His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) (10 page)

Brynn felt herself nod. “Yeah, okay. No problem.”

Iain tapped his fingers on the armrest. Why wasn’t she here? Surely her boss wouldn’t let Brynn back out, not with all the money he’d thrown at the Delaney woman. Given her free rein, he had. All he asked for in return was Brynn.

She’s not a bargaining chip, you wanker.
Maybe not, but she was a runner, and after what happened last night, Brynn would talk herself out of seeing him again. She liked avoiding uncomfortable situations. Well, too bad. Iain wasn’t letting her off that easily. There was something between them, something he’d never felt before. Hunger, longing—yeah, of course, but Brynn stirred up emotions inside of him, a yearning for more than just another shag. Yes, the Trevor business was still forefront in his mind, but Iain’s personal feelings for Brynn were becoming equally as important. That’d never happened before, and though he felt slightly disturbed by it, Brynn Campbell was a temptation Iain didn’t want to resist.

He glanced at his phone screen again. He’d give her fifteen more minutes. If she wasn’t here by then…he’d go fetch her.

When the office door opened, Iain automatically stood. But it was only Marc. Disappointment had him flopping into his seat once more. “Oh, it’s you.”

Marc walked farther into the room. “Ouch, mate. That almost hurt my feelings. Sorry I wasn’t here for our breakfast meeting. Melanie had me up half the night.”

“Nice one.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “I wish. She wanted to talk. All bloody night. Which is fine, but that’s not what they mean is it? When women say they want to talk, what they mean is they want
you
to talk. But you never have the right answers.”

“So what answers did you get wrong?”

“The future. Marriage. When? Where? How many kids?” Marc fell into the guest chair. “Who am I then, Mystic Meg? I’m not a bloody psychic.”

“Seems rather simple to me,” Iain said. “She wants to get married. All women do, at one point or another.”

“But it’s not simple at all, is it?” Marc dragged a hand through his long, untidy hair.

“It really is, mate.”

“I’m not equipped to be a father, you know that.” Marc’s own dad took off while his mum was pregnant. She’d eventually popped out three more children by three different men, none of whom stuck around.

Iain removed the dice from his pocket and rotated them in his hand. “Just because you never had one doesn’t mean you can’t be one. Davy’s dad was a good man.”

“He was.”

Iain glanced down at the red cubes. He’d worried the white pips off long ago and worn down the edges until they were smooth. “Seems fucked up, doesn’t it, that Davy’s not here and we are? Anyway, his dad was a good example to follow. Be like him, and you can’t go wrong.”

Marc pulled a blue poker chip from his own pocket and tossed it in the air. “I miss him.”

“As do I.” Davy had kept the dice and the poker chip in his pocket at all times—lucky tokens. Though they hadn’t done him much good. “What a bloody tragedy.” Thinking about his old mate threw a damper on Iain’s mood.

“What about you?” Marc finally asked. “Think you’ll have kids one day?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t seem likely.”

“You’re good with Tyler,” Marc said.

“Well, he’s different, isn’t he?” Amelia’s boy was bright and engaging. Iain had become something of a Dutch uncle to the lad. “After kicking around the football a bit, I can send him home. Having one underfoot 24-7—don’t know about that.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Marc roused himself. “Made any headway with Trevor Blake?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t you ask Brynn to set up a meeting? Shouldn’t be difficult.”

“But it’s not simple at all, is it?” Iain repeated Marc’s earlier words.

“Aw, shit.” Marc shoved both hands through his hair and kept them there—he must have been truly overwhelmed. “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”

Iain might have thought of it in those terms, but to hear Marc say it so bluntly struck him the wrong way. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” Marc dropped his hands, leaving his hair in disarray. He stood and began prowling the room. “Please tell me you’re not shagging her as part of some scheme. Please tell me you’re not using that girl’s feelings against her. Even you must have a shred of decency.”

