KiltedForPleasure

by Melissa Blue

  It only took five minutes for his head and cock to get the message.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning Victoria glared at the cottage’s ceiling, kicked off the cover and accepted the sexual frustration that gnawed at her. She couldn’t enjoy the coziness of the bedroom. The owners had even equipped the bed with one of those perfect duvets. The whole night she’d never felt hot or cold while wrapped under it. No. She couldn’t enjoy any of that because of him. He kept creeping into her thoughts and turning those wanderings into naughty visions. Those visions of him made her wet and…unbelievably frustrated.

  Her two choices were to dig out her traveling boyfriend to relieve some of the tension knotting her stomach or go for a long, hard run.

  “Buck the hell up,” she muttered her sorry ass battle cry.

  If she pulled out her traveling boyfriend, she’d only make the situation worse. Her mind would drift to Callan’s wide palms gripping her hips, him slamming his pelvis down into hers. Her body would crave his mouth. And that would naturally lead to her wanting his tongue to lash her clit until she came.

  Heat crept from between her thighs to her face. Crossing her legs, she rolled into the pillow and screamed. If Ian could look past her getting conned into looking after his Dad, he’d definitely hold some prejudice against fraternization between consultants. The man had a thing about it. Thin ice…she was doing somersaults on it.

  She’d just avoid Callan—whatever she had to do to finish this job with her virtue intact. The next week or so would be the most precarious as they’d have to work in pretty close proximity. She could go a week without giving into temptation. Fortified, she dragged herself out of bed, got dressed and continued to mentally map out all the ways she could avoid him for sixty days.

  The second she stepped outside wind smacked her in the face, and that vow to never let him touch her again flew into the frigid air. Soft sunlight crept over the rolling hills, slowly waking up the purple heather. That alone was a sight to behold, but of course it was the sight of him that stole her breath.

  Callan stood on the moors, likely with the wind tousling his hair, making him sexier and the world an unfair bastard. Victoria considered running in the opposite direction, but she’d bowed enough in the last twenty-four hours. She’d run where she wanted, temptation be damned.

  “Buck. Up. Burke,” she told herself and found an easy rhythm.

  By the time she cleared the mile between them, he’d moved outside his gates to lean on them. Steam rose from his cup. He notched his head in a hello as she passed. She did not notice how he watched her breasts as she ran. Definitely didn’t look back to see if he watched her ass with the same kind of hunger.

  Okay.

  Actually, she had and almost tripped and fallen off the hill. Served her right. He was gone by the time she made it back to her cottage. The four-mile run hadn’t killed the sexual frustration.

  Fucking windy moors, making Scottish men sexy for centuries.

  *****

  Two hours later Victoria pulled up the MacDougal Castle’s long driveway. She allowed herself a moment to gape. All the places she’d traveled to in America, all the precious antiques she’d held in her hands, not even her hours of obsessive research had prepared her for a castle.

  It didn’t seem real as she drove up the dramatic cliffs and hills. More like someone had blown up a postcard of Scotland and superimposed the image on her windshield. She had to lean forward and crane her neck up to get the full brunt of the tower, the stone and wood. The history.

  Built in 1206, the castle had many owners. Battles had been fought over it, on it and there it still stood. The castle should have appeared drab with all the gray stones but she couldn’t breathe because of the beauty of what those stones represented—history, roots…

  She wasn’t a person who believed in love at first sight but her heart pitter-pattered and her palms grew damp. She’d thought the church in Inverness breathtaking. Victoria practically ripped her car door off its handle to get inside the building.

  Callan stood in the entrance hall, near a writing table. Behind him light spilled through a small window framed by more stone. He’d only corrected what the wind had done to his hair with his fingers. She’d been close enough to him to know the strands were dark auburn but under the low lights, his hair appeared black. He fit in this ancient castle. Didn’t take much to imagine him in a kilt, the wooden end of an ax rising above his head, a sword on his hip and a dirk hitched in his boot.

  As she sized him up, he did the same. Her skin prickled. There was no mistaking the flash of desire darkening his blue irises. Just as it passed he once again wore an expression caught between disinterest and annoyance.

  “Good morning, Mr. Baird.”

  He scoffed. “I’d rather let you call me Jacob.” He gestured toward the long hallway as though to say move it along.

  She checked down the empty corridor and it was just them. Goddammit. “Where’s Logan MacDougal?”

