Bad Boys In Kilts (11 page)

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Authors: Donna Kauffman

BOOK: Bad Boys In Kilts
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“Your office manager, Flora, was kind enough to give me your brochures, both from the industrial side of your company and the public aspect as well,” she was saying. “And thanks to your quite charming brother, Brodie, I have your business card. So, after looking at those, you’ll see where I’ve made some preliminary suggestions as to what you can do to emphasize your public persona, both in the business world and in the tourist industry. I’ve also—” She paused long enough to put another proposal on his desk. “I’ve also worked up a schematic for a proposed Web site. Glenbuie whisky has zero Internet presence, and I think you’re missing out on a tremendous opportunity to boost your bottom line. The investment outlay to immediate revenue ratio is very attractive. If you’ll turn to page three, there is a graph ...”
Reese listened, or pretended to, as she continued on with her excited recitation of how she was going to single-handedly drag Glenbuie Distillery into the twenty-first century. However, the details were floating in one ear and out the other. She really had the most remarkable bow-shaped mouth. He’d read about them, in sonnets and the ancient fiction of the bards, but he’d never recalled actually seeing lips that pursed together like that. Bow-shaped indeed. Sweetly tilted at the corners, with that plump bottom lip and the delectably curved upper one, her mouth managed to evoke the innocent look of a cherub ... while at the same time conjuring up the most carnal, indecent images he’d ever had the pleasure of imagining.
The very idea of watching her wet those lips before sliding them over and down the rigid length of his—Christ. He rolled his chair slightly forward so he was farther beneath his desk before shifting slightly to ease the sudden pressure of his rapidly growing, rigid length.
“Mr. Chisholm? Reese?”
It took several very determined seconds before he could forcibly banish the remarkably inappropriate images of Daisy sliding those cherubic lips over the tip of his now-throbbing cock. It took more willpower than he’d been required to exert in some time. Dragging his gaze from that mouth, he pretended to pore over the proposal in front of him. He hadn’t the faintest clue what she’d said to him. “You’ve put a great deal of effort into this,” he said, struggling to find a foothold in this conversation. And harness his suddenly out-of-control libido.
“I know this company has a long history here and that it is the lifeblood of the village in many ways. I wanted to make sure you understood that I also take my job very seriously and that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could provide a valuable service to you.”
Reese swallowed a groan. Oh, she could service him, all right. If she had any idea what he’d been thinking these past ten minutes ... she’d either sue him or slap him, or both. Shoot him, even, if suitably armed. He’d have no defense for it, either. Guilty, guilty, guilty. And not particularly upset about it, either.
Mother Mary, but he needed to get his mind back on his work. Which meant getting her out of here, and blessedly out of his emerging fantasies as well. “I do appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this, and I have no doubt there will be other businesses that will want to take advantage of you—I mean, of what you have to offer.” He knew nothing of the sort, actually, and, in fact, suspected that the village shop owners would respond much the way he had. Set in their ways, it would take a lot more than one intoxicatingly perky, albeit seemingly qualified, Yank to make them consider any real change in the way they conducted business. Many of them were third, fourth, or fifth generation shop owners, as was he. And stubborn when it came to doing anything different from the way it had always been done.
Sure, as technology had advanced, he’d updated the process by which they made their whisky, but remarkably, those changes had been very few, and made only after protracted deliberation on his part. For the most part, Glenbuie whisky was distilled much the way it had been back at the turn of the nineteenth century when his ancestor, Donnghail Chisholm, had finally gotten a permit from the crown to turn his illegal still operation into a law-abiding, and profit-earning, production.
“But I’m afraid, at this time,” he went on, forcing an end to this otherwise delightful but untimely interlude, “I’m going to pass on your very kind offer.”
To her credit, she didn’t reflect even a moment’s disappointment. In fact, she looked as if she’d been almost expecting this exact response. “Mr. Chis—Reese,” she amended, when he lifted his hand, “I know looking at the way you’ve always done things with a new slant is asking a lot, especially from someone you don’t know, who is new to the area. I’ll admit there were selfish reasons for approaching you first—”
“I was under the impression that you approached my brother, Brodie, first.”
