by Melissa Blue
His smirk slipped at the mention of his father. After his mother died, Tavin hadn't been much of one. He'd been too busy searching for a replacement that would fill the hole his wife had left. Even at a young age, Callan could have told his father it was a useless endeavor. Having lost his own wife now, he could almost understand the illogical need to keep looking. Something, someone had to fill that hole. No one should have to live the rest of their life feeling as though they were missing a limb.
His knuckles popped. He took a breath and loosened his hold on the tool. “Awright. You're no better.” Absently Callan added, “Don't tell Ian.”
“He'd be pissed you're using one of his own. She might quit or fall in love with me, and where would that leave him?”
Callan scowled at the computer screen since his uncle was only half joking. “I think she might already love you a bit. Otherwise she'd have poisoned dinner to do away with you.” Slyly, he picked up the wrong tool again. He didn't want to talk about her anymore. His mind kept straying to her enough as it was. “I need to get to work, old man. If you're done helping, I'll let you go. I know how much you hate computers.”
“Bought me one anyway,” Douglass grumbled.
The man was almost sixty, drank like a fish, smoked on too many occasions and ate like shite. That would all catch up to him eventually. Callan didn't want Douglass to drop dead from a stroke or a heart attack before considering, maybe just maybe, someone should have looked in on him more often. “Can't always be there.”
“'Cause your work is so important and you must take care of me because Ian and Tristan trusted you. Auch. You act like I'm some withered bag of bones.” Douglass made another sound of displeasure. “The three bit. Use the three bit or you're going to end up stripping the rest of the screws.”
Callan hid his smile and picked up the tool. The rest of the screws fell out perfectly. Once he found a replacement, he could do the final stain and be done. That would take a few hours at best. Most of that time would be letting it dry.
This is what he should have been focusing on, not her. Tension gripped the nape of his neck as the memory of her mouth—He threw the three bit onto the table. She wanted him but not the consequences, and he couldn't fault her for that. He would respect her wishes and ignore her desires. It's why he'd called MacDougal that morning so he could avoid going to the castle. A truck would come by later to drop off the first repair job.
Douglass cleared his throat. “How long is she going to be here?”
The question brought his scowl back. “Three months. So that's how long you have to behave.”
“I'm not her problem.”
He met his uncle's keen stare. Callan wouldn't push Victoria. He also wouldn't dissuade her if she had a moment of weakness. That's why she didn't entirely trust him. Smart woman. But last night when she told him to stop, his first inclination had been to reassure her—to give something of himself that wasn't strictly physical. It had been so long since he had, it felt wrong.
Didn't matter if wanting a connection was normal, healthy. He'd just come from his wife's grave and there he was seducing another woman, caring for her. And the vicious cycle of it all was that he had needed to feel the warmth of another human, that connection so badly that he hadn't taken care.
Papa Baird scoffed. “What's the matter with you? You look distracted and tense.”
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. “I'm trying to figure out how to get this screw out without busting up the wood. There are already splintered pieces around it.”
“Right,” Douglass said, and he could have just said bollocks.
“I'm going to let you go,” he said to his uncle. “I'm sure there are patrons waiting to go into the pub.” Someone knocked at his door.
“That might be my lassie. Go answer it.”
He checked the time and considered it just might be. “Bye.”
“No. No. I'll wait. I want to know when she plans to drop by. Without you.”
Callan set down the screwdriver. It took him another second to fight the instinct to close the laptop and abruptly end the call. Finally, he just sighed and went to answer the door.
Victoria held up a flash drive in her right hand. “I've taken pics of the last bit of furniture I'm going to need you to repair. Nothing major, but I don't have anywhere to print them.”
He leaned against his doorjamb and crossed his arms. Annoyance, lust and disgust at himself rushed through him. At the sight of her short skirt and high heels, his cock rooted for lust to win. Then she smiled, unleashing that cute dimple on him. The useless organ in his chest skittered, which only furrowed his brows until a sneer tugged at his mouth. “That wasn't necessary.”
