Stalking the Kilt

by Keely Jakes

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Keely Jakes

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-613-2

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For kilt-wearing men everywhere.

  STALKING THE KILT

  Stalking Love, 1

  Keely Jakes

  Copyright © 2018

  Chapter One

  Dane Murphy walked across down the airport concourse slowly as he argued with himself about getting back on the next plane home instead of getting on the one going on to San Antonio. So far it had been a hell of a trip, and not in a fun, exciting way. The plane had taken off so late due to weather that his connecting flight had departed before they had even touched down in Charlotte. It then took another twenty minutes once they landed to reach their gate and disembark the small commuter plane.

  Dane was grateful that, in the endless minutes before he could escape the plane, he had managed to call his travel agent, who was able to get him on another flight. Only problem was it did not leave for another three hours.

  He would be later than he liked checking in, but that just meant the sightseeing around San Antonio that he had hoped to do today would have to wait until later during his stay. He would also miss the casual pre-dinner bar gathering, which consisted of schmoozing with his fellow authors who would no doubt brag about their latest sales and contracts. Something Dane had never been comfortable doing. The actual mystery writers’ conference began late the next morning with him sitting on a panel of five best-selling authors taking questions from the audience and sharing their knowledge about how to write the perfect murder mystery.

  Though he was already tired from a late night, or rather early morning, of finishing up the final edits on his next book, and then waking up after three hours of sleep to get to airport for his pre-dawn flight, he didn’t dare try to nap in the airport. He was such a heavy sleeper that he might sleep right through the boarding call. He promised himself that once he was on the plane he would crash. After all, it was a five-hour flight with nothing to do except sleep. He just needed to eat something before heading to the gate for his next flight.

  A hermit by disposition, the only reason he had agreed to attend this convention was to hear, meet, and, he hoped, shake hands with T.S. McKellen, the keynote speaker. The best-selling author of Dane’s favorite mystery/thriller series was so reclusive, he made Dane look like a party animal by comparison. Though he had once spent a full day searching online for a picture of his writing idol, the only picture he had found had been of the back of the man’s head, shoulders, and an upraised right hand flipping off the photographer. The conference organizers had proudly boasted this would be the man’s first appearance in ten years. Dane refused to miss this one chance to meet the man. T.S. McKellen was the reason he had become a mystery writer himself, and he needed to thank the man and offer to buy him a drink.

  The fact that his agent had signed him up for the book-signing on the last day of the event was secondary. Dane just hoped the books the publisher had shipped had arrived to the hotel on schedule, and that whoever was in charge of guest mail hadn’t sent them back.

  After a quick stop in the first men’s restroom he came to, Dane headed for the customer service counter for the boarding pass for his new flight. Then, with ticket in hand, he made for the gate his flight would leave from. With luck, he would be able to find something to eat along the way.

  Dane wasn’t overly hungry, but if he did not eat, his blood sugar would crash. The last thing he needed while away from home was a sugar crisis, which would inevitably lead to a migraine, or worse. The pain, nausea, and need to be in a black, silent box would cause him to miss the conference. No, it would be better to eat now and save the snacks packed in his carry-on for later. He knew he would eat them at some point over the next few days.

  So caught up in his internal debate, Dane only peripherally noted a man brush past him. A scent that he could only describe as a spicy, exotic, and wild caught his attention.

  It took only a second for his brain to snap to attention. At the same time, his libido jumped from zero to interested. Turning, he looked for the owner of the scent. It was a testament to Dane’s wildly changeable-in-an-instant luck that there was a momentary lull in the endless parade of people traversing the concourse.

  There. The man who had just brushed past him.

  Dane dragged his carryon in a circle then began race-walking in the hopes of keeping up with the only man he had ever seen brave enough to wear a kilt while flying around the United States.

  The kilt-wearer walked—no, prowled—through the airport, much like a lion on the hunt for his next meal. Dane struggled to keep up without actually looking like he was stalking the man ahead of him. As he walked, Dane made mental notes. As soon as he had the chance, he would write up a character description because this man would definitely show up in a future book. Hell, he might even come up with a new mystery series starring such a badass character.

  If only he could have talked to him. Then he would have been able to round out the hot, sexy character that was coming together. The man kept going, not aware that Dane was behind him.

  Then Dane lost him in the thickening crowd. With a sigh of resignation that he would now have to build the rest of the character without seeing more than the back of the tall, broad-shouldered man, Dane stopped in the middle of the human flood that parted around him.

  After watching for another minute with a silent prayer the man would come back this way, Dane finally gave up. He turned his suitcase around and slowly headed back the way he’d come. As he walked down the wide corridor, he looked around, checking out the various little sales kiosks that lined the walls.

  At the book stall, he paused, then turned to walk closer when one of the book covers caught his attention. Moving closer, he could not contain his smile as he saw there were a few copies of his latest book on the shelf.

