"You never answered my question," she said. "Why are you in a suit?"

"I had a late-night meeting in town." He drank deeply from the gla.s.s, his eyes darkening. "Also stopped by the cemetery. Talking to Baird reminded me I hadn't taken flowers there in awhile."

She frowned. "I thought your mother was buried in Glasgow."

He jerked his shoulder. "She is."

Victoria took his lack of an explanation as a clear sign he didn't want to name the deceased. A cousin or a friend he probably would have told her. A lover then. She tried to imagine him with a fiancee. The woman would have to have been a saint to deal with his mood swings. Or...maybe, he hadn't become this gruff man until this person died.

She was spending too much of her brain s.p.a.ce thinking about him, who he used to be-like it mattered. She leaned forward and grabbed the folder from the table, making her strap fall again. He didn't put up a protest when she opened it. Original Copy was stamped at the top of the newly signed contract. This one was for her records since she didn't have it yet. He'd come to grouch, yes, and he'd literally gone out of his way to bring her a copy of the new contract.

He didn't smile when she glanced at him in surprise, but the soft, warm light spilling from the hearth made his irises as blue as sapphires.

"Thank you," she said.

His gaze roamed over her again, this time stopping on the fallen strap of her dress. He reached over, curled his finger beneath the material and slid it up. He took that excuse to touch her and caressed her shoulder before letting his hand drop back to the couch.

"You're welcome," he said.

Her nipples tightened painfully. "So...the McCulloughs?" she asked.

"We won't have s.e.x if you don't want to," he said. "Relax. Or at the very least stop rambling about work." The smile he gave her didn't reach his eyes.

She should have been able to breathe easier at his rea.s.surance. Her keen awareness of his every movement should have lessened, but the Callan she'd known so far would have never said that. She tilted her head, taking in the sharp angles of his face. There was something there she couldn't understand. "Who were you visiting at the cemetery?"

He heaved a sigh that was so weary it made her ache. "Someone I'll love till the day I draw my last breath."

Her lungs squeezed and she couldn't find the air to even ask another question or give him condolences. How could she when Victoria couldn't fathom the grief hinted at in his voice? Their eyes met and what she saw made her heart hurt for him. He laid the grief out for her now without trying to hide it by being rude or a pain in her a.s.s. And it simply was an abyss. He didn't come by to grouch or to drop off a copy of the new contract. He hadn't wanted to be alone.

"Callan," she murmured.

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he looked away. He puffed up his chest and settled deeper into the couch. "When your reasons for saying no to s.e.x seem trivial, let me know."

She flinched like he'd slammed a door in her face. In a sense he had, but did he really need to explain? The message was clear. Drop the subject. Act like she hadn't just seen him open and hurting, because it wouldn't matter. s.e.x with him might have consequences if they got caught, but it wouldn't be complicated between them.

She gravitated into his s.p.a.ce, tempted to cup his cheek just to comfort him and maybe ease the ache twisting her stomach. He didn't want that kind of comfort, and she couldn't give him the kind he needed.

Before she could retreat back into her corner, he reached up and ran his thumb over her cheekbone. A sound filled with longing almost ripped from her throat. He was looking for any invitation to do what they both wanted, to do what he clearly needed-Callan wanted to forget.

He swept his thumb over her bottom lip. "I'm sorry if I gave the impression I'd sit by idly until you changed your mind."

He had his hands in her hair before she could set him straight. A nice good grip too. He tilted her head up. "Tell me you want this," he demanded.

The way she curled into him screamed yes. "I'll never-"

He kissed the "no" away. She balled her fists, ready to hit him if she had to, but he pulled back, sucking on her bottom lip gently.

Do it again. Don't let me stop this. She said, "Just because-"

This kiss was deeper, longer. She wrapped her fingers around his arms and held on. She couldn't think when his tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth. All she could do was part her lips and let him in. The wet heat of him was too d.a.m.n tempting, but the moment he stopped, she'd try again to talk him out of this seduction...

Soft. So d.a.m.n warm and convincing. She wanted his mouth everywhere. Little by little she just melted into him, letting his lips and hands tip her world, push her closer to the edge of insanity. It was wonderful and stupid.

She crawled deeper into that small corner of the couch to steal some room and maybe some of her sanity back. Her breath panted out as she pushed his chest. Heat burned her cheeks, her every limb. She throbbed from need. She needed to stop.

"Leave." The only word she managed to get out came out as a plea, but she'd take it.

"Say yes, Burke." He sc.r.a.ped his teeth along her top lip and groaned. "You taste good."

"It's the wine." She balled her hands on his shirt. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"Do you want me to?"

The answer right on the tip of her tongue should have filled her with conflict, but his chest felt as firm as it looked. His bared chest would probably feel divine. "Yes, you're hurting," she finally choked out.

He bent and murmured against her neck, "Are you cold?"

"Can't feel it." She spread her hands over his pecs unable to help herself.

