Insatiable in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 6)

by Anna Durand

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Anna Durand

  Connect with Anna Durand

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Keely

  I sipped my tea and gazed out at the view of the Eiffel Tower framed between the buildings on either side of the narrow street. Golden-orange lights illuminated the Tower's body, while white lights flashed so fast the structure seemed to sparkle. It looked majestic and ethereal at the same time, like a specter of the past enlivened by modern technology. Sometimes I felt like something past its prime, though I hadn't been given new life by technology or anything else. Tonight, I felt old.

  Snap out of it, I chastised myself. Forty is not old.

  I relaxed back into my chair, returning my attention to the outdoor cafe I'd chosen as my first stop after checking in at my hotel. People ambled by on the street, some as couples holding hands. One pair paused to share a sweet kiss.

  My throat went thick. I peered down at my teacup, reflecting on how I had come to be here. Alone. In the most romantic city on earth. The simple answer was my boss had sent me to attend a conference in his place because he'd had an emergency appendectomy. The more complicated answer involved two ex-husbands, one former live-in boyfriend, and lots of bad judgment on my part. My second divorce had been finalized on my fortieth birthday three months ago. Happy birthday to me.

  I picked up the brochure I'd set on the table and flipped through it for the fifth time. The Approach the Future Summit promised workshops and round-table discussions about cutting-edge technologies, as well as a keynote speech by the man my boss insisted I had to speak to before leaving the conference. Vic Bazzoli had vowed he would force me to listen to polka music all day every day for a week if I failed to introduce myself to Evan MacTaggart, the twenty-nine-year-old CEO of an up-and-coming tech company. Vic lusted after MacTaggart's spy gadgets and wanted them in our store. What people in our small Utah city needed with spy gadgets, I had no clue.

  The brochure did not include a photo of Evan MacTaggart. I would find out what he looked like in two days when he gave his keynote speech. Until then, I'd have to settle for imagining what a twenty-something billionaire might look like---or be like.

  I set the brochure down on the table. How did one approach a filthy-rich twenty-something? I didn't have a clue.

  My phone rang, and I knew who was calling.

  "Hello, Serena," I said when I answered the call. "No, I am not moping in bed while eating ice cream and watching sappy old movies."

  "Good, but are you getting your ooh-la-la on?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Are you having fun? That's what I asked."

  "Having fun? Sure."

  She made a rude noise. "Keely O'Shea, I've known you for twenty-five years and you can't fool me. You're probably sitting in a romantic little cafe drinking tea alone."

  Damn. Serena Carpenter knew me too well. Being friends since high school had its perks and its downsides. I couldn't hide much from her.

  "Maybe you're right," I said, "but I need to rest up for the big conference."

  "Ugh. Two days of boring tech stuff. All the more reason you need to get over the Bryce shit and get yourself a hot young Parisian man."

  "Please. A boyfriend is the last thing I need." Could a forty-year-old still call a man her boyfriend? It sounded strange.

  "I should have sneaked into your house and erased your computer. Why didn't you unfriend Bryce ages ago?"

  "Never thought about it. You know I rarely go on social media except to maintain the store's page."

  This morning before I left for the airport, I had logged in to check for any notifications about the business where I was assistant manager, Vic's Electronics Superstore. Just my luck, the second I'd logged in I'd been presented with a notification about my ex-husband. Three days after our divorce was finalized, Bryce had married his twenty-two-year-old mistress. The notice I'd seen this morning announced she was pregnant.

  For our entire seven-year marriage, eight years including the year-long separation, Bryce had insisted he never wanted children. He'd also claimed he could never want anyone else.

  I snatched up my tea and swigged it. Hot liquid scorched my mouth. I gulped it down and spluttered.

  "Are you okay?" Serena asked.

  "Never guzzle hot tea. I just learned that lesson."

  "Did you hurt yourself? Maybe you should stick to water."

  "I'm fine. No harm done."

  "Good. Now get out there and dazzle someone. You are too hot and amazing to sit there by yourself."

  "I'm saying goodbye." I held the phone away from my face, hearing her voice even as I reached for the red symbol on the screen to disconnect the call. "Goodbye, Serena."

  Placing the phone on the table, I took a gentler sip of my tea. Eyes closed, I savored the sweet flavor with a touch of creaminess from the milk I'd added. The voices of other patrons drifted around me, most speaking French, their voices soft and melodic. I'd always loved the French language and the way native speakers let the words roll off their tongues even when they spoke fast. Until tonight, I'd mostly heard the language in movies and in French pop music, and I hadn't had a chance to learn much of it before coming here.

  A chair scraped on the concrete patio of the cafe.

  Sighing, I opened my eyes to gaze at the newcomer who had taken a seat at the table across from mine.

