye close?" he pants, his mouth grazing mine. I nod frantically. "Fuck, me too." He falls back, his body jerking as I feel him start to throb inside me. I arch my back and plant one hand on his chest to steady myself as my next orgasm surges through me. I press my other hand to my chest. My heart beats a mad staccato against my ribs. White dots dance behind my eyes. The pleasure eventually ebbs and I open my eyes to look at Peeta. His eyes are closed, and he has a sated smile on his face. It draws a smile of out me, and I trail my finger up his breastbone. His eyelids lift and the smile yields to a grin.

"So I'm two-fer-two, am I?" he says proudly.

I blush and drag my finger down to trace his navel. "Technically," I say, rolling off him and coming to rest beside him, "I think I might owe you one."

He reaches for my hand and knits our fingers together. The sweet, simple gesture has an underlying intimacy to it that makes my stomach flutter. He brings our joined hands to his mouth and says, "It's no a competition. Ye dinna owe me anything." He lowers our hands and turns onto his side.

He stares at me with such adoration that I start to feel a little uneasy. I do kind of owe him something—the truth. He deserves to know what sent me into his pub tonight in search of him, what made me flirt with Finnick and incite Peeta's jealousy.

I moisten my dry lips and inhale, steeling my nerves. "Peeta, I-I should tell you something."

He purses his lips and his expression shifts slightly. "Nothing good ever comes from a conversation that starts that way."

I'm not sure where is the best place to start, but I figure it can't hurt to stroke his ego a little; maybe it will soften the blow of bringing up Gale.

"I've never felt anything like what you did for me tonight," I say, but instantly I wrinkle my nose, because it sounds so stupid. Peeta laughs softly and plays with a strand of my hair.

"I dinna do it alone, a mhuirnín. Ye were just as responsible fer the best sex I've ever had."

Okay maybe it's my ego that's going to get stroked. He has to be far more experienced than I am, so the thought that he's admitting to me that I'm the best he's ever had? It's unbelievable and it renders me mute for a moment.

"What? Tell me what's on yer mind. I'll no be cross with ye," he urges.

I sigh. "Before I came into the pub tonight…Gale…he texted me. And then I called him because he wanted to talk." I pause to assess how Peeta processes this information, but he stays quiet, his face is unreadable. After another breath, I tell him about my conversation with Gale.

When I get to the part about Madge, Peeta shakes his head. "Ye asked him that—really? I canna wait to hear the excuse the dickheed gave ye for fucking another woman, yer roommate no less."

I swallow as an icy sensation sluices through my gut. "He said…it was because that she wanted him, and she showed it. I know he was implying that I never wanted him that way." And then the rest of my confession pours out of me, like a valve being released. I divulge to Peeta how it was his words that stuck in my mind, what he said about men wanting me that sent me to the pub.

"I came to the pub for a drink, but I was really looking for you. I wanted to see you. When I didn't think you were there…" I lower my eyes, that guilt prickling anew, "well, Finnick was there, and he showed me the attention I was craving. I swear I never would have done anything with him…but it did feel good, knowing someone found me desirable and sexy, after what Gale had said to me.

"And when you dragged me into your office…I wanted you, Peeta, and only you. I really did. I never would have used you just to make myself feel better. I—"

"Shhh." He presses a finger to my lips. "Ye dinna need to apologize to me. You dinna need to feel bad about what we did, or why ye did it. Ye enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. Let me make something verra clear to ye. Ye're in control here, Katniss. We can fuck as much as ye want until ye go back to the States. Or, if this is only fer tonight, then so be it."

I drape my arm across my stomach, gazing up at the ceiling, processing what he's just said to me. Now that I've had him, I'd be lying to myself if I think I'll be able to live with him and not sleep with him again. And again. And again. Sensing him and his body heat beside me, I'm already thinking about what the next time is going to be like. It definitely won't be just for tonight, I know that.

"I can see yer pretty wee head racing," Peeta murmurs, placing his hand over mine. I glance over at him and he smiles. "It's just sex, a mhuirnín. Dinna overthink it."

My curiosity finally gets the better of me and I ask, "What does that mean, a mhuirnín?" The Gaelic doesn't sound nearly as mellifluous coming from my mouth as it does from his. He traces my brow with his thumb and bends to kiss my nose.

"I think in English ye might say 'darling' or something close to it. Why, dinna ye like when I say it?"

"No, I like it. I like it when you say things in Gaelic. You make anything sound sexy. The Gaelic only makes it sexier."

He grins. "In that case…An toir thu dhomh pòg?"

"And what does that mean?"

"I asked ye if ye'd kiss me," he translates. I purse my lips at him teasingly before I give him a long, lingering kiss, fusing our mouths together.

"Tha an t-acras orm," he murmurs.

"And that?"

"I'm hungry. Let's go into the kitchen and find ourselves a wee snack afore I fuck ye again." He rolls off the bed and smirks down at me. "Only the 'hungry' part was in Gaelic though."

Peeta keeps his promise—he keeps me up nearly all night. He is insatiable. His mouth and hands are everywhere, exploring my body thoroughly, as if he's going to be tested on it later. His fingers and tongue bring me to another mind-blowing orgasm before he quickly sheathes himself with a condom and pounds into me. It's wanton, and reckless, and I love every fucking minute of it. When he raises one of my legs over his shoulder, gripping me around the ankle, his cock hits so deep inside me that the line between pleasure and pain blurs. A strangled noise traps in my throat, and he halts momentarily.

"I dinna hurt you, did I?" he asks. I shake my head vigorously. But fact is, I don't really care if he does hurt me. The feel of him inside me is so intoxicating that I can't get enough of it. "Good." He grunts as he resumes his thrusts. I fight to keep my eyes open so I can gaze at him. I can tell he's struggling to maintain control. He keeps grimacing, though it's definitely not from agony. The rest of his features paint a picture of pure bliss.

"Katniss, I want ye to come. I want ye to come with me." His voice is husky and peppered with low moans. He alters his thrusts slightly, so he's rubbing me more deliberately each time he moves.

"O-okay," I breathe out, unable to form any other words, because the way his cock is grinding into me vaults me to the precipice of my orgasm. My walls tighten around him, and he utters a curse. I dig my nails into his shoulders, feeling his cock spasm inside me. I rock my hips and let the tremors overtake me. My body shakes and trembles, wave after wave of sheer ecstasy rushing through me. Peeta groans and his biceps strain. At last he drops down and gently flattens his body over me.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, slanting his mouth over mine. I'm too sluggish from all the sex to do anything but move my lips languidly against his. It's a slow, lazy kiss that goes on for a while, until he rolls onto his back, haphazardly throws his arm above his head, and grins, looking a little boyish as he does. His chest rises and falls rapidly, just above where his other arm is draped across his midsection. His eyes grow heavy, and they start to close.

Once my heart has settled back to its resting rate and my legs feel as if they can support my boneless body, I move to climb out of bed. Peeta's arm locks around my waist, tugging me backwards, spooning me against his naked body.

"Where are ye going?" he asks drowsily.

"Oh, um…I was just going to use the bathroom, and then go to bed."

"Yer bed?"

"Well, yeah. Isn't that how this works?"

A quiet chuckle tickles my neck. "Katniss, ye dinna need to leave my bed after we've had sex. Ye're welcome to stay with me."

I hesitate. Sleeping together—really sleeping together—seems like an intimate thing, a relationship thing.

"Ye're doing it again." His lips brush my temple. I twist and meet his eyes. He shakes his head at me and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Dinna overthink things, a mhuirnín. Let's just go to sleep or we'll both need more than double shots to wake up in the morn."

I'm too tired to argue with him, but after I've peed and cleaned up and stared into Peeta's mirror for about five minutes, I pad back into his room to find him dozing peacefully, a contented smile gracing his lips. As much as I'm compelled to slip back into the warmth of his embrace, silently I tiptoe out of his room and head across the hall to my own empty bed.

It's after ten when I wake up, expecting an empty flat. When I head to the kitchen in the hopes of finding that espresso that Peeta hinted at, I'm surprised to hear his voice as I approach. His back is to me, and I realize that he's on his phone. I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I do and I tell myself it's only so I can admire the delicious vision of Peeta shirtless.

"No…ye were right…I know…nay it's too soon fer that…That's no the same thing, and ye know it." He drags a hand through his rumpled blond waves. "Aye…I canna push it though…"

As soon as he turns to face the coffeemaker, he spots me and there's a momentary flash of alarm in his eyes that fades almost as soon as it surfaced. Then he gives me a warm smile and gestures to the coffeemaker, where I spy two shots of espresso. He motions to a cup on the counter in front of him and I understand that he means both those shots are mine.

"I need to go…aye…ye too…" He adds something in Gaelic, and then sets his phone down beside his mug. "Good morning." He leans back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, causing most of his upper body to ripple and flex. God he's so fucking sexy. I kind of want to pin him to the counter and let him take me right here. How is it that I already want him again, when we had so much sex last night?

He adds, "I guess ye decided to sleep in yer own bed after all."

I knock back one of the shots of espresso and set down the empty cup as I study his expression. It didn't sound like an accusation and he doesn't look upset, but I still feel the need to explain myself.

He beats me to the punch, as if he can see right inside my head. "I told ye that ye're in control, Katniss. If ye prefer to sleep alone, it's fine by me. It just means I canna wake ye up with my tongue between those pretty legs of yers." He winks and stalks off towards his room.

Well shit.

Peeta works. I sightsee. We fuck—a lot. Anytime that he's not working, it seems as though we're naked and making each other fall to pieces. I'm pretty sore initially, my body unaccustomed to such frequent but pleasurable invasions, not to mention Peeta's impressive girth.

I start to venture out for runs each morning. I also start to do yoga in my room, buying a cheap mat at a nearby fitness shop. All of the exercise definitely helps loosen me up.

As Peeta and I become intimately more familiar with each other, we become more comfortable in other ways too. Some mornings I take my Kindle and sit at Mellark's, reading and chatting with Peeta during lulls in pub traffic. On the nights when he's not there or at the Hob, we lie on his couch, watching old black-and-white movies or British serials. (I'm thrilled to discover some shows are ahead of where they air on BBC America in the States.) Sometimes he reclines at the opposite end of the couch from me, his feet in my lap so I can massage them. He likes having his feet rubbed, and I find I love doing it for him, relishing his moans of delight that often get other parts of him stimulated. Other times our limbs are so entangled that I'm not sure where he ends and I begin. That often leads to long, lazy make-out sessions. Peeta has perfected the art of kissing, and I'm a glutton for it.

A few days later, when I return from a morning run, I find a black box tied with a red satin ribbon, in the center of my bed. My fingers unravel the neat bow, allowing me to lift the lid. A folded sheet of paper sits atop a bed of delicate red tissue paper. When I unfold it, I see Peeta's neat handwriting scrawled across the page.

Katniss—

I have a business dinner this evening and I'd love your company. You'll find a dress hanging in your closet. I hope it fits, took a chance on size. What's in this box better be underneath it. Be ready at 6.

An eddy of excitement swirls through me as I pick past the tissue paper and my fingers find purchase with embroidered lace. I raise the racy garment out of the box and study the corset. It's gorgeous and I can tell it's expensive. A thrill courses through me at the idea of wearing it for Peeta.

And later that evening, after I've showered and blow-dried my hair and am about to get dressed, I stand in front of the mirror and admire the way the lingerie looks on me. It's constricting, but not painfully so. The strapless cups are embroidered with black lace, which continues in a narrow panel down my stomach. A tiny bow adorns the center of the cups. The rest of the bustier is a delicate sheer ivory mesh. The matching thong sits low on my hips, and a garter belt attaches to lace-trimmed stockings. My pulse quickens. I can't wait for him to see me in this. And then I have a wickeder thought—I can't wait for him to get me out of this.

