“Why not?” Logan asked dumbly, his thoughts stuttering to a halt as he remembered how it felt to have his own hands there, tightening on her waist, his tongue in her mouth as his fingers learned the dips and swells of her body. Easy, mate.
“It doesn’t matter what kind of footage you got, you can’t use it. I’m not signing those papers.” She chucked a thumb at the clipboard in Janet’s hands. “I know how this works. Without my permission, you can’t post any of that great footage”—she made sassy little quotation marks with her fingers—“on your wee website.”
“Wee?” Janet puffed up like a bantam rooster. “Do you know how many millions of hits we get a month?” she asked, her body stiff with indignation. “And I’m talking unique visitors here, not spambot rubbish.”
If Janet had thought to console this girl by bragging about their stats, she’d missed the mark. Time to switch tactics again. “What I think Janet is trying to say is, we offer significant compensation. If you’ll look at the details of the agreement—”
“And what I’m trying to say is, I’m not interested.”
“But you haven’t even heard the terms of the offer.” Janet turned the clipboard toward the girl.
“I don’t care.” She shoved the clipboard back at Janet and turned her scowl on Logan. “For the last time. I. Am. Not. Interested.” With that, the lass spun on her toe, tossed her dark, delicious mane over a sassy shoulder, and stalked out of the room.
“I’d say someone knows how to make a dramatic exit,” his sister drawled.
“Ease off, Nettie. I’ll handle this.” He snatched the clipboard and headed for the door.
“She was looking for the library when I hooked her,” Janet called after him, and Logan nodded, the floorplan he’d studied while planning the prank unfolding in his mind.
“Don’t come back until she signs that waiver!” His sister’s voice followed him out to the hallway, echoing off the castle’s stone walls. “And don’t call me Nettie!”
Janet might drive him batty with her big sister bossiness, but Logan knew without her, he’d probably still be uploading his half-baked stunts to YouTube on the weekends. Sometimes, he wondered how his sister felt about putting her graphic arts degree to use as coproducer and web designer for his “wee sketch show,” but it had been Nettie’s idea in the first place to create the Shenanigans site.
If Da was still around, he’d probably have kicked both their arses to see his children wasting their education. Then again, if Da was still around, Logan probably never would have started Shenanigans at all. Metal bit into the skin of his palm as he tightened his grip on the clipboard. He wasn’t going to think about that now.
An American producer was debating between Shenanigans and another internet clip show for a new late-night talk show they were developing. Logan was thrilled with the success of Shenanigans, but this was his chance to do more, to be more. Not just a series of sketches viewed on the web, but an actual show on the telly—in the States—an international career. The producers had indicated they were inclined to sign him as the show’s host, but their sponsors would feel more comfortable if Logan first proved he could draw in better numbers from the vaunted female viewership.
All Logan needed was something to tip the odds in his favor. He’d found that something. If Nettie was right, this prank could be their ace in the hole. As much as his sister despised being called by her childhood nickname, it’d be nothing compared to her wrath if he didn’t track that girl down and get the bloody release papers signed.
Logan turned another corner and growled at the empty hall ahead. How fast could she move those curvy legs? He quickened his pace, determined to catch his winning hand before she escaped the castle—and him.
* * *
Cassie made her way around another corner before pausing to catch her breath. She hadn’t exactly raced through the castle halls, but she’d given her aunt Eleanor, Queen of the Minnesota Mall Walkers, a run—er, fast walk—for her money. She sneaked a peek back, but the hallway was deserted. There didn’t seem to be any tourists in this part of the castle. Exhaling heavily, she leaned against a door and reached for her phone.
And remembered it was still in Bonnie’s purse.
Shit.
Cassie risked another peek around the corner and groaned. Her luck was not improving. Mr. Sexy Scot was stalking down the hall toward her, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, save for that damn clipboard in his hand.
He could shove that clipboard up his kilted ass. She hadn’t spent the last three years of her life busting her own ass to prove herself, only to have one lusty little lapse in judgment destroy everything. She wanted to be taken seriously, respected. And that wasn’t going to happen if a video of her swapping spit with Scottie the Hottie became the latest internet clickbait.
