by Anna Durand
First, he offered to be my tour guide. Now, he ordered me to hike up my skirt.
Heat had rushed through me when he spoke those words. Lift your skirt. My body betrayed me at every turn, softening and warming, tingling and shivering, awakening to every touch of his fingers. Even a glance made my sex ache with an emptiness only he could fill. And when he smiled the way he had a moment ago, right before issuing his directive, a hot slickness had drenched my panties. A mature woman over forty should not respond this way. A twice-divorced woman really shouldn't. I was done with dating and romance.
But maybe I could have sex with him.
A week with Evan MacTaggart, getting naked and having spectacular orgasms, sounded like exactly the kind of vacation I needed. Either that or a recipe for disaster.
"Last chance," Evan said, "before I push up your skirt and rip those panties off."
My clitoris throbbed. I wanted him to do that. Wanted it badly. He'd left me with three choices---obey his command, walk out the door, or let him shred my panties.
I slid off the desk and hiked up my skirt.
"The panties too," he said, his voice deeper and huskier.
Excitement shivered through me, raising the hairs on my arms and instigating a new rush of cream in my sex.
I pushed my panties over my hips and let them fall to my ankles, then kicked them off but kept my shoes on.
He plucked my panties off the floor, lifted them to his face, and inhaled deeply. His eyes drifted half shut. A satisfied smile curved his lips.
"Bod an Donais," he half growled. "Ye smell so good."
Wetter. Hotter. Achier. Everything inside me craved his touch, his mouth, his body.
"What does that mean?" I asked, flailing for anything I could use to prolong this heart-pounding anticipation. "The thing you said first."
"Bod an Donais means the devil's penis. It's a curse, like shit or damn."
"I see."
"No more talking." He set my panties on the desk near his computer, took off his glasses, and rose up from his chair. "It's time to show you why I'm a billionaire."
"Because you're smart and ruthlessly determined to always get your way."
"That obvious, is it?" He grasped my hips, massaging the hollows with his thumbs until I sucked in a sharp breath. A slow, naughty smile slid across his lips as he glided his hands down to my thighs. "On the desk again, like before."
I hopped up to rest the edge of my buttocks on the desk, the heels of my shoes elevated off the floor.
He crouched between my legs, easing my thighs apart with his hands.
Oh shit. In a flash, I understood his intention.
"Here in your office?" I blurted out, instantly wishing I hadn't.
"Aye," he said in that husky voice. "Here. Now. Got to feast on ye or I'll go mad."
"What if someone walks in?"
"No one enters my office without an explicit invitation."
While he peppered kisses along my inner thigh, I struggled to hold on to my sanity. Never in my entire life had I done something like this. Let a man pleasure me in his office? A billionaire, no less. A man used to getting what he wanted. A man who wanted me, and I'd relinquished myself to him without a second's hesitation.
And God, I'd loved giving in to him.
"Someone might hear," I whispered.
With his mouth glued to my thigh, he peeked up at me through his thick lashes. His lips vibrated against my skin when he spoke. "Be quiet, then. That's a command."
My clit pulsated. I was on the verge of orgasm, and he hadn't even touched the most sensitive parts of me.
He raised his head. "Should I stop?"
"Don't you dare." I spread my legs wider. "Head between my thighs. Now."
The arrogant man laughed loud enough anybody outside the office door could've heard it.
He lunged his head between my thighs and fastened his mouth around my clit.
And I stopped breathing.
Suckling my taut bud, he whisked his tongue around and around it while his fingers clutched my hips, pulling me closer to his mouth. He worked my flesh like an expert, like a man who knew how to give a woman incredible pleasure and who loved doing it. I gripped the desk and let my head fall back. He raked his tongue down my cleft and licked his way up one side and back down the other, all the while massaging my ass with his strong fingers. I moaned when he dived his tongue inside my entrance, and I had to clamp my lips between my teeth to stifle a louder moan when he dragged his mouth back up to my nub and began to lap at it.
