A First Sight Read online

  AT FIRST SIGHT

  THE SCOTTISH BILLIONAIRES

  M. S. PARKER

  BELMONTE PUBLISHING, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  CONTENTS

  Free Book

  1. Drake

  2. Maggie

  3. Drake

  4. Maggie

  5. Drake

  6. Maggie

  7. Drake

  8. Maggie

  9. Drake

  10. Maggie

  11. Drake

  12. Maggie

  13. Drake

  14. Maggie

  15. Drake

  16. Maggie

  17. Drake

  18. Drake

  19. Maggie

  20. Drake

  21. Maggie

  22. Maggie

  23. Drake

  24. Maggie

  25. Drake

  26. Maggie

  27. Drake

  28. Maggie

  29. Drake

  30. Maggie

  31. Drake

  32. Maggie

  33. Drake

  34. Maggie

  35. Drake

  36. Maggie

  37. Maggie

  38. Drake

  39. Maggie

  40. Drake

  41. Maggie

  42. Maggie

  43. Drake

  44. Maggie

  45. Drake

  46. Maggie

  47. Drake

  48. Maggie

  49. Drake

  50. Maggie

  51. Drake

  52. Maggie

  53. Drake

  54. Maggie

  55. Drake

  56. Maggie

  57. Drake

  58. Maggie

  59. Drake

  60. Maggie

  61. Drake

  62. Maggie

  63. Drake

  64. Drake

  65. Maggie

  66. Drake

  67. Maggie

  68. Drake

  69. Maggie

  70. Drake

  71. Maggie

  72. Drake

  73. Maggie

  74. Drake

  75. Maggie

  76. Drake

  77. Maggie

  78. Drake

  79. Maggie

  80. Maggie

  81. Drake

  82. Maggie

  83. Drake

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  ONE

  DRAKE

  “Have a holly, jolly Christmas. Have a holly, jolly Christmas. Have a holly jolly Christmas.”

  I smiled at the man who’d been singing the same lyrics from the moment he stepped into the line. At least he had excellent pitch. Repetition was one thing. Being off-key was worse.

  “Would you like ham or turkey?” I asked.

  Without missing a note, he pointed to the ham, and I picked up two pieces of meat with metal tongs and placed the ham on his tray. He moved on, taking his music with him, though he was loud enough for me to hear still.

  “I’d say it's nice to see someone in the Christmas spirit,” the woman behind him said, “but he sings that damn song all year-’round.”

  I chuckled. “I suppose that would grate on one’s nerves in the heat of summer.”

  “Especially since I always end up in line next to him,” she added. “Can I have one of each?”

  “Certainly.” I gave her a slice of ham and then switched to the other set of tongs for a piece of turkey.

  I learned my first time serving here to use only the serving utensils for their specific foods.

  “Turkey,” the man across from me mumbled without looking up from his tray. Despite not seeing much of his face, I recognized him.

  “Merry Christmas, Ramin.”

  His head jerked up at his name, and his eyes narrowed. It took a moment for recognition to set in, and his posture relaxed. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Drake.”

  “I thought Drake was your first name,” the teenager serving food next to me said.

  “It is,” I said, “but Mr. Mac Gilleain can sound pretentious.”

  The kid stared at me. “Do you volunteer like this all the time?”

  “I try to volunteer a few times a year,” I said. “Usually on holidays.”

  He pointed to a gray-haired pair near the desserts. “My gran and gramp decided this was how we needed to spend our Christmas this year. They said it would be good for us, but I think it’s because my aunt and uncle and cousins all went on a cruise, and we’re the only ones left.”

  I felt the smile on my face tighten and hoped it didn’t show. The boy didn’t know the sharp pain that went through me at his words. How could he? “Most of my family is in Scotland.”

  “You’re Scottish?” His entire face lit up. “That’s so cool! Now I can totally hear the accent. Where in Scotland? My gran’s been doing this whole genealogy thing and found out her great-great-something-grandfather came to America from there in 1762.”

  “Inverness,” I said, trying to ignore the way my heart squeezed painfully at the name. I loved my home country, but memories were too close to the surface this time of year.

  “I don’t know where that is, but I bet my gran does. When we’re done, come talk to her. She’d love to pick your brain about Scotland.”

  I gave him a vague, noncommittal nod and greeted the next person in line with a cheerier ‘Merry Christmas’ than I felt. I’d been here since dawn as I had for the past fifteen years.