“Not intentionally,” she said, quite sincerely. “Hagg’s is easily the centerpiece of the village, and so I’ve been spending time there in the evenings, meeting the locals, trying to get to know everyone and give them a chance to get to know me. We had a talk over an ale, and he was asking me about what I did back in the States, why I’d decided to pack up and move my life over here, and one thing led to another and I told him I’d be happy to work up a plan.” She smiled then, and those eyes of hers crinkled at the corners, so damn lovely when combined with that splash of freckles. “He shot me down, of course. Seems to run in the family. But I’d asked about the family distillery and he was kind enough to drop off your business card.” With barely a breath taken, she pushed on before he could interrupt. “I won’t lie to you. I targeted the distillery right off, because I knew that if I secured any business with you, that it would make the other townsfolk more agreeable to at least hearing what I had to say. So it was definitely a calculated move. But I spent time on the proposals up front, in hopes you’d clearly see I take this very seriously and that it could be a mutually beneficial partnership.”
“And I appreciate the time you’ve taken. I do,” he said. Why was he even encouraging conversation? He should be standing and ushering her out the door, even as she raced on with her pitch. It was something he had done a hundred times over with other pushy salespeople, without a twinge of conscience for cutting them off mid-spiel. Well, one of the reasons he hadn’t was the very noticeable bulge in his pants, but that seemed to finally be under some semblance of control. He pushed his chair back. “But, Ms. MacDonnell—”
“Daisy, please.” She stood, too, and moved to stand directly opposite from him, with only the desk between them.
She was so petite yet curvy in that neat little suit of hers, and then there was that russet waterfall of hair—Reese immediately looked down, scooped up the proposals, and stood, before he was trapped behind his desk forever with a permanent hard-on. “Daisy, then. I really must—”
She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. His body all but leapt to attention even as his throat closed over at the unexpected contact. He shuffled the papers in his hand so that her line of vision was obstructed, and prayed like mad his body would calm the bloody hell down before she noticed.
“Can I ask you one favor?”
He swallowed hard, and wondered what she’d think if he told her the kinds of favors he’d be more than happy to extend to her.
She slid one of the proposals from his hand and placed it on top of the pile, inadvertently pushing the whole stack so it brushed the front of his trousers, making things quite worse for him. Reese had to fight the urge to sit down—something, anything, to keep her from spying his very visceral reaction to her. It was one thing to be mortified by his own sudden inability to control himself. He didn’t need to further complicate matters by drawing her attention to it.
Awkward
wouldn’t begin to describe the situation then.
But she seemed exclusively focused on business. Thank God. “If you would just look at the Web site proposal. It’s the one thing that would be completely separate from anything having to do with the way you otherwise promote or market your whisky. As it is something completely new for your company, it’s really an adjunct, and wouldn’t require you doing anything differently from the way you do now. I really think—”
“Fine,” he said, rather more abruptly than he intended. But she was killing him here. She smelled good, too. Wasn’t it enough that something about the—the energy she emitted just by being in the same room was enough to send his other senses reeling? She had to assault his olfactory senses, too? “I will be happy to look it over.” Anything to get her out of here.
“Wonderful!” she said, her smile as bright as the sun itself. “Perhaps I can talk you into letting me buy you an ale at Hagg’s or something—when you have the time, of course—and we can discuss it again when you’ve had time to really look it over.”
“Brilliant,” he said absently, more concerned with keeping the stack of papers in his hand angled over his fly as he skirted out from behind the desk. “As I said, I appreciate the time you invested in this. I really must get back to work, however—”
“Oh, certainly.” She quickly closed up her briefcase and followed him to the door. “I appreciate you taking time from your schedule to see me.” She paused in the open doorway and touched his arm again.
Reese fought not to groan. Or, worse yet, toss the papers to the floor and push her up against the doorframe and find out just how that delectably carnal mouth of hers would taste.
“You know, Brodie says you work too hard and don’t play enough.”
If he could, he’d have laughed out loud at that. He wanted to play, all right. “He works as hard as any of us,” he managed. “He just makes it look like more fun than I do.”