She knew better than most how one wrong move on social media could spiral out of control. After all, as Chicago’s morning pop-culture princess, she covered such stories on a regular basis. That was how she’d recognized Logan fucking Reid in the first place.
It had been an interview on ChiChat with a local rapper promoting his latest album. While on tour in the UK, he’d made an appearance on Shenanigans. The prank went down in a pet store with her kilted Highlander playing the role of a clumsy employee who’d “accidentally” left a cage open. Leading to an encounter with a snake, and the rapper freaking out and screaming hysterically.
At first, Cassie had found the clip amusing too, but midway through her interview, the rapper broke down, crying about how mean people could be—not exactly good for the tough-as-nails image he was cultivating—and blaming the whole situation on “Logan fucking Reid.” As the interview with the rapper spiraled, Cassie had pressed for details, and he explained he’d signed off on appearing in the show without realizing how the prank would impact his image. It was all “Logan fucking Reid’s fault.” That, she remembered clearly. He’d repeated the phrase often, keeping the show’s engineers busy in the sound booth with the edit button. Thank goodness for broadcast’s seven-second profanity delay.
Screw the speed walking. Cassie picked up the pace. She could use a seven-second delay now, she’d barely had a seven-second head start. The rapper may have been foolish enough to sign off on appearing in one of Logan fucking Reid’s videos, but she refused to make the same mistake. On the verge of finally being taken seriously as a broadcast journalist, she wasn’t going to let anything—or anyone—ruin her credibility.
Flying around the next corner, she was relieved to see this corridor filled with tourists lingering in small groups. Even better, up ahead, near the entrance to the great hall, stood Santa and Bulldog. “Hey!” she called out, dodging clusters of people and charging toward them.
Bulldog tapped his wrist and shook his head, jowls quivering. “No reentries allowed.”
“Oh!” Cassie glanced at her plastic bracelet. “Um, no, I don’t want to get back in to the tasting room.”
“Poor lass.” Santa’s fuzzy white mustache twitched beneath his cherry nose. “I wager the whisky was more potent than you’d expected, aye?”
“Ah, you could say that.” Cassie’s insides heated, thinking of a certain Scot, whose kiss was way more potent than she’d expected—a certain Scot who was currently on her tail. “Um, look, my friends went to the library. Can you tell me which way that is?”
Bulldog turned to point the way, but a shout from the corridor made him pause. He glanced behind Cassie, bushy brows crawling up his forehead and blending into his hairline.
Cassie groaned, knowing exactly what he was looking at—who he was looking at. She could make a break for it, but she’d probably end up with more men chasing after her, which did not promise to be as fun as it sounded. She swiveled and watched Logan fucking Reid march toward them.
The few tourists loitering in the hall scurried out of his path, gawking after him as he passed. Not that Cassie blamed them. She’d stare too. His broad shoulders took up more than t
heir fair share of space, and his messy, ginger mane glowed like burnished copper under the recessed lights.
And then of course, there was that damn kilt.
“Logan Reid. We meet again.” Did she sound cool? She hoped she sounded cool.
Logan stepped closer to her. “Can we talk for a moment?”
“Isn’t that what we were just doing?” Cassie didn’t want to talk to him, and she sure as hell didn’t want to look at him. She avoided his eyes, avoided his smile, avoided his face altogether. She trained her gaze straight ahead but decided that was no good either. Their difference in height meant her line of sight landed a smidge north of pec-land. His puffy pirate shirt was loose and open at the collar, revealing the strong lines of his neck and the masculine thrust of his Adam’s apple.
She watched that apple bob as he asked, “I was hoping you’d be interested in going out for a drink.”
Rather than interrupting her thoughts, his invitation invaded them, her mind filling with images of pouring a shot of whisky in the tempting hollow at the base of his throat and lapping it up.
“On me,” he added, a knowing smirk in his voice.
