by Anna Durand
"None of the above."
"Which is your way of saying it's none of my business." I faced the river, refusing to look at him any longer. "Same goes for your question."
"Keely." He settled a hand on my arm. "Let's not ruin our time together by arguing. You don't want a relationship, anyway."
"You claim to want more than sex with me, but you want to keep your secrets too." I spun toward him. "Secrets and relationships do not mix."
His shoulders sagged, and he nodded solemnly. "All right. I won't ask any personal questions."
For the rest of the day, we stuck to discussing the places we visited. If he mentioned a cousin, I ignored it. We stopped in at St. Andrew's Cathedral and shopped at the Victorian Market so I could buy presents for my dad, Serena, Vic, my mom, and my brothers. I'd have to mail the gifts to Mom and my brothers since she lived in Seattle and they lived in Spokane. I asked for Evan's advice about what I might buy for Tamsen to show my appreciation for her babysitting me while Evan finished his super-secret work. He suggested a scarf, so I picked a lovely one that would complement her skin tone and hair.
"Why are you buying my executive assistant a gift?" Evan had asked after I made my purchase.
"Don't you give her presents? You must make her work long hours because she swears you never take a day off, not even on the weekends."
"I work long hours. Tamsen arrives at eight each morning, takes an hour for lunch, and leaves at five every afternoon. She does not work weekends except in rare circumstances." He flashed me an irritated look. "I am not a tyrant."
"Never thought you were, but you clearly work very hard."
"So do you," Evan said. "Mr. Bazzoli told me you often stay late to get more work done. He also said his store was on the verge of bankruptcy when he hired you and that Keely O'Shea saved the business."
"Vic exaggerates."
"He swears you're a genius at marketing and at managing employees."
"The two of you sure talked about me a lot."
"Your employer is very fond of you. Now that I've met you, I understand why."
I didn't want Evan to be fond of me. Any affection between us would surely lead to a big, steaming-hot mess. To change the subject, I pointed out it was dinner time and that I was hungry.
Big mistake.
He took me to a romantic French restaurant where the food cost more than I spent on groceries in a week. I resisted the impulse to chastise Evan for trying to make this a date by choosing a fancy restaurant. He would've liked being chastised.
After dinner, I was exhausted. He took me back to my hotel and kissed me goodbye—on the cheek.
The next day, we went on the grand tour of Inverness and its vicinity. We walked along the River Ness to admire the landscape, crossing over a picturesque suspension bridge to reach the opposite bank. Only after fifteen minutes of walking did I realize we were holding hands. It felt so natural I hadn't noticed when he slipped his hand into mine. Even after that fact penetrated my brain, I let him go on holding my hand. Maybe I should've worried about why I liked the feel of his palm warming mine and his fingers laced with mine, but I was sick of worrying about everything. For this one week, I would enjoy spending time with a gorgeous and obscenely wealthy younger man.
We ambled through an art museum to appreciate its historic treasures as well as modern exhibitions showcasing local artists and artisans. I learned that Evan MacTaggart, a tech billionaire and sexy geek, was an art aficionado too. Listening to him explain what he loved about his favorite artworks gave me an odd pain behind my ribs. His love of art was disarming.
I didn't want to be disarmed by him. I needed my emotional weapons for self-defense.
For lunch, we had a picnic along the shores of Loch Ness. Evan laid out a blue plaid blanket for us to lounge on while eating our sandwiches.
While I peeled the crust off my sandwich, I asked, "Isn't this blanket the same color as your kilt?"
"Aye, it's the MacTaggart clan tartan." He tore off a mouthful of sandwich, crust and all, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. "You don't eat the crust."
"Lots of people don't."
He chewed up another large bite of sandwich, studying me with keen interest, scanning his gaze over my entire body. "You're very proper, the way you eat and the way you hold yourself. Even when we're relaxing on a picnic blanket, you sit up straight. And you always wipe your mouth very daintily after you take a bite."
I set down my sandwich. "Are you calling me uptight?"
"No, you're ladylike. It's uncommon these days."
"Well, that's what you get when you hook up with a senior citizen."
He lunged forward to mash his mouth to mine, holding his lips there for a brief moment before he pulled away.
I waited for an explanation, but when he offered none, I had to ask. "What was that about?"
"Told you every time you say you're too old for me I'd kiss you."
"Actually, you threatened to kiss me senseless every time I said that." I grabbed a potato chip and chomped it noisily. "But I did not say I'm too old for you. I said you hooked up with a senior citizen."
"The 'too old' bit was implied. As for kissing you senseless…" He leaned toward me inch by inch, his eyes obscured by the glare on his glasses. "I always keep my promises."
I held up a hand. "I'm eating. And you probably taste like those hot peppers you insisted on having in your sandwich."
He retreated again, picking up his sandwich. "After I've brushed my teeth, I'll kiss you mindless."
The man did not lie. He always kept his word. After we ate and collected up our picnic stuff, we ducked into a tourist shop and he disappeared into the restroom. I bought a cute little statue of Nessie, wasting time until Evan returned. When he did, he rushed me out to the car and kissed me until I went boneless in the plush leather seat and the only sounds I could manage were little moans of pleasure.
