His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) (26 page)

“Is this the downtown apartment building? The one that needs investors?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you could ask Trevor for help. For being a hermit, he knows a lot of people.” He was silent for so long, Brynn glanced at the screen. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Do you think Trevor would be willing to lend support?”

“Maybe. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Why don’t we stay at my place tonight? I’ll cook.”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, love. You’re a bloody brilliant cook. Even if you do it in that horrendous pink kitchen.”

“It’s pretty and I like it. So bite me.”

“Gladly. I’ll bring the ice cream.”

Brynn smiled at the memory. “Deal.”

“So what are you going to do without a computer?”

“I don’t know. But I’m worried. Cass is hanging on by a thread.”

“And you’re still not ready to throw in the towel?”

“Not yet.”

“There is such a thing as a lost cause, Brynnie.”

“Not in my world.”

* * *

Iain threw down a few bills and left the restaurant. As he walked out into the afternoon heat, he rubbed his jaw. Brynn had offered up Trevor’s services. He’d be an absolute fool not to take her up on it. This was what he wanted, what he’d planned. He couldn’t watch all of his dreams crumble around him, not when Brynn had handed him this perfect opportunity. It would be idiotic to have come all this way and not ask for the man’s opinion. Still, that guilt sat right in the middle of his chest and refused to budge.

Iain climbed into the backseat of the car and slammed the door. “Back to the office,” he said, then raised the partition.

Retrieving the dice from his pocket, Iain tossed them in the air before catching them. Why was he on the fence about this? He and Marc could make a bloody mint off this project. Trevor stood to make a pretty packet as well. Brynn would call it a winning outcome. So what held him back?

Brynn
. It started and stopped with her. Going to Trevor seemed like a betrayal of Brynn, and made him the worst sort of bounder imaginable. But it wasn’t
really
a betrayal, was it? Brynn was personal. This was business. He’d always kept them separate in the past. No reason for him not to continue that tradition.

When Iain got back to the office, he didn’t go to his own suite, but headed straight for Marc. He needed another opinion, someone to tell him he wasn’t an asshole for exploiting the resources available.

As he marched forward, a woman stepped in his path. Her huge belly told him this was…God, what was her name? Gina, that was it.

“Mr. Chapman, I wanted to thank you personally for the baby shower. I’m so glad you were there.”

“You’re welcome. Gina.”

She smiled at the use of her name. “I wanted to show you this.” She held up a black rectangle.

“Look at that,” he said, having no idea what he was meant to be staring at.

She pointed. “Here’s his nose.”

“Oh, that’s the baby.”

“Of course, what did you think it was?”

A Rorschach test? “You’re having a boy, then?”

“Yeah. We’re decorating his room in sky blue and white, in honor of Manchester City. My husband’s turned into a real soccer fan over the last year.”

Iain was strangely touched. “That’s very good of you. Congratulations again.” As he walked on, a few employees smiled, a couple dipped their heads, and Paul from data collection called out, “Hey, Chap.” It was all rather odd.

When he entered Marc’s office, Iain found his mate staring out the window. “Have you noticed a change around here? Everyone’s acting very friendly.”

Marc didn’t turn around. “Yeah, people aren’t terrified of you anymore. What’s up?”

“Brynn suggested that I speak to Trevor Blake about our downtown plans. This is it—the perfect opportunity.”

“Perfect,” Marc echoed, his voice flat and unemotional. “You’re getting exactly what you wanted.”

“What
we
wanted, mate.”

Marc finally turned to face him. “No,
I
wanted to sell it.”

Iain scoffed. “You always advise caution, but we decided to proceed with the plans. And what’s wrong with you?” Iain asked. “You’ve got a face like fizz, you do.”

“Melanie is threatening to leave me. She’s been unhappy for the last couple of months. She’s quiet and distant, and when we are talking, we row like two alley cats. I don’t know where it went wrong.”

Iain hadn’t gone to Marc to offer condolence. He needed advice for himself. “What would make her happy? Getting hitched?”

“I thought so, but now she refuses to even talk about it.” He flipped the poker chip in the air and caught it in his right hand. “So, this is good news, eh? This Trevor Blake business. If he decides to invest, we’ll make more money, and the world spins ’round.”

Marc wasn’t himself. This Melanie situation had done him in. He didn’t need any more worries. Iain could handle this one on his own. “Yeah, exactly. Why don’t you and Mel have a holiday? I’ll hold things down here. It would do you good to get away.”

“Maybe.” He thrust his hands into his hair. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

Iain left Marc to brood and went back to his suite. Amelia had had a second desk moved into the outer office and was talking to a young woman who hopped to her feet at the sight of him.

Ames gave him a pointed glare but continued to smile. “Iain, this is my new assistant, Katie.”

He shook her hand and nodded. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chapman. I’m so excited to be here. Amelia’s been great.” In her early twenties, she was all shiny and eager. God, how exhausting.

“Super.” He moved to the door. “Oh”—he turned back—“if Brynn Campbell ever calls or pops ’round, she has permanent access, yeah?”

“Yes, Mr. Chap—” Iain shut the door on her chirruping. Brynn would lay into him for not being respectful. But he was feeling like a right tosser at the moment. This thing with Trevor Blake had Iain second-guessing all his plans. Iain never questioned himself. Never. Made him feel more cross than usual.

He spent several frustrating hours talking with architects, foundation experts, and the environmental consultant. Frustrating wankers, from the first to the last. But in the back of his mind, Iain thought about Brynn. In another three or four hours, he’d get to hold her. Kiss her. Shag her until she made those throaty moans that drove him mad.

And she was cooking for him. She actually enjoyed doing things like that, taking care of people. Of him.