Oh God, am I that obvious? Her gaze snapped back up to meet his. “I’ve had enough for one day, thank you.”
“You know,” he began, and this time his smile wasn’t the confident frat-boy smile, but a gentler curve of lips and cheek that Cassie, to her great frustration, found irresistible, “I just realized I don’t even know your name.”
“There you are, Cassie!”
Cassie stiffened at the sound of Bonnie’s and Delaney’s voices carrying across the hall. She froze, pretending not to hear her friends call her name again, closer this time. Was it too late to play dumb?
“So,” Logan murmured, his wicked brows curved in a mocking question, “Cassie, is it?”
Yep, definitely too late.
Delaney strode forward, shaking her finger. “Cassie Crow, I am going to kill you. Where the hell have you b—” Delaney swallowed the rest of her sentence as she took in the scene in front of her.
“Cassie Crow,” Logan drawled, gleeful triumph expanding the vowels in her name, the gold shards in his green eyes glittering.
He’d dropped the ridiculous accent, but the brogue was still there, softer than his thick trills from earlier. Still, the way he faintly rolled the r in her last name was enough to make all sorts of things quiver inside her. She smiled weakly.
Her legs much shorter than Delaney’s, Bonnie finally caught up. “Oooh,” she breathed, grabbing Cassie’s arm for support as her wide blue eyes snagged on Logan’s kilt. “Oh my.”
“Deep breaths, kiddo.” Delaney fanned Bonnie with a hand while giving Logan the once-over, from leather boots to copper crown. “What’s your story? Do you come with the castle or something?”
At least Cassie hadn’t been the only one to assume he was part of a tour. The thought made her feel a little better, a little less foolish … but only a little.
“I don’t remember seeing anything about this—about him—in the brochure.” Bonnie’s eyebrows furrowed, and Cassie knew her friend was mentally reviewing the castle guidebook.
“Me neither.” Delaney grinned. “If I had, you can bet I would have suggested we start with him rather than the booze.”
“Ah, the whisky tasting?” Logan’s question was full of congenial understanding.
As if he knew all about her friends. As if he had a right to be so familiar. Cassie glared at him.
He ignored her. “I was just asking Miss Crow here if she’d meet me for a drink this evening.”
“And I was just telling him no.” She turned toward her friends. “Come on, we better get moving or we’ll miss the bus.”
“Our hotel is just down the street,” Delaney pointed out. “We can walk back.”
Not helping. “Yeah, but what about our lunch reservation?”
“We still have twenty minutes,” Bonnie said automatically. Cassie wished, just this once, her best bud didn’t have the ability to recall every detail of their itinerary with such swift efficiency.
“See, Cass,” Delaney agreed, blinking with the wide-eyed innocence of one of her rugrats. “What’s your rush?”
“I’m afraid it’s me that has her in a hurry,” Logan apologized, appearing remarkably contrite. “She kissed me and then ran away from me.” He heaved a sigh, so dramatically forlorn that for a moment even Cassie felt sorry for him. “And what was a besotted fool like me to do but chase after my heart?”
“You kissed him?” Delaney looked impressed.
“No!” Cassie shook her head. “I mean, yes, I kissed him, but that’s not why I ran away.” She glanced around. Their little party was starting to gather quite an audience. “Look”—she gritted her teeth and lowered her voice—“I’ll tell you about it later. Can we just get out of here?”
Logan clasped the clipboard to his chest with one hand and reached out to her with the other. “And wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”
Bonnie clutched Cassie’s arm and squeezed. “Shakespeare, Cass. He’s quoting Shakespeare!” Good thing her best friend had an on-the-brink-of-setting-a-date fiancé back home, otherwise Cassie was pretty sure Bonnie would have climbed Logan like a tree and made him her personal Scottish jungle gym.
Even Delaney was eyeing the man like he was a particularly yummy piece of cake. And Delaney loved cake. With both her friends devouring the eye candy on display, Cassie decided to play along for a moment. She clasped a hand to her own chest, copying Logan’s melodramatic pose. “What satisfaction dost thou wish tonight?”
