His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) (22 page)

“Anyway, go home, Ames. Enjoy your weekend. And bring that little twat into the office after school if you want. He can do his homework at an empty desk. Might pick up a thing or two about business.”

“There’s the Iain I know and love, calling my twelve-year-old son a twat. Warms a mother’s heart.” She smiled and left the room.

* * *

Brynn called Iain and let him know that Natasha was back in her own home. But before he could suggest that she go over to his place, she invited him to hers. Brynn liked her comfy little home much better than Iain’s expensive, sterile apartment.

He offered to bring dinner and wine. Brynn promised dessert.

Since she had cookies to bake, Brynn decided to leave a little earlier than normal. But as soon as she emerged from her office, Cass pounced, as though she’d been lying in wait.

“Brynn, my office.”

The two remaining salesmen shot her looks of sympathy. She didn’t need sympathy. She just needed a brain break. In the last few days, Brynn had been working furiously to catch up on her assignments. She’d made some real headway, but there was always more to do.

Cass sat behind her desk. As far as Brynn could tell, not a thing had been disturbed since her last visit. Folders still rose toward the ceiling, the binders she’d toppled were exactly as she’d left them, and boxes of promotional products were stacked in the same corner.

“Iain Chapman was here this afternoon?”

“Yeah, he dropped by.” Iain took time away from business to see her. Just when Brynn was ready to give up on him, he’d do something unexpected. Thoughtful. She may never figure out all the inner workings of Iain Chapman, but he kept her on her toes.

“What did he want?”

Brynn pulled her head out of the clouds. “Um, I left his office early today to cover a few things here.”

Cass tapped her fingers nervously on her desk. “We can’t afford to alienate him, Brynn. He’s too big of a client. What the
hell
were you thinking?”

That talk she needed to have with Cassandra about the business was long overdue. She couldn’t procrastinate anymore. “I know you’re having financial troubles. The business is teetering on the brink of failure, Cass.”

Cass sucked in air as her blue eyes flashed with anger. “Who told you that?”

“It didn’t take a genius to figure out.” Only a millionaire with access to her boss’s personal information. It dawned on Brynn that maybe Iain’d had her checked out, too. But she had no secrets, nothing to hide. Until recently, Brynn’s life had been a very short, boring book.

“You can’t tell anyone else, Brynn. I don’t want to panic the others.”

“What are you going to do to get back on track? Iain must be paying you a fortune. Is it enough to turn things around?”

Cass, the boss who’d described her last period in excruciating detail, suddenly became affronted. “That’s absolutely none of your business. I can handle my own financial matters, thank you very much. You work on finishing your inbox and we’ll be fine.”

Cass was bluffing, and her tell was the way she swiped the curls back from her forehead.

Brynn overlooked Cass’s snappy attitude. Every time she got backed into a corner, Cass came out hissing. “I know some financial people. My brother-in-law, for instance. He could hook you up with someone. The two of you could go over the books, make a plan for solvency.”

“I said I’ll handle it.”
Swipe, swipe.
“You’re coming in this weekend. Right?”

Other than Paige, Brynn wouldn’t call the people she worked with friends exactly, but she’d hate to see them unemployed. Still, Brynn desperately needed some downtime. She wanted to head out to the desert with her camera. She wanted to lie in bed all day with Iain. She wanted to bake and take her nephews to the movies and hit the flea market. Brynn was tired of working seven days a week. “I’ll come in on Saturday, but not Sunday.”

Cass’s eyes bulged. “I’m going to have to insist that you do.”
Swipe, swipe.

“If you’re really concerned about the business, you’ll either start taking some of the load off me or at least hire a temp to help out. Good night, Cass.”

Brynn left her sputtering boss and the office with a bounce in her step. She’d done it. Brynn had stood up for herself, and it felt liberating. Why did it feel so good to stand up to Cass, but barking at Iain this morning had left Brynn wracked with guilt? He’d never admit it, but her words had wounded him; she’d seen it in his eyes. She had the power to hurt him, and she took that seriously.

Brynn hopped in her car and sped through traffic, zipping between lanes. As soon as she made it home, she hit the shower, chose a short sundress for a change, and whipped up some chocolate chip cookies. She was taking the last batch out of the oven when the doorbell rang.

Iain stood on her porch with a pizza box in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He looked her up and down. “That dress is bloody brilliant. I can see your legs for a change.”

She stepped aside to let him in. “You’ve seen my legs before.”

“Oh, yes I have.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen.”

“Smells like a bakery.” When he got to the doorway, Iain drew to a standstill. “Fuck me. It’s pink.”

