by Melissa Blue
He smiled, the fight not draining out of him because they were going to fight, but the ache loosened from around his heart. “And then what did you decide to do?”
“Cut them up into little pieces.”
“Everything?” he asked.
“Everything you left. Including your tooth brush. Do you want to know why? Do you want to talk?”
Since her voice was raising above the raspy calm, he put Lexxie down. The dog plopped right on his foot. “Let me have it then.”
“You left, you goddamn bastard. Yes, bastard. We were dating and not in a way. You lived with me. We had fantastic sex. I wasn't just some lay to you. Don't lie to me. Don't you dare. You may know meaningless, but I know what more is like.”
“You do know that.” He kept his voice calm and knew how much madder it'd make her.
“I do,” she threw at him. “And when you have it and things break, you don't just leave a note. You don't act like you can't see me when I'm across the room. You look at me with longing, goddammit.”
“True.”
She huffed and paced faster. “Stop agreeing with me. I want to fight. An ugly, knock-down-drag-out fight. I want to fight like we fuck. Dirty and both of us need some bruises when we walk away from this. That's who we are.”
He shrugged, watching her get more riled up. After days of believing, weeks really, that Joce didn't care enough to fight with him, this was a beautiful sight. “Except when you're cooking for me.”
She waved her hand. “Yeah, that's beside the point, because I am never cooking for you again. You left me. You bastard.”
He stuffed his hands in his pocket. She wasn't done. Was just getting started if the flush on her face was any sign. He gave her extra fodder. “Aye. I am a dobber, but you stood in your bedroom after we did something incredible. Something that meant something out of bed and you fucking knew it. When I think on it now, I could see it as plain as day on your face, but I couldn't understand what it was before. And then—and then you gave me nothing but a cold shoulder. How dare you?”
She practically snarled at him, and he grinned. “What the hell are you smiling about? Yes, I—we—you were leaving me. How—why would I just rip my heart out and hand it to you just so you could stomp on it? Why?”
“Because when you love someone, you don't be daft. You let them know. Who gives a shite if they throw it back at you or walk away from you? You tell them. As fucking loudly as you can. Just so they know. That's living, Joce. Bucket list material. You walked away first and it hurt like a son of a bitch. My first. My real first. You're my bastard, Jocelyn.”
He let out a breath because his heart was galloping in his chest, and she'd gone silent. “I'm not here for my clothes. I don't give a shite about them. I could buy more, but I left them with you, hoping you'd call me a bugger. Do anything. Say anything to me, but you didn't. Why?
“Ach,” he said, the temper not feigned now. “Doesn't matter, because still you stand there not saying anything when you're wearing my fucking shirt.”
“What?” She stopped pacing and looked down. Cambridge stretched across her high and tight breasts. She gasped and covered the words with her hands as though that would do any good.
His heart softened even more. “Did you miss me? Is that why you're wearing it?”
She sighed and met his gaze, letting her arms drop down to her sides. “It still smelled like you.”
“And?” he pushed for her to question him.
She swallowed, licked her lips and finally asked, “Do you love me?”
“Aye.” She ducked her head and bit her lip.
Fucking Joce. “Did I go and make you cry?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss you now?”
She sniffed. “My dog won't let you move.”
“Food,” he said to Lexxie and she jumped up and toddled to the kitchen. He stepped forward and Jocelyn met him halfway.
God, he'd missed her. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her first before anything else could be said. Or before words even bothered to show up in his head. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she kissed him back just as hard.
He pulled away only enough to look at her for what felt like the first time. “No way can I be away this long again. I'd worked myself into a good temper. And I made you wait to hear me say I love you. That puts me in the wrong.”
“Ian?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He grinned at her. “I knew the moment I saw the shirt.”
She huffed again. “Well, pretend like you didn't and the words—”
He kissed her, hard. Again. And again. “I knew.”
And then he saw when she got it. “I get wallet space.”
“I get a tweed jacket. Got any single friends we can torture? I think that'll be our weekend fun.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I think we can come up with better ways to entertain ourselves. Never went out for drunken Karaoke. A tat. Was kind of busy. If you don't mind doing it all again. With me.”
“I like that sound of that.”
“Aye?”
“No 'r', my bonnie lass.”
She grinned. “Still don't know what that means, but I love the sound it.”
“We've got time.” She frowned and worried her lip. “Ask,” he said.
“But your business?”
“The whole goal was to get the contacts, get bigger and make a home base. Being the boss, I'm saying home is here. Because I can't be without you. If you don't want me, let me know now. I'm not the guy with words or flowers, but I will love you. If I have to leave, it's you I'm always going to come back to. And if I have to wait, I'll do it. For you.”
She shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “You don't have to wait. There's no end date for me. Not with you.”
“Aye?”
“If you miss me or I miss you, either of us can hop on a plane. Have phone sex, too. Never done that, by the way.”
“No?” he asked with interest.
She shook her head again and smiled. “Couples do anything and everything to make it work because it matters.” Her voice broke. “You matter to me, so much.”
