His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) (5 page)

This shouldn’t be happening. Brynn should put a stop to it, but she didn’t want to. This wasn’t like her at all. Cautious with her affections, Brynn usually had to warm up to people, but Iain steamrolled over her logical objections. She couldn’t remember why mixing business with her personal feelings wasn’t a good idea. Because at that moment, the thought of kissing him, feeling his body pressed against hers, seemed like the best idea she’d ever had.

He must have read everything in her eyes. Iain held her gaze as his head dipped lower. He moved his thumb across the bow of her upper lip. Then he leaned closer still. When his mouth finally touched hers, Brynn’s eyes drifted shut. Lost to the sensation of his touch, his kiss, his scent, she grabbed on to his lapels to hold herself steady.

His lips were firm and talented. When he swept his tongue against hers, heat coursed its way through her body—scorching heat that caused her breasts to feel full and achy. She kissed him back, opening her mouth wider, allowing him better access. She brushed her own tongue against his tentatively. She’d never been a champion kisser, but Iain was. He slanted his mouth over hers, using just the right amount of pressure. Then he eased off a bit, leaving her hungry for more.

Taking advantage of her enthusiasm, he snaked an arm around her waist and walked them backward, until Brynn’s shoulders met the elevator wall. Then his kiss became more aggressive, more demanding, a little rougher, sweeping her away in a tide of arousal.

When Iain took control, Brynn immediately surrendered, yielding to his will. She’d never been kissed like that in her life—with such forceful expertise. God, had she been missing out.

Though she shouldn’t have been making out in an elevator, right then she was too caught up in Iain to care. His touch was decadent, his kiss addictive.

He bit down on her bottom lip, then sucked on it gently. That’s when Brynn’s brain shorted out. She didn’t care about right or wrong or being professional. She just wanted more of him. Heat pooled in her belly and lower. Where Iain’s body pressed against hers, every nerve ending tingled.

He wrapped his free hand around Brynn’s nape, spreading his fingers across her hot skin. Skimming the edge of her collarbone with his thumb, he shifted his lips off of her mouth.

Brynn groaned in protest. She wasn’t ready to stop. But once Iain started trailing his tongue along her jawline and down her throat, she quieted. Letting go of his jacket, she gripped the back of his neck where the starched edge of his collar rubbed her wrist. Brynn’s hand drifted over his short hair. With her fingers, she sorted through the soft layers, then gently dragged her nails across his scalp. At her touch, Iain pressed his hips against Brynn, and his cock prodded her belly.

“Do that again,” he said against her neck.

He didn’t ask, he commanded, and without hesitating, she scraped her nails over him once more. He moaned against her skin, causing goose bumps to break out over her arms.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell dinged. Brynn ignored it, but when the doors slid open, she heard a shocked feminine gasp. All at once, Brynn remembered where she was, who she was with—Iain Chapman. In a public elevator. And he was still gently sucking that sensitive part of her neck, right below her ear.

What the hell had she been thinking? “Iain,” she hissed, slapping her palm against his shoulder.

He lifted his head. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed. “Wha’?” He thrust his hands into her hair. “God, you are fucking lovely.”

Even though she was humiliated by being caught—in public no less—a little niggle of pride crept its way to the surface. Brynn Campbell, the invisible wallflower, had been kissed within an inch of her life by the sexiest man she’d ever met.

She placed a hand over her swollen lips. Wait, this was bad. She wasn’t supposed to be kissing Iain while she was on duty. Actually, she shouldn’t even be touching him. PDA in the workplace was a no-no. She’d violated so many of her own rules, she should force herself to take a seminar.

At the sound of a man clearing his throat, Iain grinned but continued to hold her. That dimple erased the harsh edges from his handsome face, made him seem more human, less arrogant. It was downright boyish.

“Got carried away, didn’t we, pet?”

“Please let me go.”

At once, Iain released her head and stepped back. Before turning around, his hand skipped down her spine until it rested above the curve of her ass. Their audience—two smirking men and a red-faced woman—moved aside and let them pass.

Brynn wanted to disappear for real right now—just close her eyes and whisk herself away from here, from this stupid, embarrassing situation she’d gotten herself into.

