by Melissa Blue
Callan gave in and pressed his forehead against the cool wood. She’d run again this morning and looked right at home on the moors. Her black jumper was such a contrast to the green surrounding her. The tights had cupped the rounded curve of her arse. All he’d wanted was one taste of her.
No. That was a lie. He wanted to be the reason she panted. He yearned to hear just how husky her voice could get. He longed for the sound of their skin slapping together, making the delicious song of a good, dirty fuck. That and that alone is why he’d refused her offer of driving up to Papa Baird’s together.
He balled a fist against the door and wanted to ram it straight through. His anger at the situation was misplaced, but wanting her despite the consequences dug into him. He unfurled his fingers and wiped his mouth, which had gone dry just knowing how close she was.
Her steps echoed up the stone stairs. The noise of Glasgow almost ate the sound. Reject the temptation. Think about Ian kicking your arse. Think about anything but the way his shoulders bunched with anticipation.
Callan faced her. Being prepared to see her didn’t make his heart jump any less. She hadn’t bothered with a skirt suit today. She was dressed-down, fresh-faced and still he wanted her.
Fuck.
She smiled at him while he fought a mindless growl building in the back of his throat. It took three seconds but he finally won the inner battle.
“You look like sunshine this morning.” Well, he hadn’t curtailed all the growl. It was right there in his tone. So he leaned against the door to keep from grabbing her.
She stopped on the step below him, her gaze had turned wary as it should have. “You look calculating. That’s good, because I’ve been thinking.”
The woman had no respect for beating around the bush. Nothing but pleasure filled him at the knowledge she was a logical beast. “Aye?”
“You never said how old the Baird was?”
“The Baird?” He laughed because the designation sort of fit. Between his father, Tavin—who he rarely saw or talked to—and Douglass, the latter would definitely be the chieftain of the Bairds. “He’s fifty-seven.”
“Not that old.” She pinned him with a stare. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
“He can be a handful.” He hesitated, because that was an understatement. It’s why he’d told her so little. “You can’t back out now. You gave me your word.”
She waved her hand at the accusation. “Wasn’t trying. I just want to know what I’m walking into.”
Though he admired her straight-to-the-point personality, the woman needed to learn how to savor every moment. “Is this the point of the conversation where I stroke your ego?”
“If you’d like to.”
She probably didn’t mean for the words to sound sexual but they brushed along his spine anyway. “Don’t tempt me, Burke.”
Her eyes widened when she made the connection. “Not what I meant.”
“I know and my sentiment remains the same.”
She climbed the last step and they were only three feet apart. “You watched me again this morning.”
He’d never admit how determined he’d been just to see her run in her tights. “I like to take my coffee outside and greet the day.”
She met his words with a skeptical gaze. “You don’t strike me as a morning person.”
Like the day before when they went head-to-head over antiques, Callan fought the need to smile. “I greet the day by growling at it. We all have our own rituals.”
She tilted her head back and laughed. He bit into his lip to keep from running his tongue down her slender throat. Her laughter died down when she caught his expression. “Maybe we should go in.”
“Smart suggestion. One we should both listen to.” He crossed his arms. “Why’d you agree to this? You could have called Ian and let him know my terms.”
“I could have, but I didn’t.” A mixture of amusement and irritation filled her tone. “My reasons are a non-issue.”
Callan settled into his space and waited. Yesterday he’d learned a few things about the woman—the top being she couldn’t abide silence. One-by-one he could practically see her muscles bunching up as the quiet ticked by.
Victoria sighed and gave him an I-know-what-you’re-doing glare, but she caved like he knew she would. “Consultants tend to ask for anything that isn’t nailed down.”
He shook his head before she finished the explanation. She was good at prettying up her answers to make them sound professional and logical.
“You’re hungry for success,” he said. “If I asked you to bring me coffee from town every morning, you’d have agreed instead of telling me to go fuck myself. That’s determined. You don’t get that way from wanting to succeed but from needing to. I’m curious about what makes you tick.”
“Does it matter?” She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “You’re getting what you want in the end.”
He grunted as a tang of bitterness filled his mouth. “You being here isn’t what I want, lass. Need, aye. Don’t confuse the two things.”
She licked her bottom lip. Shame and guilt sapped all the amusement from her eyes. “I made a mistake, and I have to prove myself. Good enough?”
