Chapter 5
Chapter Five
C allum
She stands in the center of the room, staring at me, clutching a bowl, her face a tumultuous mix of equal parts intrigue and fear. She’s got a homemade-looking quilted bag over her shoulder.
That pretty blush rises in her cheeks. The one that comes each time she looks at me. The one that swirls heat and need below the waist.
“Why don’t you put the bowl down, love? And we can discuss your father’s debts.”
“No, thank you. If ye don’t mind, I’ll keep it with me.”
“I mind.”
Her pretty lips part to argue, but one look at my face makes her think better of it. She hurries to the table, lovingly placing the bowl down, then skitters back to the room's entryway.
As far from me as possible.
“Where should I begin? Would you like this room dusted?” She eyes the place. “Though, from the looks of things, it’s been recently polished.”
“Didn’t Freya tell you? Yer not to work.”
“Aye, she mentioned something like that, but…”
“Did ye not believe her?”
She bites her lip.
I say, “Everything will be provided for you, including cleaning. And ye can shop as much as ye want. I’ve got a black Amex card with your name on it. Do yer best to wear it out.”
Her face assumes a blank expression, the idea of budget-free shopping foreign to her since she usually wears the Allen girls from down the road’s hand-me-downs, always a size too large and never in her favored color of pink.
As the only daughter, she always worked, staying in and caring for the home. While her friends partied, she studied at the local university, where she then interned summers, tracking the population of cod on our wee island.
“I don’t understand.” As if in a daze, she slowly shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“What I said. Our staff will see to your every need. Make this place your home. Freya will take you shopping. God knows she goes enