His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) Read online

  Iain Chapman thought it was, though. He was very caught up in the bottom line. The man was an autocratic, sexy, British, sexy—and fine, she’d already listed that, but he was so hot, it was worth repeating—tyrant. Which shouldn’t turn her on and yet her nipples got hard at the thought of him getting all bossy in the bedroom.

  “You’re supposed to be an expert in conflict resolution, Brynn. Grow a set already.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Sure you are, and I’ll finally lose those last ten pounds I’ve been trying to shift.”

  “Diversion?”

  Paige sighed. “Fine, but you owe me. And I will collect.”

  Brynn turned into the office parking lot and grabbed a lone spot in the back row. Adjusting the hobo bag on her shoulder, she squinted against the sun as it glared off the reflective glass of the building. With the highway to her back, the hum of traffic roared until she stepped inside and took the stairs.

  Sneaking into her own office—it was pathetic. The same way she’d hauled ass out of the restaurant while Iain took yet another phone call. She should learn how to approach people in a straightforward manner, but it was so damned uncomfortable. Confronting Iain would be pointless anyway. Though she’d only known him for two days, Brynn had that much figured out. No, it was much easier to slink off, hide, and hope that a real facilitator would be available tomorrow. Then she’d never have to see Iain Chapman again. It would have all ended in disaster anyway, right? Low-gasm Brynn with Steamroller Iain? Not a good combo. It felt good, though. In fact, the touch of his hands, the way his tongue slid over her skin—it was better than good. It was ecstasy.

  Brynn pushed Iain’s kisses to the back of her mind and trudged up the stairs. When she reached the third floor, she heard screams behind the door. Easing it open, she peered inside and saw six salesmen rushing around, peeking under chairs. The only other people in the room were Paige and Lori, who stood atop of their desks. What the holy hell was going on?

  When Paige caught Brynn’s eye, she winked, then yelled, “Oh my God. The rat went toward the break room! Get him!” Lori looked as if she might faint, but the guys stampeded down the hallway and out of sight. Paige subtly waved Brynn on.

  Brynn shot into her office and locked the door. Leaning against it, she sighed with relief, then dropped into her chair and booted up her prehistoric computer. As she waited, she saw the office phone light up. Iain would call here, demand to speak to her. Too bad. Brynn’s time was valuable, too. Big talk for a woman who fled like a rabbit.

  Instead of immediately opening a client folder, Brynn typed Iain Chapman’s name into a search engine and spent the next half hour cyberstalking him. There wasn’t much to find. For such a brash character, he seemed to be a private person. The official Blue Moon bio didn’t have anything personal about him, except that he was from Manchester.

  When Brynn looked up Blue Moon in conjunction with the city, she hit on a connection. “Blue Moon” was the unofficial song of the Manchester City Football Club. Brits were nutty for their soccer. But knowing Iain liked a sport didn’t give her any insight into the man himself.

  Realizing she’d been goofing off for too long, Brynn shut down the browser and got to work. Over the next few hours, she received eight texts from Cassandra, each more hysterical than the last. Brynn ignored them, along with numerous incoming calls and the three separate knocks on her office door.

  Hunkering down, she worked steadily and pretended not to hear the howls coming from her empty stomach. She never had gotten lunch. By three, Brynn was hungry, cranky, and desperate for a hit of caffeine, but if she stepped foot outside her office, she’d be bombarded by requests. So she sucked it up and stayed put.

  Finally at five, Paige texted: Leaving now. That Chapman dude is an ass. Cass made me call every hospital in the city to see if you’d been in an accident. Ur buying me sushi for lunch. That seemed fair. Brynn would throw in dessert, too. She’d actually gotten a lot accomplished that afternoon.

  At six, she shut down her computer and bundled up a few files. Time permitting, she’d slog through them tonight, but dinner with her sisters was more pressing.

  Standing for the first time in hours, Brynn stretched her arms above her head. Then gathering her things, she left her hovel. In the main office, the overhead fluorescents had been turned off. Every desk was empty. But Brynn noticed light spilling from beneath Cassandra’s closed door. They were the last two here—as usual.

