Her Insatiable Scot

by Melissa Blue

  COPYRIGHT

  Her Insatiable Scot by Melissa Blue

  Copyright 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product

  of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual

  persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

  whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief

  quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Melissa Blue

  Self-Published Edition 2014

  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.

  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.”

  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 the way he just had into hers. 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.

  But now Tristan knew he’d get as far as she’d let him go. Headstrong but adventurous? He could have fun with that.

  Finally, he said, “Sounds like a deal.”

  She laughed, the husky sound spilling over him. “The next few hours are going to be fun, but just to be clear, if you do grab my ass, I’ll break your hand.”

  “Auch,” he scoffed. “Woman, it was a joke.”

  “That’s not what your eyes said.”

  He met and held her gaze “Probably not. You’re an attractive woman, but that’s beside the point. Due to bribery and blackmail, we’re spending an afternoon together listening to someone blather on about preservation of a historical home, of all dull subjects. I’d rather someone wax my nads. If flirting with you would make this afternoon less shite, then I’m all for it.”

  “You flirt with your hands?”

  He liked her. Really, he did. “There’s another way?” Since she hadn’t moved, he pressed his free hand to her waist, bringing her flush against him.

  To his surprise, she looked flustered for a second. “Tristan, my cousin warned me about you. I thought she was full of it.”

  He smiled again, loosening his hold on her only slightly. “I’m sure my brother gave her the rundown, and then she met me at the wedding.”

  She put both hands on his chest and pushed him back, breaking all physical contact they had. “Either way, strictly hand holding.”

  “I swear on my honor.” Tristan didn’t add he didn’t have any, but her brow lift negated the need to say it.

  She put out her hand. “Let’s try this again and see how long before you try for more.”

  He wrapped his fingers around hers. Her palm was warm and slightly damp. Once again her reaction conflicted with her words and demeanor. Interesting. He’d conned a lot of people in his lifetime. A lot of women. He rolled his shoulders to shift the weight of wrongs.

  This woman puzzled him, though. His brother had been clear that this foray into his life would be quick and required very little. In short, Tristan couldn’t fuck up. He’d pretend to be his brother for a few hours. Play nice with Jocelyn’s cousin and not let the door hit him in the arse on his way back out of Ian’s life.

  He owed his brother that much, but as he looked at the woman beside him, other ideas started to take hold. Not like his brother would be surprised that they had, but it was a few hours at the most. Not much could happen…so he’d try to have all the fun he could.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Keri Pearson’s heart refused to settle as Tristan’s leg brushed hers. He walked with ease beside her into the hotel’s lounge. Way more than a handful of people wore the same kind of badge she and Tristan had pinned to their chests. The hotel looked like the run-of-the-mill location for a convention. Big, roomy, but with a sameness you’d find with any upscale but affordable place.

  There was the hotel’s registration desk to their right. A bar to her left that couldn’t possibly hold all the people going to and fro. They had a theme she couldn’t exactly place, because trendy and fashion wasn’t her forte. It looked…modern? No homages to any particular time she could recognize based solely on fashion choices.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  Should she say something else? She swallowed and th
e dryness in her throat felt painful. Well, when she had something of importance to impart she’d talk. She dared to glance at the man beside her who looked at home.

  He wore a simple dress shirt and slacks. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, but his fierce expression made her think he could wear the same exact clothes in a boardroom and no one would question his authority. He simply looked capable. His palms scratched against hers and that told her he worked enough with his hands to grow calluses. His eyes held more gray than blue. Nothing about his appearance told her he was a flirt and probably a borderline pervert. He looked like a man who’d tell you what you needed to do and you’d do it because he’d spoken the words.

  He let go of her hand and let his fingers grip her waist. Her shoulders inched up. The hold told any man walking by who she belonged to. She’d done enough studies to know that the gesture fit for a newlywed couple, especially a male with alpha tendencies.

  Humans may have stood upright eons ago, parading their superiority with their opposable thumbs, but they couldn’t shed even the simplest primitive urges. People recognized it on the same subconscious level. They’d look married or at least in a close and sexually heated relationship, and that was their goal.

  The problem had everything to do with her brain getting those same caveman signals and taking them way too seriously. This was pretend. The ring that weighted her third digit looked and felt real. He’d told her no, but cosmetic jewelry didn’t have the same density. She’d have to wait until he wasn’t paying attention to bite into what she suspected was a diamond. Three very large ones that she couldn’t afford to lose, because her children’s children would still be paying off the debt.

  Why couldn’t she stop thinking? This was her problem. Maybe if she could, she could find something of importance to say.

  His hand lowered, not quite cupping her ass, but close enough. Her nipples pressed against the satin summer dress she’d donned to look more like her cousin. Keri had never seen Jocelyn wear baggy pants, Crocs and a loose shirt. Unfortunately that was all Keri seemed to wear. Her cousin was effortlessly feminine. She wore heels and dresses. Even when she’d worn pants they hugged luscious curves men drooled over.