Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  The one she refused to talk about.

  He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Savannah was quite content to pretend that they had never kissed at all. She told him only that they’d both been drunk and they would forget it - that would be that.

  If she hadn’t been so good at her damn job, Torran might have been forced to prove her otherwise. At the very least, he wasn’t going to forget anything. How the hell could he when all he could think about was her hot little moans as he tasted her? Savannah Jones was hiding a livewire of passion behind her stuffy exterior, and Torran wanted desperately to unleash it.

  But it appeared that the only way to do that was to get her drunk - and she had been doubly wary of alcohol since the first time. Every time she tried to get him to memorize something or curb his potty mouth, all he could think of was her mouth. Her soft pink lips and the way they opened so willingly under his. He wondered what it would take to have those same lips on other choice parts of his anatomy…

  “Torran, are you paying attention?” He snapped back to the present to glower at her. He hadn’t heard a word she said; and how could he? The woman was a fucking slave driver. He was exhausted, and that was really saying something.

  There was no doubt that Savannah was a good publicist, regardless of her lack of experience. She went further than any publicist he’d had before had even suggested - but, of course, it all came at a price.

  Savannah used the same steely determination and craftiness she had to beat him at his own game to rein in his normally wild behavior.

  And it was driving Torran up the wall. Part of him wanted to fire her simply to safeguard his sanity, but even though it had only been a month, he would be a fool if he refused to admit how much she’d helped his popularity. People had gone from knowing his name to knowing his face; and for once, the major consensus wasn’t that he was just a lucky arse who had happened to fall into money.

  She was managing what he couldn’t, but in order to let her, he had to work with her.

  When she told him to curb his language, he had to try - at least when he was giving interviews. When she suggested that he was far too crass with and hard on his board members, he had to physically check himself every time he went into a meeting. When she told him he had to be at a certain place at a certain time, he was there.

  Or else he had to deal with her mouth - and not in the way that he wanted.

  In truth, he was caught somewhere between annoyance and fascination with the way Savannah conducted business. He had a newfound respect for her because he knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to knock him out if necessary. He wondered who on earth had trained her - and her cryptic remark about family did him no good. It could be anyone from her brother to a distant aunt.

  Since that first encounter, however, Savannah used her wits rather than her fists. If she wanted to get him to agree to something, she tried to approach him when he was in a good mood - or drunk. Torran was tempted to tell her that if she really wanted him to do what she said, all she needed was to spread her legs for him. He was pretty sure that once he had a taste of her, he’d be willing to trade his obeisance for another shot.

  But that probably would have earned him a good smack. Despite the fact that she was a headache and a half, Torran found that he didn’t really want to piss her off - and that had nothing to do with being afraid of her.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention,” he groused, wondering what it would take to get her to wear a short skirt. Maybe if he paid someone to break into her house and burn all those paper bags she wore… “I have shit to do this weekend.”

  “It’s not shit,” her eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance as she set down her clipboard on the edge of his desk. To his merit, Torran was still awake. He’d been up half the night training and then had an early meeting. “They’re important appearances. And one of them is a charity event that you donated five million dollars to.”

  He arched his brow in only mild interest. “Did I?” That was what he had an accountant for: to make him look charitable.

  “Yes, you did.” Savannah groaned. “Honestly, how do you not know how much you give to charity?”

  He ignored her question, merely responding with another. “When is this charity thing?”

  By the look on her face, he would guess she’d already told him at least two or three times. “Saturday morning.” If looks could kill, Torran would be dead three times over. He couldn’t deny that he liked getting her riled up. She was just as flushed - just as shocked - right after he kissed her…

  Wait, Saturday morning? He had an important training session Saturday morning. “I can’t. Have to be at the gym.”

  Savannah looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Torran, you can’t skip it. You made a five million dollar donation. You’re the principal speaker.”

  Well, in that case, he really couldn’t go. He wasn’t really one for speeches, and Savannah loved to put him right in the middle of them. He’d only delivered one so far, but it had been hell, and she apparently had a whole lot more planned - presuming he won his fight, of course. “Can’t we get someone to represent me? Someone who’s actually good at giving speeches?”

  Savannah merely shot him a flat look. “Like who?”

  Torran’s mouth immediately curved upward into a triumphant smile. She had all but walked into that one. He stared at her pointedly for a good thirty seconds before she finally understood what he was insinuating and her mouth dropped open. “No. No.”

  “Yes.” Before she could work herself into a frenzy, he was already up and out of his chair.

  “What? I said no, Torran. Don’t walk away from me-”

  “I’m not fucking walking away from you, woman.” He grabbed his coat from where it hung on the back of his chair before retrieving hers as well. “I’m accompanying you.” With that, he took a firm but gentle hold of her arm, steering her from his office.

