His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) Read online

  “Send us copies detailing the changes, and cc my project manager, yeah?” Iain sipped his coffee—strong, black, bitter. He glanced over at Stan. “Was there something else? I’m getting billed for every moment you stand there looking like a twat.”

  The bald man smiled. “I don’t charge for looking like a twat. That one’s on the house.” He bent to pick up his briefcase. “Always a pleasure, Iain.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Nice seeing you, too.” Stan nodded at both men and left the room.

  Once he was gone, Marc paced the floor. “She’s coming this morning?”

  “Yeah. Should be here in a few.”

  “We don’t need to do this,” Marc said. “There are other investors. We could develop the properties slowly, take our time.”

  “And we may have to,” Iain said with a shrug, “if this doesn’t pan out.”

  “It probably won’t. Brynn Campbell might hate you on sight—and I wouldn’t blame her, because you’re a bit of a blighter, truth be told. And if she finds out you set her up, she could turn Trevor Blake against us.”

  “It’ll work, trust me. Hiring Brynn’s firm is a stroke of genius. We need a fresh partner for this project. One with deep pockets. Who better than Trevor Blake? If we’re really lucky, Brynn’s other brother-in-law, Cal Hughes, might throw in with us. Those two have loads to spare, good business sense, and Trevor’s name carries weight in this town. I went over every other angle I could think of, and Brynn Campbell is the weak link.” A lovely one at that.

  The first time he’d laid eyes on her had been at an evening garden party, a benefit for her family’s cancer foundation. He’d paid a fortune for a ticket in hopes of meeting Trevor. While wandering through the garden, Iain had spotted Brynn, and he’d been struck immobile. It wasn’t just her beauty or that delicate, graceful quality that captured his attention. No, it was the way she held herself apart from the crowd and observed everyone around her, as if, despite being who she was—the sister-in-law of the wealthiest man in Vegas—she didn’t quite feel comfortable in her posh surroundings. It had reminded him, uncomfortably, of himself.

  And he hadn’t been able to look away.

  He’d watched her for the better part of an hour. Though she tried to hide in plain sight, Iain couldn’t take his eyes off her. He saw her clearly, so why couldn’t anyone else? And when he’d begun to approach her, she’d turned on her heel and flitted away, into Trevor’s monstrously large house. Trevor had also disappeared before Iain could introduce himself. Nevertheless, he’d stayed until the end of the party, hoping to catch another glimpse of Brynn, without any luck. She’d stuck in his head ever since, though he couldn’t for the life of him say why. Now he was finally going to meet her properly. About bloody time, too. All it took was an elaborate ruse and several thousand dollars to draw her out of her hidey-hole.

  Not that this was about Brynn, he told himself. He had a goal. He was going to stay focused on that goal—she was just a bloody bonus.

  “It feels wrong,” Marc said, “using this girl to get to her relatives. Seedy, yeah?”

  “It’s called networking. No different than glad-handing at a cocktail party or going to a charity dinner in order to meet serious players. It’s just business. You know we’ve tried every other avenue. Blake’s lawyer won’t return our calls. I even tried to play up the expat angle with him, but I couldn’t get a meeting. Trevor Blake is a bloody fortress.”

  Marc stopped treading over the hand-loomed rug. “While I’m not convinced that this is our best solution, the course she’s teaching might actually do you some good. Your leadership skills are a bit lacking, aren’t they?”

  Iain paused, the cup midway to his lips. “What the bloody hell are you on about?” Iain was leadership personified. He had the portfolio and bank balance to prove it. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I lead, mate. I get results.”

  “You do,” Marc agreed. “But you also hack off a lot of people. And those you don’t offend are scared shitless of you.”

  “Good.” He didn’t give a damn if people feared him, as long as they did their jobs properly. This wasn’t a popularity contest. No one got a prize for congeniality. “If they don’t like working here, they’re free to quit.”

  “Which explains our high turnover rate. You could stand to be a little nicer to people. Wouldn’t kill you none, would it?”

