His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) (28 page)

He threw the tissue away and lay on his back. Brynn scooted closer and flung her arm around his chest.

Despite her reassurance, Iain was embarrassed. He’d just exposed a part of himself he usually kept hidden—that harsh, baser side. By having his armor locked in place, Iain’d always kept a rein on that untamed part of himself. Yet he’d abandoned it with Brynn. Sweet, delicate Brynn.

Iain prided himself on his control. For a long time, that sense of pride had literally been all he had. No money, no prospects, no education. Only pride. But with Brynn, his rigid self-discipline didn’t just slip, he’d cast it aside—willingly. Now he felt weak, like his old man—savage and unpredictable. Iain had re-created himself in a way that would’ve made Davy proud. The complete opposite of his drunken sod of a father. Or so he’d assumed. Perhaps he and the old man had more in common than he’d thought.

His glance grazed over her, took in the swollen bottom lip. He’d bit down too hard. She’d liked it, but what if he’d gotten
too
rough? What if he had accidentally hurt her? Iain would never be able to forgive himself. He couldn’t allow himself to slip up like that again. She was his to protect.

“You okay?” Brynn leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on his Adam’s apple. Her hair was a mess. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. A hint of worry slid behind her eyes. “Are you regretting your proposal? Because we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

He cut that line of thinking off at the pass. “It
wasn’t a proposal, love. It was a fact. We’re getting
married. Let’s do it tomorrow.” He didn’t want to
give her too much time to think. She might just run away again.

Brynn sat up, gliding her hand over his stomach. “That’s crazy. I can’t plan a wedding in one day.”

“This is Vegas, pet. Of course you can. And do you really want to go through months of planning and preparation? With Allie and Monica hounding you about every detail?”
Find your opponent’s weakness…

She shuddered. “God, no. That would be awful.”

“If you decide you want something more formal down the line, well and good, but let’s do this our way. Privately. Just you and me.” Iain was surprising the bloody hell out of himself tonight. That’s exactly what he wanted—just the two of them reciting vows, exchanging rings. “It’s the perfect time. We could take three days for ourselves. Cass agreed to let Trevor’s financial people come in and help her. If I know accountants, they’ll want to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb. Until then, you don’t even have a computer to work with.” He sat up and leaned against the headboard.

“When was the last time you took three days off?” Her nails made lazy circles across his thigh.

Iain narrowed his eyes and remained quiet for a full minute. “I’m thinking.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But if we do this, I want to go full-on Vegas.”

“What does that entail?” He grasped her hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. He glanced down at her naked finger. After tomorrow, she’d wear his ring. Which reminded him—he needed to get a bloody ring. “Should we have Elvis marry us? Or use a chapel drive-through?”

Brynn rolled her eyes. “Think outside the box.
Everyone
uses Elvis. We’re better than that. Since this was your idea,
I expect you to come up with something spectacular.”

Iain let out a laugh. “Are you serious?” He looked at her eager expression.

A mischievous smile played on her lips and she nodded eagerly. “Yep. Vegas at its tackiest. Just you and me.”

Iain had never been able to resist a challenge. He grabbed the back of her neck and drew her forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Darling, I’m going to give you the tackiest fucking wedding this town has ever seen.”

She palmed his jaw and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Iain.”

Brynn’s head was spinning. Who knew Iain had a romantic streak? When he’d said he was going to marry her, Brynn could see that he was as taken aback by the words as she was. But then he’d said those sweet things about making her happy and wanting to be worthy of her. She could hear the honesty in his voice, could see it in his light brown eyes. He’d come into her life like a whirlwind, leaving her gasping for breath. She’d tried to guard her heart at first, but he’d owned it from the start.

A warmth spread over her, starting in the center of her chest and working through the rest of her body. Iain Chapman, the most complicated, formidable man she’d ever met, loved her.

“Oh my God. We’re getting
married
.” She grinned up at him.

He held her gaze and smiled back. “I know.”

When a buzzer sounded, Brynn didn’t know what it was. Then she remembered. “Dinner’s ready.”

With lazy movements, Iain leaned down and reached for his boxers. “Why don’t you get a shower? Surely I’m capable of taking food out of the oven.” Then he pulled on his shorts and turned to look at her. “It is called an oven, correct?”

“Cute. There’s a salad in the fridge.” She hopped out of bed and gathered her discarded clothes on the way to the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a few.”

She shut the door and stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. “You’re marrying the man of your dreams tomorrow, jellyfish. How did you manage that?” Happiness, like champagne bubbles, fizzed through her.

She hopped in the shower and washed quickly, thinking about Iain’s proposal. And the way he made love to her. He’d been in a frenzy. She’d never seen him like that, and while it shocked her, it excited her, too. Even during sex, Iain had always remained in charge, never lowering his defenses. But tonight, there’d been something wild in his eyes. He’d let himself go completely—because he loved her. He seemed a little shell-shocked by it. Well, now he knew how she felt every time he got through with her—dazed, shaken, and extremely satisfied.