  “Where are we going?” It wasn’t as if he thought he would get off the hook that easily, but Torran actually had to lift her from the floor when she dug her feet in.

  “To get you a dress.” It was the first thing he could think of - and also an excuse to get him the hell out of the office. It seemed like forever since he’d seen the light of day, and if he didn’t get a break, he was going to go stir-crazy.

  “A dress?” Savannah spluttered, obviously affronted. “What do I need a dress for? I have dresses!”

  “Do you have a dress to wear to a function where plates involve a million dollar buy in?” At that, Savannah could only gape. Of course, Torran knew more about what he donated than he actually let on, but it was fun to watch his publicist squirm. “I didn’t think so.”

  He ushered her through the lobby and out into the busy city streets, hailing a cab before the media could swamp them. Even though she got into the car, the moment they sped off, Savannah turned on him stubbornly.

  “Torran, I’m not making this speech for you.”

  “Then I guess you want me to lose my fight. Because it’s the charity or a major training session. Aren’t you supposed to be helping my image? Fighting is a pretty big fucking part of it.”

  Savannah opened her mouth, then shut it, obviously struggling to come up with an argument. At that point, Torran knew he’d won. He couldn’t usually catch Savannah at a loss for words - unless he was kissing her, that was.

  And God, how he wanted to fucking kiss her. Anytime he looked at her, he could remember how her mouth felt against his. While Savannah might have been drunk that night, Torran hadn’t been half as drunk as he let on. And now, he was perfectly stone cold sober.

  “I...don’t need a dress.” Savannah’s profession finally cut through his reverie. “I have formal dresses.”

  “For once, Savannah, don’t argue. Can’t you just let a man do something nice for you?” The young woman glared at him, visibly seething, but said nothing and Torran did his best to repress his smile of triumph.

  Lord knew that he hated shoppi
ng of any kind. After coming into money, he’d quickly learned that women only dragged him out shopping because they wanted him to foot the bill for expensive trinkets. He’d done it once or twice, just for the prospect of a promising lay, before he quickly tired of it.

  This would be the first time he’d voluntarily taken a woman into a shopping mall in years - and Torran found that he was actually anticipating it. Not the actual shopping part, but, if he was going to be buying the dress, he would damn sure make sure he got Savannah into something slinky for a change.

  When the taxi pulled over at the intersection of Broadway and fifty third street, Savannah only stared at him, then past him at the luxury shopping mall. “Why are we here?”

  Torran realized that he was going to have to physically remove her from the car and wished he were more disappointed. “We’re going to buy your dress for the charity ball - thought that was pretty clear.” Reaching back into the cab, he paid the taxi driver and wrapped large hands around Savannah’s minute waist to drag her out of the car.

  Her face flushed deeply and she struggled out of his grip the moment he set her on the sidewalk. “I can’t...I mean…First of all: I can buy my own dress. Second of all, this is…” She winced as she gazed at the huge building behind him once more. “Not really...I don’t…”

  Torran might be an arsehole, but he wasn’t enough of a git to shove their economic differences in her face. When the publicity company had assigned Savannah to him, someone read him a clause that specified exactly how much money Savannah would make from helping to promote him. While he had had a few successful appearances, she still couldn’t be making more than peanuts.

  Not that she ever complained.

  “Come on.” Before she could protest any further, Torran ushered her into the building. The moment they were inside, they were assaulted by the scents of high end perfumes and sale signs that quoted prices that even Torran knew were ridiculous. But he didn’t come here for his own sake. For once, in the years that he had stumbled into all this money and responsibility, he found himself wanting to show off a bit.

  He would have to be blind not to notice the way the young woman’s eyes widened in appreciation at the rows of designer handbags in the front window of the Louis Vuitton store. He steered her into the first clothing store he could find without noting the name and, as was always the case in expensive stores, the sales assistant was on them almost immediately.

  “Welcome, welcome, sir. What can I do for you today?” If he had let Savannah speak, he was sure she would have made some sort of excuse, so Torran beat her to the punch.

  “We’re looking for a dress - something to wear to a charity luncheon. It’s not an evening affair, so nothing too extravagant...but nice all the same. Slinky.” Savannah stared at him as if he’d lost his mind as the assistant all but stumbled over herself to get to the racks.

  “Torran, I can’t afford anything in here.” He assumed her low, embarrassed hiss was a last ditch effort to get them out of the store. While she might like nice things, it was clear that Savannah was uncomfortable.

  “Well, we’re lucky you’re not buying it then, aren’t we?” If possible, Savannah went even redder. Before she could deliver the choice words he was sure were on her tongue, however, the assistant returned.

