Under The Kilt: Kilted For Pleasure Part 2

He scoffed. "I'd rather let you call me Jacob." He gestured toward the long hallway as though to say move it along.

She checked down the empty corridor and it was just them. G.o.ddammit. "Where's Logan MacDougal?"

"An emergency popped up and he had to go to London. We're friendly with the family so he's given us permission to look around on our own, do what we need to."

She stared at him as her stomach dropped. Sooner or later she'd just have to get of course tatted on her forehead. "I-"

"Are we going to stand here all day?"

She took in a deep breath to stamp back her temper. "I'd planned to find everything on the list and scout out other antiques."

He made a noise that she could only a.s.sume was agreement with her plan. So, yesterday wasn't a fluke-his default was rude. It should have killed her attraction to him, but of course it didn't.

Resigned, she led the way down the corridor and she had to stop again. Swords, axes, dirks and other weapons decorated the main room. They'd proudly hoisted their family crest above the display.

He shook his head likely taking her moment of reverence as confusion. "You should have done your research. The castle was built-"

"In 1206," she finished for him and then pointed to a horn that sat below the swords and crest. "Would you mind taking that down? It's not on the list, but that doesn't mean I can't talk my way into getting it included."

He took it down but didn't hand it to her. "White metal mounts-"

"German silver was used for the mounts. I'm going to a.s.sume, until I can do further research, that it's from the 19th century. The thistle etching along the neck is a bit worn, but the domed cap is intact." She squinted. "It seems to have the original chain. Based on what I know, this style wasn't actually used to hold gunpowder. They were mainly worn as decoration as part of the Highland dress."

"Show off," he muttered but she caught a twitch of his lips.

That set the tone for the next two hours as they roamed room to room. She'd find something of interest, either he or she would give the full break down, and then the loser would mutter an insult. So the first opportunity she had to ditch him, she did-he'd gone to the bathroom. With three wings and a tower, it was fairly easy to lose him.

When Victoria finally reached the tower, she had to take a pause. The tapestries decorating the circular wall kept out most of the cold, but this room, unlike the rest, was meant only for storage. Yet, it was another room filled with heirlooms and antiques.

Her notebook brimmed with at least three pages worth of other items they could score for another exhibition. She even had to dig out the reading gla.s.ses from the bottom of her purse. The constant strain on her eyesight had given her a light headache. Her brain refused to process the magnitude of not only the job she had to do, but the living history in MacDougal's "home."

She collapsed into a Windsor rocking chair and put her head between her knees. To think a few hours earlier her only worry had been one-upping Callan. She balled her hands. They shook like she'd had too much coffee, because despite the low burn of excitement in her gut, she was in charge of taking care of all of it. Mistakes in her job meant a piece of history was destroyed-a career was destroyed.

Ian had trusted her with this. She must have oversold herself to him. There was no way he'd let someone who felt this overwhelmed, who had screwed up, a chance to deal with all these antiques. She could stick to the list, but if Logan was impressed, what more would Baird and a.s.sociates ask for the next time?

And that all depended on her, the woman who had let love and a good piece of a.s.s ruin everything important in her career three years ago. When it had happened, she'd tucked her tail between her legs, sulked for months and then bucked the h.e.l.l up. Wallowing in heartbreak couldn't pay back her Stanford student loans, and no matter how much she adored her parents and sister, bouncing between their homes while unemployed was not ideal. Little by little she had put her life back together, her heart under lock and key and had moved on. It all led to this moment where she had her knees cradling her head.

She'd get it done and do it well, Victoria had no doubt of that, but first the room had to stop spinning.

Footfalls sounded on the stone steps. She rose much too fast and her head spun some more. Expecting to see one of the many servants she'd run into, she managed to scrounge up a smile.

Callan strode through the archway. Victoria fought the urge to put her head between her knees again. He wasn't a pretty boy but the stark angles of his face, his blue eyes and full lips made him breathtaking. No, she hadn't forgotten his behavior from earlier, but that was the epic power of smoldering bedroom eyes.

"You wear gla.s.ses," he said, almost sounding defeated. "I'm starting to think you make sure you look harmless so no one expects you to turn into a barracuda."

"Another animal." She sat down stiffly in the chair on high alert. His calm was the eye of the storm. "It's a step up from a lamb, though I'm not sure why you think I'm a barracuda."

