Under His Kilt
By Melissa Blue
4/5
()
About this ebook
Jocelyn Pearson is determined to spend her last month as a twenty-something doing everything she's too busy or scared to try. Her imagination runs wild and then fixates on Ian Baird. He'll be working at the Langston Museum for a short stint as a consulting curator. He's Scottish. He believes sex is fun to be had. He's the perfect choice for a fling. She only has to get him break his rule about sleeping with co-workers. Seducing a man was on her bucket list...
Ian is no one's fool and knows exactly what Jocelyn wants—him. If she didn't work for the Langston Museum, he'd be more than happy to oblige any and every fantasy she desired, but she's the curator. She's sweet, inexperienced and well liked by everyone including the museum owner and director. Ian can't risk losing such an important contact for his consulting business. Not even when everything within in him craves a taste of her.
When Jocelyn sets her sights on him, there's no way Ian can deny her. They agree their affair will end in thirty days. No emotions, no entanglements, just sex. The closer the end date looms, they start to question if it's possible to walk away. They'll either have to come to terms of what they've become or stick to their original agreement.
Editor's Note
Sexy Scottish Contemporary...
Blue’s five book “Under the Kilt” series pairs Scottish men with Black American women to very sexy results. “Under His Kilt” naturally launches the series: It’s the story of a one-month-only, no-strings-attached affair between two temporary coworkers. Ian’s always up for a good time, while Jocelyn is determined to conquer her fears and do everything she’s always dreamed of. Feelings get involved, and the two need to figure out if their romance is forever, not just 30 days.
Melissa Blue
Melissa Blue’s writing career started on a typewriter one month after her son was born. This would have been an idyllic situation for a writer if it had been 1985, not 2004. She penned that first contemporary romance, upgraded to a computer and hasn’t looked back since. Outside of writing, Blue works as a mail clerk for the federal government, has a paralegal certificate (that she has more use for as a dust pan) and is a mother of two rambunctious children. She lives in California where the wine is good and, despite popular belief, is not always sunny.
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Book preview
Under His Kilt - Melissa Blue
1
N ot one kilt anywhere?
Flabbergasted by this notion, Jocelyn Pearson stared at Ian Baird. Her sort of boss stood across the museum's expansive storage basement. She tried to wrap her mind around the busted myth and couldn't.
When I think of Scotland,
she continued, I imagine men wear kilts like men in America wear jeans. Casual. No muss. No fuss.
Her ramble teased a smile out of Ian and put another crack in his impenetrable façade. She held her breath for a three count and let it out slowly to contain the primitive surge of attraction. A month and still that simple facial tick made her want to launch herself at him.
Big wooden crates filled the dark room below the small museum. The crates separated them, but didn't seem like much of an obstacle when all she wanted was to close the distance.
I'm not saying you can't find one.
The sensuous curve of his lips could have tempted a saint. It's just not everyday wear. Before you ask, we also wear boxers when we do.
His words implied he'd worn a kilt.
Oh, God.
Ian in a kilt...drool. Her skin tightened and flushed beneath her soft cotton dress shirt. She'd never seen him out of his uniform of slate gray slacks, dark suit jacket, white dress shirt and black tie. The expensive silk clung to thick, sculpted muscles, but she couldn't help but picture him in a Cameron Clan plaid. Absolutely commando—no matter what he said—just waiting for the right breeze to lift up the material and expose just a bit more of him.
She balled her hands. Her fingertips itched to trace the seam of his mouth. Next you're going to tell me there's no Santa or Easter Bunny.
His blue-gray irises darkened and his nostrils flared. Aye. Your parents lied. Those fuckers don't exist.
He spoke low, husky with just a hint of a Scottish burr.
Her high heels rasped over the concrete floor as she shifted another step from him. Good, because I planned to be naughty this year.
Tension rippled through his frame. No doubt with the coil of muscles that made up his sleek physique he could have vaulted over the row of crates if he wanted to. You? Naughty? Aye, right.
She liked that they'd built up a rapport, and because they had, Jocelyn grinned at his perplexed expression from her announcement. Aye. Naughty. Me.
He grunted out a soft tut. "Not like 'oy.' You're not hurting. Just say 'I' like I went to the shop."
She tried again. Her effort to infuse a false burr coaxed out his low rumble of laughter. Good, Lass.
His accent only thickened the few times she'd seen him frustrated. So she smiled at his teasing. His brow lifted but he flipped through the inventory list. That action reminded her why they were there. Her job involved ensuring he was satisfied with every last detail—from receiving the shipment to the display in the small Californian museum.
The responsibilities included having the right security, lighting and placement for the priceless objects when the Langston Museum had its unveiling in four weeks. Ian, the head of the traveling exhibit, had to ensure everything displayed was authentic, in one piece and stayed that way until shipped to the next destination. That made him her boss, of sorts, as liaison to the Langston and his pet project.
He inspired the kind of fantasies that she wished... Fixing her mind back on work, Jocelyn dropped the subject. The shipment had come in late and it would be a long work night, not one filled with what ifs.
Naughty?
he asked, circling back to a topic she assumed he'd left alone.
Caught off guard, she blurted out, Um, I'm twenty-nine.