Brynn took the pizza out of his hand and laid it on the table. “You don’t like it?”

“Who the fuck has a pink fridge? And stove?”

“A fifties housewife. I have pink appliances, too. You should see my toaster.”

He slipped his jacket off and looked around. “It’s just so…bloody pink.”

Brynn laughed and grabbed a couple of wineglasses. “You never cook anyway. Your kitchen could be purple and it wouldn’t bother you.”

“Trust me, if my kitchen were purple—no, you’re right. I still wouldn’t care.” He sat down at the table and Brynn placed a plate and a cloth napkin in front of him.

“Thanks again for stopping by my office today.”

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re welcome. But you’ll come back to Blue Moon next week, right?”

“Iain, do you really need me?”

His brows lowered and the lines across his forehead deepened. “Yes. We’re doing that liaison thing. Also, I told James to pick some kind of planning committee for flowers and parties and all the rest of that bullshit.”

Brynn leaned back and studied him. “That was a really great idea.”

He stuck his finger in the neckline of her peach-colored dress and peered down at her bare breasts. “I’m full of good ideas. I’ve got one right now.”

Laughing, Brynn smacked his hand away. “After dinner.” She angled her head and gave him a teasing kiss, not too deep, with just a hint of tongue. Then she bounded off his lap and took a seat next to him.

“You’re playing with fire.”

Brynn smiled. “How was the rest of your day?” She slid a piece of pepperoni pizza onto his plate.

“What do you know about twelve-year-old boys?”

“Not much more than when I was a twelve-year-old girl. Why?”

“Amelia’s lad, he’s going through it. He’s smaller than the other kids. Ginger. Freckly. Cute as hell, but of course the girls haven’t noticed that yet.”

Brynn wiped her hands on a napkin and stared at him. “Tyler, is that his name?”

“Yeah. The other kids are making fun of him. I don’t know if the advice I gave helped or hurt. Giving advice, that’s your specialty.”

Brynn poured the wine and acted like what Iain had told her was no big deal. In reality, her heart melted toward him even more.
Okay, shape up, jellyfish. He’s not a saint.
No, but he cared about someone other than himself. Really cared. Enough to ask her opinion.

“So what did you tell him?”

“I told him not to give his power away and to use his opponent’s weakness to gain the upper hand.”

Brynn took a sip of wine. “Okay. I might have gone a different direction, but Tyler looks up to you and you gave him solid advice—minus the revenge factor.”

“Revenge is always a factor.” Iain ripped the crust from his pizza and ate it first.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Don’t think that’s possible, love.”

Now her heart was completely melted, like a Bomb Pop in the middle of July.

“And Marc is still rowing with Melanie. Bad business that. She wants to get married.”

“How long have they been together?”

“Two years.”

“He loves her, but he’s not willing to make a commitment? I don’t understand men.”

“Sadly, love, we’re not that complicated.”

“Not true. If Marc loves Melanie, why doesn’t he want to get married?”

“He’s afraid he’ll muck it up, right? What if it all ends badly?”

Brynn shook her head. “It
is
going to end badly, by the sound of it. If he doesn’t step up to the plate, he’s going to lose her now.”

Iain poured her another glass of wine. “It’s like this—men have to be mentally ready to commit. And if he’s not ready, he’ll always feel trapped. How is it for women?”

Brynn shrugged. “According to my sisters, they just knew. They fell in love and they knew. My brothers-in-law were slower on the uptake.”

“We men often are. So how was the rest of your day, love? Get enough oxygen in that miniature room of yours?”

“Barely. I confronted Cass about the business.”

He set his glass down. “Well done. How did it feel?”

Brynn knew her grin was goofy, but she didn’t care. “It felt really good. It didn’t solve anything, of course. Cass is still Cass and she’s going to run the business her own way. But I told her I wasn’t going to work all weekend. I’m taking Sunday off.”

His eyes turned to that molasses color, warm and hot. “Excellent. Then we have a date—lazy Sunday sex.”

“Followed by dinner at my sister’s house. Which we can still decline.”

He blinked and his eyes went back to their normal shade. Iain took a long swallow of wine before responding. “I say we get it over with. Awkward handshakes, boring small talk, and all the rest that goes with meeting a girl’s family for the first time.”

“Okay.”

They finished off the pizza, and when Brynn gave Iain a couple of cookies, he bit into one and nearly swooned. “Bloody hell, woman, these are delicious. You could start your own bakery.”

“Iain, it’s the recipe from the back of the chocolate chip package.”

“Don’t care. You’re brilliant.” He reached toward her and swept his thumb across her bottom lip, then stuck it in his mouth. “Had a bit of chocolate.”

