Lethal in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 7)

by Anna Durand

  Logan had stepped up in a big way for Evan and Keely. I'd heard the story of how he belly-crawled through the woods to sneak up on the bad guy's car when it was coming up the long driveway. Keely had told me Logan threw a knife to puncture the car's tire while it was still moving. He'd then collared the cowardly villain and smacked him around until the guy fessed up to where his cohort was hiding. Later, the local cops had let their buddy Logan have a chat with the main bad guy, a chat that ended with the man confessing everything. They said Logan hadn't laid a finger on him. He'd simply stared at the man and said who-knew-what to him.

  A thrill rushed through me, awakening the hairs on my arms. Logan could make a man confess with only a steely glare and a few choice words, spoken in a tone I was sure would've sounded menacingly sexy.

  The email I'd been perusing had become a blur on the screen.

  Oh for heaven's sake. I was too damn old to go gaga over a guy. Menacing was not sexy. Logan was hot, for sure, but I did not like dangerous men. Or men who liked danger. I'd had enough of that in my life. No more.

  I blinked several times until I could focus on the computer screen again, then I took a good swig of my coffee and got back to work.

  Ten minutes later I'd gotten in the zone, whizzing through email replies with the keyboard clacking furiously as I typed at my top speed. I sent a reply to Tamsen Spurling, who was one of two vice presidents at the UK arm of Evanescent, then I opened an email from a new client. He asked a question that required me to skim his contract again before answering. Luckily, I kept contract files close by, in a cabinet up against the wall behind my desk.

  I pushed my chair back and headed for the file cabinet. This client's name started with W, and the drawers were alphabetized starting with A through D in the top drawer. I had to half kneel and bend over to reach the drawer with the W's in it. My skirt didn't look overly snug when I was sitting or standing, but kneeling made it stretch too tight for me to get all the way down to the level of the bottom drawer. I had to bend over too. These file drawers held the folders sideways, so I had to angle myself to the cabinet in order to flip through the files.

  That's how I spotted Logan loitering near the juncture where the hallway opened into the reception area. He leaned against the corner with one ankle hooked over the other. He was smirking, of course. And of course, he looked delectable in a finely tailored charcoal suit jacket with a pale blue shirt and no tie, not to mention the kilt that showed off his muscular calves. Logan had clearly taken up his cousin's habit of wearing a kilt every Monday.

  Logan's short, dark hair glistened in the glow of the natural-light bulbs. His hazel eyes glimmered too, their green highlights sparkling in the warm light.

  No fluorescent bulbs here. Evan hated them.

  Logan roved his gaze over my body, where I still hunched in a bent-over, half-kneeling position. "I always enjoy the view when I visit you, Serena."

  The way he spoke my name made every hair on my body shiver and stiffen. Once upon a time, he'd said my name with a slight snarl, or maybe a touch of sarcasm. Ever since our quickie in the copy room, he wrapped his voice around my name like a warm, silken scarf dragged across my bare skin.

  "Good morning, Logan," I said. Snatching up the file I'd been looking for, I straightened and kicked the drawer shut. "Why aren't you in your office downstairs?"

  "I'm feeling disoriented." He pushed away from the wall and moseyed toward me. "That's your job, isn't it? To orient me."

  In typical Logan fashion, he made the word orient sound dirty.

  "Check your orientation packet," I said, holding the file folder to my chest. "It has all the information you need."

  "Evan said I should come to you for all my needs."

  Shit, he was right. Evan had commanded me to help Logan get settled in.

  Logan moved closer, narrowing the gap between us to no more than two feet. "I need you, Serena. I'm lost in this vast building."

  He managed to smirk and sound huskily erotic at the same time.

  And I tingled all over, including deep inside my most private regions.

  "Uh-huh," I said. "I'm sure you're helpless. If you can wait a few minutes while I finish answering emails, I can give you the grand tour. Again. Or if you have specific questions, ask away."

  I hurried to my chair and dropped onto it, determined to avoid looking at him. Setting the file folder on my desk, I flipped it open.

