His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) Read online

  Chapter 2

  Short version? Brynn was thinking of adding a chapter or three based on Iain Chapman alone. His eyes kept roaming over her from head to toe, and with each glance, her skin tingled a little more. Her throat went dry. As he continued to stare at her, Brynn was aware of every breath she took, every beat of her thumping heart. Then he touched her neck.

  How was she supposed to think clearly with his long finger brushing her heated skin? Heated? Damn, the splotches must be back. It happened every time Brynn got really flustered. She thought she’d outgrown them but apparently not. Awesome.

  When she’d walked into this office, Brynn had been a nervous wreck. The thought of teaching a class, even to one person, made her stomach muscles seize up in fear. But after meeting Iain Chapman, after being inspected so thoroughly by those light brown eyes, seeing that dimple crease his right cheek—her anxiety had only gotten worse. Iain Chapman was attracted to her. No, not just attracted—he wanted her.

  Brynn was a wallflower by choice. She didn’t garner attention from men like Iain Chapman. Handsome men. Powerful men. He must treat all women as potential sex partners, because Brynn couldn’t think of one reason why he’d single her out.

  She put him somewhere in his early thirties. Tall, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, the mere idea of what he must look like naked sent a little thrill shooting up her spine. Not that she’d ever find out. Still, Brynn’s fingers itched to grab a pencil and start sketching based on her imagination alone.

  Iain was stunning in a virile, hot, masculine way. With his short, black hair neatly combed away from his face, it tended toward wavy. One lock broke ranks and fell across the top of his forehead, where ghostly horizontal lines deepened when he frowned. Which he’d done a couple of times in the last five minutes. Shallow sunbursts radiated from the corners of his eyes—sharp eyes that missed nothing. Not her toenails or her bracelets…or her boobs—he’d checked those out more than once. It must have been a habitual reaction, because Brynn didn’t have much to ogle. She wouldn’t be able to hold the interest of a man who wore arrogance and self-assurance as casually as he wore an expensive designer suit. He even had one of those little pocket-square things that matched his silver tie.

  And to top it off, he was British. Not that there was anything wrong with that—both of her brothers-in-law were Brits. Posh ones. But there was nothing posh about Iain Chapman, despite his clothes. The three-piece charcoal suit, the starched white shirt, the power tie—they smacked of wealth. This office, with its expensive furnishings, the outstanding view, and a floor so shiny she could see her reflection—it made a statement. Luxury. Success. Elegance. But that accent gave him away. Iain didn’t come from wealth—he’d earned it.

  Now standing only a foot apart, he still leaned toward her. Brynn fought the urge to take another step backward, give herself a little breathing room. Somehow, she managed to keep her feet in place.

  He was the antithesis of everything Brynn normally found attractive in a man—he was large, intimidating, cocky. She’d only had two relationships, and both had ended up the same way—in humiliation. But they had been boys, unsure of themselves. Iain Chapman was one hundred percent confident man.

  Brynn felt a sharp tug of desire, a pull of sexual interest so strong it caused her breasts to feel prickly and sensitive. Caused her nipples to harden. Warmth spread through her body as he continued to size her up.

  She’d never experienced anything like this, but she had to ignore it, because A) Iain Chapman was her client. Romance between coworkers was fraught with inherent drawbacks and inevitable embarrassing consequences—as outlined in the HR manual Fraternization: Keep It Out of the Workplace. B) He was simply too much. Not only was his physical presence overwhelming, but his personality also sucked up all the oxygen in the room. He filled the space, commandeered every square inch of it. And that intimidated the hell out of her. C) He was sexually intense. Brynn didn’t do intense, and she was an abject failure in the sex department. She had a low-gasm problem that wouldn’t be solved by a man like Iain Chapman. He’d only make her affliction worse—or at least more embarrassing. So…time to snuff out that sexual spark and get on with the business at hand.