He strolled around the room in a lazy manner, picking up things and putting them down. Streaks of dust marred his hands and the thighs of his jeans. "Barracudas use surprise to hunt their prey." He paused at one of the tables from her list of items that needed repair. "You abandoned me downstairs right when I was winning our little game, but now here you are where there's only one exit."

"Only someone like you would feel the need to keep score."

"Aye." He lifted the small table and turned it upside down. Though all his focus appeared to be on the table, she knew his attention was on her. "And that presents a problem."

She leaned back and rocked the chair, needing something to soothe her. "It doesn't."

His laugh was as rich as Scottish whiskey. "So you say, but we have to work together." He straightened, re-situated the table and then stalked toward her.

Avoiding him hadn't worked so she'd ignore the way the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tingled whenever he let out a laugh. It wasn't often so that gave it more impact.

She said, "We didn't have to go room to room with each other. I would have sent you the pieces of the collection that needed repairs."

He stopped in front of her, placed his hands on the arms of the rocking chair and then leaned down. She lifted her chin as though his need to trap her with his body had no bearing on the conversation they were having.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a forced calm.

"The solution is simple." He was close enough to touch, but no part of her did.

"And what is it?"

"You act so calm under pressure, but your answers are breathy, and your hands are clutched together in your lap like your life depends on it."

His decadent scent filled her lungs. Of course she sounded breathless. "You feel the need to unnerve me at every turn. Now, what's this magic bullet?"

He placed a finger on her chin. "You make it easy to get under your skin."

"The solution?" she asked again.

"How about drinks after we're done here? That table over there is the last on our list. You can make amends for calling me goat-f.u.c.ker."

Booze, plus him seemed to equal a dumb-a.s.s decision. Also, she wasn't sorry for that particular insult. "I still have more work to do. I'm sorry but I'll have to decline the offer."

"The same Burke who'd have likely slept on my doorstep until I signed a contract has suddenly lost her guff?" He tutted in disappointment.

He dangled that as bait, and with him this close, she only wanted to bite into his lower lip as punishment. This was bad. "The only thing I need to know about you is whether or not you can competently repair the antiques."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was worried there for a moment. The way you were looking at me..."

His position had forced her to hold his gaze. Heat burned in her chest, and she realized she'd been holding her breath. Letting it out, she took her time in replying-okay, she had to wait until her voice could come out cool, unaffected. "If you were the last man on earth, yada, yada."

He laughed, and this time she was sure he'd taken her words as a challenge. She pushed him back and stood. For a fraction of a second, her palms lingered on his chest. His pecs under the shirt felt as wonderful as they looked.

Victoria s.n.a.t.c.hed her hands away. Isn't this how she'd screwed up in the first place? She'd lost sight of her goal because a man had made her swoon. She'd already gotten hoodwinked into taking care of her boss' father. Victoria didn't need to add s.e.x with Callan to the situation.

"Back up." She put a bit of steel in the words and hoped it would trickle down her spine.

He tilted his head, taking in her face. "If I misread you then I apologize about making you uncomfortable."

Her brows shot up in surprise. She didn't think he was the type to apologize, but nothing about him seemed consistent. He'd been a pain in her a.s.s, gruff, impatient, thoughtful, uncaring and smart. She couldn't catch a foothold around him, but the tension in her shoulders ebbed.

"Apology accepted." After his nod of acknowledgment she added, "We're at work. Let's act like it."

He stuffed his hands in his jacket's pockets, his blue eyes so d.a.m.n observant as he took her in. "For the record, I didn't read you wrong."

She huffed. They'd circled back to him being a pain in her a.s.s. At least she'd found something consistent about him. "Tell me one thing, Callan."

His lip twitched. "Aye?"

"Do you hit women in the head and then drag them into your cave by their hair? Because that's the only way I can imagine you ever get laid."

He took a moment to think about his answer. "Only the pulling hair part, but I've yet to get a complaint about that. So, the last thing on our list?"

Yup. That one thing was consistent. "Please, let's get this over with."

He laughed again. She had the distinct impression he'd taken her reply as another challenge.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Just a few days had pa.s.sed since Burke exploded into his life and already the woman was under Callan's skin. He stopped at the top of Papa Baird's stairs, letting the wave of tension pull on his scalp and skin. Next, as always, his c.o.c.k hardened. Apparently, his body felt it was vital to his survival to have some preternatural sense of Victoria's proximity.

