Insatiable in a Kilt

by Anna Durand

  "They're not spy gadgets. My company produces security and surveillance devices for personal and business use."

  Ah, back to my comfort zone.

  "Right," she said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to insult your doohickeys."

  She smiled a little, her eyes glittering in the light coming through the windows, and I knew she was teasing me.

  I couldn't help laughing softly. "Doohickeys? You really are a wonderful lass."

  Before she could inform me again that she was too old to be a lass, I guided her toward the door. Her hand felt warm and soft. She smelled like pure woman, a scent no man could describe but we all recognized instinctively. I wanted to push her up against the door and kiss her mindless. Instead, I gave up the feel of her delicate palm in mine and set my hand on the doorknob.

  "Are you ready to meet the heads of every department in this company?"

  "Sure, but is that necessary?" She picked at the seam of her leather binder, which she held tucked under one arm. "This is a distribution deal, not a corporate merger. And our company is minuscule compared to yours."

  "I don't judge businesses by their size. The character of the owners matters far more to me than how many locations they have or the size of their workforce." I swung the door open and waved for her to exit. "Bonnie lasses first."

  She shook her head, trying not to smile. "Are all billionaires as strange as you?"

  "No idea. I've never met another one."

  Miss O'Shea squared her shoulders and marched out the door.

  I watched her swaying hips and the way her round, taut erse moved as she walked. Good thing I'd worn shorts today or the erection sure to form any moment would've tented my kilt. My employees did not need to know I was deeply in lust with Miss O'Shea.

  When I passed Tamsen's desk, my executive assistant raised her brows at me.

  "We're away on a tour," I told Tamsen. "Miss O'Shea will be meeting everyone, so please call ahead and let the department heads know."

  "Meeting everyone?" Tamsen said, her brows lifting even higher.

  I never introduced clients, much less prospective distributors, to all of my top-level employees. Tamsen had good reason to be surprised.

  "Yes," I assured her. "Everyone. Quit gawping and make the calls, please."

  Tamsen nodded and snatched up the phone on her desk.

  I caught up to Keely, placed a hand on the small of her back, and ushered her down the hall.

  Chapter Three

  Keely

  If I'd thought I might understand Evan MacTaggart by spending time with him, my delusion was shattered after three hours with the man. In his office, I'd wondered if he was drunk or strung out on illicit substances. Once we'd left his office, his personality switched into corporate-tycoon mode. He was courteous to everyone, friendly even, though he didn't ask personal questions. Evan introduced me to so many people, all heads of various departments, that their names and faces began to blur in my memory. I knew the names of every employee at Vic's Electronics, knew their children's names too. We had twenty-five employees. Evan's company seemed to employ all of Scotland and half of England, probably a good segment of Wales and Cornwall too.

  Our journey through Evanescent's headquarters failed to improve my understanding of the man behind the company. In his office with me, he'd been…odd, to say the least. He grinned and joked and refused to discuss the business at hand. Out in the wilds of his corporate offices, he adopted a completely different demeanor. He walked with purpose and self-assurance, his posture straight and his head held high, his gaze always scanning his surroundings. I couldn't imagine any other man would be capable of pulling off wearing a kilt at work, but he made it seem natural. He didn't simply wear a kilt, he owned the kilt.

  After three hours with him, I'd come to know that kilt like I knew the contents of my own underwear drawer. The tartan pattern featured stripes of light blue and green mixed with black and laced with reddish-orange lines. The fabric shifted with every purposeful stride he took with those well-muscled legs. I couldn't see his thighs, but his calves were taut and muscular, dusted with hairs a shade darker than the hair on his head. His thighs must've been equally strong. My mind couldn't resist replaying the moment when he'd hoisted my leg up and strapped it around his hip right before he pushed inside me.

  With a jolt, I realized I was staring at his crotch.

  Snap out of it, I admonished myself. You are way too old to lust after someone so young.