  Shoving the pen behind her ear, she once again tightened her arms around the binder, as if it could shield her from the inviting heat in his eyes. “I think you would be sabotaging your chance for personal development by not completing the course yourself.” She tried to appear unaffected as she scuttled past him and moved to a large, tufted sofa near one window. She sat on the edge of the slick, brown leather. If she scooted back any farther, her feet wouldn’t touch the floor.

  He turned his head, his steady gaze following her. “Why do you say it that way?”

  “Say what?”

  “Stress the word ‘I.’ It’s odd, yeah?”

  First, she’d broken out in red splotches, and now he thought she was an oddball. Brynn ran her tongue over her front teeth, like she used to do when she had braces. It was like being in high school all over again. Because four years of hell wasn’t enough, she needed to carry this shit into adulthood. “No, I’m simply stating the facts as I…I see them. And I’m taking ownership of my feelings.”

  He stalked toward her, but instead of taking the chair adjacent to the sofa, he sank down next to her—so close they were practically touching. Another few inches… “Ownership of your feelings? Who the fuck talks like that? In real life.”

  “We’re not in real life. We’re in the corporate world, where saying words like ‘fuck’ can get you into trouble.” She opened her notebook and spread it across her lap. “Don’t ever confuse the two.”

  “My business is my real life. I say what I want, and I don’t give a fuck who hears it.”

  Brynn straightened and crossed her arms. “In my opinion, you need a long-term strategy. We’re a litigious society. It’s a wonder you haven’t been sued for workplace incivility.”

  “A wonder,” he murmured, and plucked the pen from behind her ear. He slid his finger along the length of it, stroking. That shouldn’t have been sensual, but watching his finger work over that pen pushed all of Brynn’s buttons. She gazed up into his eyes and found him staring at her, a smile playing on his firm, thin lips.

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to this seductive onslaught. It wasn’t in Brynn’s nature to tackle things head-on. Every instinct told her to get the hell out of there and never look back. In spite of her discomfort, she remained seated and tried to stick to the job at hand. She grabbed the pen back and forced herself to remain calm and professional. Hard to do with trembling hands, but she tried her best. “Tell me about your relationship with your employees.”

  Iain rolled his eyes and sat back, flicking a hand over the knife pleat running the length of his long, sturdy thigh. His shoes were as polished as the floor, and his gray socks matched the shade of his suit exactly. “Relationship? What the hell are you on about?” He nodded toward her list of questions. “And what is that?”

  “An assessment on your leadership style.”

  “I can sum it up for you: an employee should do what I say, or I’ll toss their ass out on the street and find someone who will.” His eyes raked over her. “Is that what you call business attire? You’re here to lecture me while wearing jeans and a see-through blouse?”

  Embarrassment flooded her, making her whole body feel as if it were on fire. Brynn jerked her head downward, glancing at her shirt. Could he really see through it? She’d successfully performed the lightbulb test—holding her blouse in front of the light and placing her hand behind it to make sure it wasn’t see-through. When she looked up and saw the gleam in his eyes, she realized he was trying to get a response out of her. Joke was on him—he didn’t even have to try. She’d never reacted to a man like this in her entire life. Sitting close to him, smelling his delicious cologne with just a hint of bergamot—it distracted Brynn so much she was having a hard time stringing words into a coherent sentence.
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  A knock sounded at the door, dispelling some of the tension between them. Amelia walked in, bearing a tea tray. “How are you two getting along? Everything okay?” She set the tray on a side table and her gaze flew from Iain to Brynn.

  “We’re not in nursery school, are we?” Iain said. “I don’t need to be patronized, Ames.”

  She didn’t seem to take offense at his words but merely smiled. “Don’t let him scare you, honey.”

  In her mid-forties, Amelia’s look was classic. Her reddish-blond hair swung around her jawline in a chic bob. She had a few shallow lines around her blue eyes, model-worthy cheekbones, full lips, and a figure to die for—boobs, ass, the whole package. But Brynn didn’t get the sense that Amelia and Iain had ever bow chica bow-wow’ed. Rather, his assistant seemed almost maternal toward him.

  “His bark is worse than his bite.” Amelia poured tea through a strainer and into a china cup.

  “Actually, my bite is lethal,” Iain said.