The last person who’d cooked for Iain had been his mum. Bangers and mash. Terrible, it was. Greasy and tasteless. But he still remembered that dish fondly. One time, when Iain was about six, his father had been out on an extended bender—they hadn’t seen the old man in days. Things in the shabby little flat had been peaceful for a change. For tea one evening, instead of wringing her hands and snapping at him, his mum had stood in the kitchen, humming. He’d never heard her do that before. She’d ruffled his hair and given him a quick hug. The two of them had sat at the scarred kitchen table, eating those horrible bangers in comfortable silence. That was one of the strongest memories he had of his mum. God rest her soul.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait three more hours to see Brynn. He nabbed his jacket, nodded to Amelia and the new girl, then headed out. On the way to Brynn’s house, Iain stopped at a flower shop. Was he buying her flowers to ease his guilt? Yeah, most likely. But Iain had run through every financial avenue available. Every sensible road led back to Trevor Blake and his multimillions. What other choice did Iain have?

He picked a massive bouquet of colorful blooms including something the clerk called frangipani. Whatever the hell they were, they smelled sweet and fragrant. Their dusky petals reminded him of the color of Brynn’s pink-tipped breasts. Brynnie. The one person who truly believed in him.

Are you going to screw her over? Betray her trust?
For the thousandth time, Iain told himself that Brynn had nothing to do with his business. The two were independent of one another. After all, he’d been attracted to Brynn from the second he’d clapped eyes on her in the garden that night. Now that he had her in his life, he felt savagely protective of her—needed her in a way he’d never needed anyone. But business had always been Iain’s salvation.

Back home, he would have ended up in the nick for petty crime, at a dead-end job, or on the dole, like his old man. There had been no future for him back in England. By taking over Davy’s dream, coming to Vegas, Iain had reinvented himself. Carved out a new life. He couldn’t throw all that away. Not even for Brynn.

Yet he’d pulled her into his business
and
his life when he hired her. He’d made a cunning, calculated move to meet Trevor. Iain had it all figured out. Now, he wasn’t sure about anything.

Goddamn it. He didn’t know what to do. Iain was never at a loss about what path to take. He visualized an outcome and went about getting it, step by step. Nothing stood in his way. No one.
Everyone’s expendable.
Except Brynn wasn’t expendable, was she?

On the drive to Brynn’s house, Iain sat in the backseat, balancing the flowers on his thigh. He tugged at his tie, finding it difficult to breathe properly. His heart beat erratically. The truth of his situation finally hit him. He was ass over teakettle for Brynn Campbell. He’d fallen hard and fast. He was in love with her.
In love
. Un-fucking-believable. Out of nowhere, Iain felt—amazing.
Hopeful.

Then and there, he knew what he had to do. His loyalty was to Brynn. He wouldn’t be asking Trevor Blake for anything, not even the fucking time of day. Iain had to make a choice, and he chose Brynn.

A serene calmness stole over him. This was the right decision, come what may. Iain had never put anything before business. Making money had been the only thing that mattered. But Brynn was his salvation.

Even so, that didn’t mean Iain had lost his edge. Far from it. Not asking Trevor Blake to invest in his project didn’t mean he was going soft.
Right, mate. You’re sacrificing your dreams for her.
Not true. He would make the downtown development happen without Trevor. Somehow. He’d find another way. He was Iain Chapman, Kicker of Asses, Buster of Bollocks. This wouldn’t break him. Iain would tackle this problem the way he tackled everything else—with single-minded determination. There must be some idea he hadn’t thought of. Simple as that.

When the car pulled up to Brynn’s house, Iain told the driver to leave and stepped out. Clutching the bouquet, he strode up Brynn’s walkway and knocked on the door.

When he heard her yell something, he tried the handle. “Brynn,” he called, stepping into the entryway.

She poked her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, you.” Then her eyes lighted on the flowers. “Are those for me?”

He felt a stupid grin take over his face. “No, they’re for your neighbor. Thought I’d make a good first impression.”

She pointed at him. “Funny.” She stepped out of the kitchen, and Iain’s blood pressure spiked as his grin faded. Her long, golden legs were bare. Completely and utterly bare. She wore a frilly, pink half apron tied at the waist and her blouse revealed her shoulders. It was white and sheer and he could see those puffy pink areolas right through the material. Was she even wearing knickers? With her hair tied up in a messy knot, long tendrils curled around her face and along the sleek column of her neck. His gaze tripped over her once more, all the way down to her feet. She wore no shoes, but her toenails were painted a light, shimmery pink.

“Iain? Why are you frowning like that?”

Was he frowning? He didn’t know. Couldn’t think about anything other than finding out what was under that apron. “Do you have something in the kitchen that needs your immediate attention?”

“No. I just set the timer for forty-five minutes.”

That was the smell. Savory and spicy—he didn’t know what she was making, but it smelled delicious. However, food didn’t hold his attention for long. “That might be enough time.”

Iain tossed the bouquet on the sofa, took three long steps toward Brynn, and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her onto him. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She jumped onto him and linked her arms behind his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You can’t dress like that and think I’m not going to fuck you this instant.”

“Iain,” she said, half shocked, half laughing.

He strode to the bedroom and walked to the bed. “Stand on the mattress, yeah?”

Brynn untangled her legs and stood. He lifted up the apron and saw that she wore an indecent pair of cutoff shorts. Sexy as hell.

“Turn around.” He raised his index finger and circled it. “Turn.”

She spun and the shorts made his cock stand at attention. Her curvy bum was on full display below the frayed edges of denim, and those luscious cheeks were just begging for his attention.

Brynn glanced over her shoulder. “They’re Daisy Dukes.”

“They’re fucking perfection.” He finally stopped ogling her ass and glanced up at her. “I’m going to fuck you from behind, Brynn. If you’re good, I may slap your ass a time or two.”