  As quietly as she could, Brynn opened the side door and held on to the handle so that it wouldn’t close with a bang, alerting Cass to her presence. Looking over her shoulder, she walked down the hall.

  “Where have you been all day, Brynn?”

  She winced. Damn. She’d forgotten about the bathroom. Brynn faced forward and smiled at a narrow-eyed Cassandra Delaney.

  “I was in my office.”

  “Huh.” Cass placed her hands on both hips. “I was worried sick. Why didn’t you answer any of my texts?”

  Brynn smacked her forehead. “Shoot, I must have turned off my phone.” She reached into her pocket and grabbed it. “Yeah, that’s what happened all right. So sorry.”

  Brynn tried to edge her way past Cass. No luck. The other woman moved to block her exit.

  “Well, I have some very troubling news. You’ll be shocked to know that Michael and I broke up. He ended it this afternoon. I found out when he changed his status to single. He didn’t even tell me to my face.”

  “No! Wow, that’s terrible.”

  “I’m going to die alone, Brynn.” Cassandra pulled a wad of Kleenex from inside her bra and rubbed at her eyes.

  “No, you’re not. You’ll find someone. Probably when you least expect it.” Poor Cass. Her life was one epic disaster after another. Yeah, it was mostly her own fault, but still, Brynn couldn’t help but feel pity.

  Cassandra grabbed Brynn’s hand. “Promise me something. Swear it by all you hold dear.”

  “Okay.” Brynn tried to tug her hand free. “But swear is such a strong word.”

  Cass ignored her. “Promise me that if I’m missing for more than a day, you’ll check on me. I don’t want to be one of those people who lays there, dead for weeks, with no one to notice until my body starts decomposing. I don’t want maggots on my rotting corpse, Brynn.” Tears began streaming down her face. “What happened to my life? No one cares about me.”

  Brynn finally pulled her hand loose and wrapped one arm around Cass’s shoulders. “People care. I care. A lot.” If Brynn didn’t leave now, she was going to be late for dinner. Stay and comfort Cass or be late for dinner and get grief from Allie and Monica? She could handle her sisters—Brynn was used to that. “I’m really sorry about Michael. I know how much you love him. I have a dinner thing, but I can stay with you for a while. Maybe we can come up with a strategy to get you back on your feet.”

  “No, that’s all right. You go on,” Cass said, her voice rising to a dramatic crescendo, “go live your life to the fullest, Brynn. In fact”—she paused and tossed back her head—“live it for both of us, kid.”

  Oh God. “I will. Thanks.” Brynn felt terrible, leaving Cass to sniffle into her soggy tissue. But she consoled herself with the fact that she’d been there for Cassandra through various crises. And Allie would probably serve chocolate cake for dessert. Shallow, yes. But Brynn was damned hungry.

  Taking the highway home, she weaved in and out of traffic, switching lanes often. Brynn hated getting stuck behind slow drivers, and going for hours without any food hadn’t helped her mood. When she finally arrived at her house—a midcentury ranch that had taken months to decorate and update—Brynn slammed into her driveway and rushed inside.

  After shedding her clothes and dropping her bracelets on the dresser, she hopped in the tiny shower stall for a speedy rinse. As she reached for the towel, the doorbell rang. Actually, it was more of a continuous buzz, as if someone was leaning against it. Probably her neighbor, Natasha, here to vent after
having another fight with her hubby.

  Tash was from Belarus, and Zeke, a drummer for a mediocre eighties cover band, hailed from Wisconsin. The cultural gap couldn’t be wider. Plus, he’d talked Tash into naming her toy Chihuahuas Moose and Squirrel, which he thought was hilarious. Brynn thought it showed an immature streak—unattractive in a fifty-year-old man.

  She wrapped a towel around her wet torso, leaving the damp, wavy ends of her hair clinging to her back and shoulders. Hustling to the door, Brynn shivered and secured the towel before peering out the peephole.

  Shit, that wasn’t Natasha. It was Iain Chapman, standing on her porch with his hand pressed over the buzzer.

  When she’d left the restaurant earlier that day, she never dreamed he’d chase her down. While Brynn dreaded the thought of confrontation, part of her was secretly thrilled that he had gone to the effort.