Her smile widened, stretching that bowed bottom lip, making him want to sink his teeth into it in the worst way possible. He shifted slightly, pleading with his body to cooperate, and praying she didn’t glance downward. “Well, I’ve been accused of working too hard myself.” She lifted her hand. “Guilty as charged. In fact, I moved across an ocean trying to find a little balance between work and play. I’m still trying to get the hang of it. So ... maybe we could do some business together over an ale and just make it look like play. It would be a start, anyway.” She smiled again, perfect rows of white teeth emerging between lips created to drive men to their knees. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Then, finally, mercifully, she left.
He watched her walk all the way to the end of the hallway, and was still standing in his doorway a full minute later, his body every bit as much at attention as it had been the entire time she’d been there. “Right,” he finally muttered, stepping into his office and closing the door before slumping back against it. “Of course I do.” That was what he was most afraid of.
Chapter 2
D
aisy paused before entering Hagg’s and gave herself a last-second hair, face, and clothes check. The leaded glass windowpanes on either side of the pub doors were thick and uneven, making her reflection waver. “Which is exactly how the rest of me is feeling right about now. Wavery.”
She’d debated with herself often over the past fortnight on whether or not to push Reese Chisholm into another meeting. She hadn’t heard a single peep from him. Though, to be honest, she wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d been less than enthusiastic about meeting with her, despite his outwardly professional demeanor. She’d had to basically shove the Web site proposal down his throat there at the end to get him to even look at it.
Getting him to look at her, however, had been a completely different matter. She shivered a little, despite the warm spring air. Even now, just thinking about the way those gray-green eyes had drilled into her, as if he was seeing right through her, made her skin tingle in awareness. Reese Chisholm gave a whole new meaning to the term
intensity
. He’d been smiling when he’d initially walked in, but from the moment he’d closed the office door, he’d been so intently focused on her, it had been all she could do to stay on point during her presentation. After meeting Brodie, who was the definition of “charming rake,” she hadn’t been prepared for such a deliberate sort.
Where Brodie was more the rugged hunk type, Reese was tall and lean, and even though his business wear had been a rather casual khaki trousers and polo shirt combination, he’d still come off somewhat refined in manner, almost to the point of seeming a bit stuffy. Brodie had an outgoing, engaging manner, with a brogue that thickened the more animated he got. Reese’s voice was deep, smooth, almost calming in the way he spoke—purposeful, with such measured precision. His brogue was there, but it was crisp, clean ... as refined as its owner.
And yet, she found herself shivering a bit again, thinking about it. There was definitely an air of power and raw masculinity about him that had unnerved her, and later, when she’d calmed down enough to admit it, aroused her a little, too. When she was nervous, she talked faster, became more animated, and she’d known she was doing exactly that the entire time in his office. And yet every time she made an attempt to get a harness on her nerves, his gaze would connect with hers. It had been like wrapping her senses around a live wire. Her pulse had knocked up a few beats, her cheeks warmed, something would go a bit wonky in her knees ... and she was off to the races.
And a man like Reese was the very last sort she had any business getting involved with. Mainly because he was business. Hadn’t she specifically said she was going to firmly separate church and state once she’d started over? For her that meant no fishing in the company pond. Or in the client pool, either. In her old life, she hadn’t had much choice. It was like actors dating actors. Who else understood the life better than someone who lived it? She’d only dated men who were as dedicated to their careers and their overextended daily schedules as she’d been to hers. BlackBerry Socials, she’d called them, as she’d scheduled them in as neatly as she did her next power presentation. After all, it was sort of the same thing, when you thought about it.
She had always thought sex was a lot of fun and had approached the event much as she did any other project, with gusto, good preparation, and perfect timing. Her partners had found her sex-tech terminology amusing rather than insulting ... and invariably adopted it when they’d moved on to their next BlackBerry rendezvous.
But eventually that life began to catch up with her. Antacids were a staple in her diet, her skin was perpetually sallow, her hair limp, her nails split. Insomnia was her most frequent bed partner, and suddenly life wasn’t so much fun anymore. She was burning out, rapidly, and she knew it. Then the telegram had arrived from Scotland ... and she’d taken it for the celestial sign it had to be.
