KiltedForPleasure

by Melissa Blue

  She blinked fast but couldn’t stop the next wave of tears. She had no doubts, no hesitation when she said as her answer, “I, Victoria Marie Burke, will take you as my husband as soon as my parents and sister get to Scotland.”

  The Baird moved beside them. Pleasure creased Callan’s laugh lines. It took her a moment to understand what was happening. Douglass held a foot-long strip of plaid in his hand. She’d done research, a ton of it and her heart ached at this simple ritual, not complicated at all.

  Her features softened. “But you said only purist or tourist had plaids and that you weren’t a big enough clan to have one.”

  The Baird held up the fabric. “We’re part of a bigger clan that has one and…we make an exception for marriage to actually use it,” Douglass said. He took the foot long plaid and stretched it out. “Take his hand.”

  Without hesitation she did and the Baird tied their hands together. Callan said when his uncle finished, “If you’re insane enough to love Scotland, I don’t think you will mind this instead of a ring right now.” He closed his eyes and kissed their joined hands. “Consider this my engagement ring, lass.”

  She laughed, her heart filled with so much love. “I did. I fell hard for Scotland and then you.”

  His expression turned somber. “Are you sure? Do you have anymore doubts?”

  She started to shake her head before she said, “No.”

  His hand went to her stomach “A wee Baird.” He rested his head on hers and whispered, “Every day, my lass. Every day I will love you. I promise. I love you, Burke.”

  Her throat felt tight but she put her hand over his. It took her a moment to find the ability to speak. “Are we supposed to kiss to make this engagement official?”

  “No, but kiss me anyway.”

  Though it was just their beginning—her and their family—Callan started to make good on his promise and he kissed her like it would be their last one.

  BIO

  Melissa Blue’s writing career started on a typewriter one month after her son was born. This would have been an idyllic situation for a writer if it had been 1985, not 2004. Eventually she upgraded to a computer. She’s still typing away on the same computer, making imaginary people fall in love.

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  Special Thanks

  It takes a village, as always. I must thank Jennifer Leeland who took the brunt of this book. It was ugly when I sent it to her. She pushed me on the right path. Then came Amie Stuart who drop-kicked it into next week. I may have whined, but by God, this is book is so much better because of you. I seriously cannot thank you enough. My poor, sweet editor, Shawna. You try, you do. My Lit Divas get a huge thanks for putting up with me on almost a daily basis. Holley, LV and Ambrielle...y’all keep me sane in this crazy biz.

  If there is anything wonky in this story it is not because my village didn’t try. It’s all on me.

  Other Titles by Melissa Blue

  Under His Kilt, Under The Kilt

  Jocelyn Pearson is determined to spend her last month as a twenty-something doing everything she’s too busy or scared to try. Her imagination runs wild and then fixates on Ian Baird. He’ll be working at the Langston Museum for a short stint as a consulting curator. He’s Scottish. He believes sex is fun to be had. He’s the perfect choice for a fling. She only has to get him break his rule about sleeping with co-workers. Seducing a man was on her bucket list…

  Ian is no one’s fool and knows exactly what Jocelyn wants—him. If she didn’t work for the Langston Museum, he’d be more than happy to oblige any and every fantasy she desired, but she’s the curator. She’s sweet, inexperienced and well liked by everyone including the museum owner and director. Ian can’t risk losing such an important contact for his consulting business. Not even when everything within in him craves a taste of her.

  When Jocelyn sets her sights on him, there’s no way Ian can deny her. They agree their affair will end in thirty days. No emotions, no entanglements, just sex. The closer the end date looms, they start to question if it’s possible to walk away. They’ll either have to come to terms of what they’ve become or stick to their original agreement.

  Her Insatiable Scot, Under The Kilt

  Keri Pearson is currently between jobs, so there’s nothing to lose when her cousin promises her a glowing recommendation from a top expert in their field in exchange for a small favor. All she has to do is lie about who she is and pretend to be married to a charming Scot for three hours. Her sexy-as-hell pretend husband makes it too easy to play the part of newlyweds. The last thing she should do is trust him or the genuineness of his lust or adoration, but his touch ignites an unexpected desire.

  Tristan Baird turned his back on his past with plenty of regrets, but when his brother blackmails him, Tristan can’t say no. Given his brother saved his neck, an afternoon doing what he does best doesn’t seem like too much to ask. And it’s for a good cause. Doing the job right guarantees his brother and new wife will have the home of their dreams. But his stunning accomplice complicates the job. She is everything he always wanted and couldn’t have. The kind of woman who is too smart to ever trust a former conman.

