Imperfect Love: Twisted (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Mandi Beck

  “We know all that. Hundred years, same family, biggest distillery in all of Scotland, blah blah blah. Do you see Jasper’s name anywhere?”

  “Right here, says that the only son of Annis Hewat-James and Sean James, the heir to the Iron Thistle distillery took over as CEO and majority shareholder of the company a little over two years ago making him the most eligible bachelor in all of Scotland.”

  I snort in disgust. Shelby continues reading. “Here’s another one, Jasper James of Islay the youngest board member the company has ever had at the age of thirty-two.” Scrolling and reading she stops when she comes to a picture of Jasper at a charity event a beautiful woman on his arm.

  “Lorna.” Seeing them together hurts more than it should. It makes me insanely jealous, mad, and sad all at once. He doesn’t look any different. Still like a hot as hell beast. And her. She’s stunning. Long red hair, voluptuous womanly curves that put mine to shame. They make a gorgeous couple.

  “THOT. She’s isn’t even that damn pretty,” my best friend says indignantly.

  “I think you’re too old to say ‘THOT.’ In fact, I’m certain you are.” I bump her shoulder.

  “Don’t tell me what I’m too old for. I say what I want. THOT.” All I can do is shake my head and laugh. This is why I love her. Why I always have. More sister than friend. Always here when I need her and always making sure I laugh through the pain.

  Closing the laptop, she folds her hands over the top and leans back into the soft cushions of my couch. “So it was all right there for you to see. One little google search and you would have known it all. It’s not like he changed his name, or didn’t tell you where he was from. Hell, we’re both kinda dumb for not putting it together our damn selves.”

  She’s right. I do so much research when I take on a new client that I can’t believe I didn’t find the connection. I guess I was researching the wrong things. Focusing more on how to grow the company’s newest endeavor rather than going to its roots.

  “So now what?” Searching her face, I look for guidance. Did I overreact? No. I most certainly didn’t. Not in that moment. Not when he knew how badly I had been hurt before.

  “So now you have to decide if you want to move forward in a strictly business sense since this is now your account and the expansion is a go. Or if you want to pull up them pretty big girl panties you like to wear and forgive him for a huge fucking lapse in judgement and then make him make it up to you. All. Night. Long.” Shelby waggles her eyebrows at me and gyrates like a damn stripper.

  “You’re too much. You know that, right?”

  “I’m never too much. You just don’t know how to handle me.”

  Shelby hands me my wine glass and raises it in a toast. “Here’s to boys who have broken our hearts and to the men that picked up the pieces. Even the ones who lie about being mothertruckin’ billionaires.” Before she touches her glass to mine she looks at me half-disgusted. “Only you would find yourself a rich white boy with a sexy accent who loves to eat pussy.”

  I groan and clink her glass with mine, taking a long sip.

  “He really does, Shel. And he’s so, so good at it.”

  “Marry him. Marry his ass right now.”

  If only it were that simple.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jasper

  For five days I have done everything I could possibly think of to get Fannin’s attention. Get her to talk to me. I’ve gotten nowhere. Not with flowers or gifts, phone calls and letters. I stopped by the office twice, but each time I was told she was in meetings which I’m not sure I believed then or now. I fucked up. Proper. But the last five days, as shite as they’ve been, have also been enlightening.

  “I’ve just hung the sign.” Theo comes behind the bar to stand beside me, watching as I line up a few of the glasses on the counter. “Have you called her today? Sent a puppy, perhaps?” He chuckles. My friend has been witness to all of the over-the-top things I’ve had delivered to Fannin over the last few days. Always throwing in his two cents just to get a reaction out of me. Just like now.

  “I haven’t called, and no—no puppy. I don’t think her building allows them.” If I thought it would work, I’d send her a whole litter of them.

  “You told her I was home in Islay, right?” Probably not the best idea to lie to her again but this is different. This is so I can get her here. So it doesn’t count. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  “I did. I’m not sure that she believed me but, she still agreed to come. I also called her friend Shelby for reinforcement, just in case.”

  “Good man.” This brings me back to our school days when one of us was always playing wingman to the other scheming to get the girl. Only then, all we wanted was in their knickers. Now, with Fannin, I want more. But also in her knickers.

  “I’m going to go. She’ll be here any minute now and quite honestly I’m a little afraid of what she might do to me when she finds out I’ve tricked her.” He gives an exaggerated shudder.

  “Go, I’ll call you.”

  “Good luck, mate.” With a thunk on my back he leaves.

  It’s rare that the bar is ever this quiet. I take a moment to look around, appreciating the silence. This place is my footprint on an ages old family business. Something that I can contribute and be proud of. It wasn’t enough for me to learn everything I could about whisky. A trade engraved on my soul, passed down through the generations. A passion for sure. But one I wanted to expound on. Make it better somehow and more my own. Fannin helped with that. In a month, she’s helped me to realize my dream. Without even realizing it. We’ve signed off to open three more locations and that’s only the beginning. I want to see an Iron Flask in every major city in the US and abroad. And I want to do that with Fannin by my side.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts when I hear the door open. With nobody in here, I have an unobstructed view, straight to the front where Fannin stands. Dressed in a simple white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders and with the glow of the candles in the room and the street light shining through the floor to ceiling windows, she looks like an angel. I know better though. My Fannin is made for sin.