Iain didn’t seem affected by it. From the corner of her eye, Brynn watched him as they walked down the hallway. His expression was impassive. He really didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about him. They could have been screwing against the elevator wall, and he would have turned around and glared at the trio for interrupting. Brynn wished she had balls like that. Pure titanium.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to forget the whole damned experience as they walked through the lobby. With its twenty-foot windows, sunshine filled the vestibule, casting long shadows over the green-and-white marble floor.

But then Iain’s fingers flexed over Brynn’s hip, making it impossible to forget his kiss or the way he tasted—hot and yummy. She wanted to kiss him again.
Lips to yourself, Brynn. Leave the sexy British man alone.

Then his fingers inched lower, toward the back pocket of her khakis, gliding over the raised, embroidered threads. Brynn’s stomach fluttered at his touch.

Oh shit, she was in serious danger. Brynn had trouble saying no in the most benign circumstances. How was she going to say no to the raw, sexual force of nature that was Iain Chapman?

She didn’t stand a chance.

Iain led Brynn to the black sedan idling next to
the curb. He wanted another go at her. He planned on having it too, but he didn’t think she was ready for another round quite yet. She seemed rather shell-shocked by it all. Right now, he needed to listen to her leadership blather.

Iain slid into the backseat. The closed partition and gray-tinted windows gave them a measure of privacy. “All right, let’s get started.”

Brynn’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“The lesson. We have approximately fifteen minutes until we arrive at the first building. I’m all ears.”

Once again, Brynn brushed a hand over her lips. She’d enjoyed that kiss as much as he had, and if she denied it, Iain would call her a liar. “Right. How to validate your teammates.”

Groping her in the lift had been a damned stupid idea. Their time traveling between floors was limited. Iain wanted much more than a quick snog. But he’d been acting on impulse. And she’d tasted ripe, with a hint of mint. Fucking delicious.

But what really had him gobsmacked was Brynn’s wholehearted response. Unless he’d missed his guess, Brynn liked it when he took charge—that’s when she’d really lost herself in the moment. She’d grabbed his jacket like it was a lifeline, stroked her fingers through his hair, and made those breathy little moaning sounds in the back of her throat. Iain found himself getting hard all over again just thinking about it.

God, the things he wanted to do to her. She’d love every minute of it—he’d make sure of that. Iain wanted to see Brynn look up at him with those big, blue eyes as she came. Wanted to hear his name wrenched from her in that moment of passion.

As she continued to lecture him on teamwork, Iain hardly heard a word—he simply sat back and watched her mouth move. He wanted that mouth sliding up and down his cock. Wanted her delicate hands trailing over his thighs, caressing his sac. Oh yes, he was so bloody hard right now it hurt.

“Agreed?” she asked.

“Yeah, naturally,” he answered. “Who could argue with that?”

Brynn appeared relieved as she smiled. “Great. Then that’s your first assignment.”

“Wait, wha’?”

The smile slowly fell away from Brynn’s face. “You weren’t listening to a word I said.”

Before he could deny it, the car slowed to a stop. “Oh good, we’re here.” Iain climbed out and waited for Brynn.

His estate agent, Patty, had already arrived. Iain made brief introductions, then followed on a quick tour through an office building. It had possibilities, but the location wasn’t as central as he’d hoped. Iain put it on his short list and hustled Brynn back to the car.

Once they got on the road, she glanced at him. “Are you ready to try this again?”

Iain held up one finger when his phone vibrated. “Just a moment, love. Got to take this.” He spent twenty minutes speaking on a conference call with his group of investors, which he continued even after they arrived at the next stop. Iain remained in the car while Brynn paced the parking lot and Patty texted. Once he hung up, he spent three minutes scouting the building before declaring, “Really, Patty? This is what you dragged me out here for? I need something that has a quick turnaround. This will take more money to fix up than what I can sell it for.” And then it was back to the car.

Iain spent most of the drive time to the next three sites on the phone. He felt a bit guilty as far as Brynn was concerned. He was meant to be listening to her lessons about holding his employees’ hands and patting them on the head for a job well done. But real business took precedence.