  Logan planted his hands on my chair's back and leaned over my shoulder. His mouth hovered a hair's breadth from my ear, his breaths tickling my skin and exciting the hairs on my neck. "I have a specific question."

  "What is it?"

  He nuzzled my earlobe. "Could you show me how to use the copier again? I've forgotten how it works."

  Like hell he had. He'd told me he had a photographic memory, so he probably remembered his high school locker combination and the phone number of the girl he dated in eighth grade.

  "The instructions," I said with deliberate calmness, "are in your orientation packet. They tell you step by step how to use the copier."

  "I seem to have left my orientation packet in my office." He moved his mouth closer to my ear. "Would you have me slog all the way downstairs just to retrieve it? I'll be too knackered to work after that."

  "We have this crazy new invention called the elevator. Try it."

  "You'll have to show me how that works too. All those buttons confuse me."

  Sure, I'd believe that when I saw neon-orange pigs flying over downtown Carrefour.

  "Please, Serena," he murmured in my ear, "I'm desperate and in need of personal assistance."

  I cleared my throat, because it had suddenly gotten dry and tight. My nether regions, however, had grown slick. "Fine, I'll show you the copier again. But that's it. Instruction on how to use the machine, no hanky-panky of any kind."

  "Thank you, Serena."

  Christ, I wished he'd stop saying my name that way.

  He backed away from my chair.

  I got up and led him to the copy room. This time, I left the door wide open. Would that deter him if he got naughty ideas in his head about how to use the copier? Probably not. But at least I would be able to run out the door more easily.

  Right. Like I'd tried to get away the last time we'd been in the copy room.

  Once I reached the copier, I turned to the side so I could see Logan. He liked to sneak up behind me, or linger behind me in this case. Having him there, feeling him there, made me antsy. Or maybe excited. No, annoyed was more like it.

  Yeah, sure. This dampness between my legs resulted from annoyance. It wasn't fair for an obnoxious man to be so sexy.

  Logan watched me without expression.

  "Okay," I said, laying a hand on the copier. "Here's how you make photocopies with this machine. Maybe you should take notes, so I don't have to explain this again."

  "I'll remember."

  "You claim to have forgotten what I showed you last time."

  "I was distracted. This morning, I'm concentrating on every word you say. Concentrating on you."

  To his credit, he kept his focus on my face instead of poring over my entire body the way he usually did. His expression stayed bland too.

  What was he up to? He couldn't actually be fascinated with the workings of a photocopier.

  I went through the same spiel I'd given him before, demonstrating what each button did. Last time, I'd barely gotten started with the instructions when he shoved my skirt up and nailed me to the copy machine. I shivered at the memory. I liked the occasional fling, but I had never screwed a guy at work or had sex in a place where I could easily get caught. Never. Not until Logan.

  Which meant nothing.

  By the time I finished explaining the copier to him, Logan was standing beside me, staring down at the clear glass of the scanning surface like it contained secrets he needed to extract from it.

  "Well," I said, "that's it. You should be a phot
ocopying expert now."

  He turned toward me, his body inches from mine. "Thank you, Serena. I appreciate your patience with me."

  "Uh, sure. You're welcome, I guess." Whenever he acted like a normal person, it made my skin itch. "I should get back to work."

  "Walk me to the elevator. I might get lost without you."

  Since his request seemed innocuous enough, I gave in and accompanied him to the elevator. I even punched the button to summon the car. The doors slid open a couple seconds later.

  Logan tipped toward me in a partial bow, lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed it. "Until we meet again, Serena."

  With that, he strode into the elevator and hit a button.

  The doors glided shut.

  I stood there in front of those doors for several seconds, confounded by the man who'd kissed my hand. He loved to say crude things to me—let's have a poke, touch my slat, et cetera—but lately, he also said civil things to me. On occasion, he even sounded sweet.

  He had to be up to something. Nothing else explained his behavior.

  What exactly was he plotting? Politeness as a means of...what?

  Oh God, woman, stop thinking about him.