At that, Ian kissed her again, deeply, because he could and he needed to. She was sweet and right. Perfection. And without a doubt, he knew she loved him. Smartly, and with his heart somewhere between his throat and chest, Ian considered himself one lucky bastard.
THE END
HER INSATIABLE SCOT
BLURB
Keri Pearson is currently between jobs, so there's nothing to lose when her cousin promises her a glowing recommendation from a top expert in their field in exchange for a small favor. All she has to do is lie about who she is and pretend to be married to a charming Scot for three hours. Her sexy-as-hell pretend husband makes it too easy to play the part of newlyweds. The last thing she should do is trust him or the genuineness of his lust or adoration, but his touch ignites an unexpected desire.
Tristan Baird turned his back on his past with plenty of regrets, but when his brother blackmails him, Tristan can’t say no. Given his brother saved his neck, an afternoon doing what he does best doesn’t seem like too much to ask. And it’s for a good cause. Doing the job right guarantees his brother and new wife will have the home of their dreams. But his stunning accomplice complicates the job. She is everything he always wanted and couldn’t have. The kind of woman who is too smart to ever trust a former conman.
The three-hour commitment stretches into five sexually charged days as they fight the explosive connection. As each day passes, Keri must remind herself what is true and what is false, but the lines are blurring. Tristan can only hope his past doesn't come back to ruin their future.
CHAPTER ONE
Tristan Baird glanced at his hand and hoped he'd have a different reaction this time. The simple gold wedding band gleamed in the soft spring sunlight. His chest tightened, and he had the sudden urge to chop off his ring finger.
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br /> Aye. The same reaction he had the first twenty times. If he wasn't waiting for his fake wife he'd have let his mind wander. Nothing but shite thoughts if the first one involved sawing off an appendage.
The purr of an engine dragged his mind and gaze to the parking lot's entrance. A cherry-red roadster pulled up beside him. The windows were tinted. His neck tingled. Likely his fake wife for the afternoon.
The things we do for family.
The car door opened, and that sour thought got drowned in a pool of lust. From a leg. An unbelievably skyscraper-high heel stepped out of the car. Yes, a woman was attached to it, but he needed a minute to take in the foot and shoe. Dainty wasn't a word he'd normally use, but it fit. He flexed the offending hand with the ring and imagined he'd likely shatter her arch if he were to ever get a good grasp of her ankle, or nip at her heel to see if she'd shudder and moan.
His gaze rose and stalled at the hint of thigh. Even the indentation of muscle looked tenuous, but there he could see her legs tightening around him, her hips a blur of curves as she slapped her arse back down on him. Those hips he'd have remembered from the wedding.
Then again he'd been smashed. His little brother had let a woman wrap him into knots, enough so he'd let himself get talked into marriage. A smile broke through Tristan's frown.
Just like the good old days when it was just him, Ian and their Da, they made their way through a bottle of Scotch. This one had been vintage and highbrow, but passable in the scheme of things. Much to his surprise, Ian's wife, Joce, had drunk a good lot herself. Probably didn't make much for a wedding night, or morning for that matter.
Yet Tristan would have remembered this woman through a fuzz of Scotch. He crossed his arms, leaned against the car and waited for the rest of her. Full breasts, sharp chin, plump lips, honey-brown skin and dark brown eyes.
Nothing about her jolted his memory other than she looked a little like Joce around the eyes and nose. Her bangs stopped at her ebony-shaded brows. The bob kissed her sharp jawline. If she'd been at the wedding and he couldn't remember her, then he'd chew a leather hat as penance.
“Tristan, I'm guessing,” she said and shut the car door.
Her husky voice made him straighten, but his eyes narrowed. She had tried to sound bored but nerves had filtered in. American through and through. If nothing else about her stuck with him, her voice definitely would have.
Curious, he dug in his pocket for the trinket he'd plucked out of his luggage before heading over to the hotel. “Nice to meet you. Keri?” At her nod, he added, “And I know this may sound forward, but here's your wedding ring.”
She snorted and put her hand out. “The shit we do for family.”
He chuckled, finally relaxing, but held on to the ring box. If he let himself think too hard about the bauble, he'd change his mind about handing it over. Maybe when he had picked up his gold wedding band from the pawn shop, he should have bought a different ring for her too.
He had this gem for a long while, tucked away, but not forgotten. Three large stones, a princess cut, and the ring was immaculate. The ring was supposed to mean... He grimaced. Now he was turning morose.
Glancing at Keri, he brushed aside the thoughts. Maybe the next few hours wouldn't be complete shite. “What'd you get bribed with?” he asked.
“First Jocelyn started with 'I wish you could have made it to the wedding.' Yeah, I told her last minute I had to work after sending my RSVP. I'm not good at dealing with people, but you'd think she'd have led with something else. She went for the jugular. No offense, but that husband of hers made her ruthless.”
Given he'd taught his brother all the ways to be cutthroat when he wanted what he wanted, Tristan let the dig pass. “And then?”
“She lulled me into complacency with small talk until I didn't feel guilty at all anymore. Then she hit me between the eyes. 'I need a huge favor. One so big I'll pay you.' By the end of the conversation I was going to get a damn good recommendation from Ian Baird because my cousin could vouch for my conservator work, especially the scientific research. How exactly could I say no? They are on their honeymoon. Who wants to go to a required class on their honeymoon? Hell, they're not even in the country.” She blinked as though surprised she'd let all those words loose into the world. “You?”