His gaze lifted from the paperwork, and he waited silently for her to explain the tangent. She added, I'll be thirty on the day of the opening.
She blew out a breath and tried to explain her current insanity. There's a lot I haven't done and I plan to do it this year. Consider it my mid-life crisis. I'm thinking of all the things I should have experienced by now, and looking down the barrel of thirty, I damn well plan to do them.
He made a soft sound. Like?
Drink the worm in the tequila bottle,
she said.
Why?
he asked, sounding confused.
She'd spent the previous ten years getting the right degrees, the right internships, jobs and contacts. She didn't have a moment to take a step back and live. Every single one of those moments had been spent getting her here.
Maybe in a year or two she'd get a chance to travel but she couldn't wait another moment to...let loose for a little while. She felt brittle and old already. All she needed were pearls, a cardigan sweater and a knitting circle of friends.
But, Ian hadn't asked for all that. What did you do on your 21 st birthday?
His head tilted back and a glint shone in his gaze. Don't remember most of it.
Exactly,
she said with barely contained excitement. Plan to do the same kind of celebrating for my thirtieth.
It's not so bad,
he muttered.
She frowned. Excuse me?
Turning thirty isn't so bad.
He didn't look that much older than her, but she inspected him for any real tells of age. Laugh lines grooved along the skin around his mouth. Lush black strands curled around the collar of his suit jacket. Not a gray hair to speak of. He couldn't be that much older, but she couldn't tell at a glance. He had a poise that made him seem mature, earthy.
She pursed her lips. Still, I'm planning to ring it in with a bang.
His gaze met hers for another tense moment. The hairs at the nape of her neck rose and her breathing deepened. His hand tightened on the clipboard, but he made a noncommittal noise and focused on the list again.
Jocelyn blinked. No, she hadn't imagined that moment, but she ignored the tension pregnant with possibility. Nothing should or would break through the invisible and unspoken boundary they'd drawn up weeks ago. A boundary that wavered with just a heated glance.
Finally, he handed her the clipboard. All there?
she asked.
Nothing out of place. Let's work our way from the back to the front.
Ian picked up the crowbar from a table covered with other tools without losing stride.
He stopped at the first lot taken off the truck, put down the crowbar and began to loosen his tie and jacket. He flipped up the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up his forearms. Yup, bronzed skin. Miles worth of golden skin tanned, not from any Scottish sun but from his travels around the world. Sinew. Sexy. Yup, she had to grip the clipboard and hope that would be enough to rein in the urge to jump him.
What's first on your list?
he asked.
Find a lover. Preferably someone with a Scottish accent. I've never had a drunken Karaoke night,
she said without a hitch in her voice.
The key is getting as wrecked as possible. Otherwise, it's not half as fun.
With expertise and precision, he pried off the nailed-down lid. Read it off.
She told him what should be in there; he nodded and put the top back on. And then?
She looked down at the clipboard and he tutted. Your list,
he said.
Have my lover do everything I couldn't think to ask for. Skydiving.
Exhilarating,
he said.
They followed the same process of him opening the lid and having her read off the clipboard. He had some opinion to give on everything else on her personal list. So much so, Jocelyn wondered how he'd react if she blurted out, have sex with you,
but then her palms dampened more. That would be insane, impulsive, passionate...everything she'd never been.
Chuck it all. Blurt it out. She considered the words, bit her lip for a second and then asked, What haven't you done?
And then he smiled again—the one that made her panties wet and had her one step away from throwing herself at him.
A gentleman never tells.
Oh. Oh. She had to know. And it wasn't her imagination that could see he wanted to tell her what a gentleman should never repeat.
Uh—um.
Jocelyn cleared her throat and the soft sound feathered over Ian's senses. You always answer my questions.
I do,
he agreed but didn't elaborate. The storage room held a chill. Her nipples beaded against the starched-white shirt. He blew out the breath he'd been holding.
Why stop now?
Because he'd been listening for it, Ian heard the unfettered passion in her voice and that right there was why—self-preservation. Some things you don't share with a lady.
He paused and then smiled. Unless you're about to do those same things to her.
Her skin, a shade of the darkest honey he'd ever seen, flushed. She bit down on her lip and broke the gaze. That's fair.
And that's why he hadn't touched her. She was innocent in all the ways he'd ruin. But, Joce...had a way about her. Sharp and a little stubborn. That keen gaze was on him now, drinking in his every movement. The past few weeks it had grown harder to ignore the unquenchable desire he saw there. Younger, dumber and having been raised in a bachelor pad, Ian wouldn't have cared. He'd have made it his mission to see how much it took to sate her. He'd since learned fucking coworkers always ended badly.
Ian leveled a look at her and reconsidered his rule. Thick ebony strands were twisted into a bun. The upswept hairdo only highlighted her almond-shaped eyes, dark chocolate irises and long lashes. She leaned forward checking the packaging tags. Smooth, delectable skin peeked out.
She looked prim in the pin-striped dress suit. Her tits high and tight. Unbelievably curvaceous hips made his fingers twitch. He wanted to sink his nails into them. She barely came up to his chin, but the cut of the skirt and high heels made her legs seem to go on forever. Prim