His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) Page 9

  Brynn kept her back to him. “I’m not a virgin, but I don’t feel comfortable with this conversation.” She reached for a faded jean jacket when she felt his presence directly behind her once again.

  Iain buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. “Brilliant. I want you so far out of your comfort zone, your head will spin. Now where do you want to eat?”

  Brynn’s eyes drifted shut and she fought the urge to lean her head back, letting it rest on Iain’s solid chest. “I told you, I have plans.”

  “Cancel them. You disappeared at lunch, so you owe me dinner.”

  Turning, Brynn peered up at him. “Actually, I disappeared at lunch because we were supposed to be having a training session. You were so busy talking on the phone, I’m surprised you noticed I was gone.”

  “Oh, I noticed. When the hostess said you’d left, I fired her on the spot.”

  “What?” Brynn’s jaw fell open. “Firing people on a whim is a really crappy thing to do. This is why you need a facilitator who knows what she’s doing, one who’s not personally involved with you. That poor woman is out of a job because you were pissed at me.”

  “She should have told me at once that you’d gone.”

  “Iain, that’s not fair.”

  “You need to toughen up, pet. The world is a vicious place, and if getting fired from a hostessing job is the worst thing that happens to her, she’ll get off lucky.”

  “You don’t even know her name.”

  “No, I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all expendable.”

  That attitude right there—that was why they weren’t a good match. Brynn had never met anyone so hard-hearted, so uncaring. Was this how he’d be after he grew tired of her, after the shiny newness had worn off? Would Brynn become expendable? “I find your attitude very disturbing.”

  “I’m gutted that I haven’t fucked you yet. A disappointing day all around, wouldn’t you say?”

  It took a lot to make Brynn angry. She could simmer for days, months even, but once she reached a boil, that was it. Iain hadn’t merely crossed that threshold—he’d sprinted over it. “I’m not having dinner with you, Iain Chapman. Leave. Now.” Still holding the dress, she extended her arm and pointed at the door. “And don’t be rude to Natasha on your way out. If you can’t manage that, don’t say anything to her at all.” Brynn couldn’t believe she’d just said all that, but she was glad she had. He deserved it.

  Surprise flitted across Iain’s features, quickly followed by amusement. “So the kitten has claws. Good to know.” He clamped his hand around her nape and thrust his face near Brynn’s, his lips so close their breaths mingled. Even as she steeled herself against him, Brynn closed her eyes in expectation as she waited. And waited. Her lips drifted apart and her eyes fluttered open to find Iain gazing down at her with a smug grin. Then he kissed her hard before letting go and strolling to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

  Not likely. Brynn’s new mission in life was avoiding Iain Chapman. Cassandra would just have to find someone else to do the job. For once in her life, Brynn was going to have to stand tough.

  Too bad she had no idea how to follow through on that.

  * * *

  Iain rolled the dice in his palm, caressing them with his thumb. He’d been in a foul mood all afternoon. When Brynn left the restaurant, he’d been angry. True, he could have been more considerate of her time, but to leave as she had, had irritated him. Then, to add salt to his wound, she’d ignored his phone calls all fucking day. It was simply unacceptable. So he’d come here to confront her. But when he’d found her in a red bathrobe, fresh from the shower, the smell of vanilla clinging to her tanned skin…all thoughts of taking her to task had flown out the window, and instead, Iain had taken her to bed.

  He’d had her naked beneath him, had his fingers inside her, her breast in his mouth. It was even better than he’d imagined. Brynn Campbell was a stunner—long, slender limbs, a tiny waist, puffy, light pink areolas. He wanted her now more than ever.

  But this woman sitting in Brynn’s outdated living room had ruined it for him. With a tiny dog on either side of her, she wore a pink fuzzy tracksuit that clashed with her tangerine-toned skin. Her makeup was caked on—long, false eyelashes, trout pout lips glossed to a high shine, and tits the size of footballs. No way could they be real. This woman was full-on chavette, all the way down to her rhinestone-encrusted trainers.