When Bonnie’s eyes almost popped out of her head, Cassie shrugged defensively. “What? I lived through your Romeo and Juliet phase, remember?” She turned back to Logan. “And don’t say the exchange of thou love’s vows for mine, or some such shit,” she warned.
Bonnie gasped in outrage, and Delaney snorted. Her friends were not being very helpful.
“Nay, lass,” Logan said. He’d upped the brogue again. Bastard wasn’t going to play fair. “All I ask is to bide a’while in your company.”
His overblown accent was absurd. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any less effective. “Can the blarney, bud.”
“As you wish.” He looked straight at her, green-gold eyes intense, a hint of the bad-boy grin crooking his mouth. “Have a drink with me tonight.”
Free of the outlandishly thick brogue, his husky voice was dark and smoky. She hadn’t thought it possible, but he’d managed to turn the charm factor up another notch. The man was one hundred proof. If he got any more potent, he’d be lethal.
“Please,” he purred.
Yep. Lethal.
“Go for it, Cass.” Delaney didn’t even bother to whisper.
Cassie was tempted. Oh, how she was tempted. That kiss, foolish as it had been, had lived up to all her fantasies, and then some. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Absolutely.” Even toned down, the subdued lilt of his brogue tumbled over the sounds and syllables on his tongue, making that one simple word sound downright seductive.
“If I agree, that”—she pointed at the clipboard in his hand—“doesn’t come with us.”
He glanced down and appeared to debate it for a moment. Cassie’s heart dropped. She knew it. The man wasn’t really interested in her, just her signature. She sighed. “Never mind.” Cassie turned her back on him and faced her friends. “Let’s go, girls,” she said, urging them to start walking. “We still haven’t seen the gift shop.”
“Deal.” Logan’s response carried across the hall.
Cassie heard him, but kept moving. Bonnie tugged on her elbow. “Come on. Give him a chance, Cass.”
Delaney tugged on Cassie’s other elbow. “Yeah. We both know you’re not going to find a better souvenir than that”—she tilted her head, ponytail flicking in the direction of the kilted slab of sexy Scot waiting behind them—“in the gift shop.”
At the mention of souvenirs, Cassie
fiddled with her bracelet. The condom box was waiting, still unopened, in her suitcase. But even for the sole purpose of fulfilling the fantasy fling she’d been dreaming about forever, getting involved with Logan fucking Reid, the man who made a tough-guy rapper cry from embarrassment, was a bad idea. A terrible idea. All risk and no reward.
The memory of his hands reflexively gripping her hips and pulling her closer flashed through her. Okay, fine, some reward …
Cassie turned back and looked at Logan. Eyes never leaving her face, he yanked the papers from the clipboard and crumpled them in his fist. She’d had have liked it better if he’d ripped the form to shreds, but she supposed the message was the same.
She glanced at her friends. They stood on either side of her, the proverbial devil and angel on her shoulders—except in this case good and evil adamantly agreed with each other, chins nodding in tandem like a pair of demented bobbleheads.
“What the hell,” Cassie said, pursing her lips to fight off the grin threatening to break across her face. She raised her gaze to meet Logan’s. “One drink.”
CHAPTER 3
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, after lunch with the tour group and a leisurely stroll along the Royal Mile back to their hotel in downtown Edinburgh, Cassie sorted through her outfits, examining and discarding various pieces of clothing. “How about this one?”
Delaney glanced up from the travel guide she was reading and shook her head. “Nope. Not sexy enough.”
“Who said I was going for sexy?” Cassie countered, but tossed the clothes aside. She was meeting a hot Scot for a drink. Damn right she wanted to look sexy.
“I can’t believe you kissed him.” Bonnie was lying on her stomach, feet propped on the pillows of her bed, staring dreamily out their hotel room window, where the castle they’d visited this morning hovered on the hillside, stone walls glowing in the late afternoon sun.
Sprawled across a leather armchair, Delaney twirled a finger in her ponytail. “I can. That man was f-i-n-e fine.”
Getting Hot with the Scot--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 3