  “Only to those who deserve it. Sugar or milk?”

  “Neither, thanks,” Brynn said. “How long have you worked for Mr. Chapman?”

  “Iain,” he corrected.

  Amelia shot him a hasty glance but didn’t respond. She poured a cup for Iain and handed them each a napkin—a heavy linen one, embroidered with a blue half-moon in one corner. She said nothing else, picked up the tray, and departed.

  Iain and his assistant had been silently communicating. Brynn wondered what they’d been saying and why Amelia wouldn’t answer a simple question. Being left out made Brynn feel awkward. She filled the silence by sipping her tea—oolong, the high-end stuff. An office with a view, the handmade suits, the expensive tea—Iain Chapman had some serious swagger. “What does Blue Moon do?” she asked.

  He looked at ease, sipping tea, the linen napkin draped over his knee. “You mean you don’t know? For someone who’s here to teach me the ways of leadership, you seem to be caught flatfooted.”

  Swallowing, she made an effort to pull herself together. “I wasn’t expecting to facilitate a course today.”

  “Facilitate—another useless word. And why weren’t you prepared? That’s the first official rule of business. Always be prepared.”

  “Actually, that’s the Boy Scout motto.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “It’s a good one.”

  Brynn sighed and set her cup on the low coffee table. “I am unprepared. You’re right, it’s not very professional of me.”

  He glanced at her over the rim of his cup. After taking a sip, he set it next to hers. “You want to know about Blue Moon Corp.? My mate, Marc, and I are Blue Moon. We buy things. We own things.”

  “What do you own, exactly?”

  “We invest in clubs and restaurants. We own stores, rental property, car parks, etcetera. If there’s something we fancy, we buy it. If it doesn’t exist, we create it.”

  Judging from the opulent office, he was very successful. Iain had a right to his healthy ego. Still, that arrogance could be toned down a notch or two—it might make him more relatable. Maybe Brynn could help him with that. “Let me ask you a few questions.”

  “Fine, then it’s my turn to ask you questions.”

  “What kinds of questions?” The warmth in his honey-colored eyes told Brynn that he wasn’t talking about business practices and management techniques. Those eyes looked right through her, like he could actually see her. Brynn had spent her twenty-four years staying on the sidelines of life, but there was no blending into the background when he looked at her like that. “I don’t feel that’s a good idea.”

  “I think it’s bloody brilliant. I want to know everything about you, Brynn Campbell.”

  She cast her eyes downward, as though by not looking at him she could make herself invisible. “There’s nothing to know. I’m probably the most boring person you’ve ever met.”

  He laughed then, and that caught her attention. Keeping her head lowered, she lifted her eyes. He had angled toward her, exposing that sexy dimple. In laughter, it deepened, lengthened. To see him smile like that, to watch his eyes crinkle in the corners and his face soften a bit…it left her dazed.

  Robbed of breath, she became a statue when he reached out and fingered that stupid strand of hair that would never stay in a ponytail. He gently yanked on it and edged closer. That’s when she noticed the tiny flecks of amber dotting his light brown irises. Frozen by his proximity, Brynn couldn’t have moved away if she wanted to.

  “I think you’re fascinating, pet. And I believe in fair play, so I’m telling you now, right? You and I, Brynn—we’re going to be lovers.”

  She was shocked at his frank words, and for one small moment, Brynn actually believed him. The mere thought of it sent a ripple of excitement coursing through her entire body. Then, as she gasped for air, sanity returned, reminding her of all the reasons why that could never happen. Lots of good, sound reasons. Leaning back as far as she could, Brynn pressed her spine into the armrest of the sofa. “I don’t think so, Mr. Chapman.” Her voice sounded warbley and uncertain, but Brynn had managed to say no. Kind of. It lacked conviction, but at least she’d refused. She considered that a victory.

  “Fuck me, I do love a challenge.”