  The tall, muscular man seemed to overflow the chair. He fidgeted as if trying to get comfortable, his mouth crimping briefly before he relaxed into the seat. His blond hair framed a face with smooth, elegant features. The glow from the cafe's lantern-like lights sparkled in his eyes, though I couldn't make out their color. Thick biceps strained the fabric of his long-sleeve, cobalt-blue shirt. His jeans hugged his powerful thighs.

  His attention swung in my direction, and his lips curved into a soft smile. As his gaze swept up and down my body, his smile warmed.

  Something about him intrigued me. Maybe it was his smile or angelic good looks or his well-built body---well-hung too, based on the bulge in his pants. Then again, maybe it was something more indefinable.

  What had Serena said? Get yourself a hot young Parisian man.

  I couldn't. I wouldn't. Ogling him was one thing, but spea
king to him...

  His smile had turned positively sizzling.

  Sitting up straighter, I smoothed my dress, glad I'd worn a sexy one. My inner critic had warned me not to bother with sexiness since I had no interest in men, but I'd suffered an irresistible impulse to wear the dress I'd bought on a whim last week. The deep, lush green fabric complemented my eyes. The backless design featured spaghetti straps, a low neckline with a knot between my breasts, a skirt that flared out around my thighs, and a hem that stopped a good six inches above my knees. When I sat down, the hem rode up a little higher. The strappy stilettos I'd worn gave my ankles a nice curve. I loved the decadent sensation of a breeze caressing my bare back but going without underwear felt scandalously indecent.

  The man sitting across from me could see all of the dress, all of me, thanks to the fact I was positioned sideways to him. His tongue slipped out to moisten his lips. His gaze landed on my face.

  My pulse sped up, and every hair on my arms and my nape tingled and stiffened.

  He gestured toward my table and the vacant chair beside me. "May I join you? It's too bonnie a night to drink coffee alone."

  What was that accent? Scottish, I decided. His sexy voice made a new tingle rush through me. Forget finding a hot Frenchman. A hot Scot was even better.

  Not interested in men, remember?

  Sure, but I could play at being interested. This man looked young, maybe as young as my ex's new bride. Maybe I should find out why men liked younger women by experimenting with a flirtation with a younger man. What happened in Paris stayed in Paris. Or was that Las Vegas?

  Who the hell cared.

  "Please do," I said, patting the empty chair beside me. "I'd love some company."

  He moved into the chair beside me, his big body filling it and then some.

  With him so much closer, I got my first good look at his eyes. Dark-blue rings encircled blue irises so pale that they almost appeared silver. The combination of his eyes and his blond hair, along with that beautiful face, lent him the aura of an angel who'd come down to earth in disguise. But that body, all muscles and strength, made him seem more like a fallen angel destined for sin and designed for pleasure.

  His chair scraped on the concrete as he turned it slightly toward me. Resting an arm on the table, he focused his attention on me.

  Only me. Even when a gorgeous young mademoiselle in a dress far skimpier than mine sashayed by, he did not even glance at her or her perky breasts.

  "What is a beautiful woman doing alone in Paris?" he asked in a deep, silky voice. "Or are you waiting for your lover?"

  "You think I would sit with another man while waiting for my boyfriend?"

  He lifted one shoulder. "This is Paris."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  "So, you are alone." He leaned toward me just a touch. "I'm glad to hear it."

  "Why? Are you hoping to make time with me?"

  "Ahhh," he purred, "I would love to make time for you. Tonight. Alone."

  The way he kept his gaze exclusively on me had my body rousing, warming, softening in ways it hadn't done in a very long time. What was I doing? Flirting with a stranger, a very young stranger, in a foreign country. Maybe I'd gone insane, but I didn't give a damn.

  He dragged his chair closer and draped his arm across the back of mine. "You are the most enchanting woman I've ever laid eyes on, and your dress shows off every curve of your sensuous body."

  I lost the power of speech, dumbstruck by his brazenness but also stunned by my body's reaction to what he'd said and the heated look in his eyes. When had a man last spoken to me like that? Never, that's when.

  "Are you in Paris for business or pleasure?" he asked.

  "Business."

  One of his fingers traced slow circles on my naked back. "A woman like you should find nothing but pleasure in Paris. It is the City of Love after all."

  "Not interested in love."

  "I meant the physical sort." He slipped that finger under the strap of my dress. "You're alone. I'm alone. Seems a pity to waste a sultry summer's night on business."

  Sultry summer's night. The way he'd spoken that phrase had my breaths going shallow and my breasts tightening.

  "May I kiss you?" he asked.

  Those silvery irises lured me in until I could see nothing else. A damp ache between my thighs had me fighting the urge to squirm. Common sense urged me to reject his request, but the rest of me yearned to feel his lips on mine. Kiss a stranger? Like he'd pointed out, this was the City of Love.

  I leaned toward him, touching my fingertips to his chest. "Yes, you may."

  He tipped forward, slowly, deliberately, until his lips brushed mine.