His eyes held hers for a long moment. Then the doorbell buzzed.

Damn. “It’s probably Tasha.”

Iain stood and grabbed his jacket.

“You don’t have to go,” Brynn said.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Besides, after spending the afternoon at Tyler’s football game, I still have work to do.”

Brynn stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “You actually went to his game?”

“I don’t know why you keep looking at me like I’ve grown two heads. Let the Russian in so she can give that doorbell a rest, yeah?”

Brynn shook her head and opened the door. With a dog under each arm, Tasha pushed past Brynn. “He goes too far this time. I am done.” Her feet slowed upon seeing Iain. “You are back. How thrilling.”

“Good to see you too.” He rubbed one of the dog’s heads before kissing Brynn good-bye. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Thanks for dinner.” Brynn watched as Iain strode away while fixing the collar of his jacket. Before he got into the car, he glanced back, gave her a smile, and waved.

“You like the Englishman,” Tasha said.

Brynn lifted her brow at Moose attempting to hump her throw pillow. “Natasha, dogs. Sofa. Now.”

With a heavy sigh, the other woman placed them at her feet. “He is rubbing off on you, the Englishman.”

Was that such a bad thing? Brynn had become fearless when it came to sex. Maybe that attitude was spilling over into the rest of her life. “I think he is.”

“It is time. You good person, Brynn. The Englishman is good for you.”

Brynn shut the door. “Hungry?”

“Starving. Since Zeke will not let my family visit, I am on strike. I do not wash his clothes. I do not cook. I have not been to grocery store for a week. And forget about the sex.”

“And what’s his response to this?”

“He withhold allowance. Like I am child. I am so tired, Brynn. I want to go home.” Then brave, matter-of-fact, brash Tasha burst into tears.

Iain spent Saturday night and all of Sunday naked. Partly to shock Brynn—he loved getting a rise out of her, then slowly overcoming her objections, one stroke at a time—but mostly because he couldn’t get enough of her. Clothes only hampered the process. They made love in his sitting room with Brynn leaning over the couch—what a glorious sight that had been. The bright sun shone through the windows, casting a beam of light across her sweet little bum, pink from a recent spanking. They’d christened the dining room table, where Iain had propped her in the middle of the tabletop, then devoured her, lick by lick, until her body trembled, desperate for release. They fucked twice on the white shag rug. Seeing Brynn spread eagle, her skin golden against the ivory carpet, hair fanned out behind her—bloody beautiful.

They’d finally worked their way back around to the bed, where they spent most of Sunday afternoon. As they lay facing each other, she asked about the dice he always carried. Instead of brushing off her question, Iain answered honestly.

“My dad was a right bastard and Marc’s dad did a runner before he was born. But we had a friend called Davy. He was a good lad. Funny. Clever. Marc and I stayed at his house as often as we could. His parents knew what our home lives were like. They practically adopted us. The three of us were closer than brothers.”

Iain had never opened himself up like this before, not like he did with Brynn. While it felt strange and a bit terrifying, he rather liked it. Which sounded like a load of rubbish, but it was the truth. He wanted her to know about him. Not everything, naturally, but the important bits.

“Davy had two dreams—going to university and coming to Vegas. He had a pair of dice and a poker chip he’d found in the arcade. Said once he graduated, we’d all come to Vegas, get pissed, and win a fortune. We were all so poor, none of us had even been to London. Vegas was an impossible idea.” He stroked her arm as he talked. It was so soft, like satin.

“I wound up quitting school early. Marc never took his GCSEs, but Davy, he was the bright one. Got into the University of Manchester. We wound him up a bit, like mates do, but we were proud of him. Then one night, as he was walking home from the liquor store, he got hit by a car. My best mate died by the side of the road. It’s a good thing they never found the person who did it or I’d probably still be in the nick for killing ’em. Davy was one of the good ones. He didn’t deserve to die like a dog in the street.”

Brynn stroked his face. He found her touch tender, reassuring. “I’m so sorry.”

Iain took a deep breath. “That’s the way it goes, innit?” He turned his lips into her palm. “Anyway, Marc and I knew there was nothing for us back home. So we decided to honor his memory and come to Vegas. We started our first business and it stuck.”

“Does Marc have the poker chip?”

Iain played with her fingers, kissing each one in turn. “Yeah.”

“Poor Davy. His parents must have been devastated.”

“Still are. Tried to get them to move here, but they wouldn’t have it. They live in Majorca now. They’re happy there.”

Brynn took her hand back and sat up. The way she stared at him, with such compassion in her eyes, nearly did him in. “You and Marc take care of them, don’t you? Financially, I mean.”

