Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  Why did he have to be such a shameless flirt? It wasn’t as if it made her feel particularly attractive. Everyone knew that Torran Maloney would fuck anything if it were pretty enough. The last time Savannah checked, she wasn’t a Prima Ballerina or a Supermodel. Atop that, she worked for him, and she had already told him off for trying to seduce her at their first meeting. No, sir, her lips weren’t going anywhere near Torran. Not if she could help it. “Do you want to stay and watch the rest of the show?”

  “Hell, no.” Torran countered her question almost immediately. “I’m fucking starving. Let’s get some food.”

  Sighing, Savannah merely shook her head. She had never known, before Torran, just how much one person could eat. Of course, in his case, he needed every calorie he could get. When someone worked out as much as he did, it was a struggle to maintain weight; and Torran’s weight was very important. “I’ll have a car come and pick you up. You can get something on the way home.”

  “Screw that, let’s go out.” What was it with this man? He could never ask. He always had to demand. It was infuriating. “Didn’t I do a good job? Don’t you want to celebrate?”

  Part of her had to admit that he had a point. He had done a good job. But when Torran was involved, celebrating usually meant drinking, and she’d promised herself that she would avoid being alone with him as much as possible. Drinking was another danger altogether. She couldn’t hold her liquor to save her life. It was the Jones family weakness.

  “It’s late,” she tried, rubbing her tired eyes. “And I have to be up early tomorrow-”

  “You said you would have a drink after. If I have to keep my word, so do you.”

  Damn him. This man could play stupid all he wanted, but when push came to shove, he knew how to back her into a corner. Blowing out a breath, Savannah forced herself to meet his triumphant gaze. “Fine. But I’m not getting hammered.”

  “Says you.”

  Before she could protest, he was ushering her out past all the hungry media and into the waiting car. It was almost, Savannah realized, as if having a new publicist had revitalized the public’s interest in him. He’d gone from being able to walk in the streets to being chased wherever he went in the space of two short weeks; she liked to think that meant that she was doing her job properly.

  “So where are we going?” She asked him warily.

  Torran chuckled darkly. “It’s a surprise.” That couldn’t be good. Somehow, Savannah sensed she wouldn’t be the biggest fan of Torran’s surprises.

  To her shock, however, he actually picked a classy bistro off Fifth Avenue that she’d passed several times, but never entered. As it was a Friday night, the place was packed, but after taking a single look at Torran’s imposing figure, the hostess quickly showed them to a table in the back corner.

  “I need a Jameson on the rocks, please. And something fruity for the lady.” At his suggestion, Savannah merely rolled her eyes.

  “Gin and tonic, actually.”

  “Oh really?” The immense man arched a brow in intrigue at her choice as the waitress flounced away. “Going all out, are we?”

  “I don’t like fruity drinks.” She replied, eying him dangerously. That much was true. She might not be able to drink well, but when she did drink, Savannah preferred to taste the alcohol.

  “So you going to tell me you knock back beers and burp with the best of them?”

  Savannah grimaced at the mental image. “I thought we agreed you’d be less crass.”

  “In public.” When the waitress brought his drink, Torran drained it in a single gulp. “I’ll be less crass in public.”

  The corner of Savannah’s mouth kicked up in amusement. “This is pretty public.”

  “I disagree. Keep them coming.” He spared a command to the waitress before turning his attention back to her. “We’re all the way in the back. Which means if I were to have my wicked way with you, no one would be the wiser.”

  Savannah almost choked on her drink. When she gained her composure, it was to the sight of Torran gazing down at her with something that looked startlingly like hunger in his eyes.

  But that, Savannah told herself frantically, was only because he hadn’t eaten. “I tend not to play with things when I don’t know where they’ve been.” Her quip, when she finally made it, was dry.

  “Well, that’s easy: I’ve been in my office, in the gym, or with you. Anywhere else recently and you bite my fucking head off.”

  “And look where it’s got you?” She replied sweetly, taking a piece of bread from the basket provided for them. “Already moving up in the world.”

  When the waitress brought his second drink, Torran sipped at it more slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “When’s the last time you got laid, Savannah?”

  Thankfully, this time she wasn’t drinking. That didn’t, however, stop the two spots of color that appeared on her cheeks from spreading. “That is none of your business.”

  “On the contrary,” he returned smoothly, gesturing towards her with his glass. “If you’re always going to be this uptight, I might off myself in a few more weeks. Getting some would probably help you loosen up….unless…” his eyes widened slightly as he set his glass on the table. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  That did it. Tossing her bread down, Savannah made to stand and leave, only to have Torran yank her back down into the booth - this time right beside him. “Calm down, calm down. I’m only foolin’. Christ, you really do need a drink.” He pulled her glass across the table to set in front of her. “There, have a go.”

  “You,” Savannah seethed, “Are incorrigible.”

