KiltedForPleasure (16 page)

Her heart warmed at his insistence. Was there no wonder why she fallen for this man? “Okay. Okay. I’ll go. Just give me good directions and I’ll be fine. Callan will stay here with you to make sure you’re all right.”

Douglass started shaking his head after the second word. “No.”

“D—”

“No,” he said in a voice that broached no argument and he opened his bloodshot eyes. “You’re not going alone. I’ve been sick before and it definitely won’t be my last time. And believe it or not, I’ve done it without a woman’s touch.”

He never really talked about his ex-wife directly, but in the past few weeks she’d put together the puzzle. He used to be a rolling stone, and at first that’s what attracted him to his ex. They’d met while she worked on an archaeological dig. They fell in love, she ended up pregnant and all seemed well enough until she left for farther and farther places for work, coming home less and less until he was alone and raising two motherless boys.

She pressed her hand to his cheek. “I don’t want to leave you alone. Not while you’re like this.”

“’Cause you’re a good lass. One your mum is very proud of. I’ll be fine. Take Callan. If it’ll make you feel better, you can make me a cup of tea with a shot of my whiskey. I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

He looked uncomfortable, a little too pale and…just sick with a cold. It would be a few hours at the most, but Victoria worried about him anyway. “I’ll make you the tea without the whiskey.”

“Ugh,” he complained but didn’t argue.

She kissed his forehead and rose. Much to her surprise, Callan had plucked a can of soup from the cabinet instead of making something partially from scratch. He liked homemade and had created magic in the kitchen more than once. He was good with his hands and liked to show it.

She also suspected cooking like that soothed him in some way. As long as he put together certain ingredients, a predictable outcome would occur. It was something he could do for the people he cared about. Despite all his bluster and growl, Callan was a nurturer at heart. An alpha definitely, but that, too, was part of their nature. They took care of the people around them.

There she was, again. Staring at him for too long and her heart doing little jumps and flips. She did her best to ignore him and her reaction to him while she made “proper” tea for Douglass. They finished around the same time and took care of his uncle together. After he’d eaten, Papa Baird handed the tickets to Callan and then they made their way out.

They stood on the steps for a short minute and then he grinned at her. “Did he just set us up on a date?” he asked.

Victoria shook her head because Douglass was sick…Sick without some kind of temperature and the only sign being a red nose and face. The man’s exhaustion could easily be explained by a late night running the pub and refusing to sleep until she showed up in the evening.

Would he act sick to play a matchmaker? “Oh,” she said darkly. “That sly bastard.”

She turned to stalk back into the flat. Callan grabbed her waist, his laugh full and content. “He means no harm.”

“He played me.” She squirmed in Callan’s arms until she faced him “And you went right along with it.”

“It didn’t dawn on me until now. There was no whining and acting like he had one foot on a banana peel and the other near a grave.” He shook her softly. “Calm down, lass. Am I really that much of a bother to spend a night with?”

No and that was the problem. Still… “It’s your fault because you came with me. You’re not even dressed for a play.”

“Do you think I give a shite about that?”

She snorted. “No…but—”

“Even with our schedule and agreement, I have to check on him. If not tonight, some other time.”

She tried to understand Douglass’ motivation and couldn’t find any. “But why? For all he knows, we have chemistry, but I only work for you.”

Callan offered his hand without answering. Victoria suspected she wouldn’t have liked his reply anyway. She walked beside him down the steps and to the car. Her feet ached but all she could do was fixate on the silence and her own troubled thoughts. The quiet and his furrowed brow was a third wheel. It followed them to the theater. He opened doors, placed his hand on the small of her back to help her along, and he smiled while making small talk with other people. She smiled, made small talk and hoped the unease twisting in her stomach would vanish by the time they settled into their private seats.

Finally Callan spoke to her, “Have you ever read this play?”

Glad for the distraction, she said, “
Hamlet
and
Romeo and Juliet
were required reading. After getting through both of those tragic endings, that’s all I
wanted
to read of Shakespeare. If you discount the
Ten Things I Hate About You
, then they’re the only two plays I’ve seen.”