Six months later, she was now a resident of Scotland. Her whole purpose in coming here was to slow down and get a life, rediscover the joy in living. It seemed she had this teeny problem with relaxing. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so teeny. But relaxed and laid back simply wasn’t how she approached life. How did anyone get anything done that way? Maybe it made a bit more sense in bed, but she’d never seemed to master that particular skill, either. There had never been enough time!
But that was all different now.
Which was why, though part of her new life plan was to operate a successful business—she still had to earn a living—the rest of it centered on eventually finding an easygoing, gentle, down to earth, earnest type who could teach her to slow down and enjoy the ride. Literally, if she was really lucky.
Her thoughts shifted back to Reese and she imagined what he must be like in bed. All sleek and sinewy and powerful, taking control and—she quickly shut down that train of thought. She was going to be sitting across a small pub table from him momentarily, and that was the last image she needed in her already fevered brain.
She’d tried to chalk her reaction to him up to nerves. He was out of bounds, anyway. After all, she had been quite honest with him about what taking him on as a client would do for her fledgling business idea. She was serious about making a success of herself here, and though she knew it might be difficult to convert the staid thinking of some of the longtime shopkeepers in the village, she very definitely wanted to contain her business to Glenbuie if possible. If she’d wanted her old life, complete with the frenetic pace, traffic jams, and endless work hours, she’d have sold her inheritance here and opened up shop in Edinburgh or Glasgow. But she hadn’t left her stressed-out city life just to trade it for another.
“Going in or just considerin’ it?”
Daisy jumped, belatedly realizing she must look like an idiot, standing there staring vaguely into the pub window. She turned to find Alastair Henderson standing behind her. “Working up my courage,” she said with a rueful smile. “How’s the hand?”
The old Scot ran the auto-repair shop on the opposite corner of the village square. He’d cut his hand a few weeks earlier while working on a car, and Daisy had happened to be nearby at the time and had offered assistance.
“Och, good as new it is.” He flashed his palm at her, showing her the healing wound. “Tried to tell you all it was hardly more than a scratch.”
Daisy happened to know it had taken seven stitches to heal the gash, but she nodded politely.
“So, I understand I have you to thank for the lovely smile my only daughter is sportin’ of late.” His tone was a teasing one. “Tried to tell her myself she should have made a play for that lad long ago, but oh no, she doesna listen to me, her dear father.”
Daisy flushed. “Kat would have managed fine on her own without my nudge.” In Daisy’s efforts to make new friends, she’d sort of helped encourage his daughter into doing something about her more-than-best-friends feelings for Brodie Chisholm. “I’m just glad to see the two of them figured things out.”
Alastair reached past her to open the pub door. “I’ll spot you an ale just the same.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile grew wider. “Kat mentioned you’ve quite a knack for matching up folks back in the States.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go in before him. “Makes a bloke wonder why a pretty young thing such as yourself isn’t likewise attached.”
Daisy laughed, even as her flush deepened. Where she had scheduled similarly minded, commitment-free men into her life with unerring precision, she’d also occasionally matched up coworkers. She had an eye for what worked ... and what didn’t. Marketing, after all, wasn’t confined to mere products. Now if she could just figure out how to reach her new target audience ... “You’re very kind. Let’s just say I tended to have a better eye for matching other people than myself.”
“I see,” he said, as he ushered her into the dimly lit interior. “Well, perhaps the lads on this side of the pond will treat your puir heart more gently.”
His kindly spoken words took her by surprise. “I, uh—thank you.” She smiled. “And ... I hope so, too. But for now, I’m just focusing on getting my business off the ground and settling in here.”
“A thrivin’ business is all well and good, lass,” he said close to her ear. “But it willnae keep you warm at night. This I know, all too well.”
As did she, she thought ruefully, as did she. Daisy knew that Alastair had been a widower for the past ten years. The door shut behind them and she had to blink her eyes to adjust to the suddenly dimmer light. As he steered her through a small cluster of tables, a small, somewhat plump, older woman began waving at him. Miss Eleanor ran the small café off the square, and it was the worst kept secret in Glenbuie that she and Alastair had eyes for one another. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled up in her usual soft bun, her skin was smoother than that of most women half her age, but what drew the eye was the way her own sparkled at the sight of Alastair.