  I was tempted to beg off early, except that my uncle, Ben, and his partner, Stellan, were spending Christmas Day with Stellan’s family. I’d have nowhere to go but home by myself, and being alone around the Holidays was something I avoided at all costs. At least until I was too exhausted for anything but a shower, a whisky, and bed.

  As we continued to serve and greet those who came to eat, the boy maintained a steady stream of chatter, only stopping when Simone Riddell, the woman running today’s dinner, came toward me.

  “Drake. Can I have a word?”

  I nodded, and she motioned for another volunteer to take my place. I followed her down a short corridor to her office. I took a seat as she walked around the desk.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked. I had only ever been in her office a handful of times and never in the middle of serving.

  “Not really,” she said with a sigh. It brought a weariness to her face that aged her considerably. “Malone just informed me our electricity will be turned off Friday morning.”

  “What happened?” I could hear the indignation in my question. “How could anyone consider doing that to a place like this? And two days after Christmas?”

  She gave me a crooked smile. “Yesterday, I learned our bookkeeper has vanished with most of our money. Not only that, but there were a few bills she neglected to pay over the last few months.”

  I could see where she was heading with this. While I usually detested being approached for money at a non-donation-related event, I made exceptions.

  “I know you like to keep a low profile when you volunteer, and I’ve always respected that.” She twisted her fingers together, a clear sign of how this was bothering her.

/>   “Don’t worry,” I said, taking out my phone. “How much do you need?”

  Instances like this were when I was exceptionally grateful for technology. With it being Christmas Day, getting money from my account to theirs and then to the electric company in time would have been nearly impossible without various banking apps.

  As I went through the details of processing a transfer, I reassured her it did not upset me she had come to me.

  Five minutes later, I was on my way to the restroom when my phone buzzed with a text message. I didn’t check it. My family had been sending texts throughout the day, as they did every Christmas, and as always, I would wait until I got home to answer them.

  None of them had ever taken my leaving Scotland and not returning personally. They never pressured me, and, though I rarely said it, I loved them for it.

  TWO

  MAGGIE

  I rubbed my ears and worked my jaw as the plane landed back at JFK. I never had a problem with airsickness, but my ears were another story, especially when taking four flights in a little over a month.

  “You should chew some gum.” The older woman on the other side of the aisle held out a stick of gum. “That’s what I do, and it always helps.”

  “Thank you.” I popped the gum in my mouth and tried not to grimace at the stale peppermint flavor.

  “Were you visiting family in California?” she asked.

  “I was.” I smiled at her. “Yourself?”

  “My third grandchild was born on Christmas Eve.”

  “Congratulations.” My mind flew back to the video chat my older brother, Eoin, had with our parents. “I found out on Christmas Eve that I’m going to be an aunt again.”

  “That’s wonderful, dearie.”

  Wonderful, yes, but also weird. Mostly weird because no one knew Eoin was seeing anyone, and he wasn’t just announcing a pregnancy. He was engaged, too. Aline Mercier.

  At first, Aline and Eoin looked utterly mismatched. She was small and delicate, with a sweet face. Eoin was six and a half feet tall and had been intimidating even before receiving the scar that ran down the left side of his face. But then I saw the way they looked at each other.

  It made my heart ache for him, but in a good way.

  I wished I didn’t live so far away. I loved New York and playing with the Philharmonic, but I always missed my family.

  I pushed aside the wistful sadness. While most of my family was on the West Coast, I had my older brother, Carson, and my younger sister, London, in New York. That was more than many people had.

  That thought reminded me I needed to let my boyfriend Dale know my flight had landed.

  I grabbed my phone to turn off airplane mode, when the latest picture on the lock screen made me smile. It wasn’t my entire family, but everyone in San Ramon was in it, and it was a good one.

  As my phone reconnected to the network, texts from my parents came in, asking me to let them know when I arrived home. I told them I’d just landed, and then I sent the same to Dale. Within a few minutes, Mom and Da both responded. Dale didn’t. If he didn’t text me back or show up, I’d get a taxi or something. The great thing about living in New York, there were plenty of options for people who didn’t have cars. I could drive, but when I moved here, I decided not to subject myself to the insanity that was city traffic.

  By the time I retrieved my suitcase from the baggage carousel, I still hadn’t heard from Dale, so I headed straight to the exit. Luck was with me, and I got into the back of a beat-up cab after only ten minutes.

  The driver complained about the weather as he drove through the slushy streets to Murray Hill, where Dale and I had a condo. They had decorated the bushes in front of our building with lights, but the recent snow was heavy enough that they were a muted glow. Still, they looked pretty, and I smiled as the car pulled to the curb.

