Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Aye,” she says. “Though it is delightful up here.”
“We’ll come back again.”
“Promise?”
There’s a childlike candor to her question as her eyes meet mine that makes me want to give her anything in the world.
Warning, my gut warns.
I can’t fall for the woman. I’ve brought her here for a reason, and my purpose here is vividly clear. If I let myself get all soft and sympathetic, if I let even the slightest inkling of real feeling in, I’ll fuck everything up.
And I will not do that.
When I give my word, I mean it.
And I gave my word I’d defend the honor of my Clan, that I’d seek vengeance for the wrongs committed against us.
I have to move us away from the magical rooftop, before I do something ridiculous like propose.
“Let’s go downstairs. Have a wee midnight snack, hmm?”
I reach for the back of my shirt and yank it off to clean us up.
“Oh, my,” she says, her eyebrows shooting upward. “Can’t believe I just fucked you and didn’t know… you looked like that. Someone’s been bench-pressing, hmmm?”
I grin at her. “Oh, this?” I look down at my chest with mock modesty. “Eh, bloody nothing. Was born with it.”
“You fucking weren’t!”
I grin at her. “I live in the mountains, lassie. I chop wood for sport. We all do.”
She slides her fingers over my naked chest, still sweat-slicked from making love.
“Oh?” she says. “I’ve landed myself a mountain man, have I?”
“Aye, lassie, you have.” I tug a strand of hair. “Is that a fantasy of yours or something?”
“Um, yes? Of course. It’s every woman’s fantasy.” Her voice grows a little husky. “Would you wear a plaid kilt for me?”
“Aye.”
She sighs and bats her eyelashes at me.
Adorable.
I glide her off me and clean us up, then grab our things and lead her to the door.
I know what’s going to happen next, or within the hour. I know because I’ve orchestrated this and set the ball in motion. I know because it’s part of my whole fucking plan.
If I enjoy being with her… actually, truly enjoy Bryn’s presence… how can I go through with what I have to do?
We head to the door, and I open it for her.
“Ladies first.”
Before she goes through, she gives me a smile and that quirky little look that I’ve come to love. “For a kinky bastard, you can be quite the gentleman, you know.”
She walks through the door, and I give her pert arse a good smack.
“Ooh!” She covers her bottom adorably and turns around to look at me.
“Go on, now. That bit about being a gentleman. Care to repeat it?”
She shakes her head and heads downstairs.
“My mum raised us to be gentlemen,” I tell her, and it’s the God’s honest truth. “She’d have hit us upside the head if we’d done anything short of treating women with respect.”
I won’t think about what I still have to do, I won’t.
“I like that,” she says. “I think sometimes boys have more respect for their mums, and it’s nice if their mum’s in a position of being able to positively influence them.”
“Agreed.”
“Was your dad? A good influence?”
I think before I answer the question.
“In some ways, I suspect yeah. He taught me a few things as well.”
How to command respect. How to defend one’s honor. How to shoot to kill.
We’re on the second floor, with the bedrooms and toilets, but I want her on the first floor.
William’s outdone himself. This place is fucking impressive.
There’s a huge drawing room on the first floor, the kitchen, and an open dining area with the fireplace. I've got an excellent chalet of my own near our lodge in the mountains, but hell if I don’t mind this being a second landing place for me.
“Seriously, this is so gorgeous, Mac, I love every inch of this place.” She holds her arms wide open and spins around, taking in every detail like she’s trying to physically touch the majestic splendor of this flat. I love how enthusiastic she is, how eager to do everything from eating a chocolate-dipped treat to kissing me, to sipping a glass of wine, or talking about the best choices in music.
“Thank you,” I tell her, even though I had almost nothing at all to do with any of this. “I’m partial to it myself.”
“Are you partial to chocolate pudding?” she asks, spinning around to me. “Or is the chocolate torte more your speed?”
“The chocolate cake, darlin’. That’s the type of dessert I’m after.” She shivers, and I grin at her. So fucking beautiful.
“Now sit.” I point to the large sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the desserts and flatware and join you.”
“May I have a drink?” she asks, and though I know she’s not asking permission so much as she’s trying to be polite, I decide I’ll take it that way. I can’t help myself.