  “I’m assuming that’s a fancy way of calling me an arsehole.” He grinned, as if it were a compliment, and Savannah was surprised to feel warmth to the tips of her toes. It was then that she noticed just how close to him she was. So close, in fact, that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body - that their thighs were almost touching.

  In response, Savannah downed her entire drink - almost as fast as Torran had. It burned all the way down, and she soon found herself blinking back tears. Her client, however, seemed pleased by her show of bravado. “That’s the way! Let’s have another.”

  Somehow, he ended up being the one in charge of ordering - which meant that he kept her drinks coming. Savannah tried to drink as slowly as she could, but even after a heavy meal of pasta and chocolatey dessert, four gin and tonic’s had her head swimming somewhat.

  Maybe that was why she found that dinner wasn’t an entirely unpleasant affair. Yes, Torran had a mouth like a sailor and yes he could be a humongous asshole, but he could also be fun. He poked fun at the words American’s had for things versus his words and complained about his company, his tongue becoming looser and looser with each additional drink. Eventually, Savannah found herself almost lulled by the musical quality of his low baritone. His accent grew even stronger when he was drunk, and to her horror, the sound of it had her growing warm between the legs.

  God, it would make her job so much easier if he wasn’t so goddamned sexy.

  “You know I have three budget meetings tomorrow? Three fucking meetings. Why can’t they just compound it into one? Like I don’t have better things to do than argue about money.”

  “Money is important,” Savannah rebutted, trying her hardest not to stare at his full mouth. “Especially when a company is handling as much of it as yours is.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to spend all bloody morning counting pennies though.” He looked as though the very notion disgusted him. Torran knocked back the remainder of what had to be his sixth or seventh drink before his eyes met hers once more. At the heat there, Savannah caught her breath. Torran had long undone his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing four of five inches of his chiseled chest. A chest she would like very much to run her tongue all over. “Truth be told,” when he spoke again, his voice was low, husky, and heavy with promise. “I’d much rather be-”

  They were interrup
ted when a very tentative maître’d who told them the restaurant was closing and asked if they would like final drinks. Somehow, Savannah managed to dissuade her already very inebriated client before they paid the bill and made their way outside. Honestly, with as much as he’d drunk, Savannah was surprised he was still standing.

  ...and she wondered what he might have said if they hadn’t been interrupted.

  But, that might be the alcohol talking. She’d had quite a lot herself. Much more than she usually did. It had to be two or three in the morning, which meant that, thankfully, no reporters stuck around to bother them. As Savannah looked warily for them, she suddenly found the ground rushing up at her, only to have firm hands grab her to set her back upright.

  Jesus, she was drunk.

  “Are you going to be able to get home alright?” She might have been insulted if she were sober, but in her current state, Savannah could only stare up at Torran’s fuzzy, handsome face.

  He was so handsome. “I...I’m not going home.” She managed, reaching back to tug her hair from its tight bun. All of a sudden, it was far too tight. “I live on Long Island. I’ll stay with a friend.”

  A very funny look came over Torran’s face as he watched her dark curls fan over her shoulders - almost as if he was in physical pain. “Where does she live? It is a she, isn’t it?” He added the last part threateningly, as if she wasn’t allowed to go to another man’s house. That, even a drunk Savannah realized, went against his suggestion that she should get laid to loosen up. First he was telling her to slut it up, and now he seemed pissed that she might do just that.

  But he needn’t have worried. “It’s definitely a she,” Savannah reassured him, with no small amount of amusement. “And she lives on Houston and Third Ave.” Before she could stop him, Torran was raising his hand for a taxi. This late, one pulled over almost immediately. Torran all but picked her up and shoved her into it, and then they were on their way.

  “I’m fine.” She managed, almost sullenly, as they headed downtown. Did he have to sit so close? And smell so good?

  “You’re drunk. A gentleman doesn’t let a drunk lady go home alone.”

  At that, Savannah couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, now you’re a gentleman? Torran Maloney, the fist-swinging, cover girl screwing model of society.” She realized far too late that she might have spoken a bit too sharply. Her fears were confirmed when the man caught her chin firmly in his hand, forcing her to look up at eyes glittering in the darkness.

  “You don’t really want to see me be a fucking brute, Savannah.” His low growl made her shiver and, involuntarily, her nipples stiffened against the rough cotton material of her bra. “Trust me.”

  But she did. All at once, Savannah realized that was exactly what she wanted. Torran Maloney to haul her over his shoulder and carry her to bed. To strip away her inhibitions, make the most sensitive parts of her ache and fuck her until she screamed…

  “Third and Broadway.” Her very explicit fantasy was interrupted when the driver announced they’d reached their destination.

  Savannah realized that she was all but hedged up against Torran’s chest, his heavy hand on her thigh.

