by Melissa Blue
He laughed and finally turned. “Thank you, Burke.” He tossed the folder on the coffee table. “Now you’ve committed to taking care of Baird for three months.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Her mind had been focused on her job, where it should be. “A deal is a deal.”
She pulled the straps up again. His gaze roved over her skin, following the thoughtless movements. Her nipples pressed against the thin material. If she crossed her arms to hide her reaction to him, it would only make things worse.
“Why are you here?” The words fell out of her mouth in a breathless ramble.
He tugged at his tie until it unraveled from its knot, his focus fixed on her. “Because I told myself to leave you alone on my drive home, but then there’s the cottage. There you are.” He bit out the words. “As soon as I walked in the door, I get a call from Ian.” He put up his hands and mimed wringing a neck, likely hers. “I wanted to throttle you, but I’m not entirely surprised. The McCullough frames needed work. You’ve got a good eye for catching it.”
She sifted through his grouching. He’d stopped by because he wanted to see her. He’d noticed the needed repairs, like she had. “Oh.”
Warmth spread in her chest. Dammit. She didn’t date men in her field for this very reason. Sex and their work crossed over too often. A late night in bed and he shows her some antique he’s working on. She gives an absent opinion, her mind really on sex or sleep. He runs with it because he knows her background. It was too much like playing with fire. Years had passed since she’d been burned, but she was still trying to claw her way out of the ashes.
Victoria crossed her arms. “You just wanted to bitch.” She kept up a tone of disinterest. “Go home. Drink yourself into an angry stupor and then wake up and spend the money my boss sent.”
He gave her a long, slow look before he turned to pace. “I should buy this cottage and kick you out. Then maybe I could have some peace.”
Nonplussed by his bark now, she replied, “You should have taken a nap. You’re cranky.”
“You’re a cool one, Burke, but I know you for a liar. You pushed for another month. Six months in the future wouldn’t make a difference. Ian could have just ran a new exhibition or an extended one with new materials.” He quelled his pacing, pulled the tie off and dropped it next to the folder on the table. “But you chose now.” He seared her with a stare. “Tell me why.”
She was so focused on not falling out of the top of her dress, figuring out how to get him to leave and staunching her own wayward urges, Victoria hadn’t noticed he wasn’t just getting comfortable. He’d dropped by to bitch, and maybe in the back of his mind he’d intended to seduce her. The only way the latter would become a niggle in his mind was if he saw her actions as an invitation.
Was it? Six months was a drop in the bucket in their business. Sometimes it took that long just to plan an exhibition or to get the necessary contracts. She was the first cog in the machine that detailed the antiques, their condition and set a market value for insurance purposes.
Because of her background, Ian trusted her to scout for all possible antiques while on location and find the right restorers before shipping the items out. In six months, everything she appraised would still be traveling the world. There was no urgency, no need for an extension. Not even to impress her boss. If she did this single job right, she’d be fine. She could take a much needed sigh of relief.
The crux? Victoria wasn’t confused about wanting Callan. She was conflicted on what she should do about it. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she chose the right road, again, and didn’t stray from her path. “I came out here because my boss sent me. He trusted you. Then I met you. So I did some research.”
Any other man in their field would have expressed surprise or anger. They had their pride and ego. He tilted his head to the right at her announcement. She wanted to hate him for being so damn secure but couldn’t.
She sighed. “You do incredible work. If I were to shake Scotland to look for someone else with your skill and eye for detail, I might get two or three other names. One of them is retired with arthritis. It’s you or no one else.”
He shrugged out of his jacket as her little speech ended. She swallowed again. “What are you doing, Callan?” Her voice wobbled on a tremor.
“Scared?”
Since he didn’t remove anymore clothes, she shrugged with a modicum of relief. “My point is, it’s easier to lock you down for three months now than try to get you to drop everything in six months or however long it takes to get MacDougal to loan us more.”
He prowled over to her, taking in a cool assessment of all of her before he settled down onto the sofa. “So smooth but still a liar.”
The couch must have shrunk because he suddenly felt too close, his scent too potent. Her stomach tightened with need. “You’ve made my job extremely difficult,” she said and absently noted how husky her voice sounded now. “I try to be professional—”
“Our first and second meeting you accused Highlanders of being goat-fuckers. Now I don’t offend easily…”
Her and her damn smart mouth. “Why are you here?” she asked again.