  “Who are you, strange man?” she asked in a heavy Slavic accent. “What are you doing in Brynn’s bedroom?”

  “None of your fucking business, and who the hell are you?”

  “I am Natasha. I do not know you, Englishman.” With a curled lip, she squinted at him.

  Why did women work so hard to look unnatural? Perhaps that’s why Iain found himself attracted to Brynn. She was a real woman—natural tits, golden skin that came from sunning herself. He’d seen her strapless bikini line. He’d prefer topless, but with Brynn, he suspected that kind of behavior would take some real persuasion on his part.

  “Brynn,” the woman yelled, never taking her eyes off him.

  “Just a minute,” came Brynn’s muffled voice.

  “You have Englishman in your living room. Do I call police?”

  He heard the door open, but Brynn didn’t appear. “No.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “See? I’m meant to be here. You, on the other hand, are an interloper. Do you do this often? Drop in uninvited, unannounced?”

  “This is Brynn’s house. She does not mind. What is your name?”

  “Iain Chapman. Best get used to me, as I plan on being with Brynn.”

  “Being with. Another term for fuck, yes?”

  “I reckon so.” But Iain didn’t want to just fuck Brynn. He wanted to know everything about her. Not just what he’d learned from the detailed report—those were dry facts and figures. There was so much more to Brynn. Why was she hesitant to stand up for herself? Why, if she had Trevor Blake and Cal Hughes as brothers-in-law, was she living in a dated house with old, hideous furniture? And why was she friends with this lunatic sitting across from him? Brynn intrigued him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand, and not being a man who valued introspection, Iain didn’t much care about the whys of it. He simply wanted Brynn Campbell.

  She wasn’t just a tool to get to Trevor Blake. In truth, he’d been a little obsessed since the first moment he’d seen her in that garden. So watchful. So cautious. So fucking beautiful he hadn’t been able to banish her from his thoughts. Now that he’d seen firsthand how she fell apart in his arms, he wasn’t sure he could ever let her go.

  Natasha pointed a long, red-tipped finger at him and turned her inflated lips downward. “Here is deal, Iain Chapman—if you hurt my friend, I will beat you like dog and leave you in desert where animals will feast on your remains. Clear?”

  “Yeah, abso-fucking-lutely.” What a nutter.

  As Tasha continued to give him the evil eye, Brynn stepped into the doorway, lingering there as if hesitant to come any closer. The low-cut dress she wore exposed her chest, which she tried, unsuccessfully, to cover with a well-worn denim jacket. Iain longed to part the frayed edges and get a better look. Maybe sneak another peek at those beautiful, upturned breasts.

  He pocketed the dice and stepped behind the sofa, advancing toward her. Brynn’s breath caught and held as he moved closer. When he reached her, he fingered a long, dark wave. “You look beautiful.”

  As she swallowed, his gaze was pulled to her graceful neck. The red welts didn’t appear. Iain chose to take that as a good sign. Perhaps she was getting used to him.

  She raised her navy eyes upward. “You’re still here.”

  “You’re still observant.”

  “You met Natasha?”

  Working his jaw from side to side, he nodded. “Yeah. She’s mental,” he whispered. “But she’s fond of you, which means she can’t be all bad.” Bending, he brushed a soft kiss on her lips before releasing her hair. Then he
stepped aside and allowed her to pass, but he placed his hand on her lower back. Her muscles tensed at his touch before relaxing.

  Brynn smiled at Natasha. “Trouble with Zeke?”

  “He is stubborn man.”

  “That’s going around.” Brynn moved away from Iain and gently picked up one of the sleeping dogs, placing it on the floor. “Do you think we could keep Moose and Squirrel off the furniture?”

  Tasha huffed and relocated the other dog to her lap. “Whatever. Zeke the pig is on my list of shit. Can I watch your TV?”

  “Of course. There’s a veggie lasagna in the freezer.”

  Tash glared at Iain. “You remember what I say, Englishman.”

  “Don’t know that I can forget it. As threats go, it was rather vivid.”