Since it was nearly lunchtime, after his last call, Iain lowered the partition and instructed the driver to take them to his new restaurant. Well, not his exclusively. He and Marc belonged to an investment group of nine other businessmen. They pooled together resources for various bars, clubs, and eateries. It was profitable for the most part, but with so many owners, seeing steady growth was sometimes a slow process. Which was why he needed Trevor Blake and all that lovely capital. By having just one partner, Iain and Marc would see a faster rate of return.

It felt wrong, maneuvering Brynn, manipulating her into this situation for his own selfish reasons. Iain’s first instinct had been spot-on—she was an innocent. She was more than just lovely. There was something sweet and gentle about her. And though bashful by nature, during that kiss, Brynn had forgotten to be shy with him. He liked that.

“So, what were you telling me about this leadership thing?” His phone rang again. “Sorry, love,” he whispered before answering.

As the driver navigated the Strip, Brynn crossed her legs and started bouncing her foot. Her blue toenails had him mesmerized. Along with those delicate ankles. Never before had Ian looked at a woman’s feet with the slightest bit of interest, but everything about Brynn was compelling—from her vanilla scent down to her dainty, turquoise toenails.

Iain spoke with one of his property managers and watched Brynn’s foot work faster and faster, causing her whole leg to vibrate. She stared straight ahead, giving him a good view of her profile. Classic—with a small, perfect nose and those prominent cheekbones. For the millionth time in the last few months, Iain imagined her naked. It was a distraction, wanting her this way.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said into the phone while he continued to study Brynn. “Delinquent tenants? Busted water pipes? Those all sound like problems I pay you to handle, Jim. If you’re not up to the task, I’ll find someone who is. You have one day to get your shit together.” He ended the call.

Brynn turned to stare at him. “It’s possible to speak to people with kindness and still get results. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

Iain narrowed his eyes. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that goddamned phrase in two days.”

“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”

“I don’t think the universe gives a damn.” He brushed one finger across her shoulder and down the length of her arm. The light blue cotton shirt was soft. Brynn’s forearm was even softer. Iain glided his fingertip down to her wrist and over the back of her hand, where it rested on the seat between them. He kept going, sweeping his forefinger over her middle one. “Even your hands are graceful.”

She pulled away from him and placed her hand in her lap, while her tongue darted nervously across her lips. “We need to stay professional. What happened in the elevator can’t happen again.”

Before Iain could tell her that it would happen again, and frequently, his phone rang once more.
Marc.
Iain was torn. He wanted to continue flirting with Brynn, but he had a business to run. He hit the Call button. “Talk.”

“I got the schematics for the downtown apartments. Still not sure about this one, Iain. It’s an expensive gamble. I’m coming down on the side of letting it go, mate, or at least waiting until we can raise the capital ourselves. That way, we won’t need a certain outside investor.”

“I still say we move forward, stick to the plan. Big risks and big rewards. That’s how we’ve always done it.”

“We have more to lose now. The property’s had two previous owners in the last five years. Getting buyers for luxe apartments right now, in that section of town, for the price we plan on asking—I’m not sure it’s feasible.”

Iain slid a glance at Brynn. “Let me worry about that. I have the situation under control.” He hung up on Marc’s protestations.

Brynn shifted to face him. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“I suppose not. Marc’s a fucking loud talker.”

“He disagrees about a property, but you’re going through with it. Why?” Her eyes were serious. She wasn’t feigning interest.

“The building is only two blocks from Fremont Street, which is transforming. I want to buy up as much land as I can. Twentysomethings will want to move there because it’s just seedy enough to be cool and is in close proximity to the bars. Plus, it’s historic, old Vegas. That will bring the hipsters. Marc’s wrong on this one.”

“Marc acts as your advisor?”

“He does.”

“How often do you actually take his advice?”

“Over half the time.”

“He seems to have a poor track record then.”

“He’s more than my advisor,” Iain said with a tight frown. “He’s my business partner and best mate.”

Propping her elbow on the top of the backseat, Brynn watched him with those large eyes of hers. “But he’s wrong so often. You’re harsh with everyone else. I’m just trying to understand why you give Marc a pass.”