  Her eyes widening, she struggled to shake off the thrall of the alcohol as she turned from him, grabbing for her purse almost frantically. “Leave that,” Torran all but snarled, flinging a bill at the driver a moment before tugging her out into the cold autumn air. In a trice, the driver had gone before Torran could ask for change, and they were standing alone on the curb.

  She needed to get away before she did something irrevocably stupid. “Well, thanks.” She finally managed to stammer as the wind whipped through her hair. “I’ll be fine now.”

  “What floor?” His demanding tone booked no argument and made Savannah’s knees weak.

  “Fourteen.” She replied meekly, only to have him stare down at her expectantly. When Savannah was stone cold sober, she wouldn’t dare let him talk to her this way, and tomorrow, she’d make him pay for it. Just now, however, she found that she almost...liked it.

  “Well, go on then.” Savannah inhaled sharply as Torran’s hand found the curve of her behind, gently propelling her forward. He hadn’t done anything near as intimate as grope her, but the contact seared through her dress all the same. She hurried into the lobby and explained her situation to the doorman, who knew her by face. She and her long-time friend Shirley had long ago exchanged keys after numerous nights out. The agreement was that either of them were in Long Island or the city, it was better to crash there than to head home drunk. It was a very convenient arrangement - and one that in no way involved Torran following her up to the fourteenth floor.

  But follow her he did. All the way to Shirley’s door. Once they’d arrived, she turned to him, taking a breath. “I hope you’re satisfied now.” That, she thought, was a pretty firm cue for him to leave.

  It was clear, however, from the stubborn set of his shoulders that Torran didn’t plan on going anywhere. “Not nearly.” His gruff statement was the only warning Savannah got before his mouth came down against hers, drowning out any protest she might have had.

  The young woman inhaled sharply, her hands curling into the lines of his jacket, intending to push him away. What she actually did was the exact opposite. A low moan escaped her as Torran’s tongue parted her lips almost brusquely to delve into her mouth and stroke her own. A low moan escaped her and she found herself clinging to him almost desperately.

  Kissing him back.

  He tasted of whisky and the cheesecake he had for dessert, but more than that, his mouth moved over hers in a commanding way that made every nerve ending in her body sizzle with desire. Savannah stood on her toes in an effort to get close to him, groaning softly as he nibbled at her lower lip before tugging it between his teeth.

  Yes. God, yes…

  After staring at his ass when he wasn’t looking for the past two weeks, she was ready to climb the man like a tree - to have all that raw power on top of her - inside her…

  When he backed her against the door to Shirley’s apartment, her heartbeat pulsed between her legs. She arched against him and felt very prominent evidence of his arousal. It was obvious that, where Torran was concerned, everything was very much in proportion. Savannah had never, in her life, been a size queen, but when it came to Torran, she found she would very much be willing to try.

  A low whimper escaped her when his mouth slipped from hers and he bit at her jaw a moment before growling in her ear. “You’re speaking to my brute, Savvy-”

  “Whoa.”

  A low, faintly surprised voice interrupted them and Savannah straightened, surprised to see none other than Shirley standing in front of them, her keys dangling from her fingers. She’d been almost certain that her friend would be long asleep at this hour, but, apparently, she’d been wrong.

  Her embarrassment was enough to cut through the thick fog of lust that enveloped her and she immediately shoved out of Torran’s arms. “Who the hell is she?” He groused, attempting to recapture her even as she struggled.

  “I’m Shirley,” the blonde replied dryly, trying gamely to hide her amusement. “I live here.”

  “Well, fuck me.” He released her with extreme reluctance.

  “I’m...I need to get to bed. Thanks for seeing me home, Torran.” That had to be enough to get him out the building.

  Looking from one woman to the other, Torran seemed to sense that he was defeated. Shooting Savannah a look that told her very plainly that she had only bought herself time, he turned on his heel and left without a word.

  Shirley watched him go, a brow arched in surprise. “Who was that?”

  Groaning, Savannah fumbled with her own key, intent on getting to bed and avoiding an explanation. Not that she could think in a straight line with all the alcohol in her system and Torran’s kiss still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so hot. Maybe she hadn’t been.

  And that was the last thing she needed. �
��My worst fucking nightmare.”

  Chapter 7: Undeniable Attraction

  “Ok, so you’ve got an interview with ET this Saturday at eight. And before that, a shot with Men’s Fitness. They want to do a special before your match.”

  Savannah was outlining his itinerary for the next week, and Torran was hardly listening. He was concentrated, instead, on the way her arse wiggled as she paced back and forth. He was torn between telling her to sit down before she wore tracks in his carpet and letting her do as she pleased. He was always happy to walk behind Savannah - in fact, it was his supreme pleasure.

  Today, she wore something completely boring. That seemed to be her calling card, he’d noticed, and she ramped up the dowdiness of her attire in the wake of their little incident the previous week.