The people in the booth next to theirs threw a steely glance their way. They stayed quiet for a few minutes as the actors began to tell the story of murderous ambition. The decorations on stage and the mood in the theater was dark and gloomy, which set up the scene nicely. That much she knew fit the play.

When she spoke again, Victoria kept her voice low, “This is supposed to be a bloodthirsty play about ambition.”

He didn’t take his gaze off the stage as the witches told a prophecy that would doom Macbeth. “It’s a play about fate, destiny. You choose your own path. He receives a prophecy about becoming king. What does he do? He kills to ensure it. He could have waited. He could have stood on the side of right and become righteous, yet he murders to fulfill his destiny.” Callan paused. “It’s all bollocks. The real King Macbeth was mostly revered. The play depicts him in a shady light to appease King James, who was, of course, related to one of his successors.”

Victoria covered her mouth to keep in the laugh. “You’re so crotchety you can’t even let fiction be fiction.”

The darkness couldn’t hide the flash of his teeth as he smiled. “I’m only pointing out the truth. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the play or that you shouldn’t either. By now you should know I like to say words like bollocks.”

The carefree answer made her grin in kind. Lipstick be damned, she leaned forward and kissed him. She didn’t intend for it to mean anything other than a simple affection. He made her laugh, even when he was being surly. And maybe that was why her heart flip-flopped whenever she spent time with him. He wasn’t a happy man. It would have never crossed his mind to charm her into adoring him.

She may accuse him of being crotchety, but he, often, opened up to her about why he wore a scowl. And, yet, she couldn’t accuse him of being an open book. The fine lines they crossed again and again made her heart pound.

Why me?
she’d asked him about why the Baird had set them up, and some part of her knew the answer. It was more than chemistry between her and Callan. Admitting the truth would doom her.

She broke the kiss. “We should watch the play.”

He looked at her, through her and sighed as though he could read her thoughts on her face. “Douglass isn’t stupid. He’s seen us together. He knows. All of it.”

“What?” her voice was sharp and even with the few stares thrown her way, Victoria couldn’t lower it again.

“I told him a long time ago. He adores you and will keep us and your arrangement a secret.”

With any other man her shoulders would have tensed more, but she relaxed into her seat. Douglass might be a cad, but he was loyal. He’d stuck it out for a wife who didn’t want to be his anymore because he’d made vows. That heartbreak hadn’t changed him in all those years.

Callan whispered, “And he knows I would lie for you, too. To Ian. To Tristan. But I wouldn’t lie to you.”

The words made tension crawl up her spine. “That’s a fine line.”

His head shake was adamant. “If you don’t work for my cousin, then you don’t work. You love what you do and I’d rather cut my wrist than let that happen. And Douglass knows. So I’d lie through my teeth to make sure that never happens. You’re safe, my dear.”

This wasn’t a proclamation of love, but it was the most Callan could ever give. She knew that in her soul. Being with him all these weeks, doing the things they’d done, the things they’d shared had been incredible, but Diana was still his
wife
.

For weeks she hadn’t let herself think about that because the aching want for him to simply care for her would begin. A pointless desire because she’d still choose her career and he’d choose his deceased wife. Just because those truths made her want to clutch her stomach, her chest and then curl into herself didn’t change them.

Pointless or not, a weight plopped down on her chest and refused to move. “Don’t say things like that,” she said.

Some nameless emotion flashed hot and quick in his gaze. “Why?”

She couldn’t risk her everything for a man who could never truly love her. So she smiled and lied, “Because nothing makes me happier than to call you a jackass. I can’t do that if you’re being sweet all the time.”

For a moment he sat there watching the play and then he leaned into her, running his tongue down her neck. “I’m not sweet.”

A man on stage intoned, “’Let not light see my black and deep desires.’”

