KiltedForPleasure

by Melissa Blue

  “Dammit,” she muttered, picked up his glass and finished that one also.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Callan re-situated the laptop on his workbench so Douglass could see the problem on the computer screen. “Aye, laddie,” Papa Baird said, his voice booming from the tiny laptop speakers. “You’re going to have to cut the top of that screw off and then use a—”

  “I know.” Callan scrubbed a hand over his face. Cutting the head off the screw meant hunting down a similar one from the same time period to replace it.

  He set the table leg down next to the rest of the disassembled parts. “Some arse who worked on it before me stripped it.”

  “Amateurs.” Douglass pulled back from the screen. “So how is my lassie doing?”

  Callan glared at his uncle. “Your caregiver is fine.”

  “If that’s all she was you wouldn’t be glaring at me.” He crossed his arms and smiled. “Now tell me the truth about this Yank you brought to babysit me.”

  Callan had spent too much time with Victoria the day before. He had honestly meant to drop off the papers she’d need for her records. After visiting his wife’s grave he always felt like someone had reached inside him and scooped out all his insides—the good, the bad, everything until only something cold and empty was left behind. But Victoria had opened the door in a shaggy dress, smart spectacles and tousled hair. The scent of vanilla brushed across his senses and the cold stopped nipping at his heart.

  His lips tightened in anger. Why couldn’t she be fucking forgettable so he could fuck her and move on? Callan didn’t want to wallow in his grief either; he’d done that for the first six months after his wife’s death. If not for his cousins he might have lingered much longer, but it had still taken a year to indulge in the physical aspect of life again. And that was only a year ago.

  Wanting to remember he was a man with needs had been hard to reconcile with the fact that “death do us part” had such a finality. It wasn’t just Diana’s laugh he had to live without, but the bed she’d left as cold as a grave.

  The first few forays had involved endless comparisons. Diana’s breasts had been firmer, smaller. Whenever he had licked her neck like this she’d be wetter, tighter. There were no freckles to adorn with kisses. At some point, he’d accepted his wife would always and forever be the woman every other woman fell short of. Her death had immortalized her every perfection and washed away any flaws.

  He didn’t attach strings for that very reason. He didn’t hope to find the love of his life. His had already died.

  And Victoria?

  Callan flexed his fingers and then picked up the wrong tool. Douglass reprimanded him. He’d done it in hopes of distracting the old man and maybe himself. Unfortunately, his uncle asked again.

  He sighed and confessed. “The Yank works for Ian. She’s an appraiser.”

  Papa Baird looked confused for a moment and then he laughed. “What’d you do?”

  Callan smirked. “She wanted me to sign some papers.”

  “Oh, you shite. I’ve raised you better than that. Tavin is a bad influence on you.”

  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. Eve
n 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.”