He caught her lobe between his teeth. She bit back the moan. He gave it a nice tug and then whispered, "Then what's making your nipples hard?"

Like he didn't know? He gave a soft pull on her hair and closed his mouth on her neck. A tingle brushed over her nipples. The more he lavished her skin with licks and sucks, the more she wanted to scream yes over and over again. He let go of her hair and lifted her against him.

s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. He was moving his tongue over her collarbone and back up to her ear, his breath heavy on her skin. This man, this need he stoked was beyond her control like she was trying to grab hold of a tornado to change its course. She was buckling under it and him. Though, obviously, some part of her loved the thrill making her heart skip...She bit hard into her lip to snap her out of the daze.

He stilled, maybe feeling the sudden tension in her, and then met her gaze. "Do you want this?"

The tornado ebbed enough for her to breathe and catch hold of a thought. His eyes were still haunted. l.u.s.t hadn't dimmed the emotion one bit. How had she not been able to see it before? How the h.e.l.l could she ignore it now?

She inched forward following the need to comfort him, but stopped. Closing her eyes, she said, "Callan, no. I don't want this. You don't either. Not really. We can talk if you need to."

His sigh was deep and heavy against her skin but his heat lessened. She opened her eyes. The hint of grief had transformed into something that made her throat feel thick.

He pressed his lips against her forehead for a second. "I'm sorry. You said no before and I should have listened."

And then he stood and left before she could form words to make him understand the complicated emotions swirling in her breastbone. She wanted him. She knew she shouldn't. Her work was important. She was h.o.r.n.y beyond the telling of it. They'd known each other for a few days and still she wanted to be the one to comfort him. The pain she'd seen was too much to ignore or to placate with s.e.x.

But he'd left with his tie and jacket still on her coffee table and his gla.s.s half empty. She shivered at the blast of air that had blown in when he'd opened the door.

None of her words were necessary. She picked up her wine, finished it in one gulp. Now it just wasn't the worry she'd have s.e.x with him but that she could care for him too.

"Dammit," she muttered, picked up his gla.s.s and finished that one also.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Callan re-situated the laptop on his workbench so Dougla.s.s could see the problem on the computer screen. "Aye, laddie," Papa Baird said, his voice booming from the tiny laptop speakers. "You're going to have to cut the top of that screw off and then use a-"

"I know." Callan scrubbed a hand over his face. Cutting the head off the screw meant hunting down a similar one from the same time period to replace it.

He set the table leg down next to the rest of the disa.s.sembled parts. "Some a.r.s.e who worked on it before me stripped it."

"Amateurs." Dougla.s.s pulled back from the screen. "So how is my la.s.sie doing?"

Callan glared at his uncle. "Your caregiver is fine."

"If that's all she was you wouldn't be glaring at me." He crossed his arms and smiled. "Now tell me the truth about this Yank you brought to babysit me."

Callan had spent too much time with Victoria the day before. He had honestly meant to drop off the papers she'd need for her records. After visiting his wife's grave he always felt like someone had reached inside him and scooped out all his insides-the good, the bad, everything until only something cold and empty was left behind. But Victoria had opened the door in a s.h.a.ggy dress, smart spectacles and tousled hair. The scent of vanilla brushed across his senses and the cold stopped nipping at his heart.

His lips tightened in anger. Why couldn't she be f.u.c.king forgettable so he could f.u.c.k her and move on? Callan didn't want to wallow in his grief either; he'd done that for the first six months after his wife's death. If not for his cousins he might have lingered much longer, but it had still taken a year to indulge in the physical aspect of life again. And that was only a year ago.

Wanting to remember he was a man with needs had been hard to reconcile with the fact that "death do us part" had such a finality. It wasn't just Diana's laugh he had to live without, but the bed she'd left as cold as a grave.

The first few forays had involved endless comparisons. Diana's b.r.e.a.s.t.s had been firmer, smaller. Whenever he had licked her neck like this she'd be wetter, tighter. There were no freckles to adorn with kisses. At some point, he'd accepted his wife would always and forever be the woman every other woman fell short of. Her death had immortalized her every perfection and washed away any flaws.

He didn't attach strings for that very reason. He didn't hope to find the love of his life. His had already died.

And Victoria?

Callan flexed his fingers and then picked up the wrong tool. Dougla.s.s reprimanded him. He'd done it in hopes of distracting the old man and maybe himself. Unfortunately, his uncle asked again.

He sighed and confessed. "The Yank works for Ian. She's an appraiser."

Papa Baird looked confused for a moment and then he laughed. "What'd you do?"

Callan smirked. "She wanted me to sign some papers."

"Oh, you s.h.i.te. I've raised you better than that. Tavin is a bad influence on you."

His smirk slipped at the mention of his father. After his mother died, Tavin hadn't been much of one. He'd been too busy searching for a replacement that would fill the hole his wife had left. Even at a young age, Callan could have told his father it was a useless endeavor. Having lost his own wife now, he could almost understand the illogical need to keep looking. Something, someone had to fill that hole. No one should have to live the rest of their life feeling as though they were missing a limb.