  Suddenly, the noise stopped. “I know you’re in there, Brynn. I can feel you staring, and I’m not going away.” While he didn’t yell, he said it loud enough to be heard through the door.

  “Hang on a second,” she called.

  “I’ll give you thirty. Then I’m coming in.”

  Brynn believed him. Racing to her bedroom, she tossed the towel in the sink and snatched her red kimono. No wait, she couldn’t answer the door in a robe. That was too intimate. Too provocative. Brynn should be fully clothed for a standoff with Iain. Otherwise, he’d see it as an advantage. If only she owned a turtleneck.

  Frozen by indecision, she jumped when the doorbell started buzzing again. Panicked, Brynn shrugged into the robe and cinched the tie tight around her waist. She gave herself a hasty once-over in the full-length mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and the goddamned splotches were back, climbing the sides of her neck like ivy up a brick wall. She brushed a hand down her throat and sped to the front door, flustered and out of breath. Taking two more seconds to try and pull herself together, Brynn reached for the handle, closed her eyes, and repeated a mantra she’d learned in a self-assertiveness seminar: “I have all the power I need. Today is the day I accept my possibilities.”

  She didn’t feel any different or more powerful. That stupid mantra never worked.

  Taking a deep breath, Brynn opened the door just a crack and, with one eye, peered up at Iain. His lips were compressed into a thin line and tiny creases underlined his narrowed eyes. The knot in his tie was crooked and his pocket square was MIA. She figured he’d be pissed off, but that might have been an understatement. Iain looked ready to go nuclear.

  “Let me in, Brynn. Now.”

  Without hesitation, Brynn stepped aside. Once he’d entered and planted himself in front of the door, it occurred to Brynn that she didn’t have to follow his orders. But he seemed so confident, she’d automatically obeyed. Brynn had just invited the wolf inside, and now she was trapped.

  Fiddling with the edges of her robe, she stepped backward. “Now’s not a great time, Iain. Perhaps we can discuss this over the phone tomorrow. Like two rational professionals.”

  He remained silent, glaring at her. Something wild and untamed moved behind his eyes, turning them from light brown to a darker, richer shade, reminding her of molasses rather than honey. This morning, his hair had been neat and tidy, except for that one wayward lock that fell onto his forehead. But now, deep grooves plowed across the short waves, like he’d thrust his fingers through them in frustration—or anger. Brynn placed her bet on anger. His five o’clock shadow was in full bloom, and the overall effect made him look like a well-dressed outlaw. He wasn’t just handsome—he was magnificent. She wanted to sketch his likeness from every angle. Although she wouldn’t do him justice, she longed to capture the proud jawline and the feral gleam in his eyes.

  Despite Iain’s mood, Brynn wasn’t scared for her safety. No, she was afraid of herself, that she’d be putty in his hands. His strong, capable hands.

  For the first time in her life, Brynn was lusting after a man. Not just any man—Iain Chapman, a man she didn’t even know. Yet there was something unpredictable about him. Though Brynn’s brain sent out a warning signal, reminding her this was a terrible idea, her body didn’t receive the message. Her nipples puckered and her pussy started growing slick. Her body felt lush and ripe, ready for sex.

  She wanted him to rip the kimono off her body and nail her right here against the pale blue wall. So what if she didn’t have an orgasm? They were overrated. Getting pounded by a man like Iain would be enough.

  Brynn’s tongue flicked out over her lips, moistening them. Iain’s gaze followed its trail and remained fixed on her mouth. Even though they were a foot apart, Brynn could feel carnal hunger coming off him in waves. It mingled with his temper. The combination felt almost tangible, as if his emotions were battering against her, searching for a way past her defenses.

  Heat wove its way from her chest upward, past her already splotchy neck and into her cheeks, making her skin feel tight. One droplet of water slid from her collarbone and flowed down the center of her chest. With her skin on fire, Brynn was surprised it didn’t sizzle on contact.

  Iain’s attention switched from her mouth to that lone trickle. His fierce eyes made Brynn’s insides flip in nervous spasms.

  She picked up her foot to take another step backward, but she didn’t get the chance. With one stride, Iain stood in front of her, looming. Before Brynn could react, he lowered his head and slowly licked the droplet from her chest while simultaneously wrapping his arm around her waist.