  Iain followed Brynn to the front door. On the way out of the house, he stopped and nodded at the grouping of framed black-and-white photos. Old Vegas—the Welcome to Vegas sign, the Fremont East District arch, the neon Silver Slipper.

  “These are impressive,” he said.

  “Thanks. I took them.”

  “You’re gifted.” He hadn’t seen photography listed as one of her hobbies. Why hadn’t that been included, and what else was missing?

  “Not really. I haven’t picked up a camera since college.” Brynn’s eyes bounced away from him and she walked out the door.

  Iain followed. “Why not? You’re obviously good at it.”

  “I don’t have time.” She stood on the porch, and the setting sun bathed her face in orange and pink lights. The mountains behind her appeared hazy in the distance. “Why are you still here?”

  Iain had been reluctant to leave while she was still cross with him. “Well, here’s the thing, love—I don’t like to get a girl naked, finger fuck her, and then just toddle off without saying good night. Unlike some people, who disappear without a word and then refuse to answer their phone all day, that’s not my style.”

  Brynn closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “You’re too much.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That might have sounded like a compliment, but I was just stating a fact.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it. So what’s her story, anyway? The mad Russian?”

  “She’s Belarusian, and she’s only been in the country for eight months.”

  “A mail-order bride, then?” Iain had seen a lot of that in this town. Older, wealthy men. Poor, younger women desperate to leave their home country. Classic business model—supply and demand.

  Brynn stepped off the porch and walked along the path to the driveway. “Sort of. But I wouldn’t use that term around her if I were you. She doesn’t like it. Tasha’s settling in, getting to know her new husband. She’s just lonely.”

  “You’re a soft touch.”

  “Yeah, I am, but that doesn’t mitigate the fact that she’s my friend and she’s in need.”

  “Fuck me,” he muttered. “What’s with you and the fancy words? Listen, my pet, the world is full of givers and takers. That woman in there, she’s a taker. She may be your friend, but never forget that.”

  With a deep sigh, Brynn’s shoulders rose and fell. “Have you considered that perhaps your view of the world is a tad rigid?”

  “No, I haven’t. I like my view of the world. Everything looks small from up here.”

  She reached the car and glanced at him. “Very funny. But life’s not that black and white. You don’t look for the good in people, Iain, or take into account their frailties. In fact, people are incidental to you, unless you can use them to your advantage.”

  That struck a bit too close to home. She wasn’t wrong, though. If there was one thing Iain was good at—besides making piles of money—it was reading people, finding their weaknesses, and then exploiting them for his own gain. Brynn’s was her soft heart. She let people step all over it, take advantage of her. Aren’t you doing the same thing? Yes, he was, but he would never hurt her. Brynn brought out strange, protective instincts in Iain that he hadn’t even been aware he possessed.

  “You have a very low opinion of me.” Accurate and well deserved, but low just the same. Iain placed his hands on her shoulders, then moved them up under her thick waves of hair and beneath the collar of her jacket. He rubbed the pads of his fingers against her neck. Brynn’s blind faith in people would end in tears. She needed saving from herself. Somehow, Iain was beginning to truly care about Brynn Campbell. And her feelings.

  So where did that leave him? He couldn’t give up on meeting Trevor Blake, pitching his ideas to the reclusive tycoon. The chance to make tens of millions was too great. And he wasn’t going to stop chasing after Brynn either. Iain wanted Brynn in his bed and Trevor’s money for his project. One had nothing to do with the other.

  Brynn curled her hands around his wrists. The contact made Iain forget his train of thought for a moment.

  He didn’t stop touching her though, sliding his palms along her soft skin. Stray hairs at her nape tickled the backs of his fingers, and she smelled fantastic. Iain desperately wanted another taste of her lips, her smooth cheek, her hot throat, but he wanted to know what her pussy tasted like most of all. He imagined she would be tantalizingly sweet, like a ripe, juicy plum.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “You should stay. Kick the Russian out, and I’ll spend the rest of the night making you come.”

  Her eyes grew huge. She was tempted, he could tell.