  “An emergency popped up and he had to go to London. We’re friendly with the family so he’s given us permission to look around on our own, do what we need to.”

  She stared at him as her stomach dropped. Sooner or later she’d just have to get of course tatted on her forehead. “I—”

  “Are we going to stand here all day?”

  She took in a deep breath to stamp back her temper. “I’d planned to find everything on the list and scout out other antiques.”

  He made a noise that she could only assume was agreement with her plan. So, yesterday wasn’t a fluke—his default was rude. It should have killed her attraction to him, but of course it didn’t.

  Resigned, she led the way down the corridor and she had to stop again. Swords, axes, dirks and other weapons decorated the main room. They’d proudly hoisted their family crest above the display.

  He shook his head likely taking her moment of reverence as confusion. “You should have done your research. The castle was built—”

  “In 1206,” she finished for him and then pointed to a horn that sat below the swords and crest. “Would you mind taking that down? It’s not on the list, but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk my way into getting it included.”

  He took it down but didn’t hand it to her. “White metal mounts—”

  “German silver was used for the mounts. I’m going to assume, until I can do further research, that it’s from the 19th century. The thistle etching along the neck is a bit worn, but the domed cap is intact.” She squinted. “It seems to have the original chain. Based on what I know, this style wasn’t actually used to hold gunpowder. They were mainly worn as decoration as part of the Highland dress.”

  “Show off,” he muttered but she caught a twitch of his lips.

  That set the tone for the next two hours as they roamed room to room. She’d find something of interest, either he or she would give the full break down, and then the loser would mutter an insult. So the first opportunity she had to ditch him, she did—he’d gone to the bathroom. With three wings and a tower, it was fairly easy to lose him.

  When Victoria finally reached the tower, she had to take a pause. The tapestries decorating the circular wall kept out most of the cold, but this room, unlike the rest, was meant only for storage. Yet, it was another room filled with heirlooms and antiques.

  Her notebook brimmed with at least three pages worth of other items they could score for another exhibition. She even had to dig out the reading glasses from the bottom of her purse. The constant strain on her eyesight had given her a light headache. Her brain refused to process the magnitude of not only the job she had to do, but the living history in MacDougal’s “home.”

  She collapsed into a Windsor rocking chair and put her head between her knees. To think a few hours earlier her only worry had been one-upping Callan. She balled her hands. They shook like she’d had too much coffee, because despite the low burn of excitement in her gut, she was in charge of taking care of all of it. Mis
takes in her job meant a piece of history was destroyed—a career was destroyed.

  Ian had trusted her with this. She must have oversold herself to him. There was no way he’d let someone who felt this overwhelmed, who had screwed up, a chance to deal with all these antiques. She could stick to the list, but if Logan was impressed, what more would Baird and Associates ask for the next time?

  And that all depended on her, the woman who had let love and a good piece of ass ruin everything important in her career three years ago. When it had happened, she’d tucked her tail between her legs, sulked for months and then bucked the hell up. Wallowing in heartbreak couldn’t pay back her Stanford student loans, and no matter how much she adored her parents and sister, bouncing between their homes while unemployed was not ideal. Little by little she had put her life back together, her heart under lock and key and had moved on. It all led to this moment where she had her knees cradling her head.

  She’d get it done and do it well, Victoria had no doubt of that, but first the room had to stop spinning.

  Footfalls sounded on the stone steps. She rose much too fast and her head spun some more. Expecting to see one of the many servants she’d run into, she managed to scrounge up a smile.

  Callan strode through the archway. Victoria fought the urge to put her head between her knees again. He wasn’t a pretty boy but the stark angles of his face, his blue eyes and full lips made him breathtaking. No, she hadn’t forgotten his behavior from earlier, but that was the epic power of smoldering bedroom eyes.

  “You wear glasses,” he said, almost sounding defeated. “I’m starting to think you make sure you look harmless so no one expects you to turn into a barracuda.”

  “Another animal.” She sat down stiffly in the chair on high alert. His calm was the eye of the storm. “It’s a step up from a lamb, though I’m not sure why you think I’m a barracuda.”

  He strolled around the room in a lazy manner, picking up things and putting them down. Streaks of dust marred his hands and the thighs of his jeans. “Barracudas use surprise to hunt their prey.” He paused at one of the tables from her list of items that needed repair. “You abandoned me downstairs right when I was winning our little game, but now here you are where there’s only one exit.”

  “Only someone like you would feel the need to keep score.”