I pried one hand away from the desk and thrust it into his hair.
Lapping became rasping. Rough, hungry strokes of his tongue that had me choking back a gasp. He tore one hand away from my hip to plunge his finger inside me.
"Evan," I gasped, desperately fighting not to make a sound. "Yes, Evan, yes."
A second finger thrust inside me while he suckled my nub like a man starved for the taste of me. My body bowed forward, every muscle going rigid, and I grasped his head with both hands. Soft, whimpering cries bubbled out of me.
I came so hard my leg twitched and kicked him in the side.
The intercom buzzed.
Evan hissed a curse under his breath with his head still between my legs. He flopped into his chair and punched the intercom button. "What is it, Tamsen?"
He sounded grumpy, and I couldn't blame him. Even the folds of his kilt couldn't conceal the bulge of his massive erection. He must've been wearing briefs since it didn't tent his kilt.
Damn, I burned to lift his skirt, tear off those briefs, and mount him.
Instead, I reached for my panties.
Evan snatched them away.
"Bad news, I'm afraid," Tamsen said through the speaker. "Someone at the factory ordered the wrong parts for the AS190, and the London supplier can't send the proper ones until Thursday."
"What?" Evan leaped up from his chair. "Those goddamn eejits. Find out who ordered the wrong components and let me know before I leave. I'll be away in---" He checked his watch. "Ten minutes."
Evan punched the button to cut off the intercom feed and shoved his glasses on again.
"Sounds like an emergency," I said. "We can discuss the contract tomorrow."
"No." He crumpled my panties in his hand. "You will come with me to the factory. After I sort this mess, you'll have your tour. Tomorrow, we'll start the sightseeing."
"Evan, no."
"It's settled, Keely." He sniffed my panties, his lips sliding into a sensual smile. "I'm not leaving you alone to change your mind about the sightseeing."
"Never agreed to that in the first place."
"Yes you did." He fondled my panties some more. "Your agreement was implied when you let me feast on you."
Straightening out his misconceptions could wait until later since it seemed like he was urgently needed at the factory.
"What's an AS190?" I asked.
"A miniaturized listening device that looks like a stud earring."
"Sounds handy." I held out my palm. "May I please have my underwear back?"
He rubbed my panties on his cheek. "Maybe I'll hold on to them."
"Sure, if you want me to think you're a lunatic and a pervert."
"I can live with that. But if you agree to go sightseeing with me, I'll let you have your underwear."
"Fine, you can be my tour guide."
Taking one last whiff of my panties, he tossed them to me.
I pulled them on and tugged my skirt down. "Why do you have to go to the factory? If they don't have the right parts, you can't make the components magically appear."
"You'd be surprised what I can do." He snared my hand. "We're away."
"No, we're both right here. We can't be away from where we're standing."
"It means we're off, we're leaving, we're---"
"Yeah, I get it."
I barely managed to grab my purse and binder as he hauled me
out of the office.
Chapter Six
Evan
The evening breeze wafted over the balcony of my apartment, warm but cooling as the sun dipped lower and lower toward the horizon. I leaned my hip against the railing and gazed out at the view of the River Ness with the waning sunlight dancing on its surface. If I'd mentioned to Keely that I lived along the River Ness, she probably would've asked me about Loch Ness and the supposed monster. Most Americans did. Then again, Keely O'Shea was not an average American or an average woman.
I lifted my whisky glass to my lips, sipping the single malt, letting it slide down my throat. Whisky had never appealed to me until my cousin Rory introduced me to Ben Nevis. Over the past year, I'd made an effort to be friendlier with my cousins. Unfortunately, they all lived in and around Ballachulish. Just thinking about the village made my hand tighten around my glass and my jaw tense.