She toweled herself off, secured her messy hair back in its bun, and threw on a strapless baby-doll dress. Then she raced to the kitchen.

Iain had uncovered the casserole dish and plated the salad. “Smells delicious.”

He stood at the sink, arms crossed, hair ruffled. He’d dressed but hadn’t bothered to button his shirt. Brynn’s gaze danced over him. With the five o’clock shadow covering his jaw, he looked casually sexy—all the way down to his bare feet.

“Keep looking at me like that, pet, and we’ll wind up back in bed. And while I wouldn’t mind, I still have a wedding to plan, don’t forget.”

She grinned at that and distracted herself by opening a bottle of wine. “Okay, dinner. My mother used to make these awesome sausage rolls around the holidays. It’s an old family recipe. I thought you might like it.”

She’d already set the table, using her favorite vintage linen—a flea market find with hand-embroidered pink flowers along the hem. When she glanced up, Iain was staring at her with a strange look in his eyes.

“What was she like, your mum?”

It still hurt to talk about it, even after all these years. Brynn wasn’t sure the pain would ever go away. “She was funny and smart, always helped me with my math homework because she was a whiz with numbers. She worked as my dad’s accountant for years. Before she got sick.” Brynn removed the cork and glanced up. “You know when you said I shouldn’t sit on the sidelines? She said almost the exact same thing to me before she died. She told me that I only had one chance to get in the game.” Tears pricked her eyes, and Brynn blinked them away. “I miss her, you know? I was only ten when she was diagnosed with cancer. After that, everything changed. We all fell apart.”

Iain walked forward and tucked his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “How?”

Brynn hugged him back, placing her cheek against his bare chest. “Her health became our sole focus. The chemo and radiation left her exhausted. She didn’t have the energy to do all the mom things she used to do.”

“Must have been hard on all of you.”

“It was. Toward the end, my dad just kind of gave up. Monica became the wild child, and Allie tried to hold us all together. I don’t know how she managed.”

“What about you?”

Brynn listened to the steady, calm beat of his heart. It comforted her, softened the memories a bit. “I hid in my room, kept to the shadows. Allie and Monica fought constantly. I just tried to smooth things over or stay out of the way.” As her mother’s cancer progressed, Brynn’s family had imploded. When it became clear that her mom was dying, Brynn had desperately wanted to get away from the heavy sadness that permeated the house. It had been a stressful, depressing time. Things were better between Allie and Monica now, but sometimes, Brynn still felt like that scared child, trying so hard to keep the peace. Her mom’s illness altered Brynn forever. She never felt safe after that, not really. Not until Iain. She could let down her walls with him in a way she’d never done with anyone else.

Brynn eased away from him. He’d told her that his mom died of a heart attack a few years ago and his dad had drunk himself to death. Iain hadn’t been close to either of them. “Do you miss your parents at all? What if they’d changed? Your dad might have stopped drinking and your mom could have found herself.”

He huffed. “Life doesn’t work like that. You can’t go around wishing things were different, can you? You have to accept your past and move on.” His face was as placid as a calm lake, but deep emotions rippled through him, causing his shoulders to stiffen. He spoke of his childhood memories with Marc and Davy, happy times, times when they’d fought like brothers. He’d even detailed Davy’s death, the funeral, the way he felt afterward. But Iain’s parents were a sore spot. While Brynn didn’t want to push, she longed for details. What had Iain been like as a little boy? Probably just as determined and headstrong as he was now. She bit back the questions. He’d tell her when he was ready.

“Brynnie.” His eyes were serious, and she sensed a sadness in him. “Right here, right now, this is all that matters. Not the past.”

“I don’t think so.” The past molded them. Her mother’s death had shaped Brynn into the woman she was today. For better or worse. Even though Iain denied it, he was the same way. His past had driven him to become a success. He’d had to fight for everything, and Brynn respected that.

He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “We can’t go back and change anything, love. So what’s the point in dwelling on it?”

She shrugged. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

He let her go, but she felt his gaze on her as she moved back to the stove. She dished up two plates and brought them to the table.

Iain held out a chair for her and kissed her bare shoulder before taking his own seat. When he bit into the sausage roll, he actually moaned. “Woman, this is brilliant.”

Brynn laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”

“My mum was a dreadful cook. It took me years to realize food wasn’t meant to be black on the bottom and raw in the middle.” He poured them each a glass of wine. “She made bland, tasteless food. God love her, she tried.”

Again, Brynn refrained from asking any questions, but when he offered up little stories about his family, she soaked up each tidbit. “I learned my culinary skills from Mrs. Hubert.”

“Who is Mrs. Hubert?” he asked.

“Trevor’s cook. She’s a genius. I’m not even in her league.”