He fought the urge to rest his head on the cold oak door. He'd spent the previous night working on the table, his thoughts intercepted by what could have happened in his work room if he'd lost his head that first day. What could have been finished in the MacDougal castle if he'd leaned in to kiss Victoria instead of antagonizing her.

Callan gave in and pressed his forehead against the cool wood. She'd run again this morning and looked right at home on the moors. Her black jumper was such a contrast to the green surrounding her. The tights had cupped the rounded curve of her a.r.s.e. All he'd wanted was one taste of her.

No. That was a lie. He wanted to be the reason she panted. He yearned to hear just how husky her voice could get. He longed for the sound of their skin slapping together, making the delicious song of a good, dirty f.u.c.k. That and that alone is why he'd refused her offer of driving up to Papa Baird's together.

He balled a fist against the door and wanted to ram it straight through. His anger at the situation was misplaced, but wanting her despite the consequences dug into him. He unfurled his fingers and wiped his mouth, which had gone dry just knowing how close she was.

Her steps echoed up the stone stairs. The noise of Glasgow almost ate the sound. Reject the temptation. Think about Ian kicking your a.r.s.e. Think about anything but the way his shoulders bunched with antic.i.p.ation.

Callan faced her. Being prepared to see her didn't make his heart jump any less. She hadn't bothered with a skirt suit today. She was dressed-down, fresh-faced and still he wanted her.

f.u.c.k.

She smiled at him while he fought a mindless growl building in the back of his throat. It took three seconds but he finally won the inner battle.

"You look like sunshine this morning." Well, he hadn't curtailed all the growl. It was right there in his tone. So he leaned against the door to keep from grabbing her.

She stopped on the step below him, her gaze had turned wary as it should have. "You look calculating. That's good, because I've been thinking."

The woman had no respect for beating around the bush. Nothing but pleasure filled him at the knowledge she was a logical beast. "Aye?"

"You never said how old the Baird was?"

"The Baird?" He laughed because the designation sort of fit. Between his father, Tavin-who he rarely saw or talked to-and Dougla.s.s, the latter would definitely be the chieftain of the Bairds. "He's fifty-seven."

"Not that old." She pinned him with a stare. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"He can be a handful." He hesitated, because that was an understatement. It's why he'd told her so little. "You can't back out now. You gave me your word."

She waved her hand at the accusation. "Wasn't trying. I just want to know what I'm walking into."

Though he admired her straight-to-the-point personality, the woman needed to learn how to savor every moment. "Is this the point of the conversation where I stroke your ego?"

"If you'd like to."

She probably didn't mean for the words to sound s.e.xual but they brushed along his spine anyway. "Don't tempt me, Burke."

Her eyes widened when she made the connection. "Not what I meant."

"I know and my sentiment remains the same."

She climbed the last step and they were only three feet apart. "You watched me again this morning."

He'd never admit how determined he'd been just to see her run in her tights. "I like to take my coffee outside and greet the day."

She met his words with a skeptical gaze. "You don't strike me as a morning person."

Like the day before when they went head-to-head over antiques, Callan fought the need to smile. "I greet the day by growling at it. We all have our own rituals."

She tilted her head back and laughed. He bit into his lip to keep from running his tongue down her slender throat. Her laughter died down when she caught his expression. "Maybe we should go in."

"Smart suggestion. One we should both listen to." He crossed his arms. "Why'd you agree to this? You could have called Ian and let him know my terms."

"I could have, but I didn't." A mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt and irritation filled her tone. "My reasons are a non-issue."

Callan settled into his s.p.a.ce and waited. Yesterday he'd learned a few things about the woman-the top being she couldn't abide silence. One-by-one he could practically see her muscles bunching up as the quiet ticked by.

Victoria sighed and gave him an I-know-what-you're-doing glare, but she caved like he knew she would. "Consultants tend to ask for anything that isn't nailed down."

He shook his head before she finished the explanation. She was good at prettying up her answers to make them sound professional and logical.

"You're hungry for success," he said. "If I asked you to bring me coffee from town every morning, you'd have agreed instead of telling me to go f.u.c.k myself. That's determined. You don't get that way from wanting to succeed but from needing to. I'm curious about what makes you tick."

"Does it matter?" She shoved her hands in her back pockets. "You're getting what you want in the end."

He grunted as a tang of bitterness filled his mouth. "You being here isn't what I want, la.s.s. Need, aye. Don't confuse the two things."