  My breath caught in my throat. My pulse revved up. Those eyes, silvery and mysterious, captured my focus even as his lips feathered over mine, back and forth, in leisurely sweeps. I splayed my palm on his chest, loving the decadent softness of his shirt and the sensation of strong muscles beneath it.

  He pressed his mouth to mine, licking at the seam of my lips.

  I opened for him, and my lids drifted shut.

  The stranger flicked his tongue out to tease mine.

  A throaty moan resonated through me. Had I made that lustful noise? Oh God, I had. I wanted this man like I'd never wanted anyone or anything in my entire life. I'd met him seconds ago, didn't even know his name, and yet I craved him.

  He tunneled a hand into my hair to cradle my nape and plowed deep inside my mouth, his tongue gliding over mine, every movement measured and designed to whip me into a frenzy of need. And damn, it worked. My nipples hardened, and the sensation of my dress whisking over the sensitized peaks made me moan again, deeper and hungrier.

  The stranger withdrew, though his hand lingered at my nape. "Ahm wanting to make love to ye all night."

  I roused from the sensual spell he'd cast little by little, my lids easing apart, my mind swimming in a haze of desire. "What?"

  "Tonight," he said, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. "I want ye tonight. My hotel is two blocks away."

  Blinking several times, I struggled to make sense of...anything. I had made out with a total stranger. In a cafe. With other people nearby.

  And I wanted more.

  I gazed into those unearthly eyes. "Who are you?"

  "A man who wants to give you pleasure." He slid his hand across my shoulder and down my arm. "Please come with me to my hotel. We can learn each other's names in the morning. For tonight, I want to learn every dip and swell of your body."

  He dragged a finger down the slope of my breast.

  I wanted to go with this man---anywhere he wanted, for as long as he wanted. The new me, who'd awakened here with this stranger in Paris, had no qualms about it. The old me couldn't quite bring herself to say yes.

  But if I said no, he'd probably leave.

  His fingertip tickled my breast.

  I sucked in a big breath, exhaled it slowly, and said, "Yes."

  A thrill chased over my skin, warm and electric. I'd agreed to spend the night with a complete stranger.

  He rose, offering me his hand. "Come, lass. Tonight, you belong to me."

  I dug some euros out of my tiny but fashionable purse, slapped them on the table, and slung the purse over my shoulder. "Let's go."

  We hurried down the street hand in hand. My companion seemed anxious to get to his hotel, and I understood the need. It burned inside me, making me a little lightheaded.

  That was probably why I tripped.

  I teetered on my stilettos for a split second before I toppled.

  My companion caught me in his brawny arms and pulled me snug against his body. "Careful. You might hurt yourself."

  Speechless, I stared at him.

  "Are ye all right?" he asked.

  I nodded.

  We had stopped near the entrance to an alley, a dark space between the buildings. Behind him, the Eiffel Tower glowed with ethereal golden light. He
really did seem like an angel, with a brilliantly lit tower in place of a halo.

  "Cannae wait," he hissed. "Not one more second."

  He rushed into the alley, his hand clamped around mine, hauling me in his wake. Before I had time to process what was happening, he'd backed me up to a smooth wood door set into a brick wall and pinned me there with his body. A delicious excitement shivered through me. Caged by his body, I felt the outline of every muscle beneath his clothes and the way they flexed with the slightest movement. His erection was a hard line against my belly.

  I glided my hands up his chest, breathless and on fire in the most intimate ways. Maybe I should've run, but I'd been seized by an overpowering need to shed my every inhibition and give in to anything this man wanted to do to me.

  He towered over me, several inches taller than my five eight. Only my stiletto heels gave me enough height to link my hands behind his nape. I toyed with his short hair, swirling my fingertips in the silken strands, loving the sensation of our bodies melded in an intimate embrace. He bent his head to lick a path up my throat, groaned, and tugged my hips into his erection.

  I tipped my head back.

  My companion took advantage, scraping his tongue back down my throat and nibbling at the underside of my chin.

  And then he kissed me.

  Rough, hot, demanding. Our tongues tangled, our teeth bumped against each other, and our hands groped as wildly as we devoured each other. He rasped his thumb over my nipple and palmed my breast, pinching it.

  I gasped into his mouth.

  He pulled his hips back, separating our bodies by a sliver, though he never broke the kiss. With my eyes shut, I sensed only sounds. The ripping of foil. The zzt of a zipper. He shoved a hand under my dress and pushed up the skirt and jammed a knee between my thighs.

  Thoughts? None. Worries? None. My inhibitions? They'd flown away the second I'd seen him in the cafe. My awareness centered on him, our tangled bodies, the roughness of his palm on my skin and the smoothness of his slacks on my inner thighs. My companion seized my knee and hoisted it up, hooking it over his hip. I gripped him with my leg, and the heel of my stiletto dug into his ass.

  The whole time he never stopped kissing me.

  I flung my arms around his neck.

  He plunged his cock inside me.