Read Down to Ash (#Dirtysexygeeks Book 2) Online
Authors: Melissa Blue
Down to Ash (#Dirtysexygeeks Book 2) (24 page)
Victor muttered, “Always, Ash.”
She stretched to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Forever, Vic. Now sleep.”
He didn't know when he would drift off, but when he woke up, Ash would be the first thing he saw. She was taking him broken and battered. She would love him until the end of days. He'd love her back, with his everything. Like always. She was a fighter and so was he. They'd fight with and for each other.
That was the only thing that mattered.
***
“It's the blemishes that make her beautiful.” ~ Supernatural
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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To One Hundred, #dirtysexygeeks
When they met online they were equals...Then she walks into his classroom.
For four months Eva March shared almost every secret with a handsome stranger. It was easy when she didn't have to meet his gaze in real life. The online flirtation was fun. She could be a strong, put-together woman without a sordid past. Most importantly, he'd never know the truth.
Grady Addison takes his job as a professor seriously. He doesn't sleep with co-eds, much less his students. Eva doesn't even fit his leggy, peppy blonde requirements, but he can't walk away now. He's spent too much time fantasizing about her, her smile and the way her eyes darken when she thinks of her past. And her past is a problem. The secrets she hasn't yet told him could end his career and for Eva, her life could just come crashing down...again.
Under His Kilt, Under The Kilt
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.
Kilted For Pleasure, Under The Kilt
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.
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Legs—that's all that filled Wade Addison's vision. With a crook of his finger, he slid his glasses off then blinked. Nope. Right here, in his office was the best damn pair of legs he'd seen in a while.
And those two appendages is all that filled his view after glancing away from his computer screen. The woman attached to them wore a skirt short enough to grasp and hold his focus, which was miracle within itself. Calculations had filled his head most of the afternoon and much else rarely distracted him when he was like that. But, yeah, the long line of her calves, the curve of her thighs—all a decadent shade of chestnut—were worth noting.
He dropped his glasses onto his desk and let his gaze continue up in a slow crawl, because this was why he had a pulse and a working dick. Her hips had the perfect dimensions of an hour glass. Her slim waist clinched that thought. Fantastic breasts. Her face was unfamiliar, pretty in a perfect dimensions sort of way but he was willing to be an extrovert after one glance.
He even almost smiled when he asked, “What do you want?” His tone bordered on annoyed but that wasn't anything new. His moods liked to swing from trees anyway.
Her brows lifted for a fraction of a second, but her expression remained blank. “I'm looking for Dr. Wade Addison.”
Now he could almost forgive her. Over the past three months he'd let his hair grow. The shortest strands brushed his shoulders. He wore a plain white T-shirt, board shorts and thong sandals without socks. If she confused him with a beach bum rather than an astrophysicist that was only fair.
Almost
forgive her. He wore his lab coat and was surrounded by papers and computers. His office for all intents and purposes held a big ass telescope in the middle of the rounded room, and someone had to direct her here if she asked about him. So either she was dense or lying.
“You are?” he asked.
“Do you know where he is?”
He narrowed his eyes. If anything, his evasive question should have been the clue. Dense. He was going to go with that until she proved him wrong.
As for the question. He considered how to answer. A woman who looked like a pin-up was searching for him at work. A woman who had no idea what he looked like. “You can leave a message.”
Her mouth pinched into a thin line as though she smelled bullshit. At least her instincts were on point. “How well do you know Dr. Addison?”
He had moments of introspection, some voluntary and some forced. Wade had a good fix on who he was. “Pretty well you can say.”
She stalked forward, and again he focused. Her skirt bunched tight right along her pelvis. Not enough for details but more than enough for his imagination to fill in the missing components. So all he could do for a moment was watch the roll of her hips—mesmerizing. Maybe the heels she wore gave her sway the added emphasis, but that line of creased fabric cutting across from hip-to-hip would fuel dreams.
Her hand thumped against his research papers, severing the view. He glared at the red nail polish on her hands then brought that hard stare up. Hazel eyes. They were more green than brown. This close he could see the sharp clarity behind them, and know she'd caught him eye-fucking her walk.
“I'm guessing he's your advisor,” she said, her voice no less measured. “What do you think of him?”
This close he could also pick up the scent of her perfume—she smelled fucking edible. She probably tasted better. Too bad she was dense.
“Dr. Addison is an asshole.” That much wasn't a lie. “He also lacks the basic desire to communicate. He works an insane amount of hours, at weird times. He'd rather demand than ask. Lastly, and probably the most important factoid, he wouldn't like you in here.”
She blinked. “That much of a taskmaster?”