She shrugged, ignoring his bark as usual. “Saved you a trip. And I didn't want to wait. Even with the extra month, my to-do list is epic.”
She was acting like last night hadn't happened. He should have let her, but that would mean he'd have to get amnesia. He couldn't forget how her neck looked so delicate as she'd offered it to him. Her moans. His jaw clenched as he waved her in and then followed her hip sway.
He settled at the workbench, his back to her and pulled the laptop closer. “Your boyfriend wanted to say 'hi.'”
“How are you, you cad?” her voice had softened, making it clear she was more than a little bit smitten with his uncle.
Papa Baird flirted and Victoria spurned his attempts, her dimple flashing every now and again. The professional exterior fell away and there was the woman Callan could still practically taste. If he were smart, he'd thank her for the flash drive, scoot her out the door and if push came to shove, drink himself limp.
“Callan and I have some—need to talk.” She didn't know he'd already told the man the truth. “I'll drop by in a few days. Don't make me spend all that time cleaning up after you. It'll make me grumpy.”
Papa Baird scoffed. “You've done nothing but bark orders and demands. Now I wouldn't mind—”
Callan spoke up, “Don't finish that, old man. I've seen her grumpy. Why else do you think I chose her as your caregiver?”
The man's face suddenly filled the screen. His grin was wide. “See you in a few, lass.”
“Bye, Baird,” she said.
Callan turned to shut off Skype. She handed him the flash drive. “Most are simple repairs. I have to do some research on my end. Figured I'd ask you first since this is your trade.”
He stopped acting like a fanny and scooted over to give her room to sit. “What's the problem?”
“The extent of repairs.” She sat down, motioning to his computer. The images popped up. She pointed out a chair. “Zoom in to the left arm rest. You'll see.”
She leaned into his space to point out the problem. Her breast was a soft cushion on his arm. His blood coursed harder in his veins and not to his head. Ignoring her breast as best as he could, Callan hit the zoom button on the computer and immediately saw the problem. “What do you need to know?”
“Give me a second,” she said, already digging into her purse. First, she slipped on glasses then pulled out a notebook and pen. She took her time flipping through the pages.
“Ah—” she stopped, “—the question isn't necessarily the cost of repairs, but the grade of materials you'll use to replace it. Go with the best case scenario, then work your way down.”
She took detailed notes as he spoke. Occasionally, she'd stop to ask a question, but she gave him the floor. Her knowledge was vast enough that he never had to explain a process. Jargon filled their exchange. He could see talking to her about his work for hours. He didn't have that, never really did. He called Papa Baird for help but the man usually grouched at him, teased him or sidelined him with something personal.
Didn't help that her warmth seeped through his leg. He wanted to grab her notebook and tug her into his lap. They could still talk technique between kisses and caresses.
Suddenly, she snapped her notebook shut. He realized she'd noticed the shift
of his thoughts. They were so close she could probably feel the need vibrating through him. She clasped her hands over the notebook as her own conflicting emotions played over her features, but when she looked at him, her gaze was hard.
“Who did you visit at the cemetery yesterday?”
His head snapped back like she'd hit him with a two-by-four. “My wife,” he answered in a whisper.
Victoria's eyes widened but a slow burn of fury filled her eyes. “I see.” She swallowed. “That's the financial help you need.” She paused and then said, “Medical bills? That's what you need to pay off. Your wife’s medical bills.” Her voice held a tremor.
“Aye and a proper headstone.” He fisted his hands in his lap.
She swallowed again before shoving her notebook and glasses into her purse.
He stammered, shocked at her plan to leave after asking such personal questions. “You're just going to walk out of here after blindsiding me? Are you serious?” She stood and he barked, “Answer me.”
“Or what?” she yelled back.
He closed his hand over her wrist. “I'm not a fucking mind reader. What is your problem?”