  “I expect people to show up and do their jobs. In return, we pay them very well at the end of each week. I’m not their mate. End of.”

  “The accounting department nearly piss themselves every time you walk into the room,” Marc said.

  “And?” Nothing wrong with that—at least his employees respected him.

  “My gran used to say you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  “That’s daft. Why would I want to catch flies?” Strolling to his chair, Iain carefully set the cup and saucer on his desk, then tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat before resuming his seat. “This scheme is going to work. Brynn Campbell will give me a pointless lesson, I’ll be charming, she’ll be charmed, and in turn, I’ll ask her for an introduction to Trevor Blake. In the meantime, you make sure our proposal is sorted, yeah?”

  “I’m on it, but I still say your management style could use an overhaul.”

  “Bugger off. By the way, how’s Melanie? Haven’t seen her in weeks.”

  “Fine.” Marc combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. “Things are fine.”

  Something was definitely going on there, but if Marc didn’t want to talk about it, Iain wouldn’t pry—it was none of his concern as long as it didn’t interfere with business. “We can’t afford to have you distracted right now. I need you focused on this project.”

  Marc’s blue eyes turned glacial. “Since when have I ever cocked-up on a project? I’ll do my bit, you do your part. But if we’re relying on your charm, we could be in real trouble.”

  “Funny,” Iain said to Marc’s retreating back. The door shut with a click behind him.

  Management training nonsense—Iain couldn’t think of anything more useless. And his management style didn’t need an overhaul. He and Marc had built this company from nothing, in spite of a crap economy. Fine, Iain was sometimes harsh with his employees, but if they couldn’t handle it, they probably didn’t belong there. Besides, he didn’t get his jollies from being cruel. Everything he did, every decision he made, was for the benefit of Blue Moon.

  A few moments later, Amelia knocked on the door and slipped into the room. “Iain, your appointment’s here.” Ames was a lovely woman—professional-looking in a conservative black dress. No one would have ever guessed that they’d met in a strip club.

  Iain had been a bouncer, Ames a bartender. When the business started taking off, he’d brought her on board full time—steady hours, full bennies. With her disarming warmth and bright smile, Amelia made his visitors feel welcomed. In fact, they were so comfortable by the time they entered his office, they’d lowered their guard. And Iain took advantage of it. She was the honey, and he was the vinegar. Flies, indeed.

  Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d been fondling the dice once again. Shoving them into his pocket, he stood and donned his jacket. Then he smoothed his lapels and straightened his tie. When Amelia didn’t move, he glanced up at her. “What’s the problem?”

  She shook her head. “No problem.”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  “Iain, your trainer’s a woman.”

  He hadn’t told Amelia about his plans for Brynn Campbell. His assistant would disapprove, and then she’d nag. No, it was better that he and Marc keep this scheme to themselves. “So?”

  “She’s very pretty, and she seems so nice. Just for once…don’t be yourself.”

  He reared his head back at her words. “What the bloody hell is wrong with everyone today?” Attacking his leadership skills, questioning his ability to be civil. Iain could do civil…w
hen he put his mind to it. “I’ll be myself, thank you. If you don’t like it, sod off, Ames.”

  She wagged her finger. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Do the opposite of that.” When she disappeared through the door, he faced the window and looked out at his seven-million-dollar view. Seven-point-two-five, if one wanted to be technical. And when it came to money, Iain was always technical.

  The morning sun slanted through the tinted window. If he stood at the right angle, he could catch a glimpse of jagged, brown mountains in the distance. The palm trees lining the street below swayed in the breeze, reminding him that he was in the middle of a desert. He never grew tired of seeing this. Nothing in Vegas was real—it was all a facade. The buildings, the people—all transitory. And Iain loved every bloody bit of it.

  He heard the door open and, after a long pause, close. Her footsteps were hesitant and light across the gold onyx floor.

