His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit)

by Terri Austin

  He blinked and his eyes went back to their normal shade. Iain took a long swallow of wine before responding. “I say we get it over with. Awkward handshakes, boring small talk, and all the rest that goes with meeting a girl’s family for the first time.”

  “Okay.”

  They finished off the pizza, and when Brynn gave Iain a couple of cookies, he bit into one and nearly swooned. “Bloody hell, woman, these are delicious. You could start your own bakery.”

  “Iain, it’s the recipe from the back of the chocolate chip package.”

  “Don’t care. You’re brilliant.” He reached toward her and swept his thumb across her bottom lip, then stuck it in his mouth. “Had a bit of chocolate.”

  His eyes held hers for a long moment. Then the doorbell buzzed.

  Damn. “It’s probably Tasha.”

  Iain stood and grabbed his jacket.

  “You don’t have to go,” Brynn said.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. Besides, after spending the afternoon at Tyler’s football game, I still have work to do.”

  Brynn stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “You actually went to his game?”

  “I don’t know why you keep looking at me like I’ve grown two heads. Let the Russian in so she can give that doorbell a rest, yeah?”

  Brynn shook her head and opened the door. With a dog under each arm, Tasha pushed past Brynn. “He goes too far this time. I am done.” Her feet slowed upon seeing Iain. “You are back. How thrilling.”

  “Good to see you too.” He rubbed one of the dog’s heads before kissing Brynn good-bye. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for dinner.” Brynn watched as Iain strode away while fixing the collar of his jacket. Before he got into the car, he glanced back, gave her a smile, and waved.

  “You like the Englishman,” Tasha said.

  Brynn lifted her brow at Moose attempting to hump her throw pillow. “Natasha, dogs. Sofa. Now.”

  With a heavy sigh, the other woman placed them at her feet. “He is rubbing off on you, the Englishman.”

  Was that such a bad thing? Brynn had become fearless when it came to sex. Maybe that attitude was spilling over into the rest of her life. “I think he is.”

  “It is time. You good person, Brynn. The Englishman is good for you.”

  Brynn shut the door. “Hungry?”

  “Starving. Since Zeke will not let my family visit, I am on strike. I do not wash his clothes. I do not cook. I have not been to grocery store for a week. And forget about the sex.”

  “And what’s his response to this?”

  “He withhold allowance. Like I am child. I am so tired, Brynn. I want to go home.” Then brave, matter-of-fact, brash Tasha burst into tears.

  Chapter 16

  Iain spent Saturday night and all of Sunday naked. Partly to shock Brynn—he loved getting a rise out of her, then slowly overcoming her objections, one stroke at a time—but mostly because he couldn’t get enough of her. Clothes only hampered the process. They made love in his sitting room with Brynn leaning over the couch—what a glorious sight that had been. The bright sun shone through the windows, casting a beam of light across her sweet little bum, pink from a recent spanking. They’d christened the dining room table, where Iain had propped her in the middle of the tabletop, then devoured her, lick by lick, until her body trembled, desperate for release. They fucked twice on the white shag rug. Seeing Brynn spread eagle, her skin golden against the ivory carpet, hair fanned out behind her—bloody beautiful.

  They’d finally worked their way back around to the bed, where they spent most of Sunday afternoon. As they lay facing each other, she asked about the dice he always carried. Instead of brushing off her question, Iain answered honestly.

  “My dad was a right bastard and Marc’s dad did a runner before he was born. But we had a friend called Davy. He was a good lad. Funny. Clever. Marc and I stayed at his house as often as we could. His parents knew what our home lives were like. They practically adopted us. The three of us were closer than brothers.”

  Iain had never opened himself up like this before, not like he did with Brynn. While it felt strange and a bit terrifying, he rather liked it. Which sounded like a load of rubbish, but it was the truth. He wanted her to know about him. Not everything, naturally, but the important bits.

  “Davy had two dreams—going to university and coming to Vegas. He had a pair of dice and a poker chip he’d found in the arcade. Said once he graduated, we’d all come to Vegas, get pissed, and win a fortune. We were all so poor, none of us had even been to London. Vegas was an impossible idea.” He stroked her arm as he talked. It was so soft, like satin.

