Her Fictional Fling: Scandals in Scotland Contemporary Romance Series Book 1 (2 page)

“Don’t say a word until you’ve gotten me a refill of whatever stuff was in that glass,” she commanded. Her accent was American, somewhere from the South, and it melted over her words like butter.

Colin started to protest but was held back by the tone in her voice. A mix of determination and something that sounded a lot like pain. He wasn’t in the habit of taking orders from anyone but a director, and more often he was the one giving them, but to his further astonishment, he shrugged his shoulders and found himself meeting her demand without argument. He refilled the glass, glancing over at her out the corner of his eye; she hadn’t moved. It wasn’t until he brought over the new drink and tapped her shoulder that she looked up at him.

The blue of her eyes, set against the midnight color of her hair, caught his breath. She locked her gaze onto his and held it as she downed the whole of the glass’s contents in one gulp. The raw move caused him to raise his eyebrows, and a laugh escaped his lips before he could catch it. Her eyes narrowed then before she rolled them and turned away, revealing a beautifully sculpted jawline atop a long, graceful neck. Colin lowered himself to rest on his haunches. She turned back to him and set the glass on the floor, a Cupid’s bow print in red lipstick on the rim.

“Guess you needed that more than I did…Andi, is it?” he asked, extending a hand to her. She seemed slightly surprised that he knew her name—he recognized her from the author photo on the back cover of the copy of
Seducing a Highland Warrior
that he’d read before agreeing to his current movie role—but she nodded and accepted anyway, her fingers pleasantly cool against his palm. “I’m Colin Walker.”

She only blinked at him as she released his grip, but she seemed to be slowly coming down from whatever ledge she’d been on and she met his eyes, the edges of her mouth turning up just slightly as a grin slid over her poppy lips.

“That
stuff
as you call it, love, is a very fine ten-year-old 100 proof, in case you were wondering.”

Her head tilted to one side; a lock of the raven hair slipping over her eye resulted in an enticing picture. “I wasn’t. But fancy or not,” she said, “it’s not nearly strong enough to outdo the evening I’ve had so far.”

Colin had no penchant for chitchat, but this woman intrigued him. He could still feel the impression of the soft weight of her as he’d held her moments ago. She wasn’t tall, even with the heels she wore, and her head had fit just under his chin before he’d let go of her. She stretched her legs out in front of her, only inches away from his own, and Colin let his eyes slide over the length of them, over her calves and up to the hem of her dress, which fluttered across deliciously curvy thighs. He stopped himself going further and pulled his eyes back up to her face.

She’d caught him—not that he much cared. She was a fine specimen, and he wouldn’t apologize for admiring an attractive woman. After all, it was she who’d catapulted into him. But beyond the blush that rose to her cheeks and the general look of irritation, there was unmistakable curiosity, and possibly…appetite, as well. To that, he could definitely relate.

He sat down on the floor in front of her and she eyed his clothing. “What in the hell are you wearing?” she asked, a hint of amusement glowing in those blue eyes.

“What, this old thing? I was just on my way to a bachelorette party.” He shrugged. “Odd request, yes, but who am I to judge taste in entertainment?”

Red lips opened into a full laugh, revealing lovely teeth and a candy tongue he suddenly wanted to taste. Colin’s eyes latched onto hers as she closed her mouth again. No matter. She had other areas of interest for him to explore—her breasts, for instance, their fullness peeking out beneath black lace at the neckline of her dress.

“So, you’re a stripper then?” she asked.

He smiled. Clearly she didn’t recognize him—a rare occurrence these days given his face was plastered all over every newsstand practically across the globe—but one he was glad for.

“Not exactly,” he said.

“Didn’t think so. I’ve been to my share of bachelorette parties and I have yet to see a request for a Viking in traditional Nordic dress. Although”—she touched a finger to her bottom lip, drawing his attention to its ripe flesh—”personally, I’d prefer this over the usual police and firemen.” She ran her eyes up and down his body, sending a stir of molten heat to his groin. He was used to being ogled by female fans, but never in such depth. It was as though she was studying each piece of clothing for research, rather than admiring his male anatomy. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or impressed.

Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners and Colin felt a sensation that he hadn’t experienced in ages, and wanted no part of. Aside from the silly girls who regularly followed him about, snapping pictures as he passed, he’d had little to do with women since Nicole and what she’d done, with his best mate no less. He had absolutely no use for any emotional attachment. And anyway, where had that thought even come from?

He chalked it up to just being a bloke—of course he’d be amused by an attractive woman; it was only natural, and the fact she didn’t know who he was only added to her appeal. Allowing himself to be drawn into something deeper with Nicole had been his mistake, one he wasn’t stupid enough to make twice. But faced with the hot little tornado who’d knocked him on his ass, he wondered if maybe he wasn’t in need of a little casual fun, a good time, and if she was willing, maybe a little more to take his mind off of Nicole. God, how long had it been now? Too damn long.

“So, you’re into Vikings, then?” he asked, baiting her. There were loads of advantages if she bit. Spending time with someone who appeared to be his ex’s complete opposite would do well in clearing his mind, and according to Charles, his agent, there could even be publicity advantages in getting caught up with a new woman.

“Let’s just say I have more than a passing interest in them,” she said, grinning. “But I’m still wondering what one is doing in a hotel kitchen.” She crossed her arms and stared at him skeptically.

“Hiding out, actually,” he said, not offering any further explanation in the vague hope she would ask for more. He had no plan to return to the damned party. He’d had his fill of playing nice for the day and being the film star that everyone expected, and he was ready to go back to his condo and get away from the limelight for a while. He studied the girl and could practically see her toying with the question of whether or not she actually cared what he was doing here. Evidently, curiosity won.

“What from?” she asked.

“You first.” He lifted a palm in her direction. He couldn’t quite read the sentiment that crossed her features next, but it was clear the scotch hadn’t been able to soften whatever it was she’d been running from when she’d slammed into him, and to his surprise, he found he wasn’t just asking to be polite.

It had been ages since anyone had so much as piqued his interest, and it was good to have a conversation without feeling numb to everything the other person said or wondering what her motive might be in getting to know him. Most women had one in his experience—money, fame, or a cover page in a London tabloid. They were all the same until he’d been stupid enough to let himself fall for Nicole. His stomach churned at the thought of his ex.

“I’m supposed to be in there,” Andi said.

She pointed a thumb in the direction of the doors leading to the ballroom and Colin noticed a tiny tattoo on the inside of her right wrist, the detail of which he couldn’t see. Instinctively, he reached out and took the wrist in his hand, turning it over. In the second before she pulled away, he studied it: a tiny quill pen. He looked up, expecting to see anger or irritation, but instead she just stared back at him, eyebrows raised.

“Anyway, I was in there giving a rereading, reading—er, actually, I never made it that far—I was meant to give a reading from a novel—my novel—but it didn’t turn out well.”

She lowered her eyes to her lap and folded her hands. He realized she was nervous.

“I sort of choked, actually.” She looked up at him and grimaced. “Not sort of. I totally ate it.” She shook her head and strands of black hair fell over her eyes.

“Stage fright?” he asked. Colin was aware that public speaking was a major fear for lots of people, but he’d never been able to relate. Even as a kid, he’d been completely comfortable acting in front of a camcorder or a large crowd. It was why he’d gone into theater. Then he’d been discovered, setting off his movie career. He loved his work and had never looked back. It wasn’t until recently that the price of fame had begun to take its toll.

“Sort of.” She seemed about to say more but stopped, shaking her head. “Your turn then, Viking. You look like how I imagine a character from my first book. Ironically, the one I just flubbed up reading from.” She ran a nervous finger through her wayward hair, brushing it away from her cobalt eyes.

“Well, I kid you not, authoress. I’m the very same.” Colin stood and offered her a bow, then traded his British accent for the character’s and recited one of his lines as the Viking hero, Bjorn, from Andi’s novel-turned-movie.

A look of pure delight spread across her face, lighting up her sapphire blues. If he wasn’t careful, he could very well risk sinking right to the bottom of them. She jumped up from the floor and slapped both hands over her red mouth.