I pace the flat waiting for him to arrive—I don't want to sit for too long and risk wrinkling my dress. I have to reapply my lipgloss twice because I lick and chew my lips so much.

At ten minutes to six, I hear his keys in the lock, and I hold my breath. He steps inside, dressed in his Mellark's attire, and he stops in his tracks as his eyes land on me. He mutters a long phrase in Gaelic, and he doesn't move, his gaze raking up and down my body several times.

He walks towards me slowly and I can smell sweat and the aromas of the pub on him. I give a little gasp of surprise when he cups my breast and then skims his hand down my waist.

"Ye've got the perfect tits fer this dress, a mhuirnín. I knew it the moment I saw it." Then he laughs and gestures down at his kilt, where I can see his arousal beginning to tent the fabric. "My shower mightna be as quick as I thought."

It's my turn to ogle when he emerges from his room nearly fifteen minutes later. He must have a suit for every day of the month, because I have yet to see him wear the same one twice. This one is a simple classic black, three pieces, and his red tie matches the ruby flecks in my black halter dress. As much as I love his hair when it's neat and styled like it is now, I have the urge to drag my fingers through it and muss it up—preferably while I'm riding his cock.

He grins at me. "What kind of naughty thoughts are going through that wee head of yers?"

I bite my lip to contain my own smile. "Not me," I say, with mock innocence. "I'll be on my best behavior all night."

Peeta's eyes darken imperceptibly as he grabs my shawl from the barstool. He wraps it around my shoulders and whispers in my ear, "I hope no."

We take a car service to the restaurant. On the short ride, he fills me in as to the details of his meeting. Apparently Rye is interested in hiring two deejays, brothers named Castor and Pollux, for periodic guest gigs at the Hob. I don't ask why Rye isn't doing the meeting if it's his idea, as it's none of my business. Peeta apologizes for what he says he imagines will be a boring evening for me and thanks me for agreeing to come along. He assures me that the food at the restaurant is fabulous and I can order whatever I want. Then he lowers his voice and promises to reward me for my company once the meal is over. A frisson of anticipation slithers down my spine.

When we arrive, we're shown to a roomy but intimate booth nestled in a corner, with two chairs opposite the leather bench that runs along the wall. Castor and Pollux are already seated in the chairs.

"Gentlemen," Peeta greets them. They rise and the three of them exchange handshakes, and then Peeta winds his arm around my waist. "This is Katniss. She's filling in for Rye tonight." He winks at me. I smile back, a bit relieved. I wasn't sure how he was going to introduce me. It's not like I'm his girlfriend, and he can't very well tell them that I'm, for all intents and purposes, squatting in his flat and fucking his brains out each night.

"She's an improvement over yer brother fer sure," Castor says, grinning at me. I smile at both of them and carefully slide into the booth.

While the three of them talk contracts and logistics, I sip my wine and indulge in lobster bisque and some kind of filet. Peeta's right—listening to them is entirely boring. I amuse myself by watching him. Mostly I'm fixated on his hands. Seeing him doing ordinary things, like breaking off a piece of bread, or cutting into his porterhouse, only gets me thinking about the ways he uses his hands on my body, and before long I feel myself getting antsy to be alone with him.

A little after nine, I'm surprised but not disappointed when Castor and Pollux thank Peeta for his time, say goodbye to both of us, and walk away from our table. Peeta immediately slides closer to me on the bench.

"They had a standing gig that starts at ten. The club they spin at is right across the street from here, so this was a convenient meeting place. But ye and I are no done yet. "

Our server arrives once the table has been cleared, and she asks if we'd like to see a dessert menu. I see the suggestive glint in Peeta's eyes as he says dessert would be nice, though I don't think he's talking about food. My stomach clenches pleasantly.

"What looks good?" he asks thickly, perusing the menu as his hand grips my thigh under the table.

"Um—that," I say, but truly I have no idea what I point to. The way he's massaging my leg has my blood heating. When the server walks away, he starts to lean in towards me.

"Peeta! Fancy running into ye here."

I look across the table as a blonde who is all teeth and tits settles herself in Pollux's vacated seat. She's spilling out of her strapless red dress, and her breasts rise even more when she rests her elbows on the table and beams at Peeta.

He gives the woman a polite smile and says, "Hello, Cass." His grip tightens on my leg, as if he's trying to reassure me with his touch. In response, I go one step further. My hand climbs his thigh and splays directly over his crotch. I dig my fingers into the fabric, easily locating his cock. It twitches at my touch. He turns to me and I see the little muscle in his jaw pulse. I purse my lips at him and grope him more purposefully, feeling him swell under my palm.

The server returns and sets some kind of cobbler in front of me, declaring with a proud flourish, "Pear, stilton, and walnut crumble."

"Thank you," I say, reaching for my fork with my left hand, since my right hand is otherwise occupied. Peeta coughs and reaches for his scotch, taking a healthy sip. He gets harder and harder as I continue to rub him.

"So, ah, Cashmere, are ye with someone tonight?" he asks.

This Cashmere pouts and nods. "It's no going verra well. He's boring."

I suck a mouthful of my crumble off the fork and squeeze Peeta's now rock-hard cock again. Is this woman actually flirting with him in front of me? I try not to think about the fact that Peeta has made no effort to introduce me to her, or that she's given me no more than a cursory glance. I keep massaging him, fueled by a heady mix of my jealousy and his breathing, which confirms to me that he's starting to lose control. I'm getting just as turned on by what I'm doing to him, not to mention the heightened excitement of doing it right here in the restaurant. My panties are damp and my clit is desperate for some friction. I shift in my seat, but it does nothing to alleviate the ache. I need Peeta touching me too.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says. I notice how strained his voice has become, but I don't know that Cashmere does.

She sighs. "I'd much rather be with Rye. I dinna know why he doesna call me anymore. He hasna answered my texts in over a week."

My hand freezes at the mention of his brother. And then it hits me: This woman isn't interested in Peeta—she's interested in his brother and she's fishing for information from Peeta.

He gives her a sympathetic smile. "Ye know Rye, Cass. He does what he's going to do. He's going to have to grow up sometime. Be patient. If it's meant to be it will be."

"Thank ye," she says softly. She suddenly looks remorseful and embarrassed. "Gosh…I'm so rude. I'm so sorry fer interrupting yer date. I-I should get back to mine, no matter how bad he is. Thank ye again, Peeta." She finally gives me a smile full of apology as she stands and strides off.

Peeta plucks the fork from my hand and digs it into the crumble. He lifts it to my mouth, his eyes glittering with lust. I resume stroking his cock and part my lips to accept the dessert, but he pulls the fork away and takes a bite himself.

"That wasna verra nice of ye, getting me all worked up whilst I was trying to have a conversation with her," he says, but the tone of his voice betrays any actual reprimand his words might hold. He lifts another forkful of the cobbler to my lips. I hesitate before opening my mouth, but when he doesn't pull back this time, I let him feed me the bite. As I chew, he lines up his mouth with my ear. Goose bumps erupt all over my skin.

"Ye were jealous of her, were ye no," he says, chuckling, "until ye figured out that she's one of Rye's fuck buddies and no a threat to ye…"

His lips start to worry my neck, his hand skimming up and down my thigh, gathering the hem of my dress. My napkin falls to the bench beside me. I whimper and my palm clamps down over his hard-on. His hips jut into my hand and he bites my earlobe.

"I might have to make ye jealous more often, because ye've got me so fucking hard fer ye, a mhuirnín. And I'll bet ye're soaked." His fingers trail up my inner thigh, plucking the strap of the garter belt teasingly before pushing aside my panties. He makes a little noise as his fingers easily locate my clit. "Mmm, I'm right. Ye're so verra wet fer me," he whispers. A contented sigh parts my lips as he presses down on the aching nub, nudging me towards the release I've been craving.

"Do ye think I can get ye off right here?" he challenges.

I stifle a moan and fight to keep my eyes open as I nod mutely. I'm so fucking aroused that my orgasm has built up quickly. It's not going to take him long at all. I'm sure my cheeks are flushed and anyone who looked at us carefully would know exactly what we're doing. Peeta retains some composure, however, when the waitress returns and he asks for the check.

I release my grip on his erection and fumble with the zipper on his pants. He curses when I ease the zipper down and snake my hand inside, where I'm shocked to find the hot, hard length of him.

"Are you not wearing anything under your pants?" I hiss.

He smirks. "I usually dinna."

My stomach ripples with this knowledge. Stealing another glimpse around the room to be sure no one is staring at us, I hastily lick my palm and return it to his cock. I start to pump him, and his fingers move swiftly around my clit.

I don't know how he manages to smile at the waitress and hand her his credit card, as if he's not fingering me under the table and his cock isn't firmly in my grasp, but it's a relief when she leaves the leather book on the table and thanks us before disappearing for good. Peeta gazes at me, his blue eyes glassy, that vein in his neck throbbing.

"Katniss, a chuisle mo chroí, ye need to…fuck…"

I snatch the napkin from the bench and cover his cock just as I feel him stiffen. He pulses inside the linen until he's spent. Then he tips my chin towards him and gives me a slow kiss that would appear chaste to anyone watching us, but it serves to swallow my whimpers as his fingers light over my clit with a vengeance. He draws taut circles at first, and then he rapidly rubs his index finger back and forth. It takes an insane amount of restraint not to react as I come, soundlessly. His hand goes slack and molds against me tenderly as my orgasm wanes.

My heart is still pounding, however, when he removes the napkin from his lap, folds it up and covertly jams it inside his jacket. He then zips up his pants, and proceeds to sign the credit card receipt, while I shift my panties back into place and smooth my dress down.

He helps me out of the booth, and he draws me into his arms and gives me a kiss that does little to help my already shallow breathing.

"Thank ye fer coming with me tonight," he whispers against my lips. "I've never enjoyed a business dinner more."

We kiss the entire ride back to the flat. It's unhurried and sensual and we lose ourselves in each other, until the driver has to clear his throat to alert us to the fact that we're at our destination. Peeta hastily thrusts several bills over the seat at him before helping me out of the car. He grasps my hand tightly as he fumbles with his keys and unlocks the flat.

As soon as the door closes behind us, his body traps me against it and his mouth dives down to possess mine. This kiss is ravenous and needy, and I feel it right between my legs.

"I've been waiting all night to get ye out of that dress," he pants, right before he skates his mouth over my jaw and sucks. "I canna wait to see how that lingerie looks on ye." He cups my ass and lifts me into his arms. My legs automatically hook around his strong thighs, and he walks us through the flat, towards his room, his lips still probing my neck. My fingers thread through his hair, my nails scraping his scalp, my body sizzling with current.

When he sets me down, he does so slowly and deliberately, sliding me down his torso so that I graze his erection. His fingers toy with the clasp at the nape of my neck, releasing the straps of the halter, and he traps me in place with his eyelids at half-mast while his hands ease my dress past my breasts and hips. I'm trembling by the time I step out of it and kick off my heels, standing before him in the corset and stockings.

"Ní fhaca mé aon rud níos áille i mo shaol," he whispers. "Katniss, ye are so verra beautiful. Let me look at ye."

I'm not sure what to do with myself as he stares at me. I try not to fidget, and I coil a lock of hair around my finger to busy my restless hands.

"Gorgeous," he echoes. He cradles my neck and tips my chin up to meet his lips. I rise onto my toes to bring our bodies flush against each other as we kiss, and I yank at his suit jacket until he gets the hint and allows me to rid him of it. He walks backwards, perching at the edge of his bed, beckoning me with his finger.

"Perfect," he adds, nuzzling the valley between my breasts, right where the corset dips. He coaxes me to lift one leg, balancing my foot on his thigh, as he unclips the stocking and carefully rolls it down my leg. He repeats the process with my other leg. He brushes his lips along the swells of my breasts as he undoes the corset. It falls to the floor, and he pulls me onto his lap, rolling his tongue over one of my peaked nipples then the other. I arch against his mouth and grind down on his hard-on, my fingers unraveling his tie first before freeing each of the buttons on his shirt from their holes. My hands roam the expanse of his muscled chest, indulging in the feel of the fine blond hairs under my fingertips.

Peeta scoots us back, further up the bed, and he flips me onto my stomach and runs his knuckles down my spine. I shudder, pleasure spiraling through my belly. Then his tongue retraces the same path as his fingers hook into the band of my panties. I obediently lift my hips to allow him to drag the scrap of lace down my legs. He tosses the thong aside. His palms squeeze my ass and then I feel his mouth planting hot, open-mouthed kisses all over it.

"Get on all fours fer me." The raw passion choking his voice as he issues the command makes my pussy clench. I slide my palms forward and come up to my knees, and I cry out, bowing my back, when he licks up the length of me once.

"Ye're wet." He licks me again. "But ye're no soaked yet. I want ye drenched fer me, like ye were in the restaurant." He clutches my hip with one hand and brings the other one beneath me to tweak my nipple. Heat and moisture collide in the spot where his tongue is.

"Ye like that—ye like me touching yer tits?" He palms my whole breast and kneads roughly. I moan and he laps at me again. "Mmm, ye're getting there."

I don't think I'll ever tire of the way those r's roll off his tongue—and they're even infinitely more erotic when that tongue is buried in my pussy, vibrating against me. When he sucks my clit into his mouth, I drop to my forearms, burying my face in the comforter. His mouth keeps working me over as he eases a finger inside me. I whimper into the quilt and contract my inner muscles around the digit. He issues a deep groan, and then his finger pulls out of me and I hear him unbuckling his belt. I crane my neck over my shoulder and we lock eyes. He grins at me as he sheds his pants, and my gaze lowers to his groin. His cock strains upward, so thick and so hard. Peeta takes it in his hand and I sink my teeth into my lower lip when I feel the blunt tip of him brush up against my entrance. He moves the head back and forth across my clit several times. I mewl and squirm against him.

"Are ye ready for me, a mhuirnín? Do ye want me to fuck ye?" I whimper and nod. "Say it, a chuisle mo chroí. Say it fer me."

"I want you to fuck me." My need for him is so intense right now that I don't even care that the plea comes out whiny.

Peeta crawls past me, kissing my shoulder blade as he retrieves a condom from the nightstand. He ducks around my shoulder to capture my lips briefly and then he rears back. A moment later his fingers grip my hips, and we both sigh as he eases inside me, slowly at first, then fills me with one harsh thrust. His hands haul me back against him as his pelvis bucks forward. His balls slap against the backs of my thighs. I'm a little shocked by how much I love the sound of it, almost as much as I love hearing Peeta's harsh pants and grunts of pleasure as he slams into me again and again.

"Ye feel so fucking good, Katniss," he rasps. "God, how did I ever live without ye, without fucking ye?"

He pulls me up and braces me against his chest, continuing to thrust into me. One hand covers my breast and the other vines around my hipbone. I moan when he sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and I loop my arm up around his neck, rolling my hips back to meet his cock. He increases his pace, and I try to keep up with him.

As he pinches my nipple, the coil furls tighter in my abdomen, and my head lolls against his shoulder. I'm so lost in the waves of pleasure that are cresting fast that I almost don't hear him when he murmurs, "Dinna come yet."

"Peeta," I whine. My orgasm is right there. My hand starts to snake down my torso, to where our bodies are joined, but he quickly lets go of my breast and his fingers encircle my wrist, pulling my hand away from its destination.

"I want to watch ye when ye come," he says, sliding out of me. He twists me around and lays me back on the pillows. He hoists me up, kneeling between my legs, and then drives back into me. His strong arms bracket my shoulders, and I cling to his biceps, moaning his name as he grinds deeper inside me. My eyes roll back and my breaths leave my lungs in short gasps.

"Look at me, Katniss," he orders, his voice like gravel. "Look at me when I make ye come."

I struggle to open my eyes, but when I do, the sight of Peeta nearly undoes me. He's gazing at me like anticipating the moment he makes me fall apart is all that's holding him together. He gives me a lazy smile and I tighten around his cock. His breath hitches and he thrusts slowly.

"Oh fuck, Peeta!" I dig my nails into his arms and grit my teeth as the first spasms rock my body. My walls seize his cock. I lift my hips and tuck my knees to my chest, clinging to him as he seeks what will push him over the edge.

My orgasm continues to flow through me, and each of his feverish thrusts graze my sensitive clit, but I fight through it and chant his name, pleading with him to come. He groans, low and deep, and his biceps quake when he finally stiffens and his cock throbs inside me. I lunge up with what little strength I have left and seal our mouths together. I kiss him through his climax, sweeping my tongue inside his mouth, where the faint taste of my arousal lingers.

When we're both finally spent, Peeta wraps me in his arms, I can still feel him inside me as he kisses my forehead and strokes my hair. We lay in near silence, our labored breathing the only audible sound.

"Peeta?" I ask, some time later.

"Mmm?"

"Is it always this good?"

He doesn't answer me right away. But then he tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, "Only with ye, mo chridre. Only with ye."

I burrow further into his embrace, making no effort to leave his arms tonight, and the tendrils of sleep tug me under before I can ask him what that word means.

I'm in the middle of a yoga routine the next afternoon, when a low whistle from the doorway has me twisting my head from where I'm mid Triangle pose. Peeta leans against the doorjamb, wearing his leather jacket and those worn jeans. His mouth lifts into an appreciative grin.

"So that's how ye get that wee arse of yers so tight, is it?"

I come out of the pose and plant my hands on my hips, releasing the breath I had been holding. He saunters towards me and grabs one of my hands from my hip, raising it to his mouth to kiss it.

"It's a bonny day outside, verra warm for fall. I'm going to go fer a ride. I told Rye I wasna coming to the club tonight, so would ye like to get dinner when I get back?"

I press my lips into a line and shake my head. "I have a better idea. Can I go with you now?" My earlier trepidation about riding on his bike is gone. Now that I've had his body skin to skin with mine in about twenty different ways, I can hardly be concerned about pressing up against him fully clothed for a bike ride.

Peeta's delighted smile elicits one of my own. "Of course," he answers. "I dinna think ye wanted to ride with me or I would have invited ye along. I'll go wait whilst ye change?"

I trail my index finger along his abdominals through his t-shirt. "You said it's warm outside?" I ask as I peel my sports bra over my head.

He nods, his eyes lowering immediately to my bare breasts. "Ah, aye, fer autumn, it's unseasonably warm."

I shimmy out of my cropped leggings and stroll to the closet where I've hung most of my clothes. I snatch a sundress off a hanger and my denim jacket off another, and hold Peeta's gaze as I slip the dress down over my head. He approaches, and without taking his eyes off me, he hitches up the dress and lifts it back over my head.

"As sexy as ye look in that dress, a mhuirnín, it's no a good idea on a bike. I dinna want ye getting hurt." He palms my breast and drops his mouth to mine. I shiver and step back before he can get me all turned on, because then we'll never leave this room. I tug on my jeans, grab a clean tank top, and reach for my jacket. He takes it from me and eases it on for me. Then he brushes my hair aside and whispers in my ear, "Come. Let's go fer a ride."

The helmet is heavier than I expected, and the seat definitely isn't as cushioned as I'd like, but as he pulls into traffic and we set off, I find that I do love the feel of being right up against Peeta's back, my arms wrapped tightly around him. Even though he's in front, I feel very safe and protected.

He takes it easy while we are within the city limits, but once we reach the country roads, he accelerates, vaulting my heart into my throat. It's a little scary at first, but I trust Peeta, and I relax more the farther we ride. At one point, as we meander deeper into the countryside, I even feel brave enough to sit back, gripping the seat beneath me so that I can take in the breathtaking scenery of the Scottish hills and valleys.

I'm not prepared for the ache in my thighs from straddling the seat, so when he guides the bike down a pass and comes to a stop I'm relieved. He parks at the edge of a meadow that stubbornly refuses to let go of summer. There are some sporadic patches of green amongst all the tan grass and there are even a few flowers, mostly dandelions. With the rolling hills and a glittering lake in the distance, it's a lovely sight. I think fleetingly of Prim, but that usual pang of sadness is absent, to my surprise.

Peeta kills the engine, lowers the kickstand, and pulls off his helmet, combing his fingers through his hair. He pivots and gently lifts my helmet off for me. He helps me off of the bike, and he grins down at me expectantly.

"Well?"

"You're a good driver," I say.

"Ye liked it?" he asks, hopefully.

"I did."

He retrieves a blanket from the saddlebag, and then something else from under the seat, which he tucks it into his jacket. He links his fingers through mine and we walk, until we reach a little outcropping near a cliff overlooking the lake. He spreads out the blanket and sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him. I settle beside him. His palm finds my thigh and he rests his hand there.

"This is really beautiful. Is it always this peaceful?'

"At this time of the year, aye. But in the spring and summer ye'll find a lot of hikers and naturalists, and there is a henge on the other side of the loch that is verra popular with tourists. Today, though, we should be alone. We willna stay long, dinna worry."

"I don't care how long we stay," I reply quietly. "Stay as long as you like."

He looks down at me, and his eyes wander to my mouth, and I wait for him to kiss me. But he doesn't. He returns his gaze to the lake and we sit in peaceable silence for several minutes. Then he slips his hand inside his jacket and retrieves what he put there earlier—a small sterling silver flask. He unscrews the cap, takes a nip from it, and passes it to me. I take a cautious sip, and when I swallow, the whisky marks a warm path from my mouth to my stomach.

"Did ye think that ye'd be with Gale forever?" Peeta asks suddenly. "Did ye see yerself marrying him…ye know…before…?"

His questions catch me completely off-guard, and I cough a little, nearly choking on my second mouthful of whisky. I pass the flask back to him.

"Um…I don't know," I answer.

"Did ye ever talk about it?"

I shrug and pluck at a blade of grass, sliding it up and down between my fingers. "Not really. He wanted me to move in with him. He brought that up a few times."

"And ye dinna want to?"

I had put off moving in with Gale several times. It wasn't that I was opposed to living with someone—I had a roommate, after all, though I did like my independence when she wasn't around.

But sharing space with Peeta has brought clarity to a number of things about my relationship with Gale, and in hindsight, I now know that my reluctance to move in with him came more from my fear of the implications of it. If we lived together, we were one step closer to marriage, and deep down I never wanted that—not with him. I was just too much of a coward to admit it. Gale and I should have been over long ago.

I'm not entirely sure how to explain all of this to Peeta without coming across as a bit of a selfish bitch. But once I start to talk, I find the words just pouring out of me, a cathartic purge of all that I've been keeping bottled up inside for years. I've resisted seeing a therapist since the accident, and I never confided much in Gale, yet I find I can bare my soul to Peeta without hesitation. I tell him about my father, and my mother, and my sister, and losing my job, and dumping Gale, and feeling a bit adrift at this point in my life.

Peeta listens, never once interrupting me, his hand at rest on my thigh. When I finally stop talking, he stares at me intently until he takes my face in both his hands and says, with a fierce edge to his voice, "Ye'll find yer anchor, Katniss. I know ye will."

