His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit)

by Terri Austin

  He narrowed his eyes and nodded. What was he doing, making a mental catalog?

  “But you’ve never come with a partner. Not even with oral?”

  “Iain. I don’t want to talk about my history with you. Okay?”

  He paused a moment. “So, oral?”

  “No. I’ve never come with a partner. Not oral, not fingers, not tongues. Dicks. Vibrators. Dildos. Just on my own, by myself.”

  “Until me.” He sounded so smug. “And how many dicks are we talking about?”

  “Trust a man to focus on that.” She tried to pull away from him but his arm became a solid band across her waist. She slapped at his hands, but it had no effect on him at all.

  “How many?”

  “I’ve had two boyfriends. Now, can we go inside?”

  “And neither one could get the job done.” There was a hint of pride in his tone. “I told you we were inevitable. I’m the right man for this, Brynnie.”

  Brynn stopped breathing. The “right man” implied all sorts of things to her: marriage, kids, a life together. Iain Chapman was not the right man for any of those jobs. But every time they were together, he felt more than right. He felt perfect.

  “Come on. Let’s get to work.” He pressed his lips to hers, branding her with a hard, unyielding kiss. Then he opened the door and stepped out of the car. He glanced up and down the street, his eyes watchful as he waited for Brynn to hop out.

  When she exited, Brynn studied the neighboring buildings. Downtown had been in decline for years, but money had been pouring into Fremont Street, just a couple blocks away—bars, restaurants, taverns. However, this area was still lagging behind.

  “What’s your plan?” she asked.

  “I’ve bought several lots. Fremont is saturated with bars, but not apartments or condos. I want to tap into that market.” He led her inside the defunct office building.

  In the lobby, a short man with a florid complexion waited for them.

  “Brynn, this is Pete Anderson, my foreman. Let’s show Brynn the lay of the land.”

  As Pete reached forward to shake her hand, the buttons marching down his protruding belly threatened to revolt and pop off his shirt. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Iain, this place needs a ton of work. I’m talking at least thirty million for the high-end buyers you want to attract. At least. And that’s just the inside. I haven’t even looked at the other two sites yet.”

  Iain nodded. “One at a time, yeah?”

  Brynn’s brows shot skyward. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Which is why I’m looking for investment partners.”

  He walked past Pete, farther into the darkened interior. From the outside, Brynn could tell the building had seen its heyday sometime in the late sixties or early seventies, though the wallpaper and carpeting had been upgraded in the eighties, as evidenced by the shades of mauve. The entire place smelled funky—smoke, stale air, and mustiness.

  Iain turned to her. “Ready?”

  She avoided eye contact. He acted so normal, as if she hadn’t just been on her knees a few moments ago or told him her deepest secret. Iain concentrated entirely on business. How he could compartmentalize like that baffled her.

  Since the electricity in the building had been turned off, the elevator was out of commission. Pete handed them each flashlights, and Iain led the way up the stairs. Brynn followed him, with Pete bringing up the rear. On the second floor, Iain carefully picked his way through the construction detritus. This entire floor had been gutted, the walls knocked down to studs and the floor stripped to concrete. Iain kicked a couple of five-gallon buckets out of his path and tossed a trowel into one corner.

  He walked a wide circle around the room, his light moving over the massive space. Brynn could tell he was assessing, calculating, forming ideas. “What do you see, Brynn?”

  “An ancient building in need of a massive cash infusion.”

  “True.” He stopped near the window and set down the flashlight before removing plywood from the frame. A small amount of light punctured the darkness. “Come here.” He crooked his index finger. As she stood even with him, he cupped her shoulders. The glass had been broken, and Brynn was careful not to stand close to the jagged shards still in place. “Now what do you see?”

  Across the street was another old—by Vegas standards anyway—medical building. Next to it was a string of small businesses, including an auto body shop. “You tell me,” she said.