“I’ll take it.” He pushed off the door, restless at her answer and his need to know more. Now would be the perfect time to head inside and let go of all the things that intrigued him about her. Victoria started to tense up again in the silence and the shame continued to darkened her brown eyes.
Sweet Mary. He needed a knock to the head sometimes. “But now I’m going to wonder what you did. Got pissed at work and hit on your boss. Slapped your nosy coworker. No.” He tutted. A woman like Victoria wasn’t defensive because she wanted to be; she was defensive because she’d learned to be. “A man.”
She blinked, and he knew he hit the mark. He nodded. “Your masochistic tendencies make sense now. You must hate all men, but you just can’t help yourself when around them.”
“What do you know about S&M?”
“Enough to know it’s not my kink, but I’m willing to be curious with you.”
“Really. It’s a miracle.” Her face flushed with anger.
He took the obvious bait to get to the answers he wanted. “What’s a miracle, lass?”
“No woman has punched you in the throat yet.”
Callan caught the laugh in time but he had to break their gaze until the need passed. When it had, he stepped forward. “Most women are too busy wondering how big my cock is.” He talked over her shocked gasp. “So this man who fucked you over…”
“You are—” She just sputtered for a second. “He didn’t. I did it to myself.”
“Auch.” He hated the way shame had filtered into her voice again. “What a prick. I would never let you do that to yourself.”
An expression filled with exasperation crossed her face but she said, “Unless I ask because you’re polite like that.”
She’d caught on to him being an arse and was teasing him back. He liked her more for it. “Who made the actual mistake?”
She crossed her arms over her stomach. “You’re not going to let this go?”
Listening to her voice fluctuate through almost every emotion was riveting. They washed over him and staved off the cold. “I’m curious now.”
She sighed. “We were in a relationship.”
His shoulders tightened. “Colleague or a boss?”
“My boss,” she said in a very matter-of-fact way. “It was a small business, but well-respected. Anyway, he needed me to sign off on something. I hadn’t seen it, but I trusted him so I did. Turns out the item was an impressive forgery.”
Understanding settled into him down to his bones. He narrowed his gaze. “He blamed you. Awright. A prick.”
“Yeah.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “He threw me under the bus, but I made that mistake.”
He frowned. “You didn’t make one.”
“I trusted him. I believed he’d take care of me
if the shit ever hit the fan. He didn’t. I chose him. I loved him so that’s on me.” She shrugged.
Her every action made sense now. She threw up boundaries because of his cousin’s rules. That was logical and admirable. But if Ian said she could fuck Callan six ways to Sunday, she’d find another excuse to say no.
The problem now was it felt like a challenge to be the one she’d risk the consequences for, to be the one she trusted. A woman like Victoria didn’t break, but she’d bend and it would be a thing of beauty.
A rush of need strummed through him. He preferred ordinary women. Digging into her motives and inspecting her make-up made it clear Victoria would be anything but…They should go inside and end this.
He took another step, dropping his hands at his sides.
She held her ground, lifting her chin. “More questions?”
He balled his hands to keep from brushing his knuckles across her stubborn chin. “Know now I’d never ask you to risk your integrity.”
“Ask, no.” Her breathing quickened. “Demand, probably. Sex with you would be—”
“Would be complicated. I’m not asking you to sign off on forgeries. I’m not asking for anything, to be honest.”
“Someone told me recently there are always strings attached when dealing with a Baird.”
He wished he could like her less for throwing his words back at him. Callan inhaled and let his attention wander away from her intense stare. The sky had darkened and that promised a harder rain than a drizzle. Normally, he’d have welcomed it, but not when the soft sunlight almost turned her eyes amber.
This entire situation would be better if he could just not like her. “I’d break your heart before I’d ask you to give your everything to me. Your work is your everything. That much is obvious. The truth is, I don’t want to want you.”
Surprised lifted her brows for a second. She jerked her hands from her pockets and motioned between them. “I’ve noticed you keep getting closer despite that.”
He blanked his expression. “I don’t want you to wonder about size.”
She glanced down and scoffed. “About four inches between us. After all your big talk, I expected to find out why Scottish men wear kilts. Can’t fit it all in pants, can they?”
Amazed that she could make him blush, all he could do was shake his head. “You are a Scot at heart. You dirty-mouthed lass.”