His knuckles popped. He took a breath and loosened his hold on the tool. "Awright. You're no better." Absently Callan added, "Don't tell Ian."

"He'd be p.i.s.sed you're using one of his own. She might quit or fall in love with me, and where would that leave him?"

Callan scowled at the computer screen since his uncle was only half joking. "I think she might already love you a bit. Otherwise she'd have poisoned dinner to do away with you." Slyly, he picked up the wrong tool again. He didn't want to talk about her anymore. His mind kept straying to her enough as it was. "I need to get to work, old man. If you're done helping, I'll let you go. I know how much you hate computers."

"Bought me one anyway," Dougla.s.s grumbled.

The man was almost sixty, drank like a fish, smoked on too many occasions and ate like s.h.i.te. That would all catch up to him eventually. Callan didn't want Dougla.s.s to drop dead from a stroke or a heart attack before considering, maybe just maybe, someone should have looked in on him more often. "Can't always be there."

"'Cause your work is so important and you must take care of me because Ian and Tristan trusted you. Auch. You act like I'm some withered bag of bones." Dougla.s.s made another sound of displeasure. "The three bit. Use the three bit or you're going to end up stripping the rest of the screws."

Callan hid his smile and picked up the tool. The rest of the screws fell out perfectly. Once he found a replacement, he could do the final stain and be done. That would take a few hours at best. Most of that time would be letting it dry.

This is what he should have been focusing on, not her. Tension gripped the nape of his neck as the memory of her mouth-He threw the three bit onto the table. She wanted him but not the consequences, and he couldn't fault her for that. He would respect her wishes and ignore her desires. It's why he'd called MacDougal that morning so he could avoid going to the castle. A truck would come by later to drop off the first repair job.

Dougla.s.s cleared his throat. "How long is she going to be here?"

The question brought his scowl back. "Three months. So that's how long you have to behave."

"I'm not her problem."

He met his uncle's keen stare. Callan wouldn't push Victoria. He also wouldn't dissuade her if she had a moment of weakness. That's why she didn't entirely trust him. Smart woman. But last night when she told him to stop, his first inclination had been to rea.s.sure her-to give something of himself that wasn't strictly physical. It had been so long since he had, it felt wrong.

Didn't matter if wanting a connection was normal, healthy. He'd just come from his wife's grave and there he was seducing another woman, caring for her. And the vicious cycle of it all was that he had needed to feel the warmth of another human, that connection so badly that he hadn't taken care.

Papa Baird scoffed. "What's the matter with you? You look distracted and tense."

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. "I'm trying to figure out how to get this screw out without busting up the wood. There are already splintered pieces around it."

"Right," Dougla.s.s said, and he could have just said b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.

"I'm going to let you go," he said to his uncle. "I'm sure there are patrons waiting to go into the pub." Someone knocked at his door.

"That might be my la.s.sie. Go answer it."

He checked the time and considered it just might be. "Bye."

"No. No. I'll wait. I want to know when she plans to drop by. Without you."

Callan set down the screwdriver. It took him another second to fight the instinct to close the laptop and abruptly end the call. Finally, he just sighed and went to answer the door.

Victoria held up a flash drive in her right hand. "I've taken pics of the last bit of furniture I'm going to need you to repair. Nothing major, but I don't have anywhere to print them."

He leaned against his doorjamb and crossed his arms. Annoyance, l.u.s.t and disgust at himself rushed through him. At the sight of her short skirt and high heels, his c.o.c.k rooted for l.u.s.t to win. Then she smiled, unleashing that cute dimple on him. The useless organ in his chest skittered, which only furrowed his brows until a sneer tugged at his mouth. "That wasn't necessary."

She shrugged, ignoring his bark as usual. "Saved you a trip. And I didn't want to wait. Even with the extra month, my to-do list is epic."

She was acting like last night hadn't happened. He should have let her, but that would mean he'd have to get amnesia. He couldn't forget how her neck looked so delicate as she'd offered it to him. Her moans. His jaw clenched as he waved her in and then followed her hip sway.

He settled at the workbench, his back to her and pulled the laptop closer. "Your boyfriend wanted to say 'hi.'"

"How are you, you cad?" her voice had softened, making it clear she was more than a little bit smitten with his uncle.

Papa Baird flirted and Victoria spurned his attempts, her dimple flashing every now and again. The professional exterior fell away and there was the woman Callan could still practically taste. If he were smart, he'd thank her for the flash drive, scoot her out the door and if push came to shove, drink himself limp.

"Callan and I have some-need to talk." She didn't know he'd already told the man the truth. "I'll drop by in a few days. Don't make me spend all that time cleaning up after you. It'll make me grumpy."

Papa Baird scoffed. "You've done nothing but bark orders and demands. Now I wouldn't mind-"