He tasted like minty toothpaste.
A man who brushed his teeth for me. He was truly unusual.
For the afternoon, we visited the Clava Cairns to see the ancient stone burial structures. Evan knew all about those too, regaling me with the lore surrounding the Bronze Age inhabitants of Scotland. Maybe he'd learned that stuff from his archaeologist cousins, but I was enthralled listening to the animated way he described all of it. We strolled among the ruins of Urquhart Castle to take in the crumbling majesty of the thousand-year-old site, and of course, Evan described its history to me. He insisted we do more shopping because my family needed lots of gifts. I asked why, but he only shrugged and told me, "Because they do."
After that, he took me to another outrageously expensive restaurant for dinner.
We had just gotten into the Porsche again when he said, "You must be exhausted."
"Not really." I snaked a hand over the center console to massage his thigh. "We didn't have sex last night. I'm horny. Take me somewhere and do me for hours, please."
He stroked my chin with his thumb. "I love your enthusiasm for sex and the way you tell me what you want and then say please. Courteous and bossy."
"You are the only man I've ever been with who doesn't get annoyed about that."
"It's charming." He started up the engine and navigated out onto the street. "I'd like to take you to my apartment."
"Sure, I'd like to see it." I fondled the buttery leather of my seat. "This is hands down the fanciest car I've ever taken a ride in. How much does one of these go for?"
I was babbling, not expecting an answer—but he answered.
He had one hand on the wheel, the other on the center console, the picture of a relaxed and confident driver. "This is the Porsche Cayenne Turbo. It costs about one hundred thousand pounds."
"One hun—What?" I gaped at him, sure I must've been suffering from an auditory hallucination. "One hundred thousand? How much is that in American money?"
"About one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars."
<
br /> "Holy shit."
I surveyed the interior with a new appreciation for his wealth. Sure, I'd known he was a billionaire, but hearing it and grasping the full implications of the word proved to be vastly different things. Money didn't impress me in and of itself, but the idea someone could buy anything, truly anything, he wanted was staggering.
My brain at last processed all of what he'd said. "Did you do the currency conversion in your head?"
"Yes."
"I can't balance my checkbook without a calculator." I sank back into my seat, turning my head to continue gazing at him. The billionaire who wanted to date me. The much-younger man who wanted a relationship. The genius who built electronics with his bare hands and could do complex math in his head. "Drive faster or I'll have to climb on top of you and speed things up. That brain of yours turns me on."
A smug smile tightened his lips. "Only my brain?"
"I think you already know the answer to that question."
We arrived at his apartment complex ten minutes later. The building had that ultra-chic modern industrial look but somehow managed to blend in with the more traditional structures around it. The five-floor building occupied a prime spot along the River Ness, and an imposing old castle perched atop a nearby hill. Evan steered the SUV into the underground parking for the apartment complex, pausing to swipe his keycard at the entrance, and pulled into a reserved spot near the elevator.
He insisted I wait until he opened the door for me before I got out of the car. He'd done this constantly since I'd met him, though I'd thought chivalry flew out the window a long time ago. None of my exes ever opened a door for me.
I must've looked stunned when Evan offered me his hand to help me out of the car because he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's been a long time since anybody opened a door for me, much less offered me a hand getting out."
"My mother taught me—" He frowned, his forehead tightening into faint lines. He grasped my hand and led me toward the elevator. "It's common courtesy, that's all."
He still didn't like talking about his mother. I wondered what awful things she'd done to make him angry every time he mentioned her. How bad could the woman be? She'd raised one amazing man.
A few minutes later, we walked into Evan's apartment.
I stopped just inside the door. This was not what I had expected. A billionaire ought to live in a high rise with doormen and butlers and insanely expensive…everything. Evan MacTaggart lived in a very nice apartment, but it wasn't over the top. Like the building itself, the apartment featured a clean, modern design with white walls and white ceilings and beautiful wood floors in a light color, possibly oak. The dining table sat half inside the open kitchen, while sparse but comfy-looking furniture occupied the living area. No artwork or decorations adorned the walls. No rugs lay on the floor. In fact, I saw no evidence of any personalization—no knickknacks, no family photos, nothing except the utilitarian necessities.
On the far side of the living area, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a large balcony with a table and chairs. The lights of the city glimmered all around and shimmered on the surface of the river.
Evan came up behind me, taking hold of my upper arms. "What do you think?"
"This isn't where I pictured a billionaire living. It's so…normal."
"Normal? I must've walked into the wrong apartment. Where are my obscene sculptures and torture devices?"
A laugh spluttered out of me.
He kissed my cheek. "I like making you laugh."
I liked it too, the way he made me feel. "Where's the bedroom?"
"This way." He clasped my hand, leading me across the living area toward the only hallway in the apartment. "I have a guest room too, in case you'd like to stay here instead of your hotel."
"I'm fine in my hovel."
"You have a phobia about letting anyone help you."
"No, but I don't like being beholden to anyone, especially someone I've known for a few days."