For some reason, being caught in a good deed embarrassed him. He couldn’t look at her, not without feeling terribly uncomfortable, so Iain rolled out of bed. “We’d better get ready for dinner. I’m going to have to put on clothes whether I like it or not.”

“Iain.” Her hair hung in a wild tangle about her shoulders. Rising to her knees, she was completely naked and didn’t try to cover herself from his gaze. Her navy eyes were big, bright, and full of some emotion he couldn’t name. “You’re a good man.”

Only Brynn would think so. He wished it were true, that he was upright and decent, but she saw things in him that weren’t really there. Iain should dissuade her, tell her he was nothing but an opportunist, but he basked in her good opinion. Made him want to live up to her ideal. He rather liked seeing himself through Brynn’s eyes—even if it was a lie.

* * *

Though Iain had been to Trevor’s house on the night of the garden party, where he first saw his lovely Brynn, he hadn’t been inside the house itself. Guests had been rerouted to the garden. Made sense. Iain wouldn’t want hundreds of people tramping through his home either. But as he followed Brynn through the mansion, every room he passed reminded him of a bloody museum. Walls were lined with swords and daggers and framed bits of ancient tapestry. Clear glass cases held antiques of all sorts.

The night of the gala, the garden had been dark, illuminated by strings of lights. But now he stood on the terrace in the waning light. As he glanced around at the bright flowers, Iain was struck speechless. Perhaps a first for him. The garden rivaled the queen’s. Lavish, it was. In the middle of a bloody desert. Now
this
was fuck-off money.

The sun quickly faded behind the mountains while the garden lights twinkled to life. Brynn stood next to him, holding herself as stiff as a rod, full of visible tension. He placed his hand on her back, hoping his touch lent her a sense of calm, but she didn’t relax. Instead, she remained like a soldier standing at attention.

For the first time in a very long time, Iain was out to make a good impression. Not only did he want Trevor’s approval—and his money—but he also didn’t want to shame Brynn with his usual brusque behavior.

Iain was odd man out tonight, here to be inspected, and though he may have worn the best suits and looked rather swish, he wasn’t in the same class as Trevor and Cal. Had to mind his manners for once. He wouldn’t ask for money outright or talk about his plans for the downtown properties—at least not overtly. That would be bad form with this set. No, tonight was about sowing the seeds, downplaying his accomplishments, and most importantly, convincing them he wasn’t a tosser who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Brynn. That last bit was absolutely true, but her family didn’t need to know it.

He shook hands with Trevor and Cal in the British way—by not using a firm grip.

Trevor seemed a cold fish. His icy, gray eyes dissected Iain. Didn’t miss a trick, that one. Allie was lovely, with long, silver-blond hair, though she bore little resemblance to Brynn.

“So glad to meet you, Iain,” she said. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for having me.” He handed her a bottle of wine. Not too expensive—he didn’t want to appear to be trying too hard—but not plonk, so they wouldn’t think him cheap.

“That’s so nice of you.” Allie glanced pointedly at her husband.

But Trevor wasn’t impressed. He raised a brow and lifted his snooty nose in the air. “Lovely. Would you care for a drink—Iain, is it?” Wanker knew his name. He’d probably done a background check on Iain that was every bit as detailed as the one Iain had commissioned on him.

“Whiskey, if you have it.”

“Of course.” Trevor moved away to the drinks cart and poured him a couple fingers’ worth.

Iain took the glass. “Cheers.”

No shrinking violet, Brynn’s sister, Monica, wore a skintight scarlet dress. Her hair hit the middle of her back, a mass of untamed curls. Her hard-as-nails glare said she suspected he might make off with the silver…or her sister. Charming. “Iain, tell us about yourself.”

“I’m from Manchester. Came to Vegas over a decade ago. I very much like it here.”

Monica’s husband, Calum Hughes, looked on with a bored air. He was a bit of a puzzle. He had a pedigree but restored old cars. A toff with working-class sensibilities, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. His brown mop of hair was untidy. He wore faded jeans with a tailored suit jacket and spoke with a plummy accent.

“Like cars, do you?” he asked and took a sip of his drink.

“Not really, no,” Iain answered.

Both Cal and Trevor managed to look affronted.

“Sorry?” Cal asked, shaking his head, confused by Iain’s answer.

“Not everyone’s a gearhead.” Monica patted her husband’s shoulder, as if to soften the blow.