  In Paris, I'd liked the idea of hooking up with a younger man. But thirty? Had he been twenty-nine back then? I'd forgotten about the conference brochure that said how young he was. Jeez, I was turning into a cougar. This was all Serena's fault for encouraging me to land myself a hot young lover.

  I shook off my thoughts of muscles and thrusting, choosing to focus on his face. His glasses obscured his eyes somewhat, but I'd had an unimpeded view of them in Paris. Why he hadn't been wearing glasses then was on my list of questions to ask him later. His eyes couldn't be as pale and unearthly as I remembered. My memory must've exaggerated things.

  Not everything. It hadn't exaggerated his body.

  The man towered over everyone. Whenever he gestured to emphasize something he'd said, his biceps flexed inside his suit jacket and his shirt stretched tight over the muscles of his chest. His hands fascinated me and looking at them had me flashing back to the sensation of those fingers gripping my ass.

  Oh for heaven's sake. Had I regressed to high school? I was a twice-divorced forty-one-year-old woman, not a virgin desperate to get laid for the first time. Memories of that night in Paris were keeping me off balance and out of my head.

  To bypass the lust circuits in my body, I resorted to what Vic Bazzoli called my "woman on a mission" mode. When Evan introduced me to someone new, I charged right in to ask questions—about the business, yes, but also about the people. I got to know the names and ages of everyone's children, not to mention their parents and siblings and pets. Maybe I went overboard in my determination to get involved, but it did prevent me from ogling Evan.

  Mostly.

  Plus, I got to know a lot of nice people and learned a lot about Evanescent Security Technologies Limited. The techno stuff, I didn't get. I understood enough about technology to get by in my position as assistant manager, but Vic hadn't hired me for my tech skills. He'd needed someone to handle everything else, the boring business stuff that had to be done.

  Evan had lots of people to do lots of things for him. They all seemed to genuinely like him, with one possible exception. During our visit to the accounting department, Evan introduced me to Ron Tulloch, the head of the department. The man was a foot shorter than Evan, and his salt-and-pepper hair suggested he was older too. He smelled of cigarette smoke. Whenever he met Evan's gaze, Tulloch squinted his eyes. Though he spoke polite words, something about him made the hairs on my arms stiffen.

  "That guy doesn't like you," I murmured to Evan as we left the accounting department. "What's his problem?"

  "I'm not aware of any problem."

  "Be careful around him. He gives me the itchy feeling that always means I shouldn't hire someone."

  "Tulloch had a canary a few weeks ago, but he's generally a good worker."

  I stopped ten feet from the elevator. "He had a what?"

  Evan smiled. "A canary. It means he had a tantrum. It happened because he asked for a pay rise and I said no."

  "You said he's a good worker. Why not give him a raise?"

  "He had one six months ago. Besides, his department's efficiency has declined."

  Tulloch gave me the creeps, but this wasn't my company. I let it go and followed Evan into the elevator.

  After we'd greeted the last department head, Evan and I boarded the elevator. Rather than punching the button to take us to the top floor and back to his office, he hit the lobby button.

  "I thought the tour was over," I said. "Where are we going now? To meet the janitorial
staff?"

  "No, we're going to lunch."

  "Lunch?" I folded my arms over my chest. "This had better not be a stealth date."

  He chuckled. "I don't know how I would take you on a date without you realizing it, but that's not my intention. I'm fair starved after all this walking and talking."

  My stomach chose that moment to grumble loud enough for him to hear it.

  Evan glanced at my belly and smirked. "I gather you're hungry too."

  "Yes." I wagged a finger at him. "This is not a date, young man. We are business associates having a working lunch. We can talk about the contract while we eat."

  He groaned and rubbed his forehead. "I'm needing a break from blethering. This morning, I've spoken to more people than I do in an average month. May we please eat without discussing business?"

  "Sure. My voice needs a rest too."

  We did talk while we ate lunch at the cafeteria on the main floor, but the conversation was intermittent and of the "nice weather we're having" variety. Evan insisted on buying me dessert. While he scurried away to get whatever secret concoction he had in mind, I called home.