Iain stood as well. “Shut it. I’m not using her.” But Iain heard the lie for what it was. Yeah, he was using her. In a way. That’s why he’d hired her in the first place. Still, his feelings for Brynn were real. “I’m beginning to care about her.”

With fists propped on his hips, Marc continued to walk the room. “But this isn’t meant to be personal. It’s business. You’ve always said never combine the two. It’s one of your axioms.”

“Rules were meant to be broken, eh? I can have both. I can use her connections and still have a relationship with her.”

Marc stopped pacing. “A relationship? That’s what you’re calling it? And no, you Muppet, you can’t have both. She’s going to find out this was a setup from the beginning, and it’s going to go tits up. She seems like a sweet girl. A smart girl. She’s going to get hurt, Iain.”

“Not if I have my way. You worry about your own problems, and let me worry about mine.”

“Your problems are my problems,” Marc said. “This affects us both, don’t it?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Brynn stood in the doorway.

Iain shot out of his chair and tugged on the bottom of his steel-gray waistcoat. How much had she heard? He searched her face, looking for traces of hurt, of betrayal, but found none. Once he realized that Brynn was still oblivious, Iain sighed in relief and glanced over her once more.

Brynn grew lovelier each time he saw her.
Need. Desire.
The words flashed through his mind as he stared at her.

Today she wore a white blouse and a gauzy orange skirt. The shirt’s sleeves were short, showing off her trim, golden arms. His gaze trailed back up, over her slim hips, her small breasts, to the loose brown waves hanging freely around her shoulders. She was spectacularly unique in every respect.

“Not interrupting anything, is she, Marc?”

“Not at all. Good to see you again, Brynn.”

“Would you like me to come back?” She directed her question to Marc. “Sounds like you were in the middle of something.”

He smiled down at her. But not just any smile—no, the one he reserved for charming women out of their knickers. Tosser. “Please come in. Iain needs all the help he can get,” he said in a loud whisper. Then he smoothly buttoned his jacket and headed out the door.

Now it was just the two of them. The only noise came from the ticking of an antique maritime clock. Some days its tick was reassuring, soothing even. Some days it drove him barmy. Today, it seemed overly loud as Brynn stood there, staring down at the Persian rug. She hadn’t looked at him once. Well, that wouldn’t do.

Iain adjusted the knot in his tie and stretched his neck. This was not the way he’d wanted to greet Brynn this morning. Having words with Marc had thrown Iain off his game. He’d had it all planned out. She’d come in irritated, flustered—naturally—but he’d quickly soothe her, maybe even kiss her into a better frame of mind. But noting her tense jaw, the tendon flexing as she ground her teeth together, made him realize it might take more than a smile and a few kisses to pull her out of it.

“Come in. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She finally met his gaze, and her eyes flashed blue fire. Irritation might be downplaying it a bit. She seemed rather even tempered most of the time, but Iain was beginning to suspect he was a catalyst for her anger, the spark that stoked a fire inside of her. Interesting, that. At least she wasn’t indifferent to him. “I’d like to get to work, if that’s all right with you?”

Iain nearly fucking shivered at her tone. “Fine. Sit.” He gestured toward the chair and took his own seat behind the desk.

Brynn remained standing. Heat must be licking up the sides of her neck, because it was turning red again. “My employer informed me that you require customized training for your employees. Can you give me some insight as to what you might need?”

Iain’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to her acting so robotic, so cold. He wouldn’t put up with it. Iain pressed the intercom button. “Amelia, two coffees. And bring those Danish things. My guest could use a dose of sugar. She’s in a sour mood this morning.”

Brynn’s lips tightened, but she didn’t say a word. Walking forward, she placed her bag on the floor and gracefully sank into the chair. Lowering her notebook, she opened it and clicked her pen. All without glancing in his direction. “Please describe the challenges your business is facing and goals you wish to achieve.”

“No.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, but still, she didn’t take her gaze from the book in her lap. “What do you mean, no?”