Did I have any right to bring Keely into the mess I'd made of my life? Maybe I didn't have the right, maybe I shouldn't pursue her, but I couldn't stop myself. She had haunted my dreams, day and night, for ten months. Now that I'd spent time with her, I wanted her even more---a relationship with her, not just sex. Spending more time with her, getting to know her, might prove to me we had no future together. I wouldn't know unless I tried.
What did I know about relationships?
My phone chimed, indicating a new text. I dug the phone out of my pants pocket and swiped the screen to activate it.
The text consisted of three words: We need you.
It came from a blocked number, but I knew who had sent it. With my thumbs, I typed a response: No.
Not your choice. We have a job for you.
Find someone else.
Several seconds ticked by before the response came: Consider the alternative.
An image appeared below the message, a photograph of a bonnie woman in her forties with gray hair and blue eyes.
Cold swept through me. My hand tightened around the phone. The picture was of my mother. She stood outside her cottage near Ballachulish, in front of a window box filled with pink blossoms. My mother hadn't planted pink flowers in years, as far as I knew. But then, I'd barely spoken to her over the past eighteen months.
I texted Duncan Hendry. How is the weather?
A minute ticked by, then another, before his reply appeared. Clear as a bell.
No dark clouds?
All's well. Relax.
I thanked him and ended the conversation. The weather code had been Duncan's idea to make sure no one else would understand us, in case anyone bothered to hack my phone. "Clear as a bell" meant everything was fine at my mother's house. The bodyguards she didn't know she had reported no problems.
Someone took a picture, I typed.
Four seconds elapsed.
My phone rang.
I answered, but before I could say anything, Duncan's gruff voice said, "What picture?"
"Someone texted it to me. It's of my mother outside her house."
"The code, Evan, remember to use the code."
"Forget the bloody code. How did no one see a stranger taking a picture?"
"Send it to me. I'll have a look. Could be they used a telephoto lens to take it from a distance, outside our perimeter. If you'd let us tell your mother we're here..."
"No."
"I'll examine the picture and talk to my team."
"Thank you."
I hung up and texted him the photograph of my mother, then dialed her number.
"Gràidh," she said instead of hello, picking up the call on the second ring. My number was programmed into her phone, so she would've seen my name when it rang. "What a lovely surprise to hear from you."
How could she sound pleased to hear from me? After the things I'd said to her the last time we saw each other. She'd even called me darling in Gaelic.
I kept my tone measured as I said, "How are you?"
"Fine. You'd know that if you called me more than once every three months." She hesitated. "I heard you've been out to see your cousins quite a bit."
Her voice conveyed no anger, only a hint of dismay. She adored her nieces and nephews, but we both knew I'd visited them instead of visiting her. You're a bastard, Mr. MacTaggart. No wonder Keely doesn't want you.
I cleared my throat. "Have you planted flowers in the window box?"
"Aye, ye know I do that every year."
"What color?"
"Pink."
"Did you plant pink flowers last year?" I asked, praying she would say yes.
"No, dearie. They were purple last summer."
My chest constricted, the pressure like a heavy foot pressing down on me. I gripped the balcony railing. Pink flowers. The picture was recent.
She hesitated again as if uncertain of whether to speak her mind. When she did speak, her tone was cautious. "Are ye all right, Evan?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I have to go."
"But I've hardly spoken to you. It's been months since you called and longer since I've seen you. My son bought Loch Fairbairn, but he won't come home."
"I didn't buy Loch Fairbairn. I own property in the village."
"Aye, it was kind of you to step in after Rhys Kendrick was arrested and all his tenants were about to lose everything. If you hadn't bought those businesses, the village might have died." She sniffled, and a slight quiver infected her voice. "You're good to everyone but your own mother."
I scratched my neck, afflicted with a sudden itch that wouldn't let up. "You know why I haven't been back to Ballachulish. Until you answer the question I asked last time I visited, we have nothing to say to each other."
"Answering willnae help, Evan. And you've known all your life I donnae want to talk about your father. The truth won't make you feel better."
