by Melissa Blue
“I have a few people coming in tomorrow. I want this place to still feel like home. A bit different, but still the Drunken Barrel. I would really appreciate it if you would sit in on the interviews and help me pick the right people.”
“I didn’t see it until now, but you and your laddie have some things in common. You’re a slick one when you want to be.”
She didn’t know how to unpack that. “Is that a no?”
“Aye. I’ll sit in.” He smirked then. “He won’t be back tonight. You can stop watching the door.”
She could mount any defense in her arsenal to make it clear Grant wasn’t her laddie. Or lie about rubbernecking all night hoping he’d walk through the doors, but it had been two days since he’d left.
Grant was falling in love with her. The man was actively reckless about his emotional vulnerability. And who went around announcing how they actually felt and didn’t care how that would be received?
Four days since he’d said those words, and Tasha hadn’t told Mia. She had the opportunity at the showcase but…Grant may be fearless and didn’t give a shit, but Tasha wanted to protect him—that part of him he had shared with her.
God. Everything was confusing. Nothing about her vacation to ensure her friend wouldn’t end up in heartbreak made sense anymore.
The thing to focus on was that the Baird seemed to know…something. He’d told her Grant wouldn’t be walking through the pub’s doors with confidence.
She turned, gave him a soft side eye and said, “How do you know he won’t be back tonight?”
“A couple of things. With the new wee bairn on the way, Callan and Victoria are busy.”
“I am so confused what that has to do with what I asked you.”
“Callan is my main source of gossip. My son Ian tries his best to stay out of it. Tristan is more forthcoming, but Keri just found out she’s pregnant, and I can’t get him to focus.”
“Okay?” she said, still confused.
He pressed his hands together as though he really wanted her to understand his next words. “Callan’s brother is Marcus.”
“Oh, right. Marcus is his best friend.”
“Aye,” the Baird said, brightening because he could probably see the light bulb turning on for her.
She bit her bottom lip. Grant hadn’t told her what had become so important in London and she hadn’t asked because…it was complicated. He’d dropped the L word. That created all sorts of expectations. It meant she could ask him whatever question that came to mind, and he would tell her in hopes, soon, she’d feel the same about him.
But she wasn’t falling in love with him. Asking him probing questions seemed wrong. And the damn man wasn’t putting up boundaries to protect his heart. In response, she felt like she had to.
The Baird, the bastard, just waited for her to decide to ask the obvious question. She did, kind of, because she was human and curious. “What did Marcus tell you about what Grant was doing?”
“Are you sure you want to know? Won’t you feel like that’s prying? I mean, you didn’t ask Grant, the man himself. Finding out, even third-hand, must mean something.”
Oh, the Baird was good. She put up her hands. “I apologize for pushing you to tell me how you were feeling.”
He nodded, a smirk tugging one side of his mouth up. “And maneuvering me to sit in on interviews?”
Tasha swallowed the frustrated growl. Between clenched teeth she said, “That, too.”
She waited, and he didn’t add anything else. She had hoped the meddling man would spill the beans simply because he couldn’t hold in the gossip. They held each other’s gaze another second and nothing. Tasha had to accept she’d underestimated the Baird.
With a sigh, she said, “Why won’t you just tell me what you know?”
“Because you won’t ask me. I have to wonder why. Most people would be curious or nosy. Yet, you feel like you can’t simply just ask. Why?”
I’m falling in love with you, lass.
Tasha swallowed down another growl of frustration. The impotent noise wouldn’t sway the Baird anyway. And nothing physically stopped her from texting Grant to confirm her suspicions he was off dropping a nuclear bomb on his life.
She wanted to be his counsel, a person he felt comfortable bringing all his doubts and fears and certainty, but she didn’t love him. It felt wrong to want to be that person when she knew how he felt about her.
The Baird tutted and lifted her chin with a finger. “Listen to me when I say this. Stop making life so complicated.”
“I’m—”
“I can see you thinking. You’re mentally picking things up and putting it back down because you’re so unsure if you should hold on.”
Tasha really took the Baird in. She knew his past. Not in detail but enough to know he must have had regrets. He’d loved his wife and his wife had left him and their kids. The important detail was he’d been hurt and hadn’t tried again.
“I’m about to ask something that’s probably a rude question.”
He stepped back and laughed. “I wish I didn’t like you for it. Ask me, lassie.”
“Why didn’t you re-marry or fall for someone else?”
“You assume, lassie. I have loved and been loved many times over. I am currently single, older than any apps my sons try to use for me, and I am still looking. The attempt matters as much as finding the right one.”
Oh. That hit her right in the feels. Sobbing in a pub while on the job wasn’t ideal. She swallowed an elephant-sized lump in her throat then said, “Thank you, Baird.”
“Douglass,” he corrected. “I don’t mind the Baird, but if I’m revealing hopes I don’t tell my children…”
Yup. She wanted to cry. “Thank you, Douglass.”
Somehow, she finished the night’s work with dry eyes. They closed the pub, and her friend didn’t kiss her fiancé’s face off. Instead, Kincaid and Mia passed by each other, brushed hands and grinned like they were sharing some kind of secret. Apparently, the honeymoon period had ended, and they were still choosing each other.