  “Aye.” He lifted the small table and turned it upside down. Though all his focus appeared to be on the table, she knew his attention was on her. “And that presents a problem.”

  She leaned back and rocked the chair, needing something to soothe her. “It doesn’t.”

  His laugh was as rich as Scottish whiskey. “So you say, but we have to work together.” He straightened, re-situated the table and then stalked toward her.

  Avoiding him hadn’t worked so she’d ignore the way the tips of her breasts tingled whenever he let out a laugh. It wasn’t often so that gave it more impact.

  She said, “We didn’t have to go room to room with each other. I would have sent you the pieces of the collection that needed repairs.”

  He stopped in front of her, placed his hands on the arms of the rocking chair and then leaned down. She lifted her chin as though his need to trap her with his body had no bearing on the conversation they were having.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with a forced calm.

  “The solution is simple.” He was close enough to touch, but no part of her did.

  “And what is it?”

  “You act so calm under pressure, but your answers are breathy, and your hands are clutched together in your lap like your life depends on it.”

  His decadent scent filled her lungs. Of course she sounded breathless. “You feel the need to unnerve me at every turn. Now, what’s this magic bullet?”

  He placed a finger on her chin. “You make it easy to get under your skin.”

  “The solution?” she asked again.

  “How about drinks after we’re done here? That table over there is the last on our list. You can make amends for calling me goat-fucker.”

  Booze, plus him seemed to equal a dumb-ass decision. Also, she wasn’t sorry for that particular insult. “I still have more work to do. I’m sorry but I’ll have to decline the offer.”

  “The same Burke who’d have likely slept on my doorstep until I signed a contract has suddenly lost her guff?” He tutted in disappointment.

  He dangled that as bait, and with him this close, she only wanted to bite into his lower lip as punishment. This was bad. “The only thing I need to know about you is whether or not you can competently repair the antiques.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I was worried there for a moment. The way you were looking at me…”

  His position had forced her to hold his gaze. Heat burned in her chest, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Letting it out, she took her time in replying—okay, she had to wait until her voice could come out cool, unaffected. “If you were the last man on earth, yada, yada.”

  He laughed, and this time she was sure he’d taken her words as a challenge. She pushed him back and stood. For a fraction of a second, her palms lingered on his chest. His pecs under the shirt felt as wonderful as they looked.

  Victoria snatched her hands away. Isn’t this how she’d screwed up in the first place? She’d lost sight of her goal because a man had made her swoon. She’d already gotten hoodwinked into taking care of her boss’ father. Victoria didn’t need to add sex with Callan to the situation.

  “Back up.” She put a bit of steel in the words and hoped it would trickle down her spine.

  He tilted his head, taking in her face. “If I misread you then I apologize about making you uncomfortable.”

  Her brows shot up in surprise. She didn’t think he was the type to apologize, but nothing about him seemed consistent. He’d been a pain in her ass, gruff, impatient, thoughtful, uncaring and smart. She couldn’t catch a foothold around him, but the tension in her shoulders ebbed.

  “Apology accepted.” After his nod of acknowledgment she added, “We’re at work. Let’s act like it.”

  He stuffed his hands in his jacket’s pockets, his blue eyes so damn observant as he took her in. “For the record, I didn’t read you wrong.”

  She huffed. They’d circled back to him being a pain in her ass. At least she’d found something consistent about him. “Tell me one thing, Callan.”

  His lip twitched. “Aye?”

  “Do you hit women in the head and then drag them into your cave by their hair? Because that’s the only way I can imagine you ever get laid.”

  He took a moment to think about his answer. “Only the pulling hair part, but I’ve yet to get a complaint about that. So, the last thing on our list?”

  Yup. That one thing was consistent. “Please, let’s get this over with.”

  He laughed again. She had the distinct impression he’d taken her reply as another challenge.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Just a few days had passed since Burke exploded into his life and already the woman was under Callan’s skin. He stopped at the top of Papa Baird’s stairs, letting the wave of tension pull on his scalp and skin. Next, as always, his cock hardened. Apparently, his body felt it was vital to his survival to have some preternatural sense of Victoria’s proximity.

  He fought the urge to rest his head on the cold oak door. He’d spent the previous night working on the table, his thoughts intercepted by what could have happened in his work room if he’d lost his head that first day. What could have been finished in the MacDougal castle if he’d leaned in to kiss Victoria instead of antagonizing her.