She dug her finger into his chest. “Yesterday you were feeling raw from visiting your wife's grave. I knew you were hurting, but your wife? Ugh. And that's when you decided to forget that this—” she motioned between them “—is a bad idea. Who cares if Ian finds out? Who cares that he’s the same man giving you money and would happily take it back if you pissed him off. Screw it all and screw me just so you can feel better,” she said the last with a tremor of disgust. “I'm not a wet hole you can stick your dick into when grief hits you. If you recall, I'm not a fan of being used.”
Guilt dug into him, making it hard for him to breathe around it. He hadn’t meant to make her feel like a thoughtless balm to his pain, but that’s exactly what he’d done.
He yanked her to him. “If I just wanted a hole it wouldn't be you. You're cute, aye, but you're also stubborn, suspicious, paranoid...Complicated. You're the last person I want to fuck.”
She pushed at his chest. His hand took all of the blow and then he held both of her hands to keep her from doing it again. She muttered a curse. “Let me go.”
He didn't because he wanted the option of shaking some sense into her. “Do I miss my wife?” His throat tightened with the question. “Yes. Was that eating at me last night? Yes. But you're smart, kind and curse like a Scot. You're your own woman.” The truth of that sat like a stone in his stomach. “I need to fuck you just so I can think again.”
She gasped. “That is so insulting.”
Anger curled in his stomach. It shouldn't have but her simple words hit a chord. “And it's honest.”
“I don't want your honesty,” she spat back.
“Now tell the truth, lass, despite that, do you want my bark or just my bite?”
Victoria sneered. “Let. Me. Go.”
She'd put him in a temper as easily as she dragged him into his grief and, apparently, he did the same to her. He tried again. It mattered that she understood. “Burke, I may have been feeling raw yesterday, but I didn't use you.”
Her breath caught and the fight in her posture left. “Why should I believe you? Why shouldn't I think yesterday was some kind of red flag?”
He sighed, mentally kicking himself for not having seen it earlier. She needed reassurance that he wouldn't hurt her, that he'd keep his word. How often did he shift to anger when the cold fingers of fear gripped his heart? Too often. What did it mean that he wanted to give her reassurance?
Callan dropped her hands to cup her face. “Sleep with me or not. It's that simple, Burke. No excuses. No bringing up cloak and dagger motives you think I have for fucking you.”
Her mouth pulled tight and she shook her head to dislodge his hands. He tutted, but waited.
She glared up at him. “You irritate me sometimes.”
“Ditto.”
She shook her head and chuckled. “I'm a fucking idiot.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her gaze going to his mouth. “Kiss me before I change my mind.”
So he kissed her before logic could kick in again. She made a half-hearted protest.
He edged back, not wanting a repeat of the night before. “If the answer is no, leave now.”
An indecipherable noise wrenched from her throat. She fisted her hand in his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. That was as good as a yes for him. He did what he'd had the urge to do when she first walked in—yanked her skirt higher and then pulled her into his lap. There was no more protests, no hesitation. She straddled him, moaning into his mouth.
He tugged at her shirt and had it unbuttoned in record time. Skin. Sweet Mary. Her skin. Nothing had ever felt this good beneath his fingertips. She rocked into him, a wordless message for him to keep going. His hands fumbled over the clasp of her bra.
“Do it again,” he demanded, and when she did, he grunted his approval.
After he tossed her bra across the workshop, he gripped her hips to guide her in the slow grind. It was a tease of what he really wanted—inside her. Now. But it felt right to take this slow immersion into a mutual seduction. Maybe Victoria understood because she cupped one hand along his cheek and buried her other hand in his hair.
But slow didn't mean without urgency. Victoria bare and soft and wet is what he needed. He pulled down the side zipper on her skirt and lifted the soft material until it was past her belly button. His hand met the smooth flesh of her arse. He searched for the thin strap of her thong. When he found it, her tongue reached deeper in his mouth, egging him on.