Iain’s body locked down. “You don’t know what the bloody hell you’re talking about. I don’t give him a pass, yeah? He’s brilliant. He gives good advice—sound advice. He’s just not a risk taker.”

“And you are?”

He understood then. She was assessing
him
, not attacking Marc. He rolled his shoulders forward and his muscles relaxed somewhat. “I am. Wouldn’t be here today if I weren’t.”

“Maybe other people on your team have valid advice, too.”

Iain plucked the end of her flowing sleeve. “You mean I should treat all of my employees as though they’re the most important people in the world. Maybe I should start handing out gold stars. What do you think?”

“I think you’re making fun of me.”

“I am. A bit. How did you get into the manual writing business anyway?” He already knew the answer, of course. What else would someone do with a degree in literature?

“I have a degree in English lit,” Brynn said, “and I minored in art history. At TDTC, I can put my skills to good use. I like my job.”

“That didn’t sound half-convincing, pet.”

“I do like it.”

He continued to stare at her.

“I’m just overloaded right now,” she said, squirming. “Anyway, not everyone likes their job all the time.”

“I do. I love my job.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated. “What’s not to love? I’m my own boss. I shape my own world.” Iain woke up every day with a challenge before him: let the naysayers win or take them down. He took them down with a vengeance. He’d done it time after time and it never got old.

Iain had opened his first business a year after coming to Vegas—a car wash and detailing shop. The bank wouldn’t loan him a dime. A twenty-one-year-old foreigner with no track record and little education? They’d all but laughed in his face. So Iain had worked three jobs to rent the space. And when he and Marc had taken their shirts off one hot, summer afternoon, they discovered that Vegas mums enjoyed staring at muscular, half-naked men. Their Manc accents didn’t hurt either. Within days, SUVs were lined up around the bloody block. Marc and Iain hired more buff employees to titillate the ladies. In six months, they’d purchased the facility. In a year, they’d opened their second location. By year three, they’d parlayed that money to buy a strip mall, and had kept building from there.

Through hard work, long hours, and a few lucky breaks, Iain had gotten to know some of Vegas’s heavy hitters. He’d lost tens of thousands in friendly games of poker, all to win the trust of men who had deep pockets. Throwing away money damn near gutted him, but he’d done it with a shrug and a smile. He’d learned to play a decent round of golf, even though he despised the game. But the one thing Iain couldn’t quite manage was kissing ass. Fortunately, Marc excelled at it. “Being polite,” he called it. Together, they had grown their small business into a moneymaking enterprise.

Iain had created the world he’d envisioned as a lad, where he was the boss, where he called the shots, and where no one—except Marc—could question him. He’d come a long way from that frightened boy who cowered at the sound of his father’s voice.

There was more to be done, more to create. In this ever-changing town, people would remember his name.
Iain Chapman was here, you fuckers. And you’ll never be as good as I was.

The car pulled up to the hotel. He climbed out and held the door for Brynn. “We opened a Southern bistro a few months back. I think you’ll like it here.” He reached down and offered her a helping hand. Brynn hesitated for the briefest second before placing her palm in his. He wanted those long, lovely fingers touching him, gripping his cock. His heart stuttered at the mental image—Brynn naked, her dark hair falling over one golden shoulder, her hand gripping him. Then she’d lower her head, take him in her mouth. Bloody hell. It was getting damned uncomfortable, having his cock this hard with no immediate chance of relief. Iain thrust his right hand into his trouser pockets, fumbled for the pair of dice, and escorted Brynn through the lobby.

Instead of going for a modern aesthetic, the hotel had used a timeless, traditional scheme for a quiet elegance, an air of refinement that one didn’t usually find in Vegas. It reminded Iain of a castle he’d toured on a school trip. That was the day he’d realized there was a difference between old shit—like the saggy, tattered furniture stuffed in his parents’ flat—and
really
old shit that only wealthy people could afford. His office was filled with the latter.

“Is the whole hotel yours?” Brynn openly glanced around, taking in the faded carpet beneath the chandelier.

“No.” Although it was just a matter of time. Iain had ambitions he hadn’t even begun to realize.

He kept hold of her hand and led her past the front desk and down a corridor. Wooden columns, polished to a high sheen, flanked either side of the restaurant doors.