How long will that last?
Sourness filled her mouth and her stomach at the thought. Belief in love, in hope and that good things could last was a choice. Even in her thoughts she couldn’t choose it. Even missing Grant like hell, she couldn’t bring herself to text him a nosy question.
How could she fall in love when she was so scared and cynical? She couldn’t.
16
G
rant’s mobile buzzed in his pocket then softly thrilled like a landline. He hesitated just a few feet from his destination. The hallway in the B&B was empty. A stillness filled the air, which likely meant most boarders had gone out or were sleeping in. The only reason he answered was that he knew the caller wouldn’t give up easily.
“Aye, Marcus, what do you want?”
“Rude, especially when I’m calling to say I’m ready to invest.”
Happiness speared through him followed by wariness. They hadn’t talked about the brewery or pub in weeks. They had talked about everything but those things. Well, almost everything. As far as his friend knew, nothing about either had changed since Grant had initially asked him for seed money.
“I haven’t sent you any of the financial details.”
“You’re going to make this a thing, aren’t you?”
“Aye.”
Marcus sighed. “I had a talk with Ivy.”
He didn’t understand so he only hummed in what he hoped was encouragement for his friend to elaborate.
“Ivy laid out that we’ve been friends for a long time. Your asking me wasn’t about business but friendship.”
“I’m sure you told her friends and business are fraught, especially when a friend is being—”
“Guided by emotions.”
Grant nodded then laughed. “What did dear Ivy say to that?”
“’Bollocks.’”
“To think of how you’ve be
en such a bad influence on such a sweet woman.”
His friend only chuckled for a second. “My point is, my friend asked me for support, and I shot him down. I have seen the error of my ways. Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it.”
Fucking emotions. He backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. “Am I being daft?”
“You ask this now? Not a few days ago?”
Grant scrubbed a hand down his face. “Had I asked you directly, you would have talked me out of it.”
“Bollocks. I would have sent you a bottle of whisky. Up to you to drink it because you’re celebrating or in need of a good numbing.”
“Both. Thank you again for not prying too much when I asked about the details of your severance.”
“No problem. Now how about you send me a bottle of your brother’s and well…your whisky. Consider me the first buyer for it.”
Grant rubbed at the knot suddenly in his chest. “I’ll send you a financial statement along with a plan that I have for going forward.”
“Thank Mary and Joseph. You’re not completely off your nut. I’ll look forward to reading over it and will send over any suggestions.”
The call ended and all he could do was lean against the wall. What was it he was feeling? He searched for the words. A bolder had been lifted from his arched, aching back as he tried to climb uphill.
The last time he’d experienced anything similar was when Isla had graduated from high school. Being the youngest, just like being the oldest, meant their sister had experienced their parents unlike any of her siblings. They dragged her along. Too often, she was left alone to her own devices. And there were at least two obvious things that made her different. One being she was the only girl with too many brothers and in this case one was one too many.
His mind dug in but then a door opened. Tasha’s head popped out. She looked down the opposite side of the hallway, and then in his direction. She went from squinting eyes to fighting a smile.
“Thought I heard your voice.” she said, “You decided to come back, I see.”
Had it only been a week? Never had a lifetime passed in just seven days. Not when it came to a woman. He pushed from the wall, needing to breathe her in and touch her…be near her.
But when he’d left, he’d told her he was falling. They had yet to truly deal with that. He tried to keep a lightness in his tone. “It was touch and go.”
She didn’t say anything for a long second. “You’re in a suit. I’ve never seen you in one. You’re…”
From the way she was trying to eat him up with a gaze he could guess. “I’m what, lass?”
“Insufferable.”
Her head disappeared, but the door didn’t close. He strode in the room in time to see her plopping on the bed. She wore one of his shirts, no bra. Her eyes were dark brown pools filled with desire, an invitation. He hadn’t come straight away to her for sex, but he wouldn’t say no.
Her smile widened, and it shone bright in her eyes. “Tell me about London.”
“It will never be Glasgow or even Edinburgh.”
“Is that a thing? A legit Scottish thing?”
“What?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“If you are Scottish you can’t bring yourself to like anything English.”
“London is…busy like New York. I can get whatever I want, whenever I want it, especially food. Unlike New York, transportation is shite. The people aren’t horrible. It just has something missing that I can only find in Scotland.”
She laughed. “Thank you for proving my point.”
“You’re from California, aye?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about states without beaches?”
Her nod was slow, and her self-deprecating laugh was the same. She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. Respect, lust, and something even richer filled her eyes. “I see your point.”
He wanted to kiss her. Touch her. Breathe her in. He didn’t want to talk about London or Glasgow. He didn’t want to talk at all. His face should be in the crook of her neck as her fingers speared through his hair and she held onto him as though—Grant squeezed his nape in hopes any tension he held could leak out from the simple action.
Unfortunately, insecurity leaked out instead. “Did you miss me?” he asked.