  We watch each other and for a moment I think she might leave. I’m certain she thought about it. Instead she makes her way toward me. Head held high, shoulders straight. Watching her move is like foreplay. My dick hardens with every click of her sparkly shoes, the same ones she wore the first time I took her. When she reaches me, she tosses her small purse on the counter.

  “Where is everyone else, Jasper?” Her tone is chilly. But her eyes aren’t. They’re that cloudy, smoldering shade of violet that I love the most.

  “You know, the first time I saw you, I knew you were going to be important to me. There was no way a woman with eyes the color of home, the color of my ancestry, couldn’t be. It was fate that you came in here that night, Fannin. With your thistle-colored eyes. And it was pure luck that you let me pretend to be your boyfriend.” I brush her hair off her shoulder, wishing the bar wasn’t separating us so that I could pull her into my arms, but also knowing that I have too much to say to rush this.

  “You thought they were contacts.” A little less chilly. That’s progress.

  “Aye. But it only took me a minute to figure out they weren’t, and not much longer to learn what the different colors they turned meant.”

  She takes a deep breath eyeing me, like she’s sizing me up. Trying to decide whether she can trust me, whether I’m sincere or not. I can’t blame her. I indicate the chair she stands next to, hoping she takes the invitation to sit. When she does, I let out my own breath.

  Placing the stave in front of her, the three glasses I’d filled while I’d waited are set in the grooves. “I’ve been waiting to tap these. They were finally ready. This one you already tried with me the other night.”

  I hand her the glass, grinning when she takes it, careful not to touch my fingers when she does. Taking a sip, she gives a slight smile. “Islay.”

/>   “Aye. Home.” With her eyes on me, I take a sip of it, my lips once more to the place hers just were. Setting it aside I reach for the next one.

  “This one is a little more complex. Hints of thistle like all of our whisky but also honey and juniper, white oak. It has an untamed flavor. It’s my new favorite.” This time when I pass the glass to her, I’m sure to let my fingers brush against hers. Her nostrils flare and those eyes flash, and I can see her fight to tamp down her reaction. I watch as she tastes the whisky, her eyes hidden from me as she savors the flavors.

  “Mmmm.” The sound slips past her pink lips, and I want to press mine to hers and catch it. Be the reason she’s making such a satisfied sound. The urge to drag her across the bar is growing stronger by the moment.

  “Do you like it?” I know she does, I just want to hear her say that she does.

  “It’s perfect. I love it.”

  “Aye. I agree.” Taking the glass, I take my taste. Watching her as she watches me, no longer trying to pretend that she’s not affected. “This one is called . . . Fannin.”

  Her eyes widen, startled. “Wh-What?”

  “I’m calling it Fannin.”

  “Jasper.” Not saying anything more, she puffs out a little breath and runs a finger along the rim of the third glass. “What’s this one called?” Her voice holds none of the chill from earlier. She holds the glass to her mouth and waits.

  “Mo Chridhe.” I ignore her puzzled look. With one finger I nudge the bottom of the glass, encouraging her to drink.

  When she’s done, she hands it to me. Our fingers brushing. Lingering. “What’s it mean?”

  “First tell me what you taste.”

  Fannin tilts her head to the side, taking me in, a thoughtful look across her pretty face. “It tastes like a mixture of the other two. I taste the sweet and salty and the floral notes. The honey.”

  A grin lifts the corner of my mouth. “Good girl. You’re getting better at this.”

  She smiles before she can catch herself. “So what does ‘Mo Chridhe’ mean?

  Pointing a finger at her, I chuckle softly at the butchered Gaelic. “That needs work.” I slide the stave with the whisky glasses to the side and take her hands in mine. They’re stiff at first, but I don’t let it bother me. Rubbing my fingers over her soft knuckles. “Mo Chridhe,” I repeat in proper Scottish Gaelic, “means my heart. And you’re right, it is a mixture of the two.” Bringing her hands up to my mouth, I feather a kiss over them. “Islay and you are mo chridhe, my heart. The last few days have been eye opening for me. I realized that all of this,” I gesture around the room, “means so much more to me because of you. Islay and my love for my whisky brought me to this place and then this place brought me you. You’ve put as much time and energy and love into making it a success as I have.” Fannin stays quiet, but the emotions I see flitting across her face, dancing in her eyes, tell me more than her words could.