“Offer me a drink and maybe I’ll tell you.” His gaze trailed down to her chest and lingered. Something equally potent and primal replaced the anger in his eyes. “Unless you really want me to leave,” he added, looking up.
“I had plans to call my mom or sister. Or read in front of the fireplace. You’re interrupting.”
Read. She reached up and pulled off her glasses. She’d completely forgotten about them. Her image as a hard ass who never strayed from the straight and narrow had taken a beaten during their whole exchange. Adding glasses to her short stature, dimple and wide-brown eyes tended to make her look like a sweet elementary school librarian.
His smile was slow but the impact left shock waves. “And she takes off her glasses for me. Now what am I to make of that?”
“Nothing.” Her quick denial sounded like a damn lie to her own ears. “Reading glasses,” she added weakly.
The bastard laughed at her. “So am I to leave or are you going to offer me a drink?”
She released her pent up breath. He probably already knew the choice she’d make. Bastard. She rose from the couch, went into the kitchen and poured them both a glass of wine. By the time she walked back into the living room he’d stretched out on the couch and left her a corner unless she decided to sprawl on top of him.
His mouth pinched tight in disgust when he saw the wine. “You don’t have real liquor?”
She glared at him and shoved the glass into his outstretched hand. The man was insufferable. “Don’t grouch again. I was starting to like you.”
“You like me well enough. I think I’m safe there.” He took a sip and closed his eyes. “Nice Shiraz. I had you pegged for a Cab girl.”
“What do you know about wine?”
“Sous-chef.”
Right. He was crabby, sometimes rude and sometimes kind and a connoisseur of food and whine—wine. She curled her feet beneath the folds of the dress and did her best not to touch any part of him. His long legs and arms dwarfed the couch. It would be so easy to turn around, settle between his legs and let his chest be the best human pillow known to woman-kind. So easy to make rationalizations.
Even before the fuck-up she’d never taken the easy road. She curled a bit more into her corner and considered her next option. He was more interesting than a phone call to her mother, who would fret about Victoria being halfway around the world. Her sister would pry and ask about Scottish men.
And despite the flirtation and grouching, he looked troubled.
“You never answered my question,” she said. “Why are you in a suit?”
“I had a late-night meeting in town.” He drank deeply from the glass, his eyes darkening. “Also stopped by the cemetery. Talking to Baird reminded me I hadn’t taken flowers there in awhile.”
She frowned. “I thought your mother was buried in Glasg
ow.”
He jerked his shoulder. “She is.”
Victoria took his lack of an explanation as a clear sign he didn’t want to name the deceased. A cousin or a friend he probably would have told her. A lover then. She tried to imagine him with a fiancée. The woman would have to have been a saint to deal with his mood swings. Or…maybe, he hadn’t become this gruff man until this person died.
She was spending too much of her brain space thinking about him, who he used to be—like it mattered. She leaned forward and grabbed the folder from the table, making her strap fall again. He didn’t put up a protest when she opened it. Original Copy was stamped at the top of the newly signed contract. This one was for her records since she didn’t have it yet. He’d come to grouch, yes, and he’d literally gone out of his way to bring her a copy of the new contract.
He didn’t smile when she glanced at him in surprise, but the soft, warm light spilling from the hearth made his irises as blue as sapphires.
“Thank you,” she said.
His gaze roamed over her again, this time stopping on the fallen strap of her dress. He reached over, curled his finger beneath the material and slid it up. He took that excuse to touch her and caressed her shoulder before letting his hand drop back to the couch.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Her nipples tightened painfully. “So…the McCulloughs?” she asked.
“We won’t have sex if you don’t want to,” he said. “Relax. Or at the very least stop rambling about work.” The smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes.
She should have been able to breathe easier at his reassurance. Her keen awareness of his every movement should have lessened, but the Callan she’d known so far would have never said that. She tilted her head, taking in the sharp angles of his face. There was something there she couldn’t understand. “Who were you visiting at the cemetery?”
He heaved a sigh that was so weary it made her ache. “Someone I’ll love till the day I draw my last breath.”
Her lungs squeezed and she couldn’t find the air to even ask another question or give him condolences. How could she when Victoria couldn’t fathom the grief hinted at in his voice? Their eyes met and what she saw made her heart hurt for him. He laid the grief out for her now without trying to hide it by being rude or a pain in her ass. And it simply was an abyss. He didn’t come by to grouch or to drop off a copy of the new contract. He hadn’t wanted to be alone.