He reached farther down that beautiful curve until hot moisture greeted his fingers along her slit. All he needed was a moment to let this sink in—the way her sweet scent permeated the air and the feel of her wet against his exploring fingertips.
Apparently it was a second too long for her, because she arched her hips into him. Breaching the thin strip of material, he plunged one finger inside her, then two as she squirmed and wiggled, searching for a release he'd give her.
He closed his eyes, cataloging every reaction, every breath and twist of her hips. No conversation could ever tell him more about this woman than knowing what she needed to kiss the edge of pleasure. To see her when everything else fell away and her focus, her sole purpose was to feel.
Her moans quickened until she stilled, holding her breath. It was a thing of beauty to feel her break apart. She shuddered but kept jerking her hips up and down on his fingers. He pushed his tongue deeper until all she could take was him.
With a soft sigh she went boneless in his lap. He tutted gently though everything in him felt coiled. “My room. Now.”
Like a fool he waited for some kind of confirmation that this wasn't just a moment of weakness he was exploiting. He needed to know she was right there with him, wanting this.
Victoria murmured, “Yes. Your room.” And then she held firm to the back of his neck, trailing kisses over his chin.
He cleared the workshop in a few strides. Almost in his room, she nipped his ear. He put out his hand to get a good hold on the doorjamb just to keep him upright. That was his weakness, one he never confessed, and she'd found it.
“Let me guess.” Her laugh was husky.
He took a staggering step into the room. “The condoms are in the dresser.”
To his regret she stopped what she was doing to follow his stare. His bed was more than ten feet away from it.
“Tough choice,” she pointed out.
“Bed, later,” he promised and took them to the dresser.
She nipped his lobe again. “Who would have thought? Biting your ear turns you into a mindless animal.”
“Shouldn't be that surprising. I'm barely civilized.” He opened the drawer to his left and then tossed a condom next to her hip.
Her gaze followed the action and he knew what would come next—doubts, hesitation, everything neither of them needed. He kissed h
er, harder than before until her limbs wrapped around him. Everything they didn't need could wait. If that made him a mindless animal, he could live with that. When she started to relax again, he took off her panties and skirt.
She brushed her fingers along his chest down to his zipper. The edge of the dresser bit into his thighs but she was sliding her palms around his back, farther down until her hands were in his boxers.
Victoria scraped her nails over his arse, his pelvis. She touched his tattoo without breaking the kiss. It was a Celtic dragon he had inked on his skin in his youth. The more she caressed it, the harder his cock became. His breathing rasped. Fast and now is what he needed, but her breasts were full and heavy. He broke the kiss, pulled back and glanced down. Her nipples looked like they wanted his mouth. He swallowed though his throat felt tight.
“There.” She trailed her fingers over her pussy lips. “Kiss me there.”
“A lesson of the female anatomy?” he asked, amused.
“You seem to not know where I want you to touch me.”
“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were well out of my league, lass. Grip the dresser.”
She did without argument. He rewarded her by catching one nipple between his lips. She gasped, arching closer to his mouth. He lavished both breasts with licks and sucks until the buds were wet and tight. When he knew she was tight and wet.
He moistened the tip of his finger and circled both nipples to keep them hard, the way he liked. She muttered something foul, impatience clear on her face. He finally took the not-so-subtle directions and began to rub his finger over her clit in a slow rhythm. Her come from earlier had left her deliciously slick.
“You held your breath when you came,” he said.
She let out a moan. “Didn't notice.”
He'd noticed. Everything. “You like following directions. Like being told what to do. I'm starting to think my guess of a masochist wasn't that far off.”
Her lids were low, and she shook her head. “No. I don't have any kinks. I just like the way you demand it.”
Simple words that pushed him closer to the edge, but he continued to caress her clit, the inner and outer lips, slowly. She was so perfectly swollen. Later he would know how she felt beneath his tongue, but he had a purpose.