The description hadn't even budged her. Interesting. “Do your work and you won't get a complaint but in general he's just an asshole. Why do you want to know?”
She straightened, her teeth scraping over her bottom lip. It was a fantastic bottom lip—the kind that should get bitten often. He blinked this time.
“I have to work with him,” she said, “and you're not the first person to say he's troublesome.”
Troublesome? Underwear creeping into your ass was troublesome. Wade was the bully who gave you an atomic wedgie. He narrowed his eyes. Word choice was everything. More than once she'd picked a benign descriptor. Women tended use harsher words when gossiping.
Interesting.
Cautious, he said, “You want to know how to get into his good graces?”
She nodded like he was getting it. “Exactly.”
The list ranged from a thousand things to two on any given day. He wouldn't tell her the important ones.
He scared up a smile for her his answer. “He really loves coffee. Whipped cream, chocolate syrup and a ton of sugar. He should be here in a little bit. You should come back in an hour or five.”
Or never.
Her smile fell, and a flicker of irritation flashed through the green of her eyes. He almost laughed. She was trying to bullshit
him
of all people.
“He also likes those back massages in you can get in the mall.” And he did. Nimble fingers, cheap prices and the white noise of elevator music—they were often the best places to think.
She made a noncommittal noise at that confession. “Would you mind giving me a tour while I wait. This is the first time I've been in an observatory.”
He was toying with her and they both knew it at this point. She had to. He sighed. People wondered why he didn't like...people. Wade's work schedule ensured he wasn't around when clueless adults could come around. He didn't mind talking about his work, probably the only thing he felt comfortable blathering about with strangers. Kids, he definitely didn't mind. They had a thirst for knowledge and no preconceived ideas about space or his occupation. But adults...
He bit back a frustration groan. From her intent expression, she wouldn't leave him alone or let him ignore her.
He leaned back in his chair and pointed behind him. “Computers. They calculate stuff, and sometimes when they are feeling frisky can simulate events in space. Mostly based on math. Over there is something called a telescope. You can see space with it.”
He waved his hands around to encompass the room. It was rounded, like the observatory itself, filled with high-tech equipment that cost millions of dollars. Even he didn't know what everything did. It just made his life easier.
And she wasn't.
“Hub of the observatory. Tour over.”
Her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. “And what is it you help Dr. Addison do? That's an assumption. Sorry if it's wrong. He's your advisor and you are sometimes a lackey, right?”
Bullshit, served with a smile. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, his interest in her turning to wariness. But he was patient and willing to play along until she hit him with the punch line.
“It's too bright outside to show you through the telescope.”
He pawed through the manila folders on his desk until he found the right picture. “This is Betelgeuse. Not
Beettlejuice
. Though I love that movie. It's about 430 light ye
ars away and it's going to explode. Well after I die, so I'm not too worried, but I like the idea of that. One of the stars in our galaxy, that's pretty damn close to Earth, is going to turn supernova.”
“Don't scientist already know what happens when a supernova explodes?”
“Scientist were pretty sure Earth was flat. Things like atoms didn't exist. Both of Einstein's theories about relativity has just been confirmed as true over a hundred years later. So I feel like I have some job security.”
“Huh,” is all she said for a moment before digging around her pocket. She pulled out a business card and offered it to him. “Call me when he comes in. I have to meet with Dr. Scott.”
That made his blood run cold, and any amusement over their exchange died. “Why are you looking for Dr. Addison again?”
She smiled and it only sharpened the clarity in her gaze. “I'm his publicist.”
The only problem with that is he didn't have a need for one. He took the card and dropped it onto his desk like it could poison him if he held too long. “Can you get to Dr. Scott's office on your own?”
She tilted her head, probably surprised at his gentleman-like offer. He was only seventy-percent asshole.
“I'll manage. Thanks again.” She blessed him with a wide smile and her bottom lip looked lickable now.
Because he was 100 percent man, he watched the sensual sway of her hips as she walk away. Damn nice view. He waited until she cleared the doors to whip out his cell phone.
Victor answered on the third ring. “Who died?”
“No one yet,” Wade answered the question without pause. “I need you to do a background check for me.”
Victor was former Army, an EOD tech, but now he worked freelance as an IT tech. But when he was really motivated, he could upend the Internet to find any information. A friend asking for the favor tended to fall under that umbrella. “Who?”
He didn't have to glance at the card again. Her name was burned into his brain—along with her lips and legs. “Sophie Lake, a publicist.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Victor asked, “Do I want to know why I'm doing a background check on a woman?”
He gaze tracked back to the doors. If Sophie had worn a skirt that simply followed the line of her curves, he might not have managed a thought, much less question or intentions. “She came looking for me and had no idea what I looked like.”