  The three-hour commitment stretches into five sexually charged days as they fight the explosive connection. As each day passes, Keri must remind herself what is true and what is false, but the lines are blurring. Tristan can only hope his past doesn’t come back to ruin their future.

  Weekend Lover, Down With Cupid Shorts series

  The weekend that started it all…

  Sebastian Clark’s intentions are simply to buy Nicole, a beautiful stranger, a drink, make her laugh and disappear before dawn. As a publicist for Snapshot, his days are long and his moral code is to always keep things light. Until he touches her and lust fades any lasting hold on common sense. His questionable motives pave a road to unbelievable pleasure.

  Nicole Harrison is on the fast track for a promotion at Limelight, a PR boutique. She’s given up dating, especially handsome men. They tend to suck up time and sometimes common sense. Sebastian has the ability to do both. One single night won’t break her own rules and Nicole gives in to temptation.

  The boundaries are clear—no last names, no shared details. She has only to walk away to end the affair. One night turns into three, and her naughty little weekend becomes more than just sex.

  One night of consenting pleasure sets Sebastian Clark and Nicole Harrison on a course that could ultimately destroy them both, or bring them a love for all time…

  Down With Cupid, Down With Cupid Shorts series

  Two months after a weekend of forbidden pleasure should have been more than enough time for Nicole Harrison to forget Sebastian’s charming smiles and wicked kisses. During those nights together, Nicole temporarily left behind her driven lifestyle as a publicist and took what she wanted, experiencing freedom and the wild abandon of their reckless agreement. And that’s the hardest part to erase from her memory.

  Unfortunately, one detail was tantamount—Sebastian Clark is a publicist and now he’s gunning for her job.

  Sebastian never allows himself to get tangled in knots by a woman, and, yet, he can’t stop dreaming about Nicole’s silky thighs and ripe lips, how she’d shuddered under his touch. He doesn’t need a woman who is more of a shark than he when it comes to PR, except he’s seen every, single soft inch of her. Now they’ll have to work side by side and somehow ignore what feels like unfinished business.

  Will the weekend they spent together turn out to be more than they could have ever imagined, or will past hurts and career ambitions stand in their way? Only Cupid knows…

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  Excerpt from Kilt Tease

  Chapter One

  Katherin
e Campbell sipped her Coke as the fate of her employment played out between a pregnant African American woman and a Scottish curmudgeon. She propped her feet up on the pub’s booth’s seat across from her, settling in since this argument showed no signs of ending any time soon.

  That was more than fine, her feet hurt anyway and the pub was toasty. She’d trekked from St. Jude’s, the hospital sponsoring her registered nursing work visa, thinking the Baird’s Drunken Barrel was a straight shot from the location. It hadn’t been, and she’d got lost twice.

  Even then she couldn’t entirely complain. Kate got to see Glasgow—the brick walkways, the bag pipe musicians playing across the street from a McDonald’s, churches that looked more like castles. The past and present intermingled so effortlessly that it left her in a state of awe. The pub was no different—emphasis on pub. The framed-plaids along the walls were interceded by flat screen TVs. Even though the place was empty this early in the morning, she had no doubt it would be filled to the brim after opening its doors.

  “Who is winning?” a deep Scottish baritone caressed her earlobe.

  Kate jolted and whipped her head to the side to get a good look at the man who had somehow crept up on her and sat down behind her. Her stomach jittered and all the air in her lungs seeped out. He didn’t need to come with a warning. The moment your panties spontaneously combusted let you know you were in over your head.

  His shoulder-length dark auburn locks brushed the collar of his white shirt. His tapered nose crooked to the side, muddy blue eyes were sharp and jaw line was chiseled. He looked…hearty.

  She’d been in Scotland for three weeks and had not seen his equal. They must have hid him somewhere, because women would lose their fucking minds if men like him just walked up and asked out-of-the-blue questions. Or those women drooled. Or were rendered silent.

  Kate put the glass to her lips, took a long pull on the soda and then muttered so she wouldn’t draw too much attention to herself, “You would think the Scot. Hands down. For an older man he’s pretty as hell. Could probably talk a nun into the religion of him. And she looks so sweet, helpless. The dimple, the glasses—her appearance screams softie. Right now her stomach is as big as she is. But, nope, she’s dropped the f-bomb four times in the last two minutes. He’s losing and can’t even do it gracefully.”

  He let out a silky, seductive laugh. Oh, yeah. They kept this man under lock and key for public safety, but even with the laugh and the looks he gave off a quiet intensity. It was the eyes. They scanned the surroundings, her and meted out a silent judgment. This light exchange happened because he wanted it to.

  The man gestured to the fighting pair. “She’s put her hands on her hips. I think she’s about to hit him with the coue de grace.”