And then, though it seems he is prepared to say more, he tilts his head and molds his mouth to mine. I can taste the whisky on both our tongues when he deepens the kiss. Desire stirs me in almost instantaneously. I wonder if I'll ever stop wanting him. It seems as though my hunger for him is limitless.

I clamber into his lap, straddling him, without ever breaking our connection. He groans into my mouth and tangles one hand in my hair, pulling out the elastic from my ponytail, freeing my long locks. His fingers carding through my hair invites pleasant shivers racing down my spine, and when I straighten my back, my hips rock into him and I feel him growing hard beneath me.

"Have ye ever fucked out in the open?" he asks in a hoarse whisper. "There's no one around, I promise ye."

"No, never," I reply, ducking my head to suckle on his neck. The stubble on his jaw and neck where he clearly didn't shave this morning feels strangely good against my mouth. I lick his jaw and press a kiss to his Adam's apple, then nudge my nose into his chin. "But I want to do something for you first."

For all the sex we've been having, I have yet to go down on Peeta, and the thought of doing it here in the middle of the open meadow excites me. I peck his lips and then flash him a wicked smile, sitting back on my heels as I reach for the button of his jeans. His nostrils flare imperceptibly and his breath catches when I unsnap it and slide the zipper down.

"Ye dinna have…"

"I want to," I say firmly.

He mumbles something in Gaelic and lifts his hips to me, helping me to ease his jeans down his thighs. His cock slaps back against his belly. He wasn't kidding that he rarely wears underwear. A thrill curls through me; there's just something so naughty about it—like he's ready to go at any time.

I slide my hand up and down the rigid shaft, loving how he gets even harder against my palm as I grip him. When I squeeze him, he groans blissfully and leans back on his hands, his eyes screwing shut. I continue to pump him, shoving up his shirt a bit to tease his navel with my tongue and nip at the taut skin of his stomach as he mumbles his encouragement. I run the tip of my tongue along his shaft. His cock jumps, and when he opens his eyes, I purse my lips at him coyly before licking him more deliberately. I trace the head with slow revolutions, occasionally flicking my tongue along the slit.

"Katniss," he hisses, as I reach beneath him to cup his balls and take him fully into my mouth. He tips his head back once more, gazing up at the sky. "Shit, mo chridre, god…yer mouth feels so good…so fucking good." Hearing his groans of pleasure, his words of praise spur me on and I bob up and down his cock, hollowing my cheeks and sucking with more vigor. He moans louder and his hips swivel. His fingers wander into my hair, rubbing my scalp, encouraging my ministrations.

I steal a glance up at him. He looks so impossibly sexy on the brink of his orgasm: his strong jaw clenched, his beautiful blue eyes drooping, nearly hidden from me, his mouth parted just enough for his labored breaths to escape.

Peeta's hands tighten in my hair. "A mhuirnín…I'm there…ye need to…"

But I don't let him push me away; I know how close I have him. When I feel his cock seize up, I brace myself for the rush of his cum. As his hips jerk, the first spurts hit the back of my throat, and I try not to gag. I use my tongue to sweep the salty moisture aside and keep sucking until his hands curl around the back of my neck and he lifts me off his cock, bringing me up to his mouth. He kisses me passionately, and when I plant one hand on his chest to steady myself, I can feel the restless thrum of his heart against my palm.

"Was that good?" I ask shyly, once he breaks our embrace to find his breath.

"Good? God woman, I dinna have words." He grins, his chest inflating with the deep draw of oxygen he takes. "But now ye'll have to wait a wee bit for me to recover."

"It's worth it. I liked watching you," I admit.

"Now ye know how I feel when I'm between yer legs, licking yer pussy," he starts, caressing my cheek with his thumb, "and I look up and see yer beautiful face, all flushed and twisted up and I know that it's me making ye look that way."

His words turn me on almost as much as his touch does. That hunger for him flares and I kiss him. His lips move against mine gently at first, but I plunge my tongue past his lips, probing his mouth eagerly. I take one of his hands and slip it beneath my jacket, settling it over my breast. He gives a little groan and grips my collar, urging me to work with him to slide my jacket down my arms. Once it's off, I shiver—it may be unseasonably warm, but it's not hot by any stretch of the imagination. My nipples pucker and Peeta rubs his thumbs over them, sending twin bolts of current to my aching clit. He pulls down the neckline of my tank top to expose my breasts to him. He nuzzles them, his stubble tickling my sensitive skin, making me squirm, before he teases one nipple with his tongue and his teeth. Heat licks along my veins, bound for my core. I throw my head back and let myself bask in the sensations building in me from what he's doing to my breasts. Then I feel his tongue on the column of my throat, and he shifts my tank back into place. When I lower my head again he's right there, inches from my mouth. I glance down and seeing his cock twitching and swelling.

"That was fast," I say, reaching down to wrap my hand around his resurgent erection.

"I told ye I love yer tits," he whispers, fumbling around underneath us. He manages to pull his wallet out of his discarded jeans, but then he curses.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I thought that I had a condom. I'm sorry." He sighs. I tug my lower lip with my teeth for a half-second of contemplation before I rise onto my knees and start to undo my jeans. Peeta stares at me.

"What are ye doing? I just told ye—"

"I don't care." I drag my jeans down and shove them aside. My panties join them a second later. I flank his thighs again and his hands climb my back.

He studies me carefully, his eyes searching mine. "Are ye on birth control?" I nod. "And ye really trust me enough to let me fuck ye without anything else protecting ye?" He kneads my breast, his fingers tweaking the nipple through the cotton, and a jolt of pleasure surges to my pussy. Then he brushes my wind-swept hair over my shoulder and feathers kisses along my jaw.

"Yes," I whisper, because I do—I do trust him.

He says something indiscernible, so much so that I'm not even certain if he's speaking English or Gaelic. Then he kisses me tenderly and says, "I'll pull out afore I come, aye?" He holds my eyes as he lowers me onto his cock. Almost immediately he stills, exhaling sharply.

"Fuck…fuck, mo chridre …God…ye feel…"

I jut my hips forward impatiently, urging him to move. He curses again as he clutches my hips and I bear down. He's so hot and hard, and I'm so wet that he slides all the way into me with ease.

"Go slow," he begs, "I want to feel every bit of ye."

I undulate my pelvis in wide revolutions, looking right at Peeta so he knows I've heard his plea. He sets his jaw and his fingers bite into my waist as he matches my movements with shallow thrusts of his own. We gaze at each other and let our bodies do the talking. Occasionally Peeta steals a kiss or I nuzzle his jaw, but there is no rush, no urgency to the way we're moving together.

Eventually his hips rock faster and he begins grinding against me with determination. I know he's getting close, and while I could easily get there too, I'm not ready for this to end yet.

I rise up off his cock and align my mouth with his ear. "Don't come yet," I say huskily.

"Katniss, I canna…"

"You can," I insist, biting his earlobe gently. "Keep fucking me. Don't stop."

"Ye feel too good—ye're so tight, and warm…" he protests.

"Think about something—anything—just keep fucking me, Peeta. Stay with me."

A low growl rumbles in his throat and he thrusts up hard. I keen and arch my back, whimpering louder when he reaches down and rubs my clit. My breathing starts to falter the faster his finger moves over the swollen nub. The pleasure spikes fast, and I moan his name. He takes his finger away and guides me up so that he's barely inside me before coaxing me to take him as deep as I can. Our hips move in rhythm, both of us chasing our climaxes, but struggling to hold them off. Our mouths meet, his tongue swirling in broad, lazy strokes around mine. Time seems to slip away, just the two of us joined together, taking pleasure from each other, with nothing but the whisper of the wind and our moans as our soundtrack.

"Tell me when ye want to come…" he says gruffly, "Because I'm right there, a mhuirnín, and I'll need to get out of ye afore…"

"No…Come inside me."

"Are ye sure?"

I nod. He prods my chin up and drags his mouth along my throat, his breath heating my skin. He thrusts, and the pressure on my clit is enough to break me, just as he pants into my neck and stiffens. As his cock pulses and my walls contract around him, the rush of warmth from his release floods me. It's definitely a strange sensation, but the look on Peeta's face when he lifts his head off my shoulder and gazes at me with adoration is becoming a familiar one. It makes my heart beat even faster.

"Wow," I whisper. He laughs and draws me to him for a long kiss. We cling to each other, him still inside me, until I start to shiver. Peeta finally pulls out of me, reaches for his leather jacket and drapes it around my shoulders.

Then he smiles at me, but it doesn't fully reach his eyes. He clears his throat and says, "Katniss…I…I need to tell ye something."

Nervousness ripples through me, but I play it off with a little laugh, and run my hand up his thigh. "Someone once said to me that nothing good ever comes from a conversation that starts that way," I say, reminding him of his words to me. But he doesn't laugh. He sets his lips in a line, and then clears his throat again.

"It's just…this place is verra special to me. It's like my refuge. When I come here, it's usually because I'm worried about something, or mourning someone…so I feel I owe it to ye, since now I have a happy memory here and that's all because of ye. Ye're the only woman I've ever brought here, and I'll always remember having ye here, feeling all of ye around me. Ye're the only woman to trust me that much." His smile is wistful, almost remorseful.

Dread coils in my gut. "Peeta, you're scaring me a little."

"I'm a wee bit scairt myself." He exhales, long and deep, and he reaches for my hand. His blue eyes are wide and intense as he begins, "I told ye that what's between us is just sex, aye?"

"Yes."

"And I told ye that ye were in control, and we'd do things yer way, until it was time fer you to go home, aye?"

"Yeah…" I draw out the word, punctuating my confusion. He looks down at our hands, where his thumb rubs idle circles over the back of my palm.

"I wasna being honest with ye," he says softly. "It hasna ever just been sex fer me. What I feel fer ye—it goes beyond wanting yer body and wanting to fuck ye all the time."

"Peeta—"

He holds up his hand and silences me. He takes a deep breath. "Mags knew I was living in the flat. She dinna forget."

A breeze has picked up, and the light wind whips my hair across my face. "I don't understand," I whisper.

"After that first day, when I found ye in my room, I texted Grams, fer some answers, ye know? She had told me about her beautiful young neighbor afore—many times. And she told me how she had given ye the advice to take a holiday. And then she told me how I would be a fool no to take a chance on ye, now that ye were single." He pauses as pain creeps into his eyes.

"But I knew from the start that ye werena interested in a relationship, that that was part of what ye were scairt of, getting involved with me after what happened with yer ex. I tried to convince myself that I could give ye what ye wanted—to sleep with me with no strings attached, and to no worry about anything else."

My chest constricts. I think my heart stops beating. At least, that's what it feels like. I'm paralyzed by what he's confessing to me, where I think he's going with this. The meadow starts to spin; the horizon tilts and the clouds shift.

"I was selfish. I should have been honest with ye from the start. Because by the time I fucked ye on my desk, I was already a goner. I fell fer ye the first moment I saw ye, afore I even knew who ye were. I just fell harder and harder the more we got to know each other and I think I'm still falling." He lifts his anguished eyes to the sky and shakes his head. When he looks at me again, he smiles sadly as he says, "I'm in love with ye, Katniss."

I'm shaking by now, and I hug Peeta's jacket tighter around me. It smells like him, but my stomach is pitching and rolling so violently that the scent does little to comfort me. I know I'm not trembling because I'm cold.

He implores, "Say something, please."

"You can't be in love with me," I whisper, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. "It's been, like, two weeks."

"Love doesna know any time table. It happens when it happens. How long were ye with Gale? Did ye love him?"