  “Have a glorious New Year,” I said as I added my tip to the fare.

  Walking up to the third floor, our neighbors, the Ferguson family, were at their door. The youngest of the brood, Kenny, insisted on telling me what presents everyone in his family had gotten for Christmas, much to the embarrassment of his parents.

  “Come along, boys.” Mr. Ferguson smiled at me. He looked tired.

  I waved as they went inside. I liked the idea of a Christmas with children in my future. Definitely not now.

  Shifting my bag to free a hand, I knocked on my door. I had keys in the purse, but the security chain would block the door if Dale were home.

  I was about to knock again when I heard the deadbolt turn and the chain rattle before the door opened.

  “Oh. Hey.” Dale looked surprised to see me, which I assumed meant he never received my texts. Or, rather, hadn’t bothered reading them.

  I wished I could say it surprised me, but that’s how he was sometimes.

  “Hi.” I smiled at him as I went inside. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Naw.” He scratched the back of his head. “I was just watching a movie.”

  I glanced at the television on my way to the bedroom, but it was off. I wondered what he was watching. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen him watching porn before. He even wanted me to watch it with him a few times.

  “Did you have dinner already?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Mom sent me home with leftovers. She made a huge spread for Christmas. Spiral ham with pineapple slices. Mashed potatoes. Sweet potatoes. Candied yams. And a bunch of different Christmas cookies.”

  My stomach rumbled, and I remembered how long it had been since I last ate. Although I flew in first class, which included a meal, I’d never been fond of airplane food.

  “Dad got us some shooting lessons,” Dale continued.

  The ‘us’ meant Dale and his dad, not Dale and me. I was glad about that. Not that I had an issue with guns, exactly. It was more the idea of having to be around Dale with a gun that made me nervous.

  I moved Dale’s violin case from the bed to make room for my suitcase. We met three years ago when I first got hired for the New York Philharmonic. He also played the violin and helped ease me into the routine of performing in one of the world’s most famous orchestras. With his strong arms and charming smile, I fell for him quickly, and it didn’t take long before I’d moved in with him.

  I sat my suitcase on the bed, as Dale leaned against the doorframe, watching me unpack.

  I took out a small, wrapped box with his name on it and held it out to him. “Mom and Da got this for you.”

  “Thanks.” He took it, but didn’t open it before putting it down on his dresser. “You’re about done unpacking?”

  “Almost,” I said. “If you’re not done with your movie, I can get something to eat and join you.”

  “I don’t want to finish my movie.” He was suddenly behind me, his breath hot against my skin. “Move the suitcase.”

  His arms went around my waist, hands sliding to cover my breasts. He squeezed and pressed his hips against my ass. He was already hard, and he never liked to wait. My dinner, however, could.

  “Move the suitcase, unless you want me to fuck you on top of it,” Dale said.

  I pushed it aside and let Dale bend me over the edge of the bed. The comforter was bunched up, and I grabbed onto it as Dale yanked down my pants and underwear in one go. His fingers slid between my legs, and I shivered at the friction. I wasn’t wet, but while I knew he could get me there eventually, I could feel his urgency and knew he would not take the time.

  As I heard his zipper, I dropped one hand underneath me to help myself along. I doubted he’d last long enough for me to come, but after he finished, I could excuse myself to shower and take care of it on my own.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  THREE

  DRAKE

  Dinner was fantastic, as always. Uncle Ben had the talent in a kitchen that could have led to tremendous success as a chef, should he have changed career paths. I was glad he had stayed with money management, whatever the loss to the culinary
world. I would never have joined him in business had he chosen the food route.

  “Whisky?” he asked as we moved into the den. “I recently found a new brand from the West Coast. Shannon’s. It’s quite good.”

  While Uncle Ben had come to the US at nineteen and became a citizen six years later, he was born and bred in Scotland, which meant his compliment carried more weight than the average American. We Scots took our whisky seriously.

  “Thank you,” I said as I accepted a glass. I swirled the amber-colored liquid before taking a sip. Uncle Ben was right. “Really, it’s American?”

  “Technically.” He settled on the couch with a sigh.

  His dark auburn hair had little silver and his face only a few lines, making him look younger than his seventy years. I often forgot how old he was, especially since he was my father’s youngest brother, and Da still referred to him that way. The Mac Gilleain had good genes. Da barely looked seventy himself, and he would be eighty-seven this spring.