  With curiosity, and concern for her own safety if she kept looking at him, Kate turned her attention back to the pair at the pub’s counter. Behind them liquor bottles were situated in shiny metal contraptions that made it easy to pour with a knob. In the mid-morning light they gleamed.

  “Baird,” the pregnant woman intoned with a hint of exasperation. With her hands on her hips the woman gave off the appearance of being formidable even at her five-foot-four height. “I’m tired of your bitching. I’m just plain tired. Katherine’s going to take care of you for the next few weeks. You will listen to her, because I swear on sweet baby Jesus’s manger, if I have to deal with you, Callan, this baby and the wedding, I will find a way to smite you.”

  The man behind her whistled low and shifted on his booth’s red cushions, placing his thick biceps on the wooden divider. The muscles in his broad shoulders made the white long-sleeved shirt scream for sweet, delicious mercy. “Every time she hits him between the eyes with something like that and he crumbles.”

  Her intrigue shifted back to him. “You know them?”

  His gaze held a cautious curiosity as though uncertain if he wanted to answer. “Aye,” he finally said.

  Slowly, it dawned on her that she hadn’t heard him come in, which was surprising and troubling given the conclusions her mind latched onto. His arms and neck had a thickness of an athlete, but he wasn’t too bulky. Still, she hadn’t heard all of that come in. Not to mention, the oak doors had squeaked loudly when her potential new boss had opened. Outside of her future employer and the curmudgeon, no one else sat in the pub. Where in the hell had he come from? And how did he know them?

  She groaned as all the connections interlocked and slid down into the booth. “You’re related to the Scot.”

  He nodded at her correct conclusion. “The Scot’s my uncle, Douglass. The miniature Valkyrie is my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Victoria. Believe it or not, I’m starting to adore her. My uncle is…a bit untamed, and she keeps him in line.”

  Well, at least what she said about them was kind of complimentary. Shaking her head, she finished her drink and decided to keep her mouth shut from here on out.

  “You brought me a Yank,” the older Scot grumbled. “You had all of the United Kingdom.”

  Victoria pursed her lips for a moment. “With a name like Katherine Campbell she’s…kind of Scottish.”

  “Bollocks.”

  The pregnant woman huffed. “It’s her or I get you a full-time maid and nurse. She’s just an assistant who’ll take your blood pressure a few times a day.” The woman made a face and put her hand to her stomach. “It’s just a few weeks until Callan and I get back from the honeymoon.”

  Concern pulled the Scot’s brows down, and he sighed. “Aye, right. Go put your feet up.”

  She patted his cheek. “See. That didn’t hurt.” She hesitated, both hands on her stomach now. “And behave.”

  Kate inhaled, and the scent of leather and laundry soap filled her lungs. Her skin tightened, tingled.

  The handsome stranger had moved closer. “He’s not going to behave,” he whispered, so close to her ear his breath brushed over her earlobe. “I feel sorry for this lass.”

  A shiver ran through her. Whoever had let him out needed to be beaten with a wet noodle. Once a day, for a week. She stiffened her spine, ignoring the tingles that still raced down it, and stood from the booth—farther away from him.

  Maybe he saw the truth in her face, and the dawning of that knowledge darkened his eyes. “Aye. I see. You’re not related to the Valkyrie. Her family has been coming and going all day.” He offered her his hand. A finger or two were just as crooked as his nose, but they were thick and strong. “Katherine, nice to meet you.”

  With a bit of reluctance, she took his hand—skin touched skin. A shimmer of something she hadn’t felt in a long while spread up from her palm straight to her stomach. Attraction curled up and made a home there. She dropped his hand. “Katherine’s my grandmother. Call me Kate. You are?”

  “Quinton Baird.” His eyes narrowed on her face as though he expected a certain reaction. When it didn’t happen, he exhaled and then that gaze slid down to her hips and back up in a slow crawl.

  She’d worn jeans, a plain black sweater and tennis shoes, expecting her first day on the job to be more introductions and a walk-through her patient’s routines. The heat his stare ignited made her feel sexy…desired.

  Her heart stuttered. “Well, it was nice chatting but I should probably…” Butter up my curmudgeon, she’d intended to say. Clearing her throat, she tried again, “I should talk to my new boss.”

  The smile he gave her in response was virile, potent, and he knew it. She took back the wet noodle and traded it with a two-by-four, because his jailer had one damn job.

  “Boss, right,” he said.

  She could almost hear her grandmother. A smart butt makes a soft behind. When would Kate learn? Probably never. A pang of grief replaced the attraction, which was more than fine with her. Glasgow was a pit stop on her grand tour of Europe, one she’d taken for work more than anything. She didn’t have time for an affair, much less love.