"That's not the same thing," I say hotly, narrowing my eyes at him.

"But it is." He sighs. "When I moved into Grams's flat, it wasna just because I took over the pub. It was because I had ended things with my girlfriend. We had been together fer eight years, on and off since university. And one day, she told me I needed to propose to her or get the fuck out of our flat.

"It was bad timing, because my da died a week later, but it opened my eyes," he continues. "I loved her, but I wasna in love with her. Eight years, and I couldna see myself marrying her, and having a bairn or two, and growing old with her. I want those things, verra much. I just dinna want them with her. I want those things with ye, Katniss," he finishes softly.

I close my eyes, because his words strike me like an arrow to the chest. He's exactly summed up my relationship with Gale. I loved Gale, but I was never in love with him.

But to hear Peeta say that he wants a future with me—marriage, children, the whole deal…

There's a sudden vibration against my ribs, from somewhere inside Peeta's jacket, and I jump at the intrusion. I slide it off my shoulders and pass the jacket to Peeta. "You're buzzing," I say.

"Shit," he grumbles, shoving his hand into the inside pocket to retrieve his cell phone. "Aye, Rye, what de ye want?" I can hear the frustration in Peeta's voice. "I told ye I wasna gonna go tonight…I'm busy right now…yes, it's verra important." He exhales deeply and one hand rubs his temple, shaking his head. "Jesus fuck, Rye! How did ye no know?…Alright…aye, alright. But ye say that every time and nothing ever changes…aye, keep me posted."

He hangs up with another sigh and gives me a weak, apologetic smile. "That was my brother."

"I heard." It's about the only thing I can manage to say, given the shock I'm in.

"I need to go to the Hob tonight. Rye's—" Peeta hesitates, as if he's unsure of what to say next. "Apparently Rye's ex-girlfriend is in labor. I dinna even know she was pregnant. We need to get back to the city. I'm sorry." He stands up and tugs on his jeans. Numbly, I adjust my tank top and quietly thank Peeta when he hands me my panties and jeans. Once we're both fully dressed, he gathers the blanket and we walk in silence to his bike.

As he hands me my helmet, his fingers lingers on mine. "I know I just dumped a lot of shit on ye. I'm verra sorry to leave things hanging, and to have to cancel our dinner. I was looking forward to a quiet night with ye, although I think I probably fucked that up either way."

"I'll be fine. You need to take care of things." My voice sounds hollow and I know he hears it.

"Please go to the pub and grab a bite. Finnick is working tonight. He'll keep ye company."

I shrug. Peeta nods his head once, but it's not a nod of affirmation. I can see the uncertainty clouding his blue eyes. He hands me my helmet, then puts his on and he mounts the bike. I follow suit, winding my arms around his waist. I keep my eyes closed the entire ride back, because at the very least it keeps the tears from leaking out.

It doesn't take long for Peeta to change and to depart the flat. I'm curled onto my side on the couch, staring at the fireplace when he says goodbye, but the door closes behind him before I can say it back to him.

The apartment is completely quiet. I'm left alone with my thoughts, which spool back to those three words, no matter how hard I try to clear my head.

He loves me. Peeta loves me.

This wasn't supposed to happen. We were supposed to have sex, and nothing more. Then I was supposed to go back to America and try to get on with my life, to find a new job, and do the "I'm happy being alone" thing for a while before dating again.

My heart squeezes a little at the mere thought of leaving Scotland soon—of leaving Peeta. What does that mean?

I sigh and rise off the couch, pacing around the living room. I need to talk to someone. It's times like this that I do feel the loneliest. I don't have my mother, or my sister, or my best friend anymore. At home, I'd talk to Mags. And while I consider this an emergency—her grandson has just professed his love to me, and if all that he said to me is true, this entire "take a holiday, have a fling" thing was a trans-Atlantic set up that was her idea—when I call her apartment the phone just rings and rings and rings.

I think on that notion for a little longer. I had been trying to resist Peeta, partially because I was worried that Mags would think badly of me if I slept with him. But evidently she had sent me here in the hopes that I'd connect with him. And we've more than connected. I can't deny that what I'm feeling for Peeta is so deep, so profound that it is terrifying me.

If I can't talk to Mags, I need to talk to someone who knows Peeta. I grab my jacket and hurry across the street to the pub, making a beeline for the bar. Finnick spies me right away, but the wide grin that stretches his face fades almost immediately.

"Ye look like ye need a stiff one," he says to me as I claim a stool in front of him. My eyes widen and he arches a copper brow at me. "And by that I do mean a bevvy. I'm no hitting on ye, I swear. Peeta made it verra clear that ye're off limits."

"Peeta's why I'm here," I say flatly. I snatch a cocktail stirrer from the container near Finnick, just to give my hands something to do.

Creases appear on Finnick's forehead. "Is everything okay? Did ye two have a row?" When I gaze at him blankly, he gestures with his hands. "A fight?"

"Not exactly," I hedge. I roll the straw between my palms and tell him about what happened in the meadow. I don't go into graphic details about the sex, but I know Finnick pieces things together. He looks sympathetic while I speak, though his mouth twists when I admit I didn't say anything to Peeta in response to his profession of love. I can see the disapproval etched all over his face.

"He told ye he loved ye and ye dinna say anything?"

Embarrassment causes my cheeks to flame. "It's not like I had the chance!" I offer a weak defense. "Rye called and we had to rush back here."

Finnick sighs. "Rye. It's always Rye. One day Peeta's gonna have to stop cleaning up after him." He shakes his head. "If that's no a sign of what a good man Peeta is—" He holds up a hand, effectively pausing our conversation while he tends to two men a few stools over who need their beers refilled. When he returns, he asks me if I've eaten, and though I really have no appetite, I let him cajole me into putting in an order of fish and chips, which I barely touch.

"So where were we?" he prompts.

I bite my lip. "You were making me feel like shit for not saying anything to Peeta."

"Ye can only feel like shit if ye know ye did something wrong."

"It just…I was in shock, I think, and when Rye called—"

"Rye calling gave ye a convenient out no to answer him," Finnick interjects. "So what if he hadn't called? What would have happened then?"

I shake my head and start to bend the straw into halves repeatedly. Truth is, Finnick is right: I don't know what I would have done, or what I would have said to Peeta if his phone hadn't had gone off.

"Katniss," Finnick begins gently, "ye know what I think? I think ye do love him. I'm no saying in what way. Maybe ye dinna know yerself. But anyone paying attention can see how much ye care for him."

I look down at my plate of uneaten food.

"And it's not completely insane," I ask after a moment, "to think we could be in love after such a short amount of time? This isn't just some lust-induced sex coma that we'll both wake up from?"

He snorts, amused. "I canna say I've ever heard that one afore. I should think I might enjoy being in a sex coma. Fuck, Peeta is a lucky man."

I blush and reach for a fry.

"I've known him fer years, Katniss," he says, more seriously, "and I've never seen the spark in his eyes that I've seen since ye've been here. He never looked like this with Delly. He never looked at Delly the way he looks at ye.

"And when he told me ye were his, that night when ye and I played snooker…and he warned me to stay away from ye…well, I've never thought Peeta had it in him to hurt a flea. But I truly think he'd woulda killed me if he thought I'd done anything but flirt with ye.

"So let me ask ye this: when ye think about going back to the U.S., how do ye feel about leaving Peeta behind? Can ye fly home and not think about him going on with his life here—without ye? Are ye okay with him moving on, and knowing he's fucking other women…"

My mouth floods with a sour taste. Jealousy spikes in my veins at the mere thought of Peeta with anyone else. I already felt envy just hearing about his ex-girlfriend. I don't want to think about his hands touching anyone else's body, or his lips on anyone else's mouth, or his cock bringing anyone else to climax. I only want him to have these things with me. Me and only me.

"Can ye forget him?" Finnick asks softly.

My chest tightens, and I shake my head without hesitation.

He smiles. "Then that's yer answer."

A gentle touch stirs me awake. When my eyes flutter open, Peeta is smoothing my hair off my forehead, staring down at me with a disbelieving but hopeful smile. I sit up and clutch the sheet to me. He sits down on the edge of the bed, his body angled towards me.

"I dinna think I'd find ye here in my bed. Does this mean ye're no cross with me?"

I let the sheet drop. "Does this answer your question?" I whisper. His eyes lower and when they meet mine again they're flecked with lust. He gives a little growl and pulls me into his lap, his hands roaming over my naked back as he rests his forehead on mine.

"God, mo chridre, I havena been able to think about anything but ye all night. I felt sick. I couldna focus on anything. I just wanted to get back here to ye, to make sure ye were still here."

"Where would I have gone?"

He shrugs a little as his fingers trace my spine. "I dinna know. I was afeared ye'd have packed yer things, that ye wouldna want to see me."

I purse my lips and close the small distance between us to feather a kiss to his mouth. "I'm not going anywhere, Peeta."

His other hand reaches for mine, twining our fingers together. "Everything I said today…I meant it. Every single word. Doesna that scare ye?"

"It should," I say, "except I feel the same way."

I wish I could freeze this moment and capture the exact expression on Peeta's face when he realizes the intent behind my words. He gazes at me, eyes wide, lips twitching, until he can't suppress his smile any longer and he whispers, "Mo shíorghrá."

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"My eternal love." He brushes his lips over mine in a tender kiss. "Ye're it fer me, Katniss Everdeen. I'm in love with ye, and there is no a doubt in my mind that I'll be in love with ye fifty years from now."

"I love you," I whisper back, and then I take a deep breath. "And if you'll have me…I want to stay here, with you."

He can't hide his shock. His eyes round to wide pools of azure as they bore into me. "Do ye—really? Ye'll move here for me?"

"You have a life here, Peeta. Family. Friends. Two good jobs. I don't have anything left for me back in Pennsylvania—"

"Ye have me." He kisses me fiercely, silencing me. His mouth moves urgently against mine, and I'm nearly breathless by the time we break apart for air.

Peeta shakes his head incredulously. "Ye mean it? Ye mean it all? That ye can see yerself with me, marrying me, having my bairns—"

"One day at a time," I say, smiling at him shyly. He kisses me again.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" I mumble against his lips.

"Best kind of love there is," he replies, dipping his head to plant kisses all over my collarbone. I rake my nails over the nape of his neck, delighting in seeing him shudder. His lips find mine again, and our tongues slide and coil and chase. I allow him to draw me into the warm heat of his mouth. I rock my hips into his rapidly swelling erection, and I sit back and start to fumble with his belt, but he stops me. I blink and cock my head at him.

"I have ye right where I always want ye: naked, and in my bed—our bed. I'm going to show ye just how much I love ye." He pecks my lips between each word.

I give him a pout that I hope looks sexier than it does petulant. "And you can't do that by getting naked too?"

He smiles. "If that's what my woman wants, that's what she'll get." He stands and gently sets me in the center of the bed. Then he straightens back up and begins removing his jacket and tie.

"I told ye that ye hadna had the right man to spoil ye." He sheds his shirt, and my eyes feast on his chest while he removes his pants. I lick my lips when his hard cock springs free. He climbs onto the bed and crawls over me. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life spoiling ye, Katniss Everdeen. Starting now." His hands nudge my thighs apart, and he plants kisses all around my navel, dipping his tongue inside to tease me. Then he lifts his head and flicks his tongue over the tip of his finger before rubbing my clit a few times. I gasp at the contact, pleasant flutters stirring in my belly, but he withdraws his finger and sucks it into his mouth.

"To think I get to taste ye ferever…"

I sigh contentedly, and grab a fistful of the sheets when he settles between my legs and buries his face in my pussy. He inhales and nuzzles me, and I whimper. His tongue darts out and parts my lips, delving inside me. I grip the sheets tighter and raise my hips, swiveling my pelvis. He gives a throaty little laugh.