  “Hello.” Her voice was soft, feminine—young. The sound of it made his heart pound. She couldn’t run from him today, couldn’t hide in the shadows. He had her right where he wanted her.

  Iain slowly turned, a smile fixed on his face. But as he once again locked eyes on Brynn, desire slammed into his gut like a sucker punch. The pictures in Iain’s drawer, the ones he’d printed from the extensive background check, didn’t do her justice. Ames had called her pretty, which was also inadequate. From his memory, he knew she was beautiful, but with the morning sun shining on her at an angle, she was the most bloody gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

  Iain thought he knew everything about Brynn Hope Campbell, from her shopping habits to her tax returns. He knew what hobbies she favored and the classes she’d taken in college. But nothing had prepared him for meeting her in the flesh.

  His gaze moved over her, taking in her slight frame. Then his eyes swept over her again. And a third time. With every pass, he noticed something different. The color of her hair wasn’t merely brown—it was tobacco brown with burnished-gold highlights. Her eyes weren’t ordinary blue—they were navy. She wore leather flip-flops. Her toenails were varnished the same shade as her turquoise necklace. She carried a black binder in one hand, like a schoolgirl.

  Lightly tanned, her skin glowed along high, smooth cheekbones. Her features were dainty, fragile—a lovely setting for those big, dark eyes. Her chin drew to a sharp point below a mouth that was too wide for such a delicate face. Innocent. The word floated through Iain’s mind, but he immediately banished it. No one was innocent—not in this town.

  Brynn was on the petite side, but her legs appeared long and slender. The white, loose blouse flowed over her torso, skimming her small tits. The V-shaped collar left her neck and throat bare. Iain’s gaze fell to the wedge of visible golden skin. That sliver of flesh had his cock twitching. He wanted to see more. No, that wasn’t true. Iain was a greedy bastard—he wanted to see everything.

  She’d pulled her wavy hair into a low ponytail, but a lone curl refused to be confined and brushed against her squared jaw. She appeared almost fey—a wisp of a woman who might blow away with the gentlest breeze.

  He moved toward her and buttoned his jacket, keeping his gaze trained on her. “I’m Iain Chapman.” He saw no recognition in her eyes. To be fair, the lighting had been dim that night in the garden, and as soon as he’d been within five meters of her, she’d scampered off. Still, he recalled everything about her—her flowing ivory dress edged with frilly lace, the crystal necklace, the tiny flowers placed randomly throughout her curls. She didn’t remember him. So he hadn’t made the same impression on her that she had made on him. He shouldn’t take it personally. And yet…

  “You’re British.” She made it sound like an accusation.

  “Observant, aren’t you?”

  She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Taking a breath, she tried again. “I try to be. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chapman. My name’s Brynn Campbell.” She stared at his silver tie like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. She was timid, and he found that charming. For the first time, a hint of doubt robbed him of his certainty. Was this the right course of action? A simple introduction to Trevor Blake, that’s all he was after. But now that he’d seen Brynn face-to-face again, Iain found himself wanting more. That’s all you want, is it, a meeting with Trevor? Then why have you stared at her picture every day for months? Yeah, all right then. A meeting with Trevor was his priority, but getting close to Brynn was a definite plus.

  “Call me Iain. I’ve been told I require a management makeover. Are you the woman to give me what I need?” He hadn’t intended the innuendo, but he didn’t apologize for it either.

  Her gaze fluttered from his throat to his eyes. “I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m not really a teacher. I just write the curriculum.”

  He knew that, of course, had paid Cassandra Delaney a few thousand extra to have Brynn teach the class personally. “I’m not much of a student, so I’d say we’re well matched.” When her eyes swept over his face, he smiled. But Brynn didn’t smile back, as most women would. In fact, she stared at him with a faint frown on her generous lips.

  Well, that was new. Women generally flirted with him. And he wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were attracted to his delightful personality. Although he did all right in the looks department, his face wasn’t what lured them, either. No, Iain’s main draw was his fat bank account. He was fine with that. Made things simpler. Everyone walked away happy. There were no expectations, no fuss. No emotional ties.