“Callan,” she murmured.
His jaw clenched and unclenched before he looked away. He puffed up his chest and settled deeper into the couch. “When your reasons for saying no to sex seem trivial, let me know.”
She flinched like he’d slammed a door in her face. In a sense he had, but did he really need to explain? The message was clear. Drop the subject. Act like she hadn’t just seen him open and hurting, because it wouldn’t matter. Sex with him might have consequences if they got caught, but it wouldn’t be complicated between them.
She gravitated into his space, tempted to cup his cheek just to comfort him and maybe ease the ache twisting her stomach. He didn’t want that kind of comfort, and she couldn’t give him the kind he needed.
Before she could retreat back into her corner, he reached up and ran his thumb over her cheekbone. A sound filled with longing almost ripped from her throat. He was looking for any invitation to do what they both wanted, to do what he clearly needed—Callan wanted to forget.
He swept his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression I’d sit by idly until you changed your mind.”
He had his hands in her hair before she could set him straight. A nice good grip too. He tilted her head up. “Tell me you want this,” he demanded.
The way she curled into him screamed yes. “I’ll never—”
He kissed the “no” away. She balled her fists, ready to hit him if she had to, but he pulled back, sucking on her bottom lip gently.
Do it again. Don’t let me stop this. She said, “Just because—”
This kiss was deeper, longer. She wrapped her fingers around his arms and held on. She couldn’t think when his tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth. All she could do was part her lips and let him in. The wet heat of him was too damn tempting, but the moment he stopped, she’d try again to talk him out of this seduction…
Soft. So damn warm and convincing. She wanted his mouth everywhere. Little by little she just melted into him, letting his lips and hands tip her world, push her closer to the edge of insanity. It was wonderful and stupid.
She crawled deeper into that small corner of the couch to steal some room and maybe some of her sanity back. Her breath panted out as she pushed his chest. Heat burned her cheeks, her every limb. She throbbed from need. She needed to stop.
“Leave.” The only word she managed to get out came out as a plea, but she’d take it.
“Say yes, Burke.” He scraped his teeth along her top lip and groaned. “You taste good.”
“It’s the wine.” She balled her hands on his shirt. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Do you want me to?”
The answer right on the tip of her tongue should have filled her with conflict, but his chest felt as firm as it looked. His bared chest would probably feel divine. “Yes, you’re hurting,” she finally choked out.
He bent and murmured against her neck, “Are you cold?”
“Can’t feel it.” She spread her hands over his pecs unable to help herself.
He caught her lobe between his teeth. She bit back the moan. He gave it a nice tug and then whispered, “Then what’s making your nipples hard?”
Like he didn’t know? He gave a soft pull on her hair and closed his mouth on her neck. A tingle brushed over her nipples. The more he lavished her skin with licks and sucks, the more she wanted to scream yes over and over again. He let go of her hair and lifted her against him.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He was moving his tongue over her collarbone and back up to her ear, his breath heavy on her skin. This man, this need he stoked was beyond her control like she was trying to grab hold of a tornado to change its course. She was buckling under it and him. Though, obviously, some part of her loved the thrill making her heart skip…She bit hard into her lip to snap her out of the daze.
He stilled, maybe feeling the sudden tension in her, and then met her gaze. “Do you want this?”
The tornado ebbed enough for her to breathe and catch hold of a thought. His eyes were still haunted. Lust hadn’t dimmed the emotion one bit. How had she not been able to see it before? How the hell could she ignore it now?
She inched forward following the need to comfort him, but stopped. Closing her eyes, she said, “Callan, no. I don’t want this. You don’t either. Not really. We can talk if you need to.”
His sigh was deep and heavy against her skin but his heat lessened. She opened her eyes. The hint of grief had transformed into something that made her throat feel thick.
He pressed his lips against her forehead for a second. “I’m sorry. You said no before and I should have listened.”
And then he stood and left before she could form words to make him understand the complicated emotions swirling in her breastbone. She wanted him. She knew she shouldn’t. Her work was important. She was horny beyond the telling of it. They’d known each other for a few days and still she wanted to be the one to comfort him. The pain she’d seen was too much to ignore or to placate with sex.
But he’d left with his tie and jacket still on her coffee table and his glass half empty. She shivered at the blast of air that had blown in when he’d opened the door.
None of her words were necessary. She picked up her wine, finished it in one gulp. Now it just wasn’t the worry she’d have sex with him but that she could care for him too.