Read Online KiltedForPleasure by Melissa Blue - Free Book Online Page B

good, the bad, everything until only something cold and empty was left behind. But Victoria had opened the door in a shaggy 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 fucking forgettable so he could fuck 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 breasts 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. Douglass 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 shite. 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 pissed 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,” Douglass grumbled.

    The man was almost sixty, drank like a fish, smoked on too many occasions and ate like shite. That would all catch up to him eventually. Callan didn’t want Douglass 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.” Douglass 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