"I'm not a child anymore. I deserve to know---about my father and about why you leave the country every summer."
She fell silent for several seconds. "Leave it alone, Evan, I'm begging you."
After all these years, she still wouldn't trust me to deal with the truth. Until she did, I couldn't deal with her. "I'm sorry, but I can't talk right now. Take care."
"Evan, please, tell me how you are."
"I told you I'm fine. Busy but fine. Goodbye."
I disconnected the call and examined my hand, turning it side to side. It was shaking. Not much, but enough. I fisted my hand.
A text appeared on my phone's screen: You know the stakes.
Yes, I typed, I am aware.
Details sent. Confirm receipt.
A new message appeared, this one with a file attached. I saved the file and typed my confirmation. Details received.
You have until three p.m. tomorrow.
I understand.
Maybe no one else would understand why I let anonymous strangers I'd never met or spoken to control me. I had no choice. Their threats were not empty. I knew this from hard experience, from having ignored them the first time they contacted me. After eight months of not hearing from them, I'd hoped they had given up.
Of course I wasn't that lucky. After the things I'd done, I hadn't earned any luck.
How did these blighters know all my weaknesses?
I stuffed the phone in my pocket and glared out at the river. The sun had nearly set, and darkness crept in behind it to consume the sky. Lights burned in the houses that hugged the riverbank. Maybe my enemies hid inside one of those structures. Maybe they worked for my company.
Maybe I could drive myself mad wondering.
No amount of wattage could chase away the darkness in my life. The brightest light I'd ever seen didn't illuminate a house or twinkle in the sky. It burned inside Keely O'Shea.
I raced through the apartment, nabbing my keys off the kitchen island, and slammed the front door behind me. Pursuing Keely might've been a mistake, a selfish and reckless act, but I didn't care. I couldn't care. I needed her light to dispel the shadows. If she believed in me, maybe
I could become the kind of man she deserved. First, I needed to redeem myself in her eyes.
Might as well have decided to climb Mount Everest while blindfolded and handcuffed.
Chapter Seven
Keely
Lying on the bed in my hotel room, I counted the acoustic balls on the ceiling and tried to make sense of what I'd experienced today. Evan MacTaggart was an enigma, for sure. He'd acted giddy and almost nutty when we first met, but later, he'd been the personable employer who introduced me to his employees. Tamsen Spurling treated Evan like a surrogate son, though she was younger than I was. At lunch, Evan had flirted. After lunch, he'd coaxed me into spreading my legs for him right there on his desk.
What on earth had I been thinking? He short-circuited all my good-sense wires. Once he'd started issuing directives, I'd given in without hesitation. No man had ever ordered me around. My exes had never cared enough to express an opinion, much less take charge. Did I like being bossed around by a sexy billionaire? No, it wasn't his money or his company that made me dissolve for him. He had...something. I couldn't define it. Didn't understand it.
But I wanted him to do it again.
Evan was impossible to deny and difficult to pin down. His factory was the cleanest, most efficient operation I'd ever seen. His employees seemed genuinely happy in their jobs, and they smiled when he walked into the factory just like the people who worked at his headquarters had done when he approached them. Everyone seemed to like the boss.
He hadn't been kidding or exaggerating when he'd told me I would be surprised at what he could do. Got the wrong components? Never mind that, Mr. MacTaggart will manufacture them himself. I'd watched in awe as he took apart other devices to scavenge parts and recreate the components needed to finish the AS190. Clients and partner companies had already placed orders for the new model, and Evan's company had promised to deliver them this week. They had to be completed and shipped by tomorrow.
At most of the jobs I'd had, prior to working for Vic Bazzoli, the bosses would've thrown a fit if an error like this had occurred. Evan stayed calm and pleasant, assuring his employees one misstep did not mean someone would get fired. When I'd asked why he had seemed angry when he first heard about the mistake, he'd said, "Because I wanted us to have a poke, not go to the factory."