by Melissa Blue
“Now I’m sure of it. You are masochistic.” Callan shifted.
Her gaze snapped lower. Was that another tattoo peeking out from below the waist of his jeans? He dropped his hands and stuffed them into his pockets, making the denims ride lower. Yup. A tat. She could see the top of the Celtic knots at his Adonis line. She forced herself to look into his eyes, but a feverish heat rushed to her face.
His blue irises darkened. The tension within him shifted to her. “You seem distracted by other things, lass.” A note of desire leaked into his teasing words.
“I’m trying to figure out a solution that would please us both,” she managed to say with a straight face.
He tutted at the obvious lie. The room suddenly felt too small, too filled with him and the scent of sandalwood. She reached beneath the stack of papers to pull out the pen.
Victoria arched her brow before offering it to him. “You just tried to make a deal with a stranger to watch your elderly relative. Do you do that often?”
“Ian wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t trust you, and you seem like a lass with good taste.” He said the last without a hint of a smile before taking the pen.
He’d noticed the ogling and refused to let it slide. She sighed and looked at the sheaf of papers. This situation was of her own making. She could have waited until the next day to try again. She could have called her boss and given him this headache. But, no, she had barreled into Callan’s home with a half-assed plan to convince him. If Victoria left now, she’d lose all the ground she’d gained.
Well and truly screwed, Victoria pushed back her shoulders like she was about to face a firing squad. “This is all for an elderly relative?”
“Aye.”
Her grandfather was easy to appease. A good meal and conversation usually had him snoring in his recliner. What she wanted in the long-term would outweigh this momentary hit to her pride. She needed that black mark off her reputation or at the least, slightly forgotten. She was tired of people saying her last name and then, Oh, that Burke. So if Victoria had to make casseroles in her spare time, she would make fucking fantastic casseroles. She’d made peace with her ambitious nature a long time ago.
“I’ll look in on your relative,” she agreed.
He bent down to the paperwork. She sucked in a breath and held it, excitement fluttered in her stomach. He poised the pen right above the highlighted areas. A mischievous glint filled his eyes. “You’re holding your breath. Why?”
Subtle had never been her strong suit so she could lie until she was blue in the face and he’d know. Never mind that she’d just agreed to his form of blackmail. She grasped hold of what was left of her pride and glared at him. “I’m at your mercy and you know it so just sign the papers, Callan.”
The muscles in his shoulders rippled as though he’d shuddered at the truth of her words, but he signed the contract. Her breath eased out in relief. Later she could go over how she ended up being someone’s candy striper—and how not to ever end up in this situation again—but for now the contract was signed.
He straightened, placing his hands in his pockets again and giving her another sneak peek of his tattoo.
Callan waited until she met his stare to say, “You should know, I planned to say yes after I slammed the door in your face. You’re cute as a button, and I felt bad.”
Victoria glanced at the floor so he wouldn’t see the flash of murder that likely flickered in her eyes. She waited until the urge faded to look back up. “I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement. Let me know your relative’s name and his address. How many times a week am I supposed to drop by?”
He ripped a piece of the manila folder off, wrote down the information and handed it to her. She did a double take at the name.
“Douglass Baird,” she murmured.
Scotland was a small country. She could probably stand on a crowded street, throw five rocks and each time hit a Campbell. So the surname Baird could very well be commonplace, but given this whole horrible and humiliating exchange, Victoria seriously doubted it. Callan’s elderly relative bore her boss’ last name and that meant Callan…
If defeat had a distinctive noise, she made it in that moment of realization and really looked at the man who had turned her day to shit. The first time she’d met her boss he had intimidated the crap out of her too. His dark stare had been quite foreboding. When he spoke it was with the slightest hint of a burr, and he came across very cultured. Tristan was completely different in almost every way. He smiled often, cracked jokes and sometimes she got the hint he could charm a roomful of enraged rattlesnakes if he put his mind to it.
But Callan…He smiled with all his teeth in a predatory-like manner as though he knew every unkind thought she had had about him. “Papa Baird’s my uncle. When Ian and Tristan left for America, they entrusted me to take care of their father.”
Cousins. Heat rushed into her face again. Nope. She never called any of her cousins by their first and last names. Yup. When she couldn’t check in on her mother, she did ask one cousin or another to drop by. Occasionally, she’d reciprocate. So Ian, Tristan and Callan’s agreement made complete sense.
But fuck me. She’d just agreed to take care of her boss’ father. Of course that couldn’t go wrong.