“This is a pointless exercise. I don’t intend on answering any of your little questions. You should observe the office and tell me what we need. Then we’ll see if you and I are on the same page.”

“
I
think—” She licked her lips and clutched the pen until her knuckles grew white. “I think you could use a lesson in common courtesy.” She’d summoned up every ounce of gumption to tell him what he already knew. As she inhaled deeply, her chest rose, pushing those tiny, beautiful tits out farther. He’d feasted on them last night. Touched her long, plump nipples. His fingers involuntarily twitched around the dice as he ached to do it all over again.

“Courtesy is gobshite. Why not just be honest?”

“You want honesty? Fine. We both know I’m not here because of your business. You’re manipulating my time in order to see me again. How’s that for honest?”

“I figured you’d be too embarrassed about last night. But you weren’t shy when I pinned you down or made you come. And you weren’t bashful when I was sprawled out on top of you. In fact, you were every bit as keen as I was, until your annoying neighbor came barreling through the door. Then you retreated into your shell like a turtle. But you’re not going to go running scared this time, Brynn. I won’t allow it.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” She was breathing heavily now as she met his gaze.

“Oh yes, love, but more importantly, you’re afraid of yourself.” Her eyes widened and she recoiled. That’s when Iain knew he’d struck a nerve. “Look at it this way—you can teach me how to value and nurture my employees, and I’ll teach you to assert yourself. Seems like a fair trade.”

“You don’t want to help me. You want to…” She left the sentence unfinished.

“Fuck you? Course I do. You want to fuck me too.
You’d
admit that if you were honest rather than courteous.”

Now her whole chest and face were infused in a deep, dark red. “I really dislike you right now,” she muttered.

Iain grinned. “Good. I’d hate to settle for anything tepid. Did you think, after last night, I’d really let you walk away? Oh wait, you don’t walk, you run.”

“And Iain Chapman always gets what he wants.” She sat back and crossed her legs and then her arms. Her tiny body bristled with indignation. This was the part Iain gloried in—her passionate nature. It went hand in hand with her caring, generous heart.

“That’s right, pet. Always. Without fail.”

“What about relationships?”

She cocked her head to one side and her eyes became less heated and more analytical. That calculating look made him wary. His natural defenses clicked into place. He liked her anger better—it was more predictable. “Interested in my love life, are you?”

“No, I’m interested in Marc.”

Iain felt a pang of jealousy rise to the surface. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on either side of his laptop. “Marc is taken.” Ice coated his words and anger boiled inside Iain’s chest. He’d been sitting here, waiting for over a goddamned hour just to see her again, and now she was suddenly interested in Marc? “He’s my best mate. He knows you’re off-limits.”

Brynn’s lips pursed. “I’m not talking about Marc and me. I’m talking about the relationship between the two of you. How often do you argue?”

Relief flooded through him and Iain’s shoulders dropped—he hadn’t realized they’d been hitched up to his ears until that moment. He leaned back in his chair. “We argue sometimes. So what? Don’t you ever argue with your sisters?”

“He looked very peeved when I entered the office a few minutes ago.”

Iain fingered the dice once more. “It’s not just me he’s rowing with—it’s his girlfriend, Melanie. Besides, he’ll get over it. He always does.”

“Avoiding conflict in the first place is better than apologizing later. Perhaps we could work on honing your interpersonal relationship skills.” She marked something down in her book.

“Oh yes, let’s. Though you and I got very personal last night, didn’t we?”

Brynn jabbed her pen at him. “That is not—”

“Appropriate?” he finished for her.

She opened her mouth to say something else, something he’d probably find very amusing, when a knock sounded on the door and Ames wheeled in a cart. “Here we are. So nice to see you again, Brynn.” She steered it toward the sitting area and poured out two cups of coffee. Amelia straightened. “Let me know if you need anything else. And you”—she jerked her chin toward Iain—“behave yourself.”