"Patience, mo shíorghrá." He licks me slowly, agonizingly so, and then he sits back, grinning at me.

"This isn't spoiling me. It's teasing me." I pout.

"Alright. Fair's fair," he murmurs. "Ye're right. Tell me what ye want. I'll do whatever ye ask."

I suck in a breath and slowly exhale through my nose. "I want your mouth on my pussy and your fingers inside me."

His lips curve upward. "As ye wish." He drops down and I bow my legs as wide as I can for him. He probes my wet folds, gathering the moisture on his fingers before pushing them into me. He pumps them in and out, drawing them over my clit. Everything starts to tingle, and I've just let my head loll to the side to bask in the pleasure that's building when Peeta whispers my name. He holds me in place with a smoldering gaze and a feral smile, and I watch him as he starts to lap at me. His tongue swirls lazy circles over my clit as his fingers continue their steady thrusts. As he moves his tongue faster, he sucks the swollen bundle into his mouth, I arch off the bed and screw my eyes shut. His fingers slow, almost completely sliding out of me before easing back in, a sharp contrast to the frantic efforts of his tongue and teeth.

He pauses for just a moment to say, "I love how tight ye are around my fingers, mo chridre. Ye feel so good. I canna wait to get inside ye, how hot and wet ye'll be for my cock."

"Peeta…oh…god…yes…right there," I pant my encouragement, the sweet torture of his mouth becoming too much to take. His hands pin my thighs to the bed as he flicks his tongue back and forth and I clench my muscles around his fingers as my orgasm overtakes me. I cry his name and my body wracks with wave after wave of pleasure, but his hand doesn't stop. His fingers continue to rub my throbbing clit as he slithers up my torso and he hovers inches from my mouth.

"Ye're gonna come again fer me."

"I can't," I moan.

"Ye can," he whispers, kissing me deeply so that I taste myself on his tongue. My thighs try to clamp shut on his hand, but his strength is no match for me. He keeps stroking me and I swear it feels like my heart is going to burst. I come again, harder than the first time, and Peeta kisses me through it, holding my trembling body until I nearly go limp.

"Oh fucking hell," I gasp out, once he slides his hand out from between my legs and stretches out atop me. He's so hard, like steel; I love how turned on he gets just from pleasuring me.

"Mmm…feeling spoiled yet?" he asks.

"Very much so."

"Well let's no stop there." He brushes his nose against mine. I furrow my brows at him when he climbs off me and stands beside the bed. Then he scoops my boneless body into his arms.

"Peeta! Where are you taking me?"

He gives me a secretive smile and strides out of his room, carrying me like it's nothing, and we make our way across the hall to my bathroom. He sets me down on the counter and plants his hands on either side of my hips.

"My bathroom is yer bathroom now, but I know ye fancy this tub, so we'll have to make sure we still put it to good use." He ghosts his mouth over mine. "And right now I think a nice soak is in order."

"What! It has to be almost two in the morning!"

He shakes his head. "It's just after midnight. I couldna wait fer the Hob to close. I left one of assistant managers in charge. I told ye I was dying without ye. I really thought I had fucked up."

I lock my legs around his thighs and drape my arms around his neck. "I'm sorry you were so worried."

He smiles and kisses my forehead. "It's alright. I have ye now, and always, and that's all that matters. Now dinna move." The right side of his mouth curves upward slightly and he laughs softly when I dig my heels into the back of his thighs, just below his firm ass, holding him in place.

"If ye dinna release me, mo shíorghrá, I canna start the water."

Reluctantly, I let my feet drop and dangle. He kisses me and I watch him as he strides across to the tub and fiddles with the faucets to get the temperature right. Then he opens a cabinet and adds a stream of liquid to the water before messing with the taps again.

I pluck an elastic from beside my toothbrush and gather my hair into a knot atop my head. Then I hop off the counter and saunter towards Peeta.

"I thought I told ye no to move," he chides.

I shrug and kneel down on the bath mat in front of him. He arches his brows and licks his lips as our eyes meet.

"What are ye doing?" he asks, but his tone tells me he knows exactly what I'm up to. I close my hand around the base of his thick cock and run my tongue up the length of the shaft.

"Passing the time until the water is ready," I mumble, pressing a kiss to the swollen head. I squeeze his ass and thrust him forward, sucking him into my mouth. Peeta groans. I tease him with my tongue, swirling it around, laving the smooth skin. Before I can start suckling him again, he clutches my shoulders. His cock pops out of my mouth as he pulls me up. Our lips meet in a feverish kiss. I rise on my toes, flattening my breasts against him, then draw back slightly, purposefully grazing my stiff nipples against his chest.

"Jesus, Katniss…" he pants, blowing out a breath. He shuts off the faucets and faces me again. "I—give me a second to go get some candles."

I curve my palm along his jaw. "I don't need candles. I just need you."

He shakes his head at me, awe flickering in his eyes. "God, I love ye." He steps over the edge of the tub and holds his hand out to me.

Peeta sinks down into the water, and he spreads his legs to the side to allow me to settle in between them. His cock rests snugly against my ass, and I fall back into the sturdy wall of his chest. The scented water is hot, though not unbearably so. It's the feel of him behind me that's the most heavenly. I tip my head back to rest on his shoulder. His lips worry my earlobe and neck, his teeth nibbling gently.

"Ye're perfect," he whispers. I can feel his heart beating against my back. I close my eyes. I never could have imagined when I soaked in this tub for the first time two weeks ago that I'd end up back here like this.

We lie together, letting the hot water relax us, until I feel deliciously drowsy and loose. Eventually, his hands travel up my waist, his fingers trailing along my ribs, and he starts to fondle my breasts. It's a soothing touch at first, but then his thumbs circle my nipples, bringing them to taut peaks. I arch off his chest, and the cool air puckers the buds even more. My hips start to move, causing his cock to rub back and forth where it's trapped between us.

I twist around in his arms so that I can thread my fingers through his hair and draw his mouth to mine. Peeta scoots us towards the center of the tub, allowing me to stretch my legs and position myself over his erection, rocking along his length as we kiss. My stomach tightens and the tension builds behind my navel; the dull ache in my clit becomes an incessant throb the longer our tongues duel and his fingers pluck at my nipples. My fingernails scale his back, and he shudders against me. He breaks our kiss and gazes at me. Those big blue eyes are nearly swallowed by his pupils, and the adoring smile he gives me makes my chest tighten in the best way. He touches three fingers to my bottom lip. I deliberately lick the tip of his middle finger, and then close my lips over it, sucking it into my mouth.

"I'm going to fuck ye now, aye?" he says, gripping the back of my neck, staring at me intently.

"Aye," I whisper. He growls and shifts me back so I'm lying against him once more. His hands clutch my hips and he raises me up slightly.

"Help me out here, a chuisle mo chroí." I reach down and take his cock in my hand, leaning forward slightly. A moan parts my lips as he enters me with a long, deep thrust and his mouth right beside my ear, as he asks, "Have ye ever made love in the bath afore, or is this another first fer ye?"

"Never," I reply breathlessly, as his fingers splay down my belly and seek out my clit. He sighs into my ear and keeps pumping into me. Soft splashes mingle with his groans and my whimpers.

I hover on the brink of orgasm for a long time. Peeta doesn't seem to be in a hurry either, and the water aids his stamina even more than usual. His thrusts are powerful but shallow. He plays with my breasts when he's not massaging my clit. I wrap one arm up around his neck and massage his thigh with my free hand. We revel in the languid pace of our lovemaking, sometimes just lying there with him inside me, until Peeta suckles my earlobe and whispers, "Let's get out. I want to finish inside ye, but yer teeth are chattering, mo shíorghrá. I want ye shaking but no from the cold." He urges me to stand up and we climb out of the tub. After he's cloaked me in a towel, he drains the tub, pats himself dry, and lifts me into his arms.

Once in his room—our room—he gently lies me down. I stretch out, extending my arms above my head, and he stares at me hungrily. Gaelic spirals off his tongue as he pinions both my wrists to the bed with one hand, unravels my towel with the other, and covers my shivering body with his solid warmth. He's inside me again without warning, his pelvis rocking in fast revolutions, making the strokes of his cock uneven. His tongue paints the seam of my lips, and I part them to draw him in.

"Katniss." He pants his warning into my mouth. "Come on, mo chridre, I want to feel ye. I want to feel that perfect pussy of yers around me whilst I'm coming. Ye're there, I know ye are…" I can see the cords of his neck muscles straining. He sucks on my bottom lip and grimaces as he tenses and I feel him go taut just before he spasms and a long groan rumbles in his throat. He spills into me, and he keeps thrusting as he looks right at me, eyes half-lidded.

I am right there—and then I'm not. He sends me careening over the edge with one more slow, deliberate grind and I free-fall into pure bliss. I whimper his name and arch into him. His hand finally releases my arms and he cradles me to him as my orgasm ebbs. We collapse together against the sheets, his head resting between my breasts, right above the erratic thumping of my heart.

"Ye're going to be the death of me," he says playfully as he rolls us over so I'm lying prone across him. He kisses my shoulder and laces our fingers together. "But at least I'll die happy."

"You're not going anywhere." I nuzzle my nose against his chin and let my fingers drift through his tousled hair.

"Actually, I am going somewhere. With ye. Whenever it is ye're ready to go home and take care of things, gather up yer belongings and what no, I'd like to go with ye."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Are ye kidding? It's the least I can do fer ye. Ye're picking up yer life and moving over 5000 kilometers fer me."

"My life isn't there anymore," I whisper, smiling. "Just my stuff."

"I love ye, Katniss Everdeen. And I'm never letting ye go."

His lips cover mine, and I kiss him back, then I lay my head on the warm wall of his chest, right where I belong, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.

Two Weeks Later

Nudging the cardboard box across the floor, I set down the roll of packing tape and expel a sigh that's equal parts relief and exhaustion. I glance around the living room. Almost all of my belongings are in boxes and suitcases, ready to be shipped to Scotland. Five industrial-strength garbage bags hold the things I'm donating to Goodwill. Some of my furniture is also going there, but I told Madge she could keep the infamous couch (the other alternative was to set fire to it, which was tempting, I'll admit) and the antique dresser that belonged to my mother is going to Mags for the time being. Peeta said we can arrange to have it transported to Edinburgh when we have a need for it.

With his businesses thriving, I had figured Peeta couldn't spare much time away from work to accompany me when I flew back to the States. I had assured him that I could take care of things by myself, not wanting him to feel handcuffed by the vow he had made to me. But he had insisted. He cleared his schedule and left The Hob and Mellark's in the hands of his assistant managers. Within two weeks we were on a plane bound for Pennsylvania. We've been working in my old apartment for the past three mornings, while Madge is at work and thus, out of sight. I haven't seen her since I've been back and I'm content to keep it that way.

"Time fer a break?" Peeta's lips skim my neck as his arms wind around my waist. I squirm out of his embrace and turn around to face him. He immediately pulls me into his arms and tucks a damp piece of hair that's escaped my ponytail back behind my ear.

"Ew, Peeta, I'm all sweaty," I protest. He gives me a devilish grin and coasts his hand down my hip.

"What I have in mind will only get ye sweatier."

"You're insatiable," I murmur, shaking my head as I refasten my ponytail.

"Aye, and ye're a hypocrite, mo chridre. Was it no ye who woke me up this morning with yer mouth on my cock? And then, was it no ye who insisted on getting in the shower with me, making us verra late fer breakfast with Grams?"