  “That building is going to be a gallery. See up the street? That’s going to be a cinema. And over there, a row of boutiques. This place won’t look the same in five years. In ten, it will be an established neighborhood.”

  “How can you be so sure? Just because the city is pouring money into planting a few trees and making a bike path doesn’t mean it will be a success.”

  “Oh, it will be. I have no doubts on that score.”

  “You’re a visionary.”

  His brows lifted a fraction as he gazed down at her. “I’m practical. Doesn’t take a genius to see this is the next wave of development. Fremont is just the beginning.”

  “What if you can’t draw people to the downtown area? What if they want to party here, but not actually live so close to the bars?”

  “That’s a valid concern, Mr. Chapman.” Pete’s knees creaked as he bent down to pick up a petrified paintbrush.

  “Oi. You’re giving your opinion freely—why?”

  Iain cut people off, demanded respect, but offered little in return. How could she trust a man like this? Short answer: Brynn wasn’t sure she could.

  She placed her body between Iain and his foreman, letting her inner mediator take over. Having grown up with Allie and Monica, it was second nature. “I’m sure Pete is voicing his concern because he cares about you and your business.”

  “That and I want to get paid,” Pete said.

  Iain scoffed and thawed a bit. “We all want to get paid, mate. I understand your concerns, and for what it’s worth, Marc shares them. I’ll meet you downstairs in a few, yeah?”

  Pete tipped his head to Brynn, untucked his hand from the pocket of his baggy jeans, and left.

  “I think you’ve forgotten your motto already.” Brynn turned back to the window. “So why does Marc think this is a bad idea?”

  “Like Pete said, it’s going to be expensive. This is the first renovation of many. It’s definitely risky. If we can’t get outside funding, we’ll have most of our capital tied up for years to come, which will make it difficult to invest in other business opportunities.”

  “But you said you had investors lined up.”

  He rolled his lips inward. “I said I’m looking for investors. I don’t have them lined up. Yet.” He abruptly bent to grab his light, then strode to the middle of the room. “But look at this place. This area is ripe for the picking. We can put our stamp here.”

  “Marc is your brake pedal.”

  “Pardon?”

  Brynn kind of liked confusing him. It was a delightful change of pace, keeping him on his toes instead of the other way around. “He’s your devil’s advocate guy.”

  “Brake pedal. I quite like that. That’s exactly what he is.”

  “Marc thinks this building is a money pit, right?”

  Iain dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  “You see the future in it.”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Who’s right?”

  “I am. Or rather, I will be, eventually. We went over this yesterday. Marc is a clever bloke. I don’t always take his advice, but I value it.”

  “And yet you’re equal partners?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then why do you get the final say? Shouldn’t Marc’s opinion carry as much weight?”

  “He trusts me. He gives me the control, just like you did last night.”

  Brynn fought her brain’s need to rewind back to that highly erotic event. It was difficult, but she managed—barely. “Maybe Marc is your anti-Iain.”


  “Blimey fucking hell,” he mumbled. “What does that mean?”

  “He points out all the negatives and that gives you a place to put any doubts you might be feeling. He’s the yin to your yang.”

  “He’s just bloody good at his job and loyal to boot. Besides, he does the day-to-day bit with the office workers. If I had to be in charge of all that, it would do me head in. He and I each have our strengths.”

  “But do you value his opinion?”

  “Of course I do. I just don’t always agree with it.”

  Brynn smiled. “You don’t always agree with him, but you give him the courtesy of hearing him out. You value him because he’s an important member of your team.”

  “Oh God, here we go.”

  “I think your office could use a morale boost. Your employees need to get comfortable with you, Iain. They need to see that you care about them. Appoint employee liaisons. Representatives who come to you with their concerns.” When he opened his mouth to speak, Brynn walked toward him and placed a hand on his arm. “If you take an interest, it will give them pride and ownership over their work.”

  He stroked the back of her hand, curling his long fingers around her wrist. “I don’t care if they feel ownership, pet. I care if they do their jobs.”