She lost track of
Macbeth
then because Callan’s hand moved to her thigh and slid up. It wasn’t the first time some part of her screamed
say no
. Instead they could argue, flirt and laugh until her lips turned dry from talking. They could do all those things as long as she did anything but let him pull her into his darkness, his attraction.

She met his gaze. Every primal urge beating against her rib cage reflected back at her.
Okay
. This was her darkness too. Victoria needed him to tear down her walls and to make her not give a shit about anything but the sensation of his rough palm on her heated skin, her inner thigh and then her panties.

His laugh was dark and lovely. “Do you want me to make you come during intermission? It’s the end of an act, lass. It’ll be dark but not enough that people won’t know what I’m doing to you if they look our way. I know how much you like being an exhibitionist.”

Her lids had lowered, but she could see he told the truth. In their secluded booth, anyone could witness him teasing her neck with his tongue, but no one would know what his hand was doing. And that was the true allure.

A wicked thrill danced down her spine and set her skin on fire. She put her hand over his. Her first thought was to stop him, chastise him but she’d soaked through her panties. The lazy way he caressed her couldn’t be ignored. She could end it and still be able to feel his fingertips. And because she had ended it he’d whisper soft, endearing words in her ear. Words that weren’t love but as close as Callan would ever get.

This shit was torture.

Victoria’s silence went on, and he started to pull his hand away. She closed her legs to trap him, and then covered her face in shame. No man had ever turned her this inside out that sex felt like an existential crisis. And still she yearned for his caress. “You’ve turned me into a monster.”

“Then be my monster,” he whispered. “Open your legs a bit more, lass. We’ll have sex, here.”

Why was he doing this now? That question skated through her brain before he pulled her panties to the side and then they were skin to skin. His middle finger pressed against her clit, wet from her arousal. This would require her to be quiet, to not squirm too much, to wish he could suck her nipples, hold her afterward…a slew of things she loved the most when it came to sex with him.

Him. She just wanted him. His laugh, his smile, his gaze darkening as he plunged inside her, his grief—everything that was Callan. Not just a piece of him when he decided to give it to her, but all of him. Not just the pieces she let in because her career came first. She muttered a curse.

When they had started this affair, she compartmentalized his feelings and hers. She could mentally tag them and file them away in their proper place. Lust, sympathy, annoyance, amusement, anger. Now she couldn’t.

Finally, she said to him, “I don’t want the kink.”

Frustrated with both him and herself, Victoria pushed his hand away and stood. Her legs had a wobble, but she didn’t stop walking until she was back at his car. She couldn’t do this with him anymore, with herself. Victoria would end it, had to, like she should have weeks ago when he looked at her with all his grief on display. Back when the first stirring of something more than lust had taken hold in her heart.

Her senses awakened and the first hint of sandalwood made her stomach flip. Callan was probably confused by her reaction but hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. Shit, Victoria was confused, too. When had
this
screw up happened?

She pressed her hands against the glass and leaned on the car for support, doing her best to catch her breath. But…

But, what?

He reached around her and unlocked the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you so far.”

And there he was being sweet again, thoughtful. She pressed a fist to her chest and shut her eyes. His monster. His. The first real lie he’d told her since they’d met. It wasn’t rational but anger burned in her chest. She still wanted him naked and sweaty and inside her. He’d made her stupid and weak from their very first meeting.

Victoria wished she could hate him for that, but her body still ached for him—just him and no undiscovered kink. After a moment of hesitation, she ripped open her door, hit the unlock button and then climbed into the backseat.

She waited for him to follow. Her breathing sounded so harsh in the quiet, but she met his gaze when he stood at the back door. Oh, God. She was scared of what she’d see and terrified of what he’d see in her gaze.

His blue eyes were filled with indecision and lust but lust won out. Callan followed her into the back of his Land Rover and slammed the door behind him. She could see the question forming in his mind before it could fall from his lips. She kissed him to keep him quiet.

Callan pushed her against the backseat, and she tore at his shirt, yanking it above his head until his skin met her palms.