  “No, I’m having dinner with my sisters. If I’m a no-show, I’ll never live it down.” She backed away from him, but Iain pulled her closer. He lowered his head and put every ounce of expertise into one last kiss. His tongue stroked hers and he gently sucked on her lower lip. Brynn responded immediately. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she kissed him back.

  When Iain’s cock was so hard he could barely tolerate it, he raised his head. He either needed to shag her or let her go. “Stay,” he whispered. He’d been so wrapped up in business this afternoon, he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to her. Really talk. He wanted to fix that right now. Tonight. Iain wanted to hear all the details of her life and get to know her properly. He’d never felt like this about a woman in his entire bloody life, but everything about Brynn Campbell fascinated him.

  “I can’t.” Brynn shoved at his chest, and Iain dropped his hands, disappointed. He was used to having his way. Being turned down by Brynn was a bit of a blow to his ego.

  Before she got into the car, she gave him one last look. “How did you know my address? I’m not listed, so you must have checked up on me.”

  Iain stopped breathing. Too right he had, and if Brynn knew the extent of just how thoroughly, she’d probably get in her car and run him down. Brynn was a private person and he’d invaded every part of her life. Iain could justify it to himself, but he was starting to feel guilty about deceiving her. Yet what was the alternative?

  “I have my ways. Good night, Brynn.”

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Brynn stumbled into the office grasping a large cup of black coffee. Sisters Night Out had been less of a meal and more of an interrogation. After busting Brynn’s chops for being late, then handing her a margarita the size of a fish bowl, Allie had tilted her head to one side and stared Brynn down. Her oldest sister had known immediately something was off and began blasting Brynn with a million questions. She did her best to deflect them, all the while thinking about Iain—his handsome face, his gorgeous body, and that orgasm. But soon Monica joined in, alternately quizzing Brynn about her love life and nagging her to ask for a raise. Eventually they grew tired of her evasions. When Allie asked Monica if she was pregnant or just bloated, they started going after each other, leaving Brynn to stew in her margarita and thoughts of Iain.

  When she’d finally gotten home and entered her bedroom, she took one look at the wrinkled comforter and grew hot all over again. Was it any wonder she couldn’t sleep a wink? At one point, she’d flipped on her bedside light and grabbed her sketch
pad. Her pencil flew across the page as she drew Iain, all of the expressions she’d seen cross his beautiful features—anger, amusement, sexual dominance. Then she drew his body from memory, thinking about how he felt, how he smelled and tasted. When her hand became sore, she finally put the pad away, but she still couldn’t sleep.

  As she got ready for work, she became determined to find a way to get through to Cass. Brynn couldn’t be Iain’s trainer—and not just for personal reasons. She was terrible at it and he wasn’t learning anything. Brynn just wanted to put this whole incident behind her, get back to business as usual, and forget all about Iain Chapman. Yeah okay, that was unlikely, but she needed to try. He wasn’t right for her. Sure as hell felt right though, didn’t he, jellyfish?

  Paige caught up to Brynn as she passed the break room. “I’m still bitter that my breakfast of choice, a.k.a., a Snickers bar, is now verboten. This”—she waved a KitKat—“is not the same.” She ripped into it and gave Brynn a once over. “Wow, rough night? Were you working late again? You look exhausted.”

  “Yeah. Thanks again for covering for me yesterday.”

  “So are we on for sushi this afternoon?”

  “Sure.”

  Paige placed her hand on Brynn’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh. What did Cass do now? And how long are you going to put up with it?”

  That was a familiar refrain. Seemed like Brynn had a consensus on her hands. Everyone agreed she needed to stand up to her boss. Yet if it were that easy, Brynn would have done it already. Life didn’t work like that. Developing new character traits wasn’t a quick-fix proposition. Brynn had taken enough training to know that. But she did need to get firm with Cassandra. Somehow.

  As they rounded the corner, Brynn spotted Cass standing outside her office, arms folded. “Brynn. I need to speak to you.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to make a stand. You can do it, Brynn.” Paige toasted her with the candy bar.