He owed his brother for keeping him out of jail. When Ian asked him to break a promise he'd made to himself, he'd agreed. He still felt conflicted about even being here and what he was asked to do, but Tristan had never evened the scales between himself and Ian. But he didn't suffer from the same problem with rambling. He dropped the box into her palm. “He's my brother.”
She clicked it open and her eyes widened. “This is fake, right?”
He raised a brow, surprised she couldn't tell. She apparently knew relics, antiques but not jewelry. Before showing up he'd braced himself for questions. Where did he get the ring? Who did it belong to? What happened to that relationship? Why would you give this to me? If he could avoid that sordid tale, he would. If all they were going to do was spend a few hours in each other's life, he didn't want to rip open a wound that would never fully heal.
“Aye.”
She gasped and then laughed. “You guys actually say that?”
Despite the dour mood wanting to descend, he laughed too. “Aye.” He infused more Scot into his tone.
She slipped on the ring. “My cousin was screwed from the word 'go.'” A frown started to crease her brows. “Are you sure this is fake? Feels real.”
The dress she wore caught on the breeze scented with the hint of ocean. There was a flash of her smooth brown legs until the wind died down. He could get behind California weather. No jewelry graced her wrists or neck and her earlobes were free of any holes. Now he frowned. He couldn't remember the last woman he'd ever met who didn't even wear earrings occasionally.
Since she wouldn't know the difference with the ring, that meant he wouldn't have to explain where he got it from—basically he could keep his past to himself. Tristan answered again with, “Aye.”
He notched his head to the hotel. They had quite a bit to go to get to the entrance. Only a little after three in the afternoon and the parking lot barely had any spaces left. The historical society association or whatever they called themselves required all applicants to take a course. It was their way to vet serious historical home owners. Ian and Joce couldn't make this convention and the next one wouldn't be for another year. If all these people were here for that class, then his brother and sister-in-law's insistence for him and Keri to show up made sense.
He dug in his other pocket and handed her the clip-on badge he'd found in the first drawer by the refrigerator in Joce's flat. Thanks to it and the registration papers no one would ask for their ID.
“Thanks.” She faced the hotel. “Okay. How are we going to pull this off?”
“I know enough about Scottish history and my brother's consulting business to fake any answers. Anything technical I'll punt to you.”
Her mouth pinched into a thin line. “We don't exactly look like Ian and Jocelyn.”
He shrugged. “Change blindness should cover the rest. The next time these folks take a gander at Mr. and Mrs. Baird, they'll barely recall I was taller and stockier. You must have changed your hair. Just avoid any pictures and the rest should be fine.”
She gave him a dubious glance. “You've heard of the change blindness theory?”
He didn't feel offense at the question. He didn't look the sort of man who trolled scientific journals or even YouTube videos. “Who hasn't?”
She waved her hand. “I was talking about the married thing. Two weeks and we should still be on our honeymoon. I met you three minutes ago. I don't think we can fake love and forever.”
Tristan thought on the problem for a split second. “I'll put my hand on your arse every five minutes and that should settle that.”
She blinked. “You're serious.”
He grinned at her. “As a heart attack.”
&nbs
p; She pursed her lips, inspected him from top to bottom. Her eyes darkened before she smiled back at him. “Okay.”
His grin slipped, because he'd been screwing with her. She didn't give him time to reply but walked forward. Her hips swayed, lifting the dress up midthigh with each step. He forgot about joking, because he wanted an excuse to put his hands on her arse every five minutes.
Shaking his head, he took three long strides to catch up. He hesitated for a moment and then grasped her hand. He ran a finger down the curve of her thumb—he couldn't help it. Her hand was just as dainty, feminine.
She stopped, whirling to face him. “What are you doing?”
“Molesting your hand.” He took a step forward, but she refused to move. “I would apologize, but you never know who is watching.”
Her gaze whipped around the parking lot. Fortunately for him folks milled about while others headed toward the entrance.
She pinned him with a stare. “You do look like an ass grabber. So, you caught me off guard with the hand holding.”
He tried to keep the laugh out of his voice. “We do have to sell this.”
She stepped into his space. Her leg brushed along the inside of his thigh. His cocked tightened. She placed a hand on his stomach. Heat burned in his chest and then she smiled up at him, a gleam in her eye. His heart thudded in anticipation. Oh, he didn't think she'd kiss him or anything that he'd love to happen, but he was curious to know how she'd react. If honest, he could admit he was testing her to see how much fun they could have.
“So”—she lowered her voice—“we have a deal, then? You grab my ass every five minutes and I'll...” She licked her lips, her lids growing heavy. “Touch something of yours.”
He wrapped his hand around hers and placed their joined hands on his chest. Her fingers had a slight tremble, but she kept her face devoid of any nervousness. She had one hell of a bluff. That turned him on more than anything else about her. Folks walked by them, looking away just as quickly from what appeared to be an intimate moment between a loving couple.