  “I wound up quitting school early. Marc never took his GCSEs, but Davy, he was the bright one. Got into the University of Manchester. We wound him up a bit, like mates do, but we were proud of him. Then one night, as he was walking home from the liquor store, he got hit by a car. My best mate died by the side of the road. It’s a good thing they never found the person who did it or I’d probably still be in the nick for killing ’em. Davy was one of the good ones. He didn’t deserve to die like a dog in the street.”

  Brynn stroked his face. He found her touch tender, reassuring. “I’m so sorry.”

  Iain took a deep breath. “That’s the way it goes, innit?” He turned his lips into her palm. “Anyway, Marc and I knew there was nothing for us back home. So we decided to honor his memory and come to Vegas. We started our first business and it stuck.”

  “Does Marc have the poker chip?”

  Iain played with her fingers, kissing each one in turn. “Yeah.”

  “Poor Davy. His parents must have been devastated.”

  “Still are. Tried to get them to move here, but they wouldn’t have it. They live in Majorca now. They’re happy there.”

  Brynn took her hand back and sat up. The way she stared at him, with such compassion in her eyes, nearly did him in. “You and Marc take care of them, don’t you? Financially, I mean.”

  For some reason, being caught in a good deed embarrassed him. He couldn’t look at her, not without feeling terribly uncomfortable, so Iain rolled out of bed. “We’d better get ready for dinner. I’m going to have to put on clothes whether I like it or not.”

  “Iain.” Her hair hung in a wild tangle about her shoulders. Rising to her knees, she was completely naked and didn’t try to cover herself from his gaze. Her navy eyes were big, bright, and full of some emotion he couldn’t name. “You’re a good man.”

  Only Brynn would think so. He wished it were true, that he was upright and decent, but she saw things in him that weren’t really there. Iain should dissuade her, tell her he was nothing but an opportunist, but he basked in her good opinion. Made him want to live up to her ideal. He rather liked seeing himself through Brynn’s eyes—even if it was a lie.

  * * *

  Though Iain had been to Trevor’s house on the night of the garden party, where he first saw his lovely Brynn, he hadn’t been inside the house itself. Guests had been rerouted to the garden. Made sense. Iain wouldn’t want hundreds of people tramping through his home either. But as he followed Brynn through the mansion, every room he passed reminded him of a bloody museum. Walls were lined with swords and daggers and framed bits of ancient tapestry. Clear glass cases held antiques of all sorts.

  The night of the gala, the garden had been dark, illuminated by strings of lights. But now he stood on the terrace in the waning light. As he glanced around at the bright flowers, Iain was struck speechless. Perhaps a first for him. The garden rivaled the queen’s. Lavish, it was. In the middle of a bloody desert. Now this was fuck-off money.

  The sun quickly faded behind the mountains while the garden lights twinkled to life. Brynn stood next to him, holding herself as stiff as a rod, full of visible tension. He placed his hand on her back, hoping his touch lent her a sense of calm, but she didn’t relax. Instead, she remained like a soldier standing at attention.

  For the first time in a very
long time, Iain was out to make a good impression. Not only did he want Trevor’s approval—and his money—but he also didn’t want to shame Brynn with his usual brusque behavior.

  Iain was odd man out tonight, here to be inspected, and though he may have worn the best suits and looked rather swish, he wasn’t in the same class as Trevor and Cal. Had to mind his manners for once. He wouldn’t ask for money outright or talk about his plans for the downtown properties—at least not overtly. That would be bad form with this set. No, tonight was about sowing the seeds, downplaying his accomplishments, and most importantly, convincing them he wasn’t a tosser who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Brynn. That last bit was absolutely true, but her family didn’t need to know it.

  He shook hands with Trevor and Cal in the British way—by not using a firm grip.

  Trevor seemed a cold fish. His icy, gray eyes dissected Iain. Didn’t miss a trick, that one. Allie was lovely, with long, silver-blond hair, though she bore little resemblance to Brynn.

  “So glad to meet you, Iain,” she said. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you for having me.” He handed her a bottle of wine. Not too expensive—he didn’t want to appear to be trying too hard—but not plonk, so they wouldn’t think him cheap.