  “I have a few pieces here that I think would work to impress at a high class luncheon. If the lady would please follow me?”

  It was one time Torran was glad that Savannah was much more well-mannered than he was. She wouldn’t tell the poor shop assistant off as it wasn’t her fault she’d been dragged into the store. The woman showed her to a luxuriously appointed dressing room before hanging the dresses she’d chosen inside. “Do show us each one so we can make an informed decision, now.”

  If Savannah had been embarrassed before, now she looked absolutely stricken. She shut the changing room door hastily, and Torran suspected that she had no intention of showing them anything.

  Which meant he would have to encourage her.

  There followed about ten minutes of shuffling and movement beyond the door before Torran approached it to lean against the wall beside it. “If you’re not coming out,” he growled, low enough for her to hear, “I’ll be happy to drag you out.”

  Savannah merely made a highly affronted sound. “This thing is way too short!”

  “Well, we’ve no way of knowing that until you show your face, do we?” Torran wasn’t bluffing. He had every intention of breaking into the dressing room if he had to.

  Luckily, however, that wasn’t needed.

  Barely another minute passed before the door swung open and Savannah revealed herself.

  Torran struggled not to gape.

  He had to give it to her: she was right. The dress was entirely too short for a daytime function. That said, the deep wine color and cut of the dress flattered her immensely. All at once, he could see all the curves that she liked to keep hidden - just how tiny her waist really was...and God, those tits.

  But the dress barely covered half her thighs, and at the thought of any other man seeing all that luscious leg, Torran got more than a little nervous.

  “Lovely.” The shop assistant gushed immediately. “Magenta is your color, honey.”

  “You can practically see my panties in this thing,” Savannah mumbled, her cheeks scarlet as she pressed ample thighs together self-consciously. Torran found he agreed wholeheartedly. It was a shame they hadn’t cut the dress a little higher. When her honey-colored gaze met his, the Irishman only hoped she couldn’t see how much he wanted to devour her, regardless of the shop assistant.

  “Too much leg.” He barked, immediately parading her back into the dressing room and shutting the door behind her before discreetly adjusting himself. He could only hope that all the dresses weren’t that short, or he would be in real trouble.

  This time around, Savannah changed quicker with the threat of Torran exposing her hanging over her head. The next number was a brilliant canary yellow, and while it covered her legs completely, it showed far too much chest for Torran’s liking; though, he had to admit he was tempted to get it just so she could wear it around the office for him. The third dress showed neither chest nor legs, but it had little shape at all. Of course, when Savannah piped up that it was perfect, Torran shot her down immediately and dragged her from the shop the moment she was dressed again.

  They spent the next three hours making their way through the mall, and Torran didn’t stop once to consider that they were doing something he hated. Quite the contrary, in fact. He quite enjoyed seeing Savannah in clothing that actually showed off her figure and highlighted her dark skin.

  Though there were several dresses that might have done in a pinch, he made her go to several different stores just to be sure, elongating the process until she was begging him to pick one. Torran, however, only did his best to hide his amusement, proclaiming that she had to have something perfect, seeing as how she was supposed to be his representative.

  It was the one thing she couldn’t argue with, and so, she was forced to try on outfit after outfit until, at last, they came upon the perfect dress in the Prada store.

  It was a white, form-fitting number that came down to her knees and flared out at the shoulders with something the woman running the store called a cape. Both elegant and sexy as hell, Torran struggled not to rip it from Savannah the moment she stepped from the dressing room. She was an absolute vision. No one would be able to take their eyes off her at the luncheon.

  He did his best to keep her from seeing the price tag, but all it took was one peek before Savannah was up in arms.

  “Three thousand dollars?” It was all she could talk about as they left the store and she clutched the bag to her as if in a daze. “Three thousand dollars.”

  “Calm down, woman.” He was enjoying this far too much. “It’s just a dress.”

  “A dress that costs more than my entire wardrobe…” She moaned, almost as if delirious. “I’m paying you back
for this. After the fight, I’ll write you a check-”

  She came up short as Torran turned to her, stopping her with a hand on her forearm. “No.” His refusal was flat and unquestionable. “No you won’t.”

  The young woman’s eyes narrowed in defiance. “You can’t force it on me-”

  “Savannah, you have no idea how forceful I can be.” Was it just him, or had she shivered at the very prospect? God, the last thing he needed was a blatant physical invitation like that. She stared up at him, her eyes wide, lips parted slightly. When her tongue darted out quickly to wet them he swallowed a groan. Maybe she wouldn’t be pissed at him if he stole just one more kiss. The need to taste her was so bad it bordered on physical pain...

  “Lunch!” Savannah said the word so suddenly, it startled him. “We should probably get lunch, right?”