CHAPTER THREE
“You look a bit green.” Callan Baird stilled, impatiently waiting for Victoria’s reaction.
A flush crept up her slender neck. “I’m just thinking I might be overstepping my bounds with my boss.”
It worried him that he was turned on by the blush on her beautiful brown skin. The hint of vanilla, her scent, mixed with the ever present smell of sawdust in his workshop. She was taking up too much room and too much brain space just by being there. All of her lush curves were the kind of trouble he didn’t need, and he planned to keep making her pay for the discomfort.
“Well then, Victoria—” his voice came out harsh, “—you have two choices: Don’t tell him or inform him you let yourself get blackmailed into being a part-time caregiver.”
He wanted her gone as much as he wanted her to stay. If she told his cousin what had transpired today, Ian would likely order her back to America. “It’s up to you,” he added.
She bit her lip, but a laugh spilled out. The sound was husky, yet still feminine. Need pounded in his veins.
“You’re good,” she said the compliment like it hurt to admit it. “You’re kind of ruthless.”
Why wasn’t she running in the other direction? Any other woman would have told him where he could put his conditions or cowered, but she got what she’d come for. She’d laughed at his bark, ignored it, or given it back in equal measure. “Have to be when it comes to my cousins.”
“Cousins.” She shook her head and shifted.
“Do you have family?” he asked.
“My mom, my dad and sister.” Her features softened and he knew she loved them. “Cousins, too. Yup. I have enough family to know you were probably emotionally blackmailed into taking care of your uncle. And as the saying goes, shit rolls downhill. I was just dumb enough to get caught in the crosshairs.”
Aye. His cousin knew his situation. Knew Callan would refuse a blatant offer of financial help. Callan should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it. Ian, likely with urging from Tristan, had sent a wolf in lamb’s clothing to get the contract signed.
A single look at her and he’d been too daft to see the trap sprung. Auch. His cousin had been right. In less than twenty minutes, she’d scored his signature. That wasn’t something he’d thought her capable of when he first opened his door. He’d spent six straight hours in his workshop disassembling and prepping a table for repair. Exhaustion fogged his head, and then someone had knocked on his door. Even a nun would have received the blunt edge of his temper.
“You’re not a victim,” he pointed out. “You weighed your options.” He needed to know, though he could guess the answer. “You would have done anything to get me to sign.”
&nbs
p; “Not anything, but enough to put a dent in my dignity.” Her long lashes shadowed wide, amber eyes.
“You work for my cousins. You’ll survive me.” He thought about that for a second. “Maybe.”
“Cocky. I don’t know why I didn’t see the family resemblance.” Her full mouth stretched into a smile that showed her dimple again.
No wonder he’d been blindsided. If she hadn’t spoken, he would have never sensed the first sign of trouble. The soft cadence to her voice reminded him of finely spun sugar but the huskiness caught him off guard. She’d looked as though if he were to part her pussy lips, he’d find her cherry intact. Her seductive purr would tempt him to pluck it.
Sweet Mary.
It had been a long while since a woman had surprised and impressed him, but Victoria had done both within the first two minutes of meeting her. She wasn’t anyone’s lamb. Now he knew better and would stay on his guard.
Because he wanted to step closer, he rounded the table and pulled his laptop out of the drawer. There wasn’t much room and hopefully that meant she wouldn’t follow. Not expecting her to blindside him with how quick, smart and determined she was didn’t mean he could fuck her. Callan had scanned the contract when Ian had sent it a month ago. His jaw clenched in annoyance. She’d be here for the next two months.
He fired up the computer and suppressed the thoughts of what else they could do besides work for sixty days. “I’m going to assume you can get around well enough since you didn’t crash on your way here.”
“Getting up to my cottage had some dicey moments. I practiced driving on the other side of the road before leaving California. Different thing when there’s another car barreling toward you.”
His fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Where is your cottage?”
“Less than a mile that way.” She pointed toward the Smith’s cottage.
Aye. Right. The first opportunity that presented itself Callan would beat Ian bloody. Until then…He grunted in acknowledgment and typed Papa Baird’s address into the computer. She picked up his mobile and brought it to him. He did his best to ignore her, but he could feel the heat of her stare on his chest again. He had no doubt she’d never cross a real line. Could he say the same about himself? Fuck no, because her hungry gaze felt like a touch—eager, slow. He stretched his neck from side to side in hopes that would loosen the suddenly tense muscles.
Callan put his hand out for his mobile. “What’s your number?”