  Reaching out, he could not help but stroke two fingers across the cover. The cover that was exactly how he envisioned it.

  “It’s good,” the woman behind the counter said. “All of his books are good.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Dane said, his smile growing even brighter. “I wrote it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep,” Dane said looking from the book to her. “Would it be okay if I signed them?”

  The woman, whose nametag identified her as Kate, nodded. “You’d do that?”

  “Sure. I have time before my next flight,” he said, pulling a pen out of his briefcase.

  “Ummm, before you sign anything, are you sure you’re Dane Murphy?” Kate looked nervous, which had Dane wondering if there were many people who pretended to be authors so they could sign books in airports.

  Turning the book over, he held it up so she could compare the author picture on the back cover to his face. “It actually looks better than I do today,” he said with a grin.

  “Oh, man, I’m so sorry, Mr. Murphy,” Kate said with a relieved grin.

  “No problem,” Dane said as he opened the first book.

  It only took a few minutes to sign all the books she had in stock, those on the shelf, as well as the few she had tucked away in a sto
rage area.

  Once the books had all been signed, and had received the little gold “autographed copy” stickers he pulled out of another pocket in his briefcase, he stood and watched the flow of humanity, waiting for it to thin out a bit before he started his journey back down the corridor to where there were a handful of restaurants.

  Turning with a smile to say good-bye to Kate, Dane found himself staring at the kilted man, who was walking on the outside edge of the crowd straight at him. His eyes widened as the man approached. He was as manly and sexy from the front as he was from the back, and Dane’s entire body went on alert.

  When he looked into the man’s face, he was stunned to find the man staring back at him, with a half-smile on his lips. Their eyes met, and the man winked at him just as he passed by.

  Dane couldn’t help but turn and watch the man walk away, his pace a bit slower than before.

  “Oh, my,” Kate said, forcing Dane to turn away and look her way. “Now that is a sexy man.”

  Dane smiled. “I bet you see all sorts of sexy men every day.”

  “Maybe, but very few look like him. Why aren’t you going after him?” Kate asked with a grin.

  “Because I don’t want to make a fool of myself,” Dane admitted honestly. “But I do need to get something to eat before my next flight. Have a great day, Kate.”

  “Yeah, you, too. Hope you catch up to Mr. Kilt.”

  Leaving Kate chuckling behind him, Dane headed the same way the kilted man had. He scanned the crowd, hoping he could catch up with the man. But the man had apparently disappeared once again. Which was kind of surprising. After all, how many men were in the airport at that moment wearing a kilt? Stepping out of the flow of faster moving traffic, Dane walked slower, checking out the various restaurants while debating on whether he wanted pizza, a burger, or something from the real, sit-down barbecue restaurant.

  “Hey.” A deep voice calling from his right caught his attention.

  Turning, he found himself looking into a pair of deep blue eyes. Widening his gaze, he recognized the man. “Hi,” he said, his mouth drying like a towel in the desert.

  “Hello.” The man smiled at him as if he knew he was frying Dane’s brain cells.

  “Hi,” Dane repeated.

  “How about ye join me for a bit ta eat?” The man’s Scottish accent and deep voice had Dane’s cock surging to attention.

  Checking his wristwatch, Dane smiled. “Okay, I have a couple hours, and I do need to eat something before my next flight.”

  “Verra good. And maybe I can talk ye into changin’ yer travelin’ plans,” the man said with a smile that had Dane’s cock, balls, and asshole clench with excitement.

  Dane hesitated a moment. “Only if you’ll tell me your name.”

  The man smiled, which had Dane’s entire body shivering in reaction.

  “Sully McKellen,” the big man said as he held out a hand.

  “Dane Murphy. Glad to meet you,” Dane said, then sucked a breath when electricity shocked his palm as their hands touched.

  “Verra glad ta meet ye, too.”

  Chapter Two

  Tyrone Sullivan “Sully” McKellen hated traveling. He hated crowds. He hated being away from the solitude where he lived amongst the make-believe characters, and having to deal with real life, and real people. But the pretty brown-haired man who had caught his eye just might be worth the stress he went through on these forays out of his comfort zone. The fact that his agent had threatened to castrate him if he backed out at the last minute, went home early, or got into any kind of trouble with the police was secondary.

  He was nearly as famous for being a fanatical recluse as he was for his writing. This time around the publisher had used his last book contract to strong-arm him into making his first public appearance in more than a decade. The fact that he had been more than a few shots into a damn fine bottle of scotch may have had something to do with his agreeing.

  He wondered if he could convince Dane to change whatever travel plans he had and join him in San Antonio for the next few days. They could spend every minute he was not tied up with panel speeches and meals in bed, getting to know one another better.

  He had been traveling for twenty hours and could use a pot of coffee with a hearty breakfast as he tried to acclimate his body to the drastic change in time zones.