Trevor handed Brynn a pink cocktail. She took it with trembling fingers. Poor girl was a nervous wreck. Iain didn’t understand why, unless she was embarrassed to have him here. After all, she’d tried to talk him out of this dinner more than once, but Iain wasn’t having it. This was his chance to make contact with Trevor. He wasn’t about to pass that up.

“Thanks,” she whispered. All the progress she’d made over the last weekend—opening herself up to him, allowing herself to be honest and vulnerable, bit by bit—had vanished in the last five minutes. Brynn was back to the shy wallflower who refused to ask for what she wanted. And if Iain knew anything, he knew Brynnie wanted to get the hell out of here—the faster the better.

He stroked his hand along her back and turned to Trevor. “Your garden is lovely. Do you tend the flowers yourself?”

“No,” Trevor said. He didn’t elaborate and he barely glanced in Iain’s direction. This was going to be a bloody long night.

“Maybe Brynn could show you around.” Allie to the rescue. “The roses are blooming like crazy.”

Iain almost fell to his knees in gratitude.

“That’s a good idea.” Brynn took Iain’s hand and all but dragged him down the terrace steps and along the lighted pathway, deep into the fragrant blooms.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” he whispered. “You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you? You don’t think I’m good enough to meet your family. I know I’m a Manc, a social pariah. If you want me to leave, have the courage to say so.” Iain had never felt like this before—inferior. He found he didn’t like it.

In the past several years, Iain had surrounded himself with wealthy, influential people, some of Vegas’s elite, and he’d never batted an eye. Tonight, doubt nipped at his heels. Seeing Brynn crawl back into her shell, knowing that he wasn’t good enough for her—it made him rethink his plan for the hundredth time today.

“Of course I’m not ashamed of you,” she whispered, placing her free hand on his arm. “It’s just that my sisters drive me crazy. They’re going to start asking you a bunch of personal questions and it’s going to get awkward. Besides, you’re not exactly acting like yourself and that’s making me even more nervous.”

“Wha’? I’m acting like meself.”

“No you’re not. Normally you’re rude and cocky and arrogant. Tonight you’ve been downright polite.”

Now Iain was utterly confused. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I’m not making any sense.”

“No, you’re not. But I can swagger back and tell them all to fuck off. Would that make you happy?”

Brynn actually laughed, and some of her stiffness fell away. “No. Maybe. I’d love to see Trevor’s face if you said that. He’d probably tell you to go fuck yourself twice as hard.”

He palmed her jaw, stroking her cheek. “I’ll avoid answering questions about the two of us. If they start getting personal, I’ll handle it. But you need to stop acting like you’re about to make a run for it, eh?”

Brynn grabbed his tie and pulled him toward her. “Deal.” She stood on her toes and kissed him hard, then stepped away. “Okay, let’s go.”

Iain watched her walk toward the house. The gentle sway of her hips in the long black-and-white patterned skirt had his heart beating double time. But he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way of his goal. Somehow, Iain had to make himself likable, so that Trevor wouldn’t hate his guts. Had his work cut out for him, he did.

Dinner was a long affair, peppered with questions and served with duck.

Monica: “What do you do for a living? Do you have any sisters of your own? No? Then you don’t know how protective they can be, do you?”

Allie: “What exactly are your intentions regarding Brynn? My husband calls me the ballbuster—did Brynn happen to mention that? She’s a very gentle soul, you realize that, right?”

Cal: “What do you mean you don’t drive? Have you ever been behind the wheel of an Aston Martin, mate? It’ll change your life.”

Iain successfully evaded personal questions, smiled politely, and watched as Brynn, who sat across from him, quietly got pissed. She barely spoke and hardly touched her food, but she managed to down the Sauvignon Blanc like it was bottled water. He was the only one who seemed to notice. Her sisters were too busy being intrusive.

Trevor watched him closely and added little to the discussion. After pudding was served, he stood up from the table. “Come along, gentlemen, let’s sit out on the terrace and have a cigar. Chapman, you can fill us in on your business interests.”

Like a bloody gift from above. Now was his chance. Iain could casually drop a hint about downtown and the lack of living space, suss out Trevor about his thoughts on the city’s proposal to beautify the area. Maybe Trevor would like to stop by and see his latest building.

But after taking one glance at Brynn with her drooping eyelids, all of his plans withered. He couldn’t leave her like this. His poor girl was well and truly sozzled.

Iain stood, as well. “Perhaps another time. Brynn’s had one glass too many.”

She waved him off. “I’m fine. Sober as a judge.”

Iain felt the chance of a lifetime slip through his fingers. Nevertheless, he didn’t have a choice, not really. Brynn was more important. He moved to the other side of the table, wrapped his arm around her waist, and helped her stand.