  Brynn fought the urge to smack her forehead. This circular argument was going nowhere. She wrested her hand away. “I’m done trying to explain it. You need to at least pretend like you give a crap about other people’s feelings. I hate to be blunt, but your office morale sucks.”

  “Will this idea of yours fix it?”

  “It’s a start. You need office lunches, the occasional party, maybe a dinner where their families can come and you foot the bill.”

  “Sounds like being trapped in hell. Anything else?”

  Brynn reached up and patted his shoulder. His hard, firm shoulder. “Nope. I think I may have broken you already.”

  The look he gave her was one of such supreme arrogance, she immediately became intimidated. “Oh, you haven’t broken me, love. I’m harder than these steel girders, I am. Nothing shakes me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Now tell me what you plan to do with this place.”

  Iain replaced the plywood and led her back down the stairs. Then for the next hour, he laid out his plans, showing her various configurations, blueprints, and artists’ renderings. Pete gave his opinion on costs and the time frame.

  As Iain laid out his ideas for the apartments—salvaged, stripped wood; industrial kitchens; an open-floor concept—his enthusiasm was infectious. Iain Chapman had a gift.

  “What do you think, Brynnie?”

  “I think you’re either brilliant or a dreamer.”

  He negligently shrugged one shoulder. “I like to think I’m a little of both.”

  Now that surprised her. To Brynn, there was nothing but an earthy, gritty realism to this man.

  Brynn turned to Pete. “Can you give us a second?”

  Pete glanced at Iain, who nodded. “You can go for today. Write me up a cost projection. I’m meeting with the architect in a few weeks. I’ll have Amelia call you.”

  “Great.” Pete nodded to Brynn. “Good to meet you.” When he left, the metal door banged closed behind him.

  “Couldn’t wait to get me alone, eh?”

  “Kind of. But only to talk about work.”

  He puffed his cheeks and blew out a gusty sigh. “I’ll relent on your liaison idea. What more do you bloody want?”

  Brynn nearly felt sorry for him. “If I recall, this method was your idea. You could take the course online. It would only take two or three days. You wanted to do this your way. So we’re doing it your way.”

  “What now?”

  “Tomorrow, let’s start thinking about how your team sees you.”

  “Team, huh? Call them what they are, Brynn—workers, employees. I’ve had quite enough of this PC language bullshit for one day.”

  Brynn pulled in a long, steady breath. Iain was starting to frustrate the hell out of her. “What do you want to get out of this process?”

  He twisted his mouth to one side and studied her. His eyes moved over her, landing on her breasts and lingering there. “You know what I want. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear, but obviously, it needs repeating. I. Want. You.”

  Hearing the words heated Brynn’s blood and stirred her ire at the same time. Was it exciting that he wanted her? Yeah, that part was pretty hot, but he was wasting her time and she resented the hell out of it. Brynn was weary of wrangling with him. The man was tireless in his resistance. And she’d finally had enough. “If you want me, then act like a normal person and ask me out on a date. Woo me. Win me. But stop arguing over every suggestion I make, because it’s starting to piss me off.”

  A grin spread over Iain’s face. “I do like to get the best of your temper, love.”

  Without another word, Brynn spun on her heel and stormed toward the door. Back at the office, she had real clients with real problems. She needed to figure out what to do about Cass and the sinking ship that was the Delaney Training Center. Brynn needed a little time away from Iain, too. When he was around, she couldn’t think about anything other than him, gauging his response, watching his expressions, listening for changes in his accent.

  It was time for Brynn to get back to her life. She wasn’t a twitterpated fourteen-year-old girl.

  Outside, Brynn waited for Iain to emerge. She didn’t say anything on the drive back to his office. He ignored her as well, spending his time talking business on the phone and texting.

  When the car slowed at the front of Iain’s building, Brynn wanted to turn on her heel and leave him standing there, but his words about running away taunted her. Instead, she stood next to him on the sidewalk, waiting until he hung up from his latest call.

