Callan Baird used to laugh more than he frowned, but that was before his wife died. Now his life is duty, debts and a general apathy for anything else. And then Victoria Burke burst into his life. She's everything he wants to corrupt.
Victoria has two choices: agree to a grouchy, sexy Scotsman's extortion or call her boss to explain why she can't do her job. Since she's spent the last three years rebuilding her career as antique appraiser, and this one commission could make or break it, the decision is a no-brainer. Except everything about Callan is complicated.
He sees no problem turning their work relationship into a sexual one. She refuses to break her boss' no-fraternization rule. He's the one thing she wants and the one thing she can't have. He's had his one great love, and doesn't want a replacement. His heart doesn't agree, because she's everything he desires.
Callan will have to let go of his past if he wants Victoria to be in his future.
The door swung open. A shirtless man glowered at her, but that description couldn't quite encapsulate him. Her smile faltered while she lost a few IQ points at the full brunt of him. Shadows deepened the grooves around his mouth and eyes. Wind creeping in through the open door whipped his dark auburn hair into disarray. He was broad in the shoulders, solid in the torso and thighs. Every sinew in his tall frame inspired an itch in her palms to touch, caress, explore all of him. He fit into the scenery—stark mountains and moors.
The furrows that hinted above his brows practically promised brooding—complete with a money back guarantee. His blue eyes narrowed. “Which Baird sent you?” His thick burr rolled the “r” in a way that prickled her skin.
He definitely seemed to know Ian and Tristan. Ian was her boss. Tristan was her boss' brother who ran the sales division. To say they were like night and day was an understatement. “I'm—”
He scoffed, cutting off her speech with the abrupt sound. “Ian,” he guessed with pinpoint accuracy. “Tristan wouldn't have sent a lamb to slaughter.”
Her spine stiffened. A lamb would have curled up when she had mistakenly authenticated a forgery three years ago. A sheep would have willingly let the world put a hand over her eyes while it slit her throat to bleed out from shame, guilt and mortification. One simply didn't recover from the kind of screw up she'd made, but Victoria had found employment, convinced her boss to send her to Scotland, alone, for an all expense paid commission of a castle. This was her first job oversees for the Bairds and it damn sure wouldn't be her last.
Victoria Burke was no one's goddamn lamb.
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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. Eventually she upgraded to a computer. She’s still typing away on the same computer, making imaginary people fall in love.
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