She told him. He sent off a quick text with Papa Baird’s number. “Now you have mine too. I’ll phone him later to let him know you’ll drop by sometime this week.”
She shifted closer to him, frowning at the map displayed on the computer. Her breasts were at eye level. If he were a weaker man…
“Why me?” she asked, angling her head toward him.
She’d leaned against the worktable. Sawdust peppered the edge of her jacket and shirt. She splayed her hand next to his laptop. He balled his hands. “My cousins—the bastards that they are—had the insight to know you wouldn’t take no for an answer. That is exactly what my uncle needs.”
Victoria had needed him to say yes and would have probably stopped short of criminal activities to get just that. He’d use her stubborn determination to his advantage because Papa Baird was unruly. No one but family had the ability to somewhat rein him in. There would be no way the man could get around Victoria, but he couldn’t tell her that.
She narrowed her gaze and rolled her hand as though to encourage him to speak. “And?”
Her scent wafted up and drifted over his senses. He unclenched his fists and then clenched them again. “You’re a woman,” he answered, knowing a flush of anger would darken her cheeks.
Victoria’s eyes widened. “It’s amazing that you’re able to stand upright since you’re clearly a Neanderthal.”
Her comment cut through his frustration and he wanted to laugh. Instead he kept his tone dry, “Just consider me a miracle.”
She looked at him as though she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. “I won’t be able to go tomorrow. I have to get up early and head to the castle. I’ll verify all the items that need to be repaired and email you the list.”
He tutted. “I’ll meet you at the castle then. I have to see it for myself.”
She bit down on her lip, probably to choke back a cutting remark. “Is this going to be our next two months? I lay out a simple and easy plan. You say no and make it complicated.”
“Likely.” She couldn’t curtail all the bite, and he took note. “We’ll go to Papa Baird’s the day after. I’ll introduce you, check on him myself and then it’s up to you.”
She sucked her teeth. “You can go the day after tomorrow but not more than that?”
“It’s an hour and half there. That’s three hours out of my day gone. There’s always something that needs fixing. Straightening up his place and spending time with the old bugger. So what should be eight hours turns into a full day.” He pointed to the table he would have to spend at least another week or so restoring. “That’s another few days if I do nothing but tinker on it. I have three possible jobs lined up after that. I don’t have the time.”
“But I do?”
“You’ll make it.”
Guilt wanted to settle in. Sending her felt like breaking his word, and Papa Baird was family. In a perfect world, Callan would make the time, too. He knew intimately how easy life could be snuffed out.
And though Callan hated to admit it, he needed the money Ian would pay him. This one job could replace having to work two. He’d choke down a bit of his pride and take it. Victoria would be a means to an end. Nothing more.
He clicked the print button and heard the machine in the next room warming up. He rose, assuming she’d move since there was no way for him to pass without touching her. She realized the same a second later. Her eyes widened. They did an awkward dance to move out of each other’s way.
Finally, he placed his hands along her hips. “Be still, lass. You’re skittish.”
She smiled. “First I was a lamb, now I’m a mare. I’ve heard rumors about goat-fuckers in the Highlands. I didn’t take them seriously until now.”
A pretty woman with a dirty mouth and sharp ambition was his kryptonite. “Auch, you’ve got a mouth on you.”
She laughed, but leaned back on the workbench giving him more room to pass. The problem was he hadn’t let go of her hips. She filled his hands nicely. A buzz started in his head. She licked her lips in a nervous gesture, but it drew his attention to that mouth. His fingers flexed, and he was a twitch away from pulling her closer, lifting her up until her sex was a warm promise of oblivion along his cock. Reminding himself of the complications wasn’t working, not when she sucked in a breath that jostled her breasts beneath her silk blouse.
Maybe she wasn’t as cute as he first thought, but a woman who looked like her wanted more from her men than a quick fuck. He didn’t have the time and definitely didn’t have the heart left to give.
Still he trailed his hands down, taking in his fill of her soft, full curves until his fingers fell away. “Let me get you that printout. It’ll have clear directions to Uncle Douglass’…place.”
“Thanks.”
The added husk in her voice gripped him. There was no mistaking her desire. Callan wanted to taste her mouth and stoke that emotion.
Ten grand. That’s all you need to hold you over. Walk away.
Callan cleared his throat. “Beg your pardon.”
He strode out of the workshop to the small office. It would take less than ten seconds to grab the printout, but he needed time away from Victoria and the scent of vanilla. He needed to list the litany of reasons why he couldn’t get a taste of her.