  “I’m headed back to my office, Iain. Think about what I said, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He dipped his head for a swift kiss, but she ducked out of reach. If he kissed her again, all bets were off. He’d have her upstairs and naked on the conference room table. Her resistance to him was less than zero. She walked backward, keeping him in her line of sight.

  He simply stood there, looking very annoyed.

  “Remember your new motto. Don’t be a dickhead.”

  Chapter 11

  Iain stood near the entrance of the building and watched Brynn disappear. Somewhere along the line, he’d fucked up, because she’d barely looked at him on the ride back to the office.

  Sure, Iain may have quibbled about her ideas, parties and the like. Hardly the worst sin he’d ever committed. He didn’t give a toss about employees’ opinions either. If they had any good suggestions, they’d be running their own show and not working for him.

  Still, if Iain’s plan was to impress Brynn, he’d missed it by a mile. And maybe she had a point. Perhaps he could be more pleasant. Wouldn’t kill him, would it?

  When Iain replayed his time with Brynn, he could admit the truth. He’d acted like a bit of a knobhead. And he may have gone about things the wrong way. Woo her, she’d said. Win her. In order to do that, Iain was going to have to be…sociable. You can do it for business, so why not for Brynn? You learned to play golf, you wanker. Bloody hell. Iain needed to stop whinging and simply comply with her wishes. Wasn’t difficult, was it? He was just being hardheaded. It would all be worth it if he could have Brynn.

  She wasn’t his usual type of woman. Actually, she was so much better—sensitive, kind, sweet, gentle. He’d had her naked twice now, and he wanted more. She was lovely inside and out.

  He’d been chuffed when she’d finally been honest and admitted to her sexual kinks. She liked it when Iain took control. When he’d told her to suck him off, he could clearly see how excited she’d become. Her lids had grown heavy, her mouth had parted, her breath had quickened. Brynn, his beautiful, delicate Brynn, had gotten on her knees and taken him in her mouth. She didn’t do that type of thing lightly. Yet she’d swallowe
d him. Every drop. It was the most delicious, erotic memory he had. And last night, he’d given her an orgasm. Those other two blokes hadn’t been able to do that. Filled him with bloody pride, that did. He wanted to do it again.

  But right now, Iain needed to head up to his office and—oh God—make small talk. Try and form a connection with these people, somehow. He should probably start with the accounting department, as they seemed the most timid of the bunch.

  He took the elevator up to the office, but instead of heading straight to his suite, Iain cut a left. At his presence, every bean counter turned to stare, then dropped their eyes. Brynn did that too, sometimes. Was he really that much of a blighter that people couldn’t look him in the bloody face?

  Tom, head of the department, stood and approached him. “Something I can do for you, Mr. Chapman?”

  “No, just wanted to see how everyone was doing. Think I’ll make the rounds.” Iain walked to the nearest employee, a slight man who sweated profusely.

  Iain thrust his hands in his pockets, fumbled with the dice, and searched for something to say. Anything. When his mind came up blank, Iain decided to do it the English way and talk about the weather. “Getting hot outside, innit?”

  The man swallowed audibly and stared at his computer screen. “Yes. Very hot, sir.”

  “Tell me what you’re doing.”

  “Invoices to all of our…your…building tenants.”

  Iain and Marc had started with strip malls and moved up to office buildings. Doctors sometimes paid late, lawyers were dead on time, but dentists were the worst. “Everybody up-to-date?”

  “A few are delinquent. But they always pay the late fee.”

  What was he supposed to say now? Bloody hell. “Well done.”

  The man gazed up at Iain with a surprised expression. “Thank you, sir.”

  Iain moved to the next cubicle. He couldn’t use the weather gambit with everyone. Small talk was a waste of time, so Iain just got right to it, asking each person what they were doing, if they thought the current system was efficient. One woman, Brittney, if he remembered correctly, thought their software should be updated. A man called Ronnie had a newborn and showed him pictures.