His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit)(6)

By: Terri Austin


She shook her head. “No problem.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Iain, your trainer’s a woman.”

He hadn’t told Amelia about his plans for Brynn Campbell. His assistant would disapprove, and then she’d nag. No, it was better that he and Marc keep this scheme to themselves. “So?”

“She’s very pretty, and she seems so nice. Just for once…don’t be yourself.”

He reared his head back at her words. “What the bloody hell is wrong with everyone today?” Attacking his leadership skills, questioning his ability to be civil. Iain could do civil…when he put his mind to it. “I’ll be myself, thank you. If you don’t like it, sod off, Ames.”

She wagged her finger. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Do the opposite of that.” When she disappeared through the door, he faced the window and looked out at his seven-million-dollar view. Seven-point-two-five, if one wanted to be technical. And when it came to money, Iain was always technical.

The morning sun slanted through the tinted window. If he stood at the right angle, he could catch a glimpse of jagged, brown mountains in the distance. The palm trees lining the street below swayed in the breeze, reminding him that he was in the middle of a desert. He never grew tired of seeing this. Nothing in Vegas was real—it was all a facade. The buildings, the people—all transitory. And Iain loved every bloody bit of it.

He heard the door open and, after a long pause, close. Her footsteps were hesitant and light across the gold onyx floor.

“Hello.” Her voice was soft, feminine—young. The sound of it made his heart pound. She couldn’t run from him today, couldn’t hide in the shadows. He had her right where he wanted her.

Iain slowly turned, a smile fixed on his face. But as he once again locked eyes on Brynn, desire slammed into his gut like a sucker punch. The pictures in Iain’s drawer, the ones he’d printed from the extensive background check, didn’t do her justice. Ames had called her pretty, which was also inadequate. From his memory, he knew she was beautiful, but with the morning sun shining on her at an angle, she was the most bloody gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

Iain thought he knew everything about Brynn Hope Campbell, from her shopping habits to her tax returns. He knew what hobbies she favored and the classes she’d taken in college. But nothing had prepared him for meeting her in the flesh.

His gaze moved over her, taking in her slight frame. Then his eyes swept over her again. And a third time. With every pass, he noticed something different. The color of her hair wasn’t merely brown—it was tobacco brown with burnished-gold highlights. Her eyes weren’t ordinary blue—they were navy. She wore leather flip-flops. Her toenails were varnished the same shade as her turquoise necklace. She carried a black binder in one hand, like a schoolgirl.

Lightly tanned, her skin glowed along high, smooth cheekbones. Her features were dainty, fragile—a lovely setting for those big, dark eyes. Her chin drew to a sharp point below a mouth that was too wide for such a delicate face. Innocent. The word floated through Iain’s mind, but he immediately banished it. No one was innocent—not in this town.

Brynn was on the petite side, but her legs appeared long and slender. The white, loose blouse flowed over her torso, skimming her small tits. The V-shaped collar left her neck and throat bare. Iain’s gaze fell to the wedge of visible golden skin. That sliver of flesh had his cock twitching. He wanted to see more. No, that wasn’t true. Iain was a greedy bastard—he wanted to see everything.

She’d pulled her wavy hair into a low ponytail, but a lone curl refused to be confined and brushed against her squared jaw. She appeared almost fey—a wisp of a woman who might blow away with the gentlest breeze.

He moved toward her and buttoned his jacket, keeping his gaze trained on her. “I’m Iain Chapman.” He saw no recognition in her eyes. To be fair, the lighting had been dim that night in the garden, and as soon as he’d been within five meters of her, she’d scampered off. Still, he recalled everything about her—her flowing ivory dress edged with frilly lace, the crystal necklace, the tiny flowers placed randomly throughout her curls. She didn’t remember him. So he hadn’t made the same impression on her that she had made on him. He shouldn’t take it personally. And yet…

“You’re British.” She made it sound like an accusation.

“Observant, aren’t you?”

She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Taking a breath, she tried again. “I try to be. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chapman. My name’s Brynn Campbell.” She stared at his silver tie like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. She was timid, and he found that charming. For the first time, a hint of doubt robbed him of his certainty. Was this the right course of action? A simple introduction to Trevor Blake, that’s all he was after. But now that he’d seen Brynn face-to-face again, Iain found himself wanting more. That’s all you want, is it, a meeting with Trevor? Then why have you stared at her picture every day for months? Yeah, all right then. A meeting with Trevor was his priority, but getting close to Brynn was a definite plus.

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