  “That’s so nice of you.” Allie glanced pointedly at her husband.

  But Trevor wasn’t impressed. He raised a brow and lifted his snooty nose in the air. “Lovely. Would you care for a drink—Iain, is it?” Wanker knew his name. He’d probably done a background check on Iain that was every bit as detailed as the one Iain had commissioned on him.

  “Whiskey, if you have it.”

  “Of course.” Trevor moved away to the drinks cart and poured him a couple fingers’ worth.

  Iain took the glass. “Cheers.”

  No shrinking violet, Brynn’s sister, Monica, wore a skintight scarlet dress. Her hair hit the middle of her back, a mass of untamed curls. Her hard-as-nails glare said she suspected he might make off with the silver…or her sister. Charming. “Iain, tell us about yourself.”

  “I’m from Manchester. Came to Vegas over a decade ago. I very much like it here.”

  Monica’s husband, Calum Hughes, looked on with a bored air. He was a bit of a puzzle. He had a pedigree but restored old cars. A toff with working-class sensibilities, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. His brown mop of hair was untidy. He wore faded jeans with a tailored suit jacket and spoke with a plummy accent.

  “Like cars, do you?” he asked and took a sip of his drink.

  “Not really, no,” Iain answered.

  Both Cal and Trevor managed to look affronted.

  “Sorry?” Cal asked, shaking his head, confused by Iain’s answer.

  “Not everyone’s a gearhead.” Monica patted her husband’s shoulder, as if to soften the blow.

  Trevor handed Brynn a pink cocktail. She took it with trembling fingers. Poor girl was a nervous wreck. Iain didn’t understand why, unless she was embarrassed to have him here. After all, she’d tried to talk him out of this dinner more than once, but Iain wasn’t having it. This was his chance to make contact with Trevor. He wasn’t about to pass that up.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. All the progress she’d made over the last weekend—opening herself up to him, allowing herself to be honest and vulnerable, bit by bit—had vanished in the last five minutes. Brynn was back to the shy wallflower who refused to ask for what she wanted. And if Iain knew anything, he knew Brynnie wanted to get the hell out of here—the faster the better.

  He stroked his hand along her back and turned to Trevor. “Your garden is lovely. Do you tend the flowers yourself?”

  “No,” Trevor said. He didn’t elaborate and he barely glanced in Iain’s direction. This was going to be a bloody long night.

  “Maybe Brynn could show you around.” Allie to the rescue. “The roses are blooming like crazy.”

  Iain almost fell to his knees in gratitude.

  “That’s a good idea.” Brynn took Iain’s hand and all but dragged him down the terrace steps and along the lighted pathway, deep into the fragrant blooms.

  “What in God’s name is wrong with you?” he whispered. “You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you? You don’t think I’m good enough to meet your family. I know I’m a Manc, a social pariah. If you want me to leave, have the courage to say so.” Iain had never felt like this before—inferior. He found he didn’t like it.

  In the past several years, Iain had surrounded himself with wealthy, influential people, some of Vegas’s elite, and he’d never batted an eye. Tonight, doubt nipped at his heels. Seeing Brynn crawl back into her shell, knowing that he wasn’t good enough for her—it made him rethink his plan for the hundredth time today.

  “Of course I’m not ashamed of you,” she whispered, placing her free hand on his arm. “It’s just that my sisters drive me crazy. They’re going to start asking you a bunch of personal questions and it’s going to get awkward. Besides, you’re not exactly acting like yourself and that’s making me even more nervous.”

  “Wha’? I’m acting like meself.”

  “No you’re not. Normally you’re rude and cocky and arrogant. Tonight you’ve been downright polite.”

  Now Iain was utterly confused. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “I’m not making any sense.”

  “No, you’re not. But I can swagger back and tell them all to fuck off. Would that make you happy?”

  Brynn actually laughed, and some of her stiffness fell away. “No. Maybe. I’d love to see Trevor’s face if you said that. He’d probably tell you to go fuck yourself twice as hard.”