Daisy smiled at him and nudged his arm. “Maybe you should be taking your own advice.”
He surprised her by winking back. “I plan on doing just that. Seeing my own daughter’s happiness has spurred an auld man on to new and better things. Perhaps I owe ye an ale for that, too.”
Happily surprised by the news that he was finally going to bring their budding romance into the light of day ... or the dim of the pub, as it were, Daisy patted his arm. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your date. Besides, I’m meeting someone myself. Just business.”
“Of course,” Alastair added drolly, then leaned in close again so she could hear him over the din of clacking pool balls and shouts of encouragement coming from the dartboard area. “Dinnae make the mistake of believin’ that old myth about mixing business with pleasure. I met Kat’s mum when she came into the motor-repair shop as a young lass, looking to be hired on by my father.” He sighed in remembered pride. “Woman could rebuild a transmission like nobody’s business.”
Daisy laughed. Alastair was quite the character. And in a village filled with them, that said something. But she had a soft spot for both Kat and her father. Gauging from the look on Miss Eleanor’s face, she wasn’t the only one. “I’ll keep that in mind. Better not keep your date waiting.”
She scanned the interior of the pub now that her eyes had adjusted. No sign of Reese. He’d better not be standing her up. She made a mental note to choose a table out of the direct line of Alastair and Eleanor’s vision. She was nervous enough as it was, without their well-meaning glances. “Enjoy your evening,” she told him.
“I havena forgotten the ale. We’ll share one soon enough, aye?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, well. There’s your date now.” Alastair nodded toward the stool at the end of the bar. There sat Reese, listening to Brodie as he went on about something in his typically animated way.
“How did you know I was meeting—?”
He winked. “Small village. Big ears.”
“And it’s not a date,” she reiterated, but Alastair was already heading over toward Eleanor. Huffing out a small sigh, she resisted the urge to smooth her dress. When she’d been standing in front of her armoire earlier, agonizing over what to wear, the light summer-print sundress had seemed to strike the right balance between professional and casual. After all, they were meeting in a pub, not a four-star power restaurant. Now, however, it felt cute and flirty and that was absolutely the very last image she wanted to project. Wasn’t it?
She found herself watching Reese’s every move as she wound her way through the cluster of small pub tables. His belted khakis showed off his lean hips. But today he was wearing a pale blue cotton shirt with a button-down collar, still crisp even after a long day at work. The cut showed off the breadth of his shoulders. Had she noticed them before? And the way he’d rolled up the cuffs served to draw her attention to his forearms and hands. Big hands, she noted, as he downed a sip of ale.
Thanks, Alastair
. The last thing she needed was to be thinking of Reese Chisholm as anything but a business prospect. Granted, he wasn’t quite the aggressive corporate shark she’d found herself drawn to back in the States, but he was certainly Glenbuie’s version of the same. She hadn’t crossed an ocean to get tangled up with that sort again, no matter the variation. From now on, business was business. And only business.
“Well, there’s the lovely lass now.” Brodie lifted a hand and beckoned her to the bar.
Now that was the kind of man she should go for. He was a big, lovable hunk of a guy, fun and playful, easy going and relaxed, everything she was supposed to be looking for. Of course, he was Kat’s man now, and they were well suited. But surely there had to be more like him about. She’d heard about the youngest Chisholm brother, Tristan, sheep farmer and land manager. Low key to the point of being completely off the radar. Maybe she should wangle an introduction there. Talk about slowing down the pace. Just not Reese. The only corporate man within a hundred kilometers. And a prospective client, to boot.
Brodie pulled an ale for her and topped off Reese’s before lifting them both in his wide hands. “Why don’t you two take a table there around back and I’ll have Marta bring you out some of her stew. She’s made a buttermilk loaf to go with it that will suit you just right.”
Reese finally turned as Daisy stepped up to the stool next to him. He didn’t say anything, allowing her to decide. His steady gaze did that wobbly-knee thing to her. So she purposely glanced over to where Brodie had pointed.

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