  I returned to my desk.

  Five minutes before my lunch break, my cell phone rang. Chase was calling.

  "Hi, sweetie," I said. "What's up?"

  "Summer is boring. I miss school."

  A laugh snorted out of me. "Is this the same boy who swore he'd die if he had to go to one more day of algebra class?"

  "Yeah, I don't miss that. But there's so not anything to do in this town." He sighed with melodramatic flair, the way only a teenager could. "How many times can we go to the movies? They show the same ones for months. And the arcade gets old too. Keely's store is cool, but my allowance isn't enough to pay for any new games."

  Ah yes, here came the angle. My son wanted more money.

  "Your allowance is plenty," I told him. "Try doing something outdoors. You know, exercise. I always liked playing hide and go seek."

  "Jeez, Mom, that's so third grade. I'm fifteen."

  The clock on my computer read noon precisely. I logged off and slung my purse over my shoulder while I said, "How about you stop making me guess. What is it you want, Chase?"

  He made noncommittal noises, a sure sign he knew what he wanted but was positive I'd say no.

  Rising from my chair, I headed for the hallway and the elevator. "Spit it out. I may have eyes in the back of my head, but I can't read minds."

  "Grandma and Grandpa want me to spend the summer with them."

  I stopped halfway to the elevator. All the blood seemed to have gushed out of my body, leaving me cold and numb. Chase meant his other grandparents, not my mother and father. Rob's family. They'd been pestering me, in a polite and almost hesitant way, about letting Chase visit them this summer. And last summer. And the summer before that. For ten years, the Carpenters had asked every summer. They always invited me too, but I always said no, for myself and for my son. First, I'd convinced them it was too soon after Rob's passing. Then, I'd decided Chase was too young. Eventually, I had stopped making up excuses and just kept saying no.

  Chase was fifteen now, a levelheaded and well-adjusted kid who never did anything bad. Not once in his entire life had I grounded him or chastised him. I hadn't needed to. He minded me, even when he complained about it. Maybe I owed him a little leeway. Rob's parents had come to see us here in Carrefour at least a few times over the years. They lived in the same lovely house on a lake in Vermont where they'd lived for two decades. Rob had grown up here in Carrefour, like me, but his parents had retired up north not long after we got married. I'd been to their house a few times, with Rob. Maybe Chase deserved to see their home too.

  My throat constricted. I gripped my purse's strap so hard my fingers hurt.

  "The answer's no, isn't?" Chase asked. "I'm not a baby anymore, you know. I can fly on a plane all by myself."

  "I know." My voice came out hushed. Tears stung my eyes.

  "You okay, Mom?"

  Straightening, I wiped the tears away with the heel of my hand and cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm fine."

  "Can I go? To Vermont?"

  The hopefulness in his voice tugged at my heart. Let my baby go far away all on his own? I wanted to say absolutely not, but I knew it was time to let go. Maybe I couldn't stand to face Rob's parents, afraid I'd break down when they started talking about him, but I could no longer deny my son the chance to spend time with his grandparents. I had no valid reason to say no.

  Even if the thought of not having him with me tore at my heart.

  I cleared my throat again and sucked in a fortifying breath. "Yes, you can visit your grandparents for the summer. I'll call them tonight to arrange everything."

  "Awesome! Thanks, Mom. I'm so stoked about this."

  The excitement in his voice made me smile even while I sniffled. New tears burned in my eyes.

  I said goodbye to Chase and dumped my phone into my purse, then shuffled down the hall to the elevator. It took a minute or two after I pushed the button before the car arrived. I spent those minutes getting hold of myself, using redness relieving eyedrops, and fixing my makeup. By the time I walked out of the elevator into the lobby, I felt reasonably recovered.

  Logan got up from the chair where he'd been sitting and approached me. "May I buy you lunch, Serena?"

  This time, hearing him say my name did not make me weak in the knees. I still had a balled-up tissue clenched in my hand.

  And of course, he noticed it. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, fine, great." That was what they called trying too hard. Damn, I needed to get a grip. "I was going to grab a protein bar or something. Not very hungry."