I recall the grin on Mags' face when she opened the door to Peeta and me earlier that morning.

"I don't think she minded. I think your grandmother likes seeing the indisputable evidence that her matchmaking was successful."

Peeta chuckles. "Aye. Grams might like being right even more than she likes seeing me happy."

"Hmm, and just how happy are you?" I tease, sneaking one hand beneath the hem of his shirt. His abdominal muscles tense at my touch, and his blue eyes fill with heat. I let my other hand settle over his crotch and I give his cock a squeeze. It starts to swell against his jeans.

"Ye might have to remind me, my wee hypocrite." He drops his mouth to mine and his tongue sweeps along my bottom lip. Desire flares in me instantly and I melt into his kiss. I splay my hand over his stomach and wrench my lips away from his only long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. He flashes me one of his sinfully sexy smiles, then returns the favor by ridding me of my shirt. His palms skim over my breasts and he runs his thumbs along the lace edging of my bra. His smile widens as his fingers toy with the front clasp. He moistens his lips and flicks the clasp open.

"Mmm…I like this bra, mo shíorghrá. Verra easy fer me to do this." He pushes the cups aside, and I watch as he drinks in the sight of my bare breasts.

I'm still getting used to the way Peeta looks at me, like I'm the sexiest woman in the world. My stomach dips and my nipples tingle from his deliberate perusal of my half-naked body. Heat washes through me and I shimmy my shoulders impatiently, trying to shrug the bra off. He gives another throaty chuckle and pushes the damn thing the rest of the way down my arms. Together, we toss it to the floor. His hands slide up my ribs to cup my breasts. I arch into his touch. A half sigh, half groan vibrates in my throat when his fingers lightly stroke my nipples before pinching them more purposefully. Our lips connect and his tongue slides into my mouth, tangling with my tongue. My hands roam over his broad back and I trail my fingertips down his spine. Peeta's kiss grows hungrier and he hoists me into his arms. He begins walking us towards the middle of the room.

"Not there." I pant my protest against his mouth, cutting my gaze towards the couch.

He sets me down on the edge of the armchair and he cradles my cheek tenderly. "I wasna going there. I would never, mo shíorghrá," he whispers, before lowering his head towards my breast. I throw my head back and moan at the warm, wet pull of his mouth on my nipple. My fingers instinctively thread through his hair, holding him in place. He sucks gently and then uses his teeth to tug more forcefully on my nipple. His tongue swirls around the aching bud and gives it another gentle bite before licking a path to my other nipple.

"Ye're so damn beautiful, Katniss. These tits…fucking perfect." He runs his tongue back and forth over my nipples and breathes lightly on the wet peaks. I shudder and grip his hair tighter.

"I'm pretty sure you're only supposed to christen a place when you move in, not when you move out," I pant, tilting my neck upward as Peeta's lips leave my breast and rove along the column of my throat. Up until today, we've kept our lust for each other tempered when we've been here in the apartment.

"Aye, but there's nothing to say we canna do it. At the verra least it will leave ye with a pleasant memory of this place, will it no?" He nips at my neck, sweeping his tongue over my pulse point. His blue eyes gleam with a predatory glint as he lifts me up and eases my yoga pants down my legs. "Besides, it's yer fault that I never seem to stop wanting ye. If ye could just stop being so fucking sexy all the time…" He smirks at me as he strips me of my panties too.

"Yeah, well, maybe if you weren't so damn charming and irresistible all the time," I counter. I loop my arms around his neck and draw him down to me, taking his top lip between mine. His tongue darts out and sweeps along my lower lip before plunging into my mouth once more.

His desperate kiss amplifies the stirring low in my abdomen and I feel myself getting wetter. My fingertips dig into his muscular shoulders as he yanks me forward and wrenches my legs apart. I cry out as his mouth settles over me and starts to work its magic. He teases my clit with slow flicks of his tongue and his hands grope for my breasts again. My back bows. I lose my grip on Peeta's shoulders. One hand finds the back of the chair for leverage, and I grip the edge of the seat with the other. I roll my hips into him and he rewards my enthusiasm by delving his tongue inside me. My moans escalate and the delicious pressure between my legs continues to mount. And then there's a knock on the door. I freeze instantly.

It doesn't seem to faze Peeta. He quickens the pace of the circles his tongue draws over my clit. I have to struggle to keep from crying out. I feel myself nearing climax, but I'm not quite there yet when the second knock comes.

"Shit," I grumble, falling back across the chair. My whole body tingles in protestation of being denied its imminent orgasm. Peeta braces his hands on the armrest, and shakes his head at me.

"No," he says firmly, hauling me back towards him. He grips my thigh with one hand and sucks my clit back into his mouth, slipping two fingers inside me as he does. I press my lips together to trap my moan. He curls his fingers forward and starts to fuck me with them. His tongue urges me closer and closer to the edge, until bliss rockets through me and I shatter against his mouth.

"Oh. My. God. Peeta." I breathe heavily. He finally releases me, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. When he straightens up, I can see the massive bulge straining against his jeans.

"Unless ye're expecting a visitor, it's probably Grams." He raises his brows at me when the third knock persists. "Do ye want me to answer it?"

"Please," I reply, hopping off the armrest and scanning the floor for my discarded clothes. Peeta may be comfortable walking around shirtless and sporting a major hard-on in front of his grandmother, but I don't need Mags seeing me in any state of nakedness. It's bad enough that I'm sure the evidence of what Peeta just did to me is all over my flushed face.

Once I snatch my clothes from the floor, I nod at him, and then I duck into the bathroom to redress.

"Who the fuck are you? Where's Katniss?"

The male voice halts me in place. I falter, and my fingers fumble with the clasp of my bra. Hastily I secure it, yank my shirt down over my head, and take a deep breath. I step back into the living room and appraise the sight before me. Peeta stands in front of the open door, his jaw clenched, but otherwise he appears relatively calm. Gale, on the other hand, fills the doorway with a stance that screams hostility. His hands are furled into fists at his side and he's openly glaring at Peeta. I clear my throat, and both of them turn to face me.

"Gale," I greet him coolly. I fold my arms across my chest and slowly stride towards Peeta. "What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that we had nothing left to say to each other."

"Madge told me that I could find you here," he replies. His steely eyes venture back at Peeta, aiming daggers at him. "Who the fuck is he?"

"Peeta Mellark." Peeta raises his hand and offers it to Gale, who shuns the handshake with a scowl.

I bend down to scoop up Peeta's shirt and pass it to him. His mouth curves into a half-smile of gratitude as he slips it on. I reach for his hand, but his arm glides across my back and he pulls me against him. His fingers settle just below the curve of my left breast. It's an intimate, possessive touch. He's asserting his right to hold me in such a way. A tiny thrill curls through me at him claiming me so blatantly in front of my ex. Gale's gaze flits to where Peeta's hand rests. I see Gale's jaw tick and his throat bob, but he remains mute.

When it becomes apparent that Gale is not going to respond to Peeta's introduction I say, "Peeta, this is Gale." I don't need to add anything else—Peeta knows exactly who Gale is. For Gale's benefit, I continue, "Peeta is Mags's grandson. I met him in Scotland. We're—"

This finally gets a response, as Gale snorts derisively, interrupting me. "You run off for a couple of weeks and you come back with some fling tagging along after you like a fucking dog?"

My anger flares, hot and quick. I know he's trying to goad me into an argument. Gale has always matched me in terms of fire, and I've never shied away from a fight. Today, though, I don't feel like fighting, and that has everything to do with the man holding me in his arms. I silently count to five to keep my temper in check, as I mentally debate the best way to reveal to Gale the seriousness of my relationship with Peeta.

"Peeta's not a fling. We're seeing each other. And he's not tagging along. He came with me to help me pack up because…" I hesitate and suck in a deep breath. I don't anticipate Gale taking what I'm about to say well. "I'm moving. To Scotland."

There's a long, almost dangerous silence. Then Gale shakes his head and barks a sharp, caustic laugh. "We dated for how long and you wouldn't live with me, but you've known fucking Braveheart there for all of a few weeks and suddenly you're willing to move to another country?" He jerks his head towards Peeta. "Are you moving in with him?"

"Yes," I whisper.

Gale scoffs again, a noise of pure disgust. "Jesus, Catnip, who the fuck are you?"

"Dinna talk to her like that," Peeta says sharply. "Ye dinna have the right to talk to her like that, no after what ye did to her."

Bringing up the Gale-and-Madge incident causes something to flare behind Gale's steely eyes, and abruptly his entire demeanor changes. I can see the genuine remorse and pain etched on his face. My sympathy rises swiftly and I swallow against the lump forming in my throat.

"Peeta," I say softly, twisting in his arms. "Can I have a few minutes with Gale, alone?"

Peeta purses his lips slightly, and he aims a look of warning at Gale as he says, "Of course, mo shíorghrá. I'll go over to Grams'. If ye need me, just give a knock, aye?" I nod. He lowers his mouth to capture my lips in a kiss that is undoubtedly meant to declare that I belong to him now. I'm breathing heavily by the time he releases me and kisses the tip of my nose. He murmurs something in Gaelic as Gale steps aside to allow Peeta to exit the apartment. He pauses in front of Mags's door, our eyes still connected. He mouths, "I love you," and raps his knuckles on the door once, announcing his presence, and then disappears inside his grandmother's apartment.

"What the fuck did he say to you?" Gale asks. I shrug, a half-smile lifting my lips.

"I don't know. I don't speak Gaelic. Not that anyone really does anymore." I remember something Peeta confessed to me in bed last week, when he had shouted some Gaelic phrase in the throes of our lovemaking and after, I had asked him how he had come to know the language. "Peeta's grandfather taught it to him so they'd have a special way to communicate. Peeta's the youngest of three brothers and he said…" I trail off, because the expression on Gale's face tells me that he doesn't give a shit about anything pertaining to my new boyfriend. I stop my babbling. An uncomfortable silence stretches between Gale and me. We merely stare at each other. I cough and bounce lightly on the balls of my bare feet. His eyes leave mine to roam around the apartment, taking in all the boxes. I would love to know what he's thinking when his gaze lands on that fucking couch.

"I can't believe you're moving to Scotland," he says quietly. "Madge told me you were moving out, but she didn't say you were leaving the damn country."

"I didn't plan on it," I reply. "It was just supposed to be a short trip, a chance for me to clear my head, to escape for a little while after…" I gesture weakly towards the couch. Gale nods and exhales heavily.

"I don't think you know how truly sorry I am, Catnip," he says, his voice full of defeat. "I fucked up. I know I did. I loved you. I still do. I'll probably always love you. And it kills me to see you with another guy, to see you looking at him the way you do. I wish just once you would have looked at me like that. Maybe then, things would have been different." Guilt bubbles up in me, and I know I need to offer him an apology as well.

"I'm sorry too. And I didn't know it at the time, but you actually did me a favor by sleeping with Madge."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he volleys.

I inhale a deep cleansing breath, and then, drawing on that conversation—the one Peeta and I had that day in the meadow when he first professed his love to me—I begin, "You were so good to me, Gale. First after everything my dad's heart attack. Then with the accident…my mom and Prim. You got me through a very, very dark time in my life, and I will always be grateful to you for that.

"But that's probably why we stayed together so long…I felt I owed it to you. I stayed with you because you were safe. Familiar. That was selfish of me. And it was wrong.

"And you were right about something else," I add quietly, a frisson of shame slithering through me as I recall Gale's accusation that I never showed him much affection.

"What's that?" Gale asks.