  "Keely, how's Scotland?" my dad asked when he picked up on the third ring.

  "All I've seen so far is the Inverness airport, the inside of my rental car, and every room in the headquarters of Evanescent Security Technologies Limited."

  What a mouthful that was.

  "'The business stuff is just today, right? Your vacation in the Highlands starts tomorrow." He paused briefly, then added in his stern dad voice, "Right, Keely?"

  Okay, I couldn't blame him for the sternness. I hadn't taken a vacation…ever. Not even for my honeymoon at the start of marriage number two nine years ago. Had it been that long? Nine years. Time flies when you're trapped in a dead-end marriage.

  "Keely?" Dad said. "Everything okay?"

  "Yes, everything is fine."

  "What's the billionaire like?"

  Odd, gorgeous, confusing, sexy. "Evan MacTaggart isn't what I expected. He's…personable."

  A voice in the background interrupted the call. I couldn't make out the muffled voice, but it wasn't hard to guess the other person's identity.

  Dad cleared his throat. "Uh, Serena wants to know if this guy is hot, and if so, what's his hotness quotient."

  I snorted in my attempt to thwart a laugh. My dad did not like talking about this sort of thing, but my best friend who doubled as his home care nurse would insist on getting an answer. "Tell her Evan MacTaggart is 'whew, get out the firehose' hot."

  My father grumbled but relayed the message. "Serena says—Cripes, tell her that yourself."

  Shuffling indicated he was shoving the phone at Serena.

  "Hey, sweetie," she said in her always-cheerful voice. "Glad to hear the Scot is a scorcher. When's the wedding?"

  Serena and I were the same age, but she often acted like a twenty-something on the prowl. With her fourteen-year-old son, she acted her age. I didn't begrudge her a little immaturity now and then. She'd earned it after the gut-wrenching grief she had suffered when her husband was killed in combat in Iraq ten years ago.

  These days, she was determined to find me a boyfriend. When I'd told her I was far too old for a boyfriend, she'd assured me, "Well, we can at least get you laid." As far as she knew, I hadn't slept with anyone for more than two years. The thought of sharing my Paris experience with her had gotten my stomach tied in knots. Anonymous sex was not my thing. The fact I'd had anonymous sex in a Parisian alley was definitely not shareable information.

  I sighed into the phone. "Serena, you know how I feel about dating and sex. I'm done with all of it."

  "Bryce was a douche, I get it. That's no reason to give up. You deserve to be happy."

  "I am happy."

  "Sure, but you could be happier." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I won't tell anybody if you tap that Scottish booty."

  "There will be no tapping of anything. After today, I will never see Evan MacTaggart again."

  "Right," she said with a disapproving tone. "Tomorrow you start your solo vacation. That's just about the most depressing thing I've heard in my life."

  "Baloney. So, how's Dad? Is he doing his exercises?"

  "Honestly, girl, your father doesn't need a home care nurse anymore. He gets around fine all on his own."

  "I feel better knowing you're there."

  "Yeah, but I feel guilty taking your money for not doing anything. The accident was three years ago. Gary's all recovered."

  "I guess."

  "Oh, your brothers called. They're jealous you're in Scotland, but Gary ordered them not to pester you while you're on vacation." She adopted an overly chipper tone when she added, "That means you'll have no one to interrupt you while you're getting it on with your hot Scottish lover twenty-four seven."

  "Please get your mind out of the gutter, Serena." I looked up to see Evan heading for our table carrying a tray. "Gotta go. Tell Dad I'll call him tomorrow."

  "Sure thing." She hesitated, then said, "At least make out with this guy before you leave Scotland. How many chances will you get to lock tongues with a billionaire?"

  "Goodbye, Serena."

  I hung up and dropped the phone back inside my purse.

  Evan set his tray on the table and reclaimed his seat opposite me. The tray held two banana split sundaes, each topped with whipped cream and a cherry. A spoon was wedged inside each bowl with the handles sticking up. He placed one sundae in front of me and the other in front of himself.

  I studied the dessert.