  He palmed her jaw, stroking her cheek. “I’ll avoid answering questions about the two of us. If they start getting personal, I’ll handle it. But you need to stop acting like you’re about to make a run for it, eh?”

  Brynn grabbed his tie and pulled him toward her. “Deal.” She stood on her toes and kissed him hard, then stepped away. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Iain watched her walk toward the house. The gentle sway of her hips in the long black-and-white patterned skirt had his heart beating double time. But he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way of his goal. Somehow, Iain had to make himself likable, so that Trevor wouldn’t hate his guts. Had his work cut out for him, he did.

  Dinner was a long affair, peppered with questions and served with duck.

  Monica: “What do you do for a living? Do you have any sisters of your own? No? Then you don’t know how protective they can be, do you?”

  Allie: “What exactly are your intentions regarding Brynn? My husband calls me the ballbuster—did Brynn happen to mention that? She’s a very gentle soul, you realize that, right?”

  Cal: “What do you mean you don’t drive? Have you ever been behind the wheel of an Aston Martin, mate? It’ll change your life.”

  Iain successfully evaded personal questions, smiled politely, and watched as Brynn, who sat across from him, quietly got pissed. She barely spoke and hardly touched her food, but she managed to down the Sauvignon Blanc like it was bottled water. He was the only one who seemed to notice. Her sisters were too busy being intrusive.

  Trevor watched him closely and added little to the discussion. After pudding was served, he stood up from the table. “Come along, gentlemen, let’s sit out on the terrace and have a cigar. Chapman, you can fill us in on your business interests.”

  Like a bloody gift from above. Now was his chance. Iain could casually drop a hint about downtown and the lack of living space, suss out Trevor about his thoughts on the city’s proposal to beautify the area. Maybe Trevor would like to stop by and see his latest building.

  But after taking one glance at Brynn with her drooping eyelids, all of his plans withered. He couldn’t leave her like this. His poor girl was well and truly sozzled.

  Iain stood, as well. “Perhaps another time. Brynn’s had one glass too many.”

  She waved him off. “I’m fine. Sober as a judge.”

/>   Iain felt the chance of a lifetime slip through his fingers. Nevertheless, he didn’t have a choice, not really. Brynn was more important. He moved to the other side of the table, wrapped his arm around her waist, and helped her stand.

  “How much did you have?” Allie asked.

  “Don’t remember,” Brynn said, blinking up at Iain.

  “She had four glasses and little food,” Iain said, lifting her to her feet.

  “She’s always been a lightweight,” Monica said. Not a terribly helpful observation.

  Allie stood to one side, her brow furrowed. “She should spend the night here.”

  Iain lifted her in his arms. “She has work in the morning. I’ll take her home, tuck her in.”

  “Will you now?” Trevor asked.

  “Keep your shirt on, mate. Her neighbor’s been staying in the guest room. I’ll leave her in good hands, yeah?”

  Brynn looked up at him, a sloppy smile on her face. “You weren’t a dickhead tonight.”

  “I tried my best, pet.”

  Allie led the way to the foyer. Outside, Iain’s driver waited, and when he saw them emerge, he immediately flew out of the car and opened the back door.

  Iain climbed in with Brynn on his lap. As he settled in the seat, she flopped against him like a rag doll.

  Allie and Monica leaned their heads inside the car.

  “Take care of her,” Allie said.

  “Call me tomorrow, Sis. Damn.” Monica withdrew. “We should have gotten pics. I’ve never seen her this drunk before.”

  The driver closed the door and Iain stroked Brynn’s hair. “It’s all right, love. We’ll get you home.”

  “I don’t usually get hammered.”

  “No, you don’t say.”

  “It’s true. I love my sisters, but they’re annoying, you know?” She slurred her words together until it sounded like one jumbled sentence. “I couldn’t run off and leave you because they’d eat you alive. You were really nice tonight.” She reached up and tapped his cheek. “Good job.” Then she snuggled against his shoulder and fell asleep.

  Once they arrived at her house, Iain couldn’t rouse her. If he wasn’t mistaken, she may have drooled on his pocket square. Picking her up, he trotted up to the front porch and kicked on the door until Tasha opened it.