"I wasn't very fair to you when it came to the, uh, physical side of our relationship." I can't prevent my thoughts from wandering to Peeta and the incredible sex that we have. Before him, I had never considered myself a sexual person. The intimate connection that we've formed has awakened that side of me. And because of Peeta, I also now know how good it feels to be wanted.

I give Gale a sad, repentant smile. "We didn't work, Gale. There was never that spark between us. And while you definitely had better options than fucking my roommate behind my back, if Madge gave you something that I couldn't…well, I can't really fault you for wanting that. For wanting her."

Gale stares down at his feet for a long time. I take a step towards him and tentatively reach for his hand.

"I hope that you'll be half as happy with Madge as I am with Peeta," I say.

"He makes you happy?" Gale asks quietly.

"He does," I affirm. "I didn't count on falling in love with him as quickly as I did. That was the last thing on my mind when I got to Edinburgh. But I do. I love him."

Gale blows out a slow breath and scrubs his hand through his dark hair. He drops my hand, squares his shoulders, and turns. He approaches Mags's door in two long strides, and knocks. A moment later, Peeta opens the door. His gaze goes right over Gale's shoulder, directly to me, but Gale clears his throat and commands Peeta's attention.

Gale says, "Don't ever stop making her happy, or so help me God I'll be on the first plane to Scotland and I'll break your fucking neck. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's her."

I can tell Peeta is itching to say something in response to Gale's threat, but he merely nods and says, "Aye. Ye have my word."

Satisfied, Gale moves back towards me and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Bye, Catnip," he whispers. I watch him walk down the hallway. When he reaches the stairwell, I expect him to turn around for one last look, but he doesn't. The stairwell door slams shut, echoing through the empty hall.

Peeta pulls Mags's door closed and crosses to me, curving his palm along my cheek. "Ye okay, mo chridre? I dinna hear any yelling."

"That went as well as it could have, I suppose," I admit. I don't think, even without an ocean between us, that Gale and I would be double-dating with Peeta and Madge any time soon, but the past ten minutes have given me hope that perhaps someday our friendship can be repaired.

"Good." Peeta brushes his lips over the corner of my mouth. The sweet kiss sends an unexpected flurry of heat through me. He gently kisses the other corner of my mouth and backs me into the apartment.

Something dark and hot flashes into his blue eyes and he spins me around, pinning my body against the wall beside the door. His lips cover mine in a ravenous, needy kiss that I feel everywhere. My nerves light up, electricity pulsing through me. In one fluid motion Peeta has my shirt over my head and his fingers automatically find my bra's clasp. Deftly, he flicks it open and impatiently tugs the bra down my arms.

"Peeta!" I gasp.

"I dinna like seeing his lips on ye, no even just yer forehead. Ye're mine," he says fiercely. "Mine. Now. Always." His fingers bite into my waist and he yanks me flush against his body as his mouth descends on me. He rocks his hips into me, and I feel how hard and ready he is for me. I snake my hand down between us and palm him over his jeans. He growls into my mouth, and together, we unfasten his jeans and jerk them down his narrow hips. His cock springs forth into my waiting hand. I wrap my fingers around him, and when I wrest my lips away from his and start to kneel down, Peeta grips my shoulders and stops me.

"No, mo chridre. I need to be inside ye. I need to fuck ye, now." His thumbs hook inside the waistband of my yoga pants, tugging downward, and I kick the pants and my underwear aside. Our eyes meet, and I bite my lower lip in anticipation.

Peeta's hands cup my ass and his strong arms lift me up. Still gazing into my eyes, he takes his cock in his hand and rubs himself against my clit. I whimper at the contact.

"Always so wet fer me," he murmurs. He rears back and with a deep thrust, he pushes inside me. He stills for a moment, the cords in his neck tensing, and a look of utter bliss crosses his face. "Fuck me…I love the feel of ye on my cock. Hold on, mo shíorghrá. This is gonna be hard and fast."

He's not exaggerating. His thrusts are urgent and primal, each one deeper than the one before. My breasts jostle, repeatedly colliding with his chest. I loll my head back to rest against the wall, and look up at the ceiling and close my eyes. I moan his name, and he takes it as an invitation to skate his mouth up my neck.

"Look at me," he orders. As I lower my head, his shuttered gaze locks on me. "Say my name again. Say it fer me."

"Peeta," I say, breathlessly.

His left hand climbs my ribs and squeezes my breast. His hips rock frantically. "Aye. Just like that. Ye're mine, Katniss. Ye're mine."

"I'm yours," I echo. He kneads my breast harder, almost painfully so, but everything else feels so incredibly good that I concentrate on all the other sensations and the reverent way Peeta is staring at me.

I know he's close when he starts grinding his pelvis into me, trying to catch my clit at just the right angle so I can come with him. I swivel my hips and tighten my muscles around him. He groans loudly and his eyelids flutter, but he fights to keep them open, still staring at me.

"I love it when ye do that," he grits out. I grin and give his cock another deliberate squeeze. He grunts something in Gaelic and with one last deep thrust, I feel him stiffen and flood me with warmth, just as my own orgasm crashes through me. I cling to him, burying my face in his neck, until he nudges my chin up and catches my lips in a slow, intensely erotic kiss.

"I love ye, Katniss," he whispers. I rake my fingers through his tousled blond waves, and smile.

"I love you too." He returns the smile and leans down to rest his forehead against mine.

"Next time ye might want to make sure the door is all the way closed before ye go at it!" Peeta and I both turn towards the sounds of Mags' voice. Sure enough, the door remains partially open. We can't see Mags, but we hear her when she adds, "Now get yerselves dressed so I can come in. I have something fer Katniss."

"Shit," I whisper, feeling the heat creep onto my cheeks. Peeta grins.

"Dinna worry. Ye need no be embarrassed. Grams knows damn well that I canna keep my hands off ye. Why do ye think we're staying in a hotel and no with her whilst we are here?" He gives me another lingering kiss and finally pulls out of me. My legs wobble as they find purchase with the floor. Peeta collects our clothes and grabs some tissues for me to clean up. We both redress as quickly as we can.

"Come in, Grams," he calls.

I redden further at the knowing grin on Mags's face as she saunters into the apartment. She's got one of her hands behind her back, and she winks at Peeta as she extends her hand towards me. I gasp when I see what she's holding.

"You fixed it," I whisper, reaching for the vase. My fingers close around it and as I turn it over in my hands, I have to look very closely to see the fractured lines where the shards have been glued back together. It's almost as if it never shattered. I peer at Prim's inscription on the bottom, almost as if to convince myself that it's real. I trace one of the dandelions and sigh happily. "Thank you, Mags."

"I was waiting fer the right time to give it to ye," she replies. "But Peeta thought now might be the right time, since ye seem to be mending other things."

"Thank you, Peeta," I whisper, rising on my toes to kiss him fully.

"Ye're welcome, mo shíorghrá. But Grams did all the work."

"Aye." She laughs. "I told him he'd better be sure to buy ye flowers from time to time to fill that vase, that he should never let ye forget how much he loves and appreciates ye."

Peeta traces his thumb along my jaw. "And that's when I told Grams that I already know how lucky I am and how I'm going to spend the rest of my life spoiling ye." The inflection in his voice makes my stomach tighten deliciously.

Mags sighs. "It's been verra nice having ye two around. I wish ye could have stayed on fer a few more days."

"Ye could always come home to Edinburgh, Grams," Peeta suggests. His grandmother's eyes gleam wickedly.

"Maybe if someone gave me something to come home fer—perhaps a grandbairn to look after?" she hints.

Peeta's fingers curl around my waist and he hugs me against him. "A verra wise, verra beautiful lass told me we should take things one day at a time. There will be bairns, but no from us, not just yet. Ye did come close with Rye, though. Now, why dinna ye let Katniss and me go back to the hotel and clean up, and then we'll take ye out fer dinner."

Mags puts up a weak argument that she can just cook something, but Peeta insists that the least he can do is treat his grandmother to a nice meal, especially with all that she's done for us. He tells her to choose a restaurant and to be ready in an hour.

Forty-five minutes later, I lean my forehead against the shower wall, breathing hard, as Peeta's cock pulses inside me. "We should have told her two hours," I pant, between greedy gulps of air.

He laughs and lifts his head off my neck, nipping at my earlobe. "Trust me. She knows that there is a verra good chance that we will be late." He cups my breasts and urges me to straighten up. I feel his semi-erect cock slide out of me as he turns me around to face him, his mouth claiming mine in a lazy kiss. Then he shuts off the water and steps out of the bathtub. I wring out my hair while he hastily dries off and slings the towel around his lower body. He reaches for a second towel and motions for me to step onto the bath mat. As he begins to dab the towel along my legs, trailing his mouth in the towel's wake, he glances up me from under hooded eyes.

"So, mo chridre, are ye ready to go back to Edinburgh? Or do ye wish we were staying here a wee bit longer?" he asks as he gently cleans me between my legs, pressing more kisses to my inner thighs. He stands up and cocoons me in the towel.

I kiss his jaw and nuzzle my cheek against his neck. "I think I'm ready to go home."

His arms tighten around me and his lips brush my temple. "I'll never tire of hearing ye call our flat yer home." He pauses and his mouth twitches. "But if someone had, I dinna know, made arrangements to spend several days in New York City afore we head home—"

"Peeta!" I exclaim. "Really?"

He grins. "Aye. Really. I've always wanted to see New York, and there is no one I'd rather see it with."

"What about work?"

"A few more days willna hurt. Now that Rye is getting his act together, he can hold down things at The Hob, and I never have to worry about the pub."

As it turned out, Rye's ex delivered a healthy baby boy. Within a few days, a paternity test revealed Rye wasn't the baby's father. But Peeta says it was the scare Rye finally needed to grow up and start being more responsible with his life. It's been nice to see Peeta and his brother getting along. I hope that they both know how lucky they are to have each other.

"So, ye're okay with the idea?" Peeta presses.

"Definitely," I whisper, then I crush my mouth to his, sliding my tongue along the seam of his lips. His hands coast down my waist, but he draws back from the kiss. I frown at him. His blue eyes glitter beneath his wet eyelashes. His lips tip up in another coy smile.

"And if someone had to make a short stop in Paris afore returning to Scotland, to meet with an investor, would ye be okay with that?"

My mouth falls open in shock, and I find myself at a complete loss for words. Peeta laces our fingers together.

"I told ye I was going to spoil ye, mo shíorghrá. But if ye dinna want—" he begins playfully. I cut him off with a decisive press of my lips on his, kissing him long and hard. My towel starts to slip as our mouths duel, and Peeta eventually just tosses it aside. He draws my naked body flush against him, and I can feel his resurgent erection beneath his towel.

"I take that as an 'aye,' then?" he asks, when I break the seal of our mouths to catch my breath. I fan my hands across his chest, tracing my thumb along the lines of his pectoral muscles. Then I dip my head, taking the nub of his flat nipple between my teeth, and continue south, to nip at the taut planes of his abdominals.

"Oh, it's an 'aye.' Definitely." I grip the edge of his towel and give a yank. It falls away and I place my hands on his thighs, flicking my tongue out to tease the tip of his cock. He groans and fists his hands into my wet hair as my mouth engulfs him. He closes his eyes and braces one hand behind him on the counter. As I start to suck his cock, I cup his balls and gently squeeze them, and his hips thrust forward in enthusiastic approval of my ministrations.

"Oh, fuck…I love ye, Katniss. God, do I love ye…"

I swirl my tongue around his shaft and let him slip from my mouth for a moment. "I love you too. But you know now we're going to be very, very late for dinner."

He grins down at me, those blue eyes heavy with lust. "I think Grams will understand."

~*~An Deireadh~*~

(The End)

Thank you for reading! XOXO ~Court