She tucked her legs beneath her to sit on her haunches. Tasha let out another laugh, lower this time and dropped her gaze from his. “I wish I could say the week passed in a flash. You did cross my mind every now and again. I know you said we probably wouldn't be able to talk, but we didn’t send a single text to each other. This week went by so damn slow.”
“Would it be better if I told you I wanted to? Every day.”
“Yes and no.” She stopped, looking thoughtful. “Why didn't you?”
If he’d talked to her then he'd have to wonder if his actions had anything to do with her. If he'd just heard her voice, he would have asked for her thoughts, would have wanted reassurance he was doing the right thing. If all he would have to do is reach out to her and she'd be there, he'd be much more fucked emotionally than he already was.
He opened his mouth, and the words threatened to spill out. "What did you miss the most while I was gone?"
The question was an utter cop out and still she crooked her finger at him. Once they were within touching distance, their mouths met. This is what he had needed at the end of the day. Not just the kiss, or a connection but Tasha kissing him with abandon. Tasha curling her fingers into his shirt and pulling him down onto the bed until their bodies were flush against each other. Tasha moaning into his mouth, wrapping her limbs around him to keep him close as though they’d fly apart if she didn't keep them tethered.
He’d needed Tasha. That truth pounded into him, and he wished the rush of blood pounding in his head could lessen the alarm bells or the rightness of it. But she was trailing her tongue along his bottom lip and bunching his shirt in her hands to drag it up over his torso, apparently not caring it was buttoned up.
Before he could process it, they were skin to skin, their breaths heavy and mingling. She broke away on a laugh. "Hold on. Wait. Wait."
She reached for the dresser near the bed, just a bit out of her reach and she struggled.
Amused, he rubbed his chin, covered in stubble between, the valley of her breasts. "Need help?"
"You're such an ass sometimes."
He took that as an ask and opened the drawer. One peek inside revealed a box of condoms. "Open but full. Were you impatient for my return?"
"An. Ass."
"A bastard to be exact. Kiss me again."
"I'll forgive you if you be a bottom for the next twenty minutes."
"You wound me. Only twenty minutes?"
She gave him a peck on the cheek, her expression so...happy. If there was wariness, that single emotion had been buried until he couldn’t see it. He didn't know why relief rolled over him, but he flopped onto his back, content to do so if it meant she'd keep looking at him like that.
He had to close his eyes when she leaned down to lick his nipple. A groan came next at the scrape of teeth. At her chuckle, he opened his eyes. Aye. Happiness kept shining back at him.
"Feeling satisfied?" he asked.
In answer she brushed her mouth against the hardened nub. He hissed, and she sucked gently at the nipple as a reward. His only recourse was to cross his arms behind his head, his fingers curling into fists.
Her tongue traveled across the expanse of his chest to treat the other nipple with the same loving attention.
"How..." He cleared his throat to take away some of the gruffness. "How big would your ego get if I told you I never thought I'd like to have my nipples teased?"
She straightened and glanced down at his cock. "As big as yours right now."
Tasha cupped his balls and brought her mouth back down to his left nipple. He cursed, his hips arching up. All he managed to do was rub his cock ag
ainst her forearm. She lightly scraped her teeth over the sensitive bud over and over, massaging his balls in the same rhythm.
Could he come from just this? Fuck. He unfolded his hands and gripped her nape. She met his gaze as she licked around the areola. With his other hand he reached down to squeeze the tip of his cock. Precome wet his palm.
“Tasha,” he moaned.
His hold on her tightened and he urged her back to his mouth. He hoped the kiss said all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. He'd missed her. Sit on his dick, now, please. How often did she think of him? He couldn't sleep well without her curled into his side.
He was fucked. So fucked.
She pulled away long enough to sheathe his dick in a condom. He could read the urgency in her movements as she straddled him. The way his heart pounded as she slid down his cock, he had to clench his jaw and just breathe.
She cupped his face. Happiness had been replaced with lust, desire and yearning. He wrapped his arms around her back. Her breasts, her skin was soft and warm. It would be easier to list the things he hadn't missed about Tasha.
He rained kisses on her chin, her neck, her collarbone. She ground against him. Pleasure flashed through him in a white blinding heat.
She kissed him and laughed. "I see my ego has gotten a little bigger."
He held her hips still and rolled until she was under him. Surprise lit her gaze. He grabbed her left leg and placed it over his shoulder. It was his turn to laugh.
"Someone's suddenly quiet," he murmured.
"So, no sweet lovemaking?"
"Is that what you want?"
She sucked in a breath and shook her head. "I've missed you."
He didn't realize how much he had needed to hear the words. He closed his hand on her thigh and thrust into her deep. She gasped, and even through the condom, he could feel how much wetter, hotter she became. Again, he thrust as deep and as hard until that became the rhythm.
She clung to him, kissing him in between long, raw moans. He felt them in his spine. His balls. And it wasn't enough. He shifted to place her other leg over his shoulder. She closed her hands on his forearms then held on.
He fucked her. It wasn't sweet or nice or soft. It felt like each thrust, the bite of her nails tore away another layer of him. There was going to be nothing left but her and he would be fine with it. He'd made his peace with that as the ache of her dug every day that passed.