“Bollocks.” Her dimple deepened.
Instinct propelled his movements, just bypassed his brain and signaled his body. He grabbed her and dragged her up against him, to his mouth. Claim her. Even before he’d known the true taste of grief—bitter and unyielding, unending—he’d never wanted to make a woman his, but Victoria…
Callan wanted to taste what made her different, let it sink into his bones and make a home. He wanted to lay claim to that part of her and do with it what he willed. He teetered on the edge of taking her on his uncle’s porch. Kissing her was giving in to the need that rushed through his veins.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank into his embrace with a moan. At her submission, Callan lost what was left of his common sense. He turned, pushed her against the door and let the need take over. He cupped one full cheek of her arse and pressed her against his cock. There. She could feel every inch. He almost smiled at her gasp, but he was too busy laying claim to her mouth until she opened for him, and then he drank in the taste of her sweet, mysterious and addictive bouquet.
She kissed him back in the same frenzied way his heart pounded. Hunger pitted in his gut and the only thing that would sate it was her naked in his bed. Her coming on his dick. Victoria wet and warm and bare.
He grazed his teeth over her full bottom lip and was rewarded with a half moan, half curse. Sweet Mary. He ached to have her right there against the door but a laugh built in his sternum. He nipped the corner of her mouth and lavished her with soft sucks on her tongue just to hear her curse again. Cute as a fucking pixie but with a mouth of a Scot. Aye. He wanted to lay claim.
Grinding his cock into that warm and likely wet space between her legs, he pounded in the point he wanted to make. He hadn’t had four inches since before puberty hit. “I like the way you moan, Burke.”
“You growl,” she accused but sounded aroused.
Callan let loose the laugh because he couldn’t fight it anymore. He released her and she slid down him. A hiss whispered between his lips as her stomach brushed along his dick.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, lass.”
She licked her swollen lips. “I’m still not sleeping with you.”
“You will,” he promised.
“No.” She pressed her shoulders into the door and glared at him with defiance. “If I’m sleeping with you, how is my integrity not being called into question? I have to vet your work. I have to make sure you don’t turn a $3,000 antique into a $20 table.”
It would have been easy to deny the truth of her words. Unfortunately he saw her point. He’d met many in his field who screwed up more than they fixed. His craft was just that, a craft. With her past she couldn’t blindly trust him. Didn’t stop irritation from taking hold, but he understood.
He also refused to ignore the truth. “You’ll be in my bed. Mark my words.”
“Saying I’ll never be in your bed would be a challenge to you. You’d go after me with a mindless intent just to spite me. So I’ll just say I don’t need to be there.”
Anything else she could have said would have been exactly that, a challenge, but those words undercut him. He dropped his hands away from her lush form and gave her the room she quietly demanded. He played the part of Neanderthal but wasn’t actually one.
But he couldn’t leave it at that. He’d opened his mouth to tell her exactly the choices she had and what she was missing, when the door opened. He grabbed her to make sure she wouldn’t fall. Douglass Baird scowled at him and then noticed the company.
“Finally,” Douglass boomed. “If I wanted to be celibate, I’d have become a priest.”
Callan shook his head. “Too many nuns to corrupt. Douglass, this is Victoria. She’s to be your…caregiver for the next two months.” He added but knew the warning would go unheeded, “Behave.”
Douglass grinned, his blue-gray eyes lighted. “What a pleasure to meet you, lassie.”
The older man took her offered hand and kissed the knuckles. Victoria’s eyes widened in shock at the brazen act.
Auch. So it began.
CHAPTER SIX
At first Victoria thought the Baird was putting on the incorrigible Scot act to snow the tourist. His words whipped by with an accent so thick she couldn’t cut it with a chainsaw. The Baird even called Callan “laddie.”
After thirty minutes, she realized he was every inch the Scot. He was the kind they sat in front of a castle to weave tall tales of Highlanders fighting against the English with nothing more than a dirk and a kilt.
And wasn’t she a pretty Yank.
The old man was a problem. More silver than gray, his hair fell in soft waves around the crown of his head. The neatly trimmed beard only accented his full lips. Ian inherited those beautiful gray-blue irises from his father, and Tristan had gotten his charm. And currently Baird was doing his damndest to use that charm to talk his way out of cleaning.