  "Were you expecting something Scottish?" he asked.

  "Guess I was."

  "The cafeteria makes the best sundaes." He scooped out a spoonful of his dessert and slid it into his mouth. His lips closed around the concoction, and he slowly pulled the spoon out. His jaw worked as he chewed and swallowed. "I'll take you out for something more authentic tonight."

  "No, you will not." I stabbed my spoon straight through the cherry on my sundae. "We are not dating."

  "Consider it a professional courtesy."

  I gave him a look I hoped conveyed my skepticism. "You have a strange definition of professional courtesy. In your office earlier, you were grinning and acting like a crazy person."

  "Not that bad, was I?"

  "Okay, maybe crazy isn't quite accurate." I stuffed a spoonful of ice cream and fudge sauce into my mouth, chomping on the cherry embedded in it. "You were acting strange, though."

  And yes, I'd spoken with my mouth full. Since this was not a date, I didn't need to worry about whether my eating habits disgusted him.

  Evan watched me chewing, his lips quirking into a slight smile. "I love a woman who eats with enthusiasm."

  The eerie sensation of being watched prickled at my nape. I surveyed the area but saw only people eating their lunches and ignoring us, until I spotted a familiar figure. Ron Tulloch was hunched at a table by himself picking at a plate of food, his gaze trained on Evan. When he noticed me noticing him, he got up and left.

  "Everything all right?" Evan asked.

  "Yeah, fine."

  He reached across the table to wipe something off the corner of my mouth. Ice cream, I saw when he lifted his finger in front of my lips. He moved his finger closer, waggling it. Did he actually expect me to lick his finger?

  I sat back, dropping my spoon in the bowl.

  Evan sighed and leaned back in his chair. He thrust his ice-cream-smeared finger into his mouth and sucked. After wiping his finger off with his napkin, he leaned forward to speak in a low and rumbly voice. "Maybe you'd rather suck on a different part of me."

  "No, but thanks for the offer." I shoved a spoonful of sundae into my mouth and wiped away the dribbles before he could do it again.

  Evan swirled his spoon in the caramel sauce on his sundae. "You were staring at my dick all morning."

  I froze, the ice cream melting into a soup in my mouth. Swallowing, I set
my spoon on my napkin. "Not all morning. I'd stopped by the time we got to the sixth floor."

  "Donnae mind. I was admiring your erse and your breasts."

  "My erse?"

  "Your sweet little derriere, lass."

  I made an impatient noise. "Stop calling me 'lass.' I've already explained I'm too old for that."

  "You're no cailleach."

  "Huh?"

  "I'm saying you aren't an old woman. You are not too old for anything, Miss O'Shea." He devoured another mouthful of ice cream. "Are you not married, then?"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Have you been married?"

  I tried not to frown, but really, he was pushing the limits of what he'd called professional courtesy. "I'm divorced. You?"

  "Never been married." He tilted his head and scrutinized me like he was considering how to reverse engineer me. "Why are you Miss O'Shea if you've been married?"

  "I went back to my maiden name after the divorce. Can we please get back to business?"

  "Aye, if you insist."

  His questions had unnerved me for some reason, but I didn't want to analyze why. I wolfed down my sundae to avoid talking anymore. He didn't seem to care. After we finished our desserts, we returned to the top floor. When we exited the elevator, one of his employees waylaid Evan with urgent questions about manufacturing protocols or some such technical stuff.

  I wandered over to the desk occupied by his executive assistant, Tamsen Spurling. Since we gals had already bonded while I waited to be summoned into Evan's office this morning, I felt comfortable propping my hip on the edge of her desk.

  "How was the tour?" Tamsen asked.

  "Interesting." I considered how to ask a question tactfully. "Is Mr. MacTaggart always so cheerful?"

  "Cheerful? He's friendly to everyone if that's what you mean."

  "Well, not exactly." I checked over my shoulder to ensure Evan was too far away to hear before I leaned closer to Tamsen. "Does he usually grin and crack jokes during business meetings?"