  Oh God. It was the most sensual thing she’d ever experienced. Brynn fisted the shoulders of his suit. He made her almost woozy with his nearness, the warmth of his tongue lapping across her breastbone. He remained bent over, his tongue licking up to her neck. Brynn angled it to one side in invitation.

  “Brynn,” he murmured, his voice husky. Pushing back the curtain of her hair, he sank his teeth into her earlobe, biting until it stung. That little bit of pain, along with the pleasure of his lips sucking the same spot a moment later, caused Brynn’s breasts to tingle, to ache for attention.

  Iain wasn’t doing anything outrageous—licking her chest, nibbling her ear—but Brynn had never felt such a heightened sense of arousal before.

  Loosening her grip on his shoulders, she stroked the back of his neck with one hand while grabbing his hair with the other. When Iain growled against the column of her throat, it made Brynn feel proud. She liked eliciting that kind of uninhibited response from him.

  He continued to rain kisses along her neck. His stubble abraded the tender skin, but Brynn didn’t care. The changes in sensation were delicious. She wanted to feel every texture, every part of him. The back of his neck was silky beneath her palm, and warm to the touch. Did he have hair on his chest or was it smooth? She needed to know these things. Right now.

  Iain’s hand tightened on Brynn’s waist, his fingers digging into the space below her ribs. His cock pressed against her. With a twist of her hips, Brynn brushed against his erection, causing him to groan again, deep in his chest. Then he raised his head and stared into her eyes. His face was flushed, his lips bright red.

  “Bedroom.” It wasn’t a question.

  Brynn couldn’t speak. The man took her breath away. She pointed one finger in the direction of the hallway.

  Iain kept his hand clamped around her waist and straightened, lifting her up with one arm. “Which room?” His accent became thicker, his voice huskier.

  Brynn had to think. Her senses were completely overwhelmed by Iain Chapman. She gave her head a little shake to clear it. “Last on the left.”

  Iain strode into her bedroom. He didn’t notice the retro furniture or the pink, girly accents. His gaze never left Brynn.

  Lowering her to her feet, he fumbled with the knotted kimono belt. Brynn brushed his hands aside. “Can we do you first?” All-encompassing need took precedence over her shyness. She wanted to see him. All of him.

  “Undress me, Brynn.”

  Reaching up, she tugged at the knot in h
is red tie. While she worked on that, Iain shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

  With little jerks, she pulled the tie from his collar. He still looked dapper in the navy vest, but less constrained. She placed her hands on his chest. The lightweight wool was a soft, fine weave. With deliberation, Brynn slowly slid her hands downward.

  What the hell are you doing? That little thought tickled the back of her mind, but Brynn ignored it. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, besides petting Iain’s chest. Where did this boldness come from? Brynn didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t want to question it, because this new brazen Brynn wasn’t thinking too clearly. Instead, she focused on what she was feeling. Tension coiled tight in her belly, sending little sparks straight to her pussy. Iain made her forget to be reticent, forget that she was supposed to be doing something else right now. Whatever it was, it seemed irrelevant when she was seconds away from seeing Iain naked.

  “Brynn, stop groping me and take my clothes off. Now.” So forceful. That bossy tone caused her pulse to quicken. What else would he make her do? The possibilities were titillating and endless.

  Brynn started flicking open the buttons along his vest. It was double-breasted, so there were twice as many of them. While she was stripping him, Iain stroked his large hands up her wrists, delving into the wide sleeves of her robe to cup her elbows.

  “Brynn.”

  She pushed aside the vest and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Brynn. Look at me.”

  Her fingers didn’t stop until she’d slipped the last button through the hole. “I am looking at you. You’re something else.” She flicked her finger over his nipple and it hardened. Then she tugged the shirttails from his slacks.

  “You did a runner on me today. Never again. Understand?”

  Instead of answering him, she separated the edges of his shirt and glanced at his torso. He had chest hair. Short, dark, and crisp—it wasn’t too thick, wasn’t too sparse, as it covered his pecs, leaving his well-defined stomach bare except for the happy trail that started below his belly button and disappeared into his waistband.