  Why did I blab that to him? He didn't need to know. So what if I was a little nauseous, my throat hurt, and I wanted to lie down on the floor to have a good cry? It was dumb and none of his business.

  He closed his hand around mine, the one clutching a dirty tissue. "Let me buy you a good lunch, and dessert too. You look like you need it."

  "That's sweet, but—" Had I called Logan MacTaggart sweet? I resisted the urge to glance around and make sure the world hadn't flipped upside down. "I-I really don't want a big lunch. A protein—"

  "You need a good meal." He pried my fingers open and tossed the tissue into a trash can fifteen feet away, hitting it dead-on. "I'm starved, and I hate to eat alone."

  "Since when? The way I hear it, you eat alone every day, in your office."

  "A man can change his ways, can't he?"

  Had I embarrassed him? It didn't seem possible, but the signs were there. He wanted to have lunch with me, and I realized I kind of wanted to have lunch with him.

  "Okay," I said. "Let's go eat a big, politically incorrect lunch."

  "No vegan, eh?"

  "Absolutely not. If you try to feed me hummus, I'll deck you."

  "That won't be necessary." He settled a hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the automatic doors. "What's your pleasure?"

  Oh, now there was a loaded question. Maybe a quickie with Logan would perk me up.

  No, I needed food. Red meat. Butter. Sugar. All the decadent things talking heads on TV told us never to eat. Still, even the richest food couldn't compare to the most decadent thing of all.

  Logan MacTaggart.

  Chapter Eleven

  Logan

  Lunch with Serena was...different. We didn't argue or insult each other. We talked about work and commiserated over the annoying way our loved ones insisted on playing matchmaker. We also agreed there would never be a romance between us. Neither of us wanted that, and besides, we were wrong for each other. When it came to sex, we were compatible. In every other way, we had nothing in common.

  Sex was enough for me. I didn't need or want to get entangled in a relationship.

  Why was I taking Serena to lunch, then?

  By the
time dessert arrived—something known as double chocolate lava cake—Serena had relaxed. When she'd stepped out of the elevator earlier, I'd seen the signs of sadness, from her faintly red eyes to the puffiness under them and the tissue crushed in her fist. She'd been crying, for sure, but made a valiant effort to hide it. Seeing her that way had made me want to hunt down whatever bastard had made her cry and batter him into the ground. I briefly wondered if I might've been the cause of her distress but dismissed the idea.

  Throughout lunch, I fought the impulse to ask what had upset her. It didn't matter. I shouldn't care. We were fucking, not forging a lasting bond.

  Over dessert, I seemed to lose all my good sense.

  Serena plunged her fork into her piece of lava cake, tearing off a chunk of the darkest, moistest cake I'd ever seen. Chocolate liquid oozed from its center. She slipped the fork between her lips and pulled it free, moaning as she chewed the confection.

  I wanted to drag her onto my lap and do things to her that would get us both arrested.

  My fantasy wasn't the moment when I lost my good sense, though. That came next, when I asked, "What was bothering you earlier? You seemed upset."

  She swallowed her bite of cake and stopped blinking. "What makes you think that?"

  "I'm a spy. Interpreting body language is a requirement for that sort of work."

  "Thought you weren't a spy anymore."

  "You never really stop. It stays with you for the rest of your life." I rested my elbows on the table. "Tell me what upset you."

  She consumed another bite of cake. "It was nothing."

  "You're lying."

  "I suppose you won't give up until I tell you." My expression must've confirmed what she'd said, because she set down her fork and took a swig of her water. "My son wants to visit his grandparents in Vermont for the summer."

  "And?"

  She huffed, snatching up her fork only to smack it down again. "And it's upsetting."

  "Why? You're going with him, aren't you?"

  An odd sensation gripped me, something like a cold sweat with a touch of nausea, but without the actual sweat. The thought of her leaving town shouldn't affect me. It didn't affect me. What did I care if she went away as long as I got to screw her one more time before she left?