  I release her hands and circle the bar, the pleats of my kilt bouncing against my knees. Fannin’s eyes nearly pop right out of her head as she takes me in from head to toe. Her eyes roam down the front of me, skipping past the white shirt which is not exactly traditional, over every detail of my navy and green tartan, the leather sporran hanging over my cock. I’m thankful because this little eye-fucking thing she’s doing is having an effect on me. Finally, she makes it to my white kilt hose, and another nontraditional touch, my boots. Scuffed and laced up to round it all out in a totally New York-meets-Scotland way. Her gaze works its way back up to my face, her plump bottom lip caught in between her teeth, her eyes shining with mischief and heat, her cheeks and face flushed with the same. I see it all. And I also see that niggle of worry and fear there too. I don’t give her time to feed those fears. I step closer, “I fucked up. I hurt you when it was the last thing I ever wanted to do.” Her smile falls as she dips her head, looking down at the clasped hands in her lap. Gently I lift her chin, stroking my thumb along the smooth skin of her jaw. “I acted like an arsehole because I was afraid of being hurt again. That wasn’t fair to you. I promise to never put my feelings before yours again.”

  “I understand why you did what you did, Jasper, and I forgive you.”

  “You do?” I interrupt, completely taken off-guard.

  “I do. But I won’t forget. And right now it’s the fact that I won’t that has me wanting to tread lightly. Take things slow.”

  “No.” I interrupt again. One accent-thick word.

  “I’m sorry? Did you say ‘no’?”

  “Aye.” Not able to take another second of separation I move into her space, my stance widened to get as close to her as possible without spreading her legs and wedging my way in between them. “I said no. And I meant it. There will be no light treading or slow moving. In a month’s time, you’ve become the most important person in my life. I think about this bar and I think about you. I taste you in my whisky, and I see you in every one of my dreams.” I shake my head. “No. I want to spend my days and my nights making you forget.” The stubborn Scotsman is rearing his ugly head. “I want to tell you a wee story about a man named William James who met a girl named Annis. It was the first day of uni and he bumped right into her. So hard she fell. And so did he. He picked her up off the ground and told her he was going to marry her someday. He didn’t even know her name. Two weeks later, he gave her his.” With fingers, shakier than I’d like, I comb her hair back from her face. “I always thought they were crazy. That love didn’t work like that. But I get it now. Like I told you earlier, the day I met the woman with the thistle-colored eyes I knew. And I think you did too.” I take a moment to wipe the tears that have started to fall. “I love you, Fanny. You’re my home, my heart. And this is me, seducing you with whisky and tartan. I can’t let you call it a plaid skirt anymore. They’ll never let me back into Scotland.” I tease.

  She knocks me back a step when she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my neck. My hands glide across her back, holding her to me as tightly as I can without hurting her. Pulling back and sniffling, she gives me a teary smile before kissing me deeply, her tears and my whisky mingling on our tongues. Sliding my hand into her hair, I cradle her head, allowing her to be in control. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard, excited smiles on our faces. Fannin rakes her fingers over my mustache and lips, through my beard. “You’re a swoony bastard, you know that?” She chuckles softly. “You pulled out the big guns.” Her lashes lower coyly. “Speaking of guns, I’ve always wondered what Scotsman really wear under their kilts.”

  With a sound that’s half-laugh, half-growl, I turn for the stairs and my apartment.

  “Is that right?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Then let me take you upstairs and show you.”

  “Like a gentleman?” she teases, looking hopeful.

  “Like a beast,” I answer, already climbing the stairs, Fannin wrapped around me.

  Her eyes flash purple fire.

  “I’ve missed the beard, and you can leave the kilt on.”

  “Aye. And you can leave the shoes.”

  As we walk through the door, I kick it shut behind me and bring us straight into the bedroom and onto the bed. Fannin sighs, her lips against my neck. “Mo chridhe.”

  Her Gaelic was almost spot on that time. She nips the tender flesh she was just kissing. “My dirty talking Scotsman. Always knew you’d use your whisky and your plaid skir—tartan on me.”

  Looking down at Fannin with her wild curls spread out on my pillow, I grin and whisper, “So did I.”

  The End

  A note to readers

  Thank you so much for once again taking a chance on me. It will never cease to amaze me that there are people out there willingly reading my work. I can’t thank you enough. My cup runneth over.

  Books in the Imperfect Love World

  Hitched 1–3—Kendall Ryan

  The Fix up—Kendall Ryan

  Cheeky—Natasha Ma
dison

  Battle of the Sexes—Adriana Locke

  Famed—Magan Vernon

  One-Night Stand-In—T Gephart

  The Run In—Kelly Elliott

  Tied—Kim Karr

  Twisted—Mandi Beck

  Unsupervised—Cora Kenborn

  Also by Mandi Beck

  CAGED LOVE SERIES

  Love Hurts

  Love Burns

  WRECKED SERIES

  Stoned

  Judged (Coming Soon)

  About the Author

  Mandi Beck has been an avid reader all of her life. A deep love for books always had her jotting down little stories on napkins, notebooks, and her hand. As an adult she was further submerged into the book world through book clubs and the epicness of social media. It was then that she graduated to writing her stories on her phone and then finally on a proper computer.

  A nursing student, mother to two rambunctious and somewhat rotten boys, and stepmom to two great girls away at college, she shares her time with her husband in Chicago where she was born and raised. Mandi is a diehard hockey fan and blames the Blackhawks when her deadlines are not met.

  She is currently working on the next in the series along with trying to keep up with whatever other voices are clamoring for attention in her mind.

  Connect with Mandi

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