  But Brynn didn’t respond to him like other women, and he couldn’t say why that intrigued him so much.

  Brynn Campbell wasn’t his usual type. Perhaps that’s why he was utterly enchanted by her. She didn’t wear her sexuality like armor. She was small, nearly flat-chested, and dressed as if she were attending a music festival rather than a business meeting. With copper bracelets stacked on her slender wrist, she wore tattered jeans and very little makeup. And the way she watched him with those wide, wary eyes…

  When he took a step toward her, she tensed. What did she think? He was going to make a lunge for her? He never dreamed she’d be so skittish, at least not in a professional setting—or that he’d find it so compelling.

  A knock sounded at the door and Amelia peered in. “Would you like some tea, Miss Campbell?”

  Brynn glanced over her shoulder. “That would be nice, thank you.”

  While she was looking away, Iain took the opportunity to study her breasts. The blouse was deceptively sheer. Tilting his head, he tried to see through the crinkly material, but he couldn’t even detect the outline of her bra. It was maddening and enticing at the same time. As soon as Ames shut the door, Brynn faced him again. And caught him staring.

  Swallowing audibly, she raised the black binder, clutching it to her chest and blocking his view. “Why don’t we get started?” she asked.

  “Yes, why don’t we?”

  She stared at him for a beat, then squared her shoulders and stuck one hand in her purse. She pulled out a pen and opened her book to the front page.

  Iain tried to get a peek at what she jotted down, but she snapped the notebook closed before he could read it. “Are you taking notes on me, love?”

  Brynn angled her head to look up at him. “If I were your employee, your suggestive glances might be considered actionable.”

  “Actionable how? Like we’d clear the desk and have at it?”

  Her brows drew together and formed a small V. “That comment would definitely qualify as actionable.”

  He leaned down, caught a whiff of perfume—vanilla and something floral. “Pretend you never heard it.” Iain breathed her in. Absolutely delicious.

  Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t move away. Brynn Campbell might be wary, but she was also interested.

  “The key to running a successful business,” she whispered, “is keeping a professional attitude. Sniffing me probably isn’t professional.”

  “Depends on what your profession is, I sup
pose. And here I thought the key to running a successful business was making money. Shows how fucking little I know, eh?”

  “Do you always use that language?” Brynn opened her notebook and scribbled again. “With employees, I mean.”

  “Yeah. I don’t believe in censoring myself.” He hadn’t moved away, was still leaning toward her. Her shallow breaths caused her chest to rapidly rise and fall, and that became the focus of Iain’s attention. Her breasts were so tiny, he’d be able to suck on the whole damned thing. The thought made his mouth water.

  “Um, I don’t feel very comfortable when you look at me like that.”

  Iain reached out, his finger grazing a red splotch on the side of her throat. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel comfortable.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “I feel that, together, we can create a work environment that is both productive and respectful. I don’t feel respected as a colleague right now.” She stepped back two paces, leaving Iain’s hand dangling in the air before he let it fall to his side.

  Blimey, she was serious. And so lovely it almost stole the breath out of his lungs. Iain felt an unwilling smile pull at the corners of his lips. “Are you quoting from a book or something?”

  Brynn nodded and cleared her throat. “A manual, actually. Leading by Example: A Partnership in Effectiveness.”

  “Sounds boring enough to send me to sleep.”

  “I wrote it.” She enunciated the words, pointing her chin upward. He’d pricked her ego a bit. It was always vital to know as much about one’s opponent as possible, and Iain had just learned that Brynn Campbell took pride in her deadly dull work.

  “Brilliant. Then we can dispense with the lessons. Give me the short version, and afterward, I’ll take you to lunch.” Iain really wanted to take Brynn to bed. He wasn’t sure if she could teach him anything about leadership, but he was almost certain he could teach her a thing or two about pleasure.