He halted us in front of an open door to a bedroom and pointed toward a closed door on the other side of the hall. "That's the guest room. Both bedrooms have en suite bathrooms."
"Interesting, but irrelevant since I am not staying in your apartment."
"We'll see."
"Not staying here, Evan."
"I'll change your mind." He guided me into the bedroom and made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "This is the room where I'll be ravishing you for hours per your instructions."
He loosened his tie, preparing to get rid of it.
"I won't be changing my mind," I said, kicking off my shoes, "about staying in your guest room. And I will not be sleeping over in your bed either."
"Aye, you've made it clear that's what you think you want."
"Not what I think. What I know."
"I understand." He tossed his tie to the floor and shed his jacket, then started to work on the buttons of his shirt. "Plans can change."
"You are the most infuriatingly obstinate man on earth."
He grinned. "You haven't met my cousins yet."
"And I'm not going to. This is strictly a fling." Watching him unhook his buttons one by one with deliberate care was driving me crazy. I swatted his hands away, grasped his shirt with both hands, and ripped it open. While falling buttons ticked on the floor, I shoved the fabric off his shoulders. "Stop talking and get naked."
He obeyed my command.
I let him strip me because, oh, I loved the way he did it. Evan obeyed my other command too and spent two hours proving to me he was a genius with more than technology and very, very inventive. He talked me into staying for a bowl of ice cream before he drove me back to my hotel. He kissed me goodnight at the door to my room, kissed me until my knees quivered and I fought an almost irresistible urge to invite him to spend the night with me.
Two more days. After that, I'd fly home and never see him again.
"Good night, Evan," I said and shut the door.
Chapter Twelve
Evan
Thursday, we continued our sightseeing tour of the Inverness region, venturing out into the countryside so Keely could "see the real world, not just the city." I'd assured her the city was real, but she had patted my cheek and called me a "nice boy." I couldn't decide what that meant, but I was getting bloody sick of her implying I was too young to have a relationship with her. Those ex-husbands and ex-lovers of hers must have been responsible for her fear of trusting a man again.
I tried many times to coax her into opening up about her personal life, but the woman had nerves of steel when it came to refusing to answer questions. Her life outside of work remained a secret except for the occasional tidbit of information she would inadvertently share. I knew she had cousins she never saw. I knew she had brothers. I knew she'd been divorced twice and lived with a third man. I wanted to know everything about her.
No matter how I prodded, she would not share even a crumb of her life outside work.
Thursday night, we made love in my apartment again and she left afterward again, though she lingered longer this time. Progress? I couldn't decide. The night before, I'd tempted her to stay for a while by offering her ice cream. This time, she had wanted to cuddle in bed while talking about the sights we'd seen during the day.
I lay awake for an hour after she left wondering if I was cursed. As a lad, I'd had no luck with the lasses because they didn't like quiet boys who preferred tinkering with electronics to participating in pointless sports. I made useful devices, but teenage girls had valued muscles over brains. Things had not improved much at university or after that, before my company became a success. The women I met these days wanted to shag a billionaire, not have a relationship. My luck hadn't changed at all. I wanted a relationship with a woman who was terrified to go down that road again.
Our encounter in Paris didn't help my case. I'd panicked back then because Keely was not like any other woman I'd ever met. From the moment
I'd seen her, I had known this was a woman to keep, not to enjoy for one night.
All wasn't lost. It couldn't be. My cousin Rory had gone from uptight and closed off to being married to a vivacious woman who turned him into a freewheeling and blissfully happy man. If Rory could win the heart of a good woman, I could change Keely's mind about love—and me.
How was I to do that? I had no idea how Rory's wife had turned him around.
I contemplated that mystery all of Friday. At lunch, Keely and I enjoyed another picnic, this time along the banks of the River Ness not far from my apartment. Keely had insisted on conjuring up a small feast for us, making use of my kitchen to create "authentic American fare," as she'd called it. I learned that meant fried chicken, potato salad, and apple pie for dessert. I told her I'd eaten these foods before, here in Scotland, but she waved a hand to dismiss my statement.
"Doesn't matter," she said, "this is American food because an American cooked it for you."
Reclining on the blanket, I watched her pluck the last shreds of meat from her piece of chicken breast. "I love the way you eat, and I loved watching you make this feast. Never realized cooking could be so erotic."
"It's not." She tossed the bony remains of her chicken breast into the picnic basket and wiped her hands clean with a napkin. "You are obsessed with sex, that's all. Everything is erotic to you."
"Only the things you do." I sat up to get closer to her, skimming my hand up and down her thigh, making her dress slide up. "You're the one who keeps ordering me to pull the car over so you can have your way with me."
"You are not the kind of man who follows a woman's orders blindly. You do it because you like me bossing you around."
"When it comes to sex, yes." I adjusted my glasses, which didn't need adjusting. "I'm getting fair sick of you ordering me to stop wanting more than a fling with you. Whether you want to admit it or not, we are dating. Picnics, romantic dinners, making love in my apartment every night. That's a relationship, Keely."
"No."