  Hell no. That wasn’t her intention at all. Brynn didn’t want him to see her as a challenge. She wasn’t going to give in, either. She couldn’t. Her self-esteem couldn’t handle someone like him. If a man that powerful and aggressive discovered she couldn’t orgasm with a partner, could rarely even orgasm on her own, he’d probably see it as his manly duty to fix her. And when he failed, it would be one more humiliation Brynn could add to the list. No thanks. Not interested.

  She took a fortifying breath. All of this inappropriate sex talk had to stop. Now. Brynn needed to finish this job. Yet her brain kept screaming over and over: Get out now, while you still can!

  But she couldn’t leave. Brynn promised Cass she’d teach this course. There was no one else to do it. Time to get this train back on track. She glanced down at her questionnaire. “How would you describe your management style?”

  “Authoritative.”

  She wrote it down, kept her eyes glued to the page, but she could feel him looking at her.

  “How would your employees describe you?”

  “Who cares?”

  That response got her attention. “What kind of attitude is that?”

  “One that’s served me well.”

  “You don’t care how your employees view you?”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t give a shit, really.”

  Where was she supposed to go from there? “Do you ask your team members for input?”

  Iain scoffed. “Do you want me to say, ‘Hey, Frank, would you mind doing your job? I’d be ever so chuffed if you did, mate’? Is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it. But people need to feel heard. When people feel heard, when their opinions matter, they’re happier. Happier employees are more productive employees.”

  Iain draped his arm along the back of the sofa and unbuttoned his suit jacket with the other hand. For one second, his fingers brushed a few strands at the bottom of her ponytail, making the hair on the back of Brynn’s neck stand on end. She could feel the warmth coming off his arm. It was making her warm—in all the wrong places. “But I don’t care if they’re happy. And if I had to spend all day listening to other people’s fucking ideas, I’d take a leap out this window.”

  “Mr. Chapman—”

  “Iain, love. Best get used to saying it—well, shouting it, more like.”

  Whoa. Thoughts of Iain on top of her, inside her, made Brynn swallow convulsively. The fantasy was so damned erotic—no, not erotic. Unprofessional. That’s what she meant, unprofessional.

  Brynn shot out of her seat and threw herself into the armchair next to the sofa. Three feet wasn’t as much distance between them as she’d like, but it was a start.

  She should have set ground rules from the beginning. She’d let him get by with to
o much. “Mr. Chapman. I feel that you’re being very inappropriate right now. You might benefit from a class in sexual harassment, which will take another two days of training.”

  “Oh God.” He rubbed his eyes and exhaled a weary sigh.

  “I’m sorry. I’m very confused about my role here. If you’re not interested in being a better leader or taking this class seriously, why did you call us in the first place?”

  As Iain placed a hand on his leg, his gaze slid to the window. “Right. You’re here to train me.” He stared out at the cloudless blue sky and said nothing. When he looked back at Brynn, something had changed. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but his face was harder, his eyes cooler. Any sexual interest he’d shown earlier was now gone. “My mate, Marc, thinks I could use a little refining. Claims employees are afraid of me.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I suppose he’s right.” He’d been so dismissive of his employees a moment ago, but now all of the sudden, he acted compliant. It didn’t add up. But as long as he stopped talking about sex, she wasn’t going to question his change of heart.

  “Okay then. Let’s finish this questionnaire, and then I’d like you to show me around the office.”

  “How many questions are in that bloody thing?” He nodded at the binder.

  “Seventy-five.”

  He muttered under his breath. “Fine. Let’s just get on with it, eh?”

  * * *

  By question six, Iain’s eyes began to cross. He answered more or less honestly, and given Brynn’s tightening lips, he could tell she wasn’t impressed with his so-called managerial skills. Honestly, though, how in the bloody hell was he meant to “honor people’s need for creativity”? What did that even mean?

  As Brynn added up his score, Iain’s gaze kept tripping over her. He’d been so taken with her, he’d nearly forgotten that he’d arranged this entire scenario. All he could think about was seeing her naked, knowing what that petite, willowy body looked like without clothes. But getting her naked was a secondary goal. A vital one now, to be sure, but it needed to take a backseat. His cock was having a very hard time with that concept, however. It had been rock hard since she walked into the room.