He set down his fork and played with the stem of his wineglass. “Are you close to him? Trevor?”

“I am. He comes off as aloof and remote, which he is, but he loves Monica and me. He bought my dad and his wife a coastal home in Texas. Trevor can be very caring. You just have to get to know him.”

“He probably won’t like a working-class wanker in his ranks.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not marrying
him
then. And he’ll come around.”

Iain gave her a confident smirk. “I doubt it. But I’ll carry on. Somehow.”

“I don’t have a wedding dress, you know.”

He set down his glass. “Brynnie. Love. Everything you wear is flowing and covered in lace. Nothing more bridal than that. Besides, you could show up starkers and look beautiful.”

Her stomach fluttered at the compliment. “We don’t have a song. We don’t have rings. Or flowers, or a photographer.”

He placed his hand on her arm. “Stop worrying, you. I’ll have it covered.”

Brynn believed him. When Iain put his mind to something, he got it done.

Once they finished eating, Brynn began to clear the table. As usual, Iain filled the sink with hot water, rolled up his sleeves, and started scraping the plates.

“I’m going to like having a husband who does the dishes.” Brynn patted his butt as she walked by.

He grinned down at her. “Be honest, love. You’d like me even if I didn’t do dishes.”

“You’re so cocky.”

“Yeah, well, you like that too.”

Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. Brynn set down a bottle of salad dressing and hustled to the door. Looking out the peephole, she saw Tasha standing on her front porch with a dog under each arm.
Oh boy
.

With a deep sigh, Brynn twisted the handle. “Hey, Tash. Are you and Zeke fighting again?”

“That is it. I am done with him. I go back to Belarus as soon as possible.” She shoved the dogs at Brynn and instead of pulling in one suitcase, Tash tossed three into the foyer. The smallest one knocked into her wall and chipped the paint. “I am up to here.” Tash waved a hand over her head.

“What happened this time?” Brynn asked.

Iain stood in the kitchen doorway. He still hadn’t buttoned his starched, white shirt. He looked hot and handsome. Despite the fact that he was wiping his hands on a pink floral dish towel, he didn’t look the least bit domesticated.

“You again, Englishman?” Tasha asked.

“I could say the same for you, Ruskie.” Iain didn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, he leaned against the wall and slung the towel over his shoulder. “What’s the trouble this time?”

“It is not your business,” Tasha said.

“It is my business, because it involves Brynn.”

Brynn thrust the dogs back at Tasha. “Let’s not argue. Let’s dialogue. Tasha, tell me what happened.”

“My mother and sister get time off work to come to Las Vegas. Zeke forbid it. He say we can no afford. He say I spend too much money on my hair and nails and clothes. Now he want to make babies. I have babies.” She jostled the dogs. “If we cannot afford my family to visit, how we can afford children?” She walked to the sofa and plopped down, setting a dog on each side of her.

Brynn automatically moved to the sofa, scooping the dogs up and relocating them to the floor. Then she parked herself on the coffee table and patted Tasha’s knee. “I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”

“She’s going to go home and work it out with her husband,” Iain said. “Coming here won’t solve the problem, will it?”

Tash curled her lip. “Why is he talking about my life? What does he know?”

Brynn shot Iain a warning glare. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No,” Tasha said with a sniff. “If you want, I go to hotel.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll go get you a cup of tea, all right?”

“Make it vodka.”

Brynn stood. She moved past Iain on her way to the kitchen. “You’re not being helpful,” she whispered.

“Not trying to be, am I?” He followed her. “Her problems shouldn’t affect you.”

Brynn just looked at him. “I just feel bad that she’s so unhappy.”

Iain heaved a sigh. He yanked the dish towel off his shoulder and tossed it on the counter. “From what I can tell, she’s always like this. And this won’t do when we’re married, will it?”

She patted his bare chest. “I’ll talk to her again. Just for tonight, okay? I’ll explain that this is the last time.” She grabbed a shot glass from the cupboard.

“Brynn, pet, you don’t owe her anything. She takes advantage, coming over here all the bloody time. You’re not helping her either, eh?”

She stopped and peered up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you think this is fixing her marriage, her running away every time they have an argument?”

That sounded a little too close to home. Maybe Tash
did
need to stay and work things out with her husband. He wasn’t a horrible guy. He and Tasha simply had different expectations of marriage. They’d only known each other from chatting online. They hadn’t spent any real world time together—otherwise they might have discovered they were completely incompatible. Which,
hello
, was almost the exact same situation Brynn found herself in.

“Are we rushing into this, Iain? This marriage thing?”

He took the glass from her and set it on the counter. Then, bracing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned toward her. “Brynn, I’ve never been surer about anything in my life. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I want you to promise me right now that you won’t run when things get tough. You’ll stick it out. You’ll talk to me instead of hying off.”