  “So, what would ye like ta eat?” Sully asked as they stopped in the middle of the concourse.

  Sully looked at the half dozen restaurants within sight. He decided it didn’t matter to him where they ate. It all appeared to be crap, but as long as coffee was available, he would make do, since he doubted anyone in this airport served a proper cup of tea.

  Then the man turned and looked up at him. “How much time do you have before your flight?”

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, Sully shrugged. “More than enough time fer a meal and some conversation.”

  “They why don’t we check that place out?” Dane said, nodding to the barbecue restaurant to their left. “We can sit at a table in real chairs instead of trying to juggle food on our laps in one of the waiting areas.”

  Sully could not help but grin at the man’s logic. “I like yer thinkin’, Dane.”

  With a nod, Dane pulled his suitcase toward the entrance to the restaurant. They stopped and looked at the breakfast menu, and Sully was happy to see that he recognized some of the breakfast offerings.

  Picking up two menus from the hostess station, they did not wait for the hostess. Instead, Sully followed Dane through the restaurant to a quiet corner at the back of the dining room. There was no one nearby, so they could talk freely without offending anyone who might overhear if things went in the direction Sully hoped.

  Pulling back a chair, Sully settled Dane into it before taking his own. “So, where are ye bound for?” he asked once they had settled their belongings.

  “A mystery book convention in Texas,” Dane said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

  “Are ye a writer then? Or jes’ a rabid fan?”

  A bright smile crossed Dane’s lips, lighting up his entire face. “A little of both on this trip. I’ve written a couple and will be signing my latest release. I’m also hoping to meet my favorite author and maybe buy him a drink.”

  Sully was not sure he wanted to know who Dane’s favorite author was. Instead of asking that potentially ego-damaging question, he turned his attention to the menu. By the time the waitress arrived with a pot of coffee and too-bright smile for the early morning hour, Dane had moved the conversation along to other topics.

  “What can I get you gentlemen today?” she said as she filled the mugs that had been on the table with the hot elixir Americans seemed to live on.

  After placing his order for three eggs, three strips of bacon, fried potatoes, and toast, Sully doctored his coffee. Three sugar packets and a healthy dollop of milk from the little silver creamer between them cooled it down and sweetened it to his liking. Taking a sip, he smiled as he relaxed back in his chair.

  Once the waitress had hurried off to the kitchen, the two men sat in silence and stared at one another. Sully’s cock was stirring, and he was grateful he had decided to wear a kilt to travel in instead of trousers. Unlike most of his fellow countrymen, Sully wore a kilt to more than weddings and funerals. While his dress kilt, which had been made for him on his college graduation, remained in the closet except for fancy occasions, his wardrobe did include a number of kilts made from fabrics ranging from the family tartan to denim and canvas, such as he was wearing today.

  Dane’s interest for more than just sharing a meal was evident in the glow of his silver-gray eyes. Sully only wished he could indulge himself in what would promise to be a hot, sweaty, sex-filled time, if that look was anything to go by. But that would have to wait until after he fulfilled the requirements of his contracts with the publisher and the convention owners. Once they were happy, he would satisfy his own interests, which included inviting Dane Murphy into his bed, and possib
ly his future, if things worked out as he hoped they might.

  Because really, how many mystery conventions would one state hold in one weekend?

  ****

  Dane was not sure what to make of the big man sitting across from him. He had thought Scotsmen were supposed to be loquacious, always talking, laughing, and sharing stories, the more outrageous the better. But Sully proved to be the opposite. He hardly spoke a word, and rarely answered a question outright. Usually he ignored the question, or deflected attention away from himself with a question of his own. When he encouraged Dane to talk about the plot to the book he was working on, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t just shut the fuck up.

  What he really wanted to do was crawl under the table and see if the old joke was true, that all a Scotsman wore under his kilt was his shoes. But with the way the wait staff was hovering, watching, and whispering, he didn’t think that would be a good idea.

  If only he could talk Sully into joining him in one of the large handicapped stalls in the nearest men’s room. Then he could round out the character sketch he was building in his mind. And maybe leave a lasting impression with the big, handsome Scotsman.

  Laughing at his wildly inappropriate thoughts, Dane did not answer when Sully raised one eyebrow at him in silent inquiry. Instead, he sat back as the waitress slid the platters holding his breakfast onto the table in front of him. She finally left them alone once they had each assured her, twice, that they did not need anything further from her.

  They ate in silence, though their intense staring continued. Once they finished eating and one last cup of coffee, Dane watched as Sully left him at the table. The man crossed to where their waitress was hanging out near the kitchen door, watching their every move. Dane shook his head when Sully handed her several bills, which had her eyes widening in response. No doubt the man had way over-tipped. He then apparently asked a question, to which the woman pointed to the hallway behind her with a knowing smile. That earned her another bill, which she refused.