“You’re my hero!” she shouted, making Colin burst out laughing.

“Thanks, love. All I did was keep you from crashing and sending both of us to the hospital, but who am I to argue over a little label?”

She threw her head back and a bubble of laughter escaped, the sound of it sending warmth to the lowest part of his abdomen.

“No, I mean, I invented you for my first book, as you seem to know, but”—she pointed a finger at him—”I thought James Madison was cast to play his part? The producer showed my agent the list in an email, and I just assumed he’d be here, but I didn’t see him out there with the rest of the crowd. And anyway, you’re the only one dressed up like this. Everyone else is in cocktail dress. I thought maybe you were kitchen staff or something, dressed in the movie theme.”

“Sadly, no. This”—he motioned at his clothing—”is me losing a bet. James Madison had a problem with the contract conflicting with another of his projects and my agent arranged for me to replace him. So I flew in from London the day before filming to play your character, the great Bjorn.” Good job, he’d caught himself before throwing the word
ridiculous
in front of
character.
“I don’t normally agree to this sort of role.” There, that was better. “But the money is great—they actually doubled Madison’s fee in order to get me out here. That, plus the promise of getting away from London for awhile, was enough to make up for having to learn my lines in record time.”

He’d been going on and on and hadn’t noticed that she’d gone cross. Her eyes had become slits and seemed to have darkened to a deep navy.

“What do you mean,
this sort of role
?” She folded her arms over her chest.

He thought he’d been careful not to insult her, but he’d inadvertently bashed her work.

“I just mean, you know, romantic types. Not my thing.” It was true. Normally he took on action hero roles. At six foot four, he had the build that casting directors sought, and with his broad shoulders and disciplined workouts, he’d been exactly what they were looking for. That, and he rather enjoyed the work. He wasn’t known for starring in chick flicks, and he liked it that way. They condoned an institution he no longer believed in, thanks to his cheating ex.

He’d gone down the romance road and had nothing to show for it except a bruised heart, not to mention ego. As an aspiring actor, he’d trained in Shakespearean theatre, where he hoped to return at some point when the highs of his current position started to wear off. But for films, he preferred to stick with characters who fought villains and slung busty blondes over their shoulders, staying just long enough for a roll in the sack before heading off to the next battle, no strings attached. He’d do well to live by the same code in his own life. Anything more was just asking to get burned.

“If they’re not your type, then why are you here?” she asked.

Rather than go into the detail of the decisions he’d made over the past few months, and worse, the ones made for him against his will, he kept it simple and played the humor card again. “Apparently to stop women from crashing in hotel kitchens.”

She wasn’t having it.

His pretty new friend blinked up at him and crossed her arms, clearly expecting more than he’d offered.

Fine. He’d give a little, but only just.

“My agent suggested I do something different to avoid typecasting this early in my career.” It wasn’t really so early—he’d started young, sure, but he was now nearing thirty—though she obviously had no idea who he was. He’d done only one small American film; the rest were more popular this side of the pond, so it wasn’t too surprising she wasn’t familiar with his work. Hopefully, though, that would change soon and he could diversify his projects and maybe have a chance to experience life in the States for a bit. Doing the film version of Andi’s book would go a long way in helping since it was big with US readers. But he’d think twice before he took on the role of another softhearted cad.

“Of course,” she said, challenge in her tone. “Who wouldn’t want to be known for playing gorgeous, sexy heroes who can have any woman they want? And who fight to keep her once they find the perfect one?”

Her lips turned up and he was treated to another of her mischievous, tempting smiles. He’d like to kiss it right off her face and planned to play his cards to make that exact thing happen before the end of the evening. Her question was legitimate, but Colin didn’t need time to think about his answer.

“Someone who doesn’t believe that there is a perfect one.”

She nodded her head as if she knew his type and had him pegged. “Someone like you,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Exactly.”

Andi opened her mouth to say more but was interrupted by the electronic chorus of a popular song. She dug a mobile out of her dress, drawing his eyes once more to her chest. Just because he didn’t believe in the idea of a perfect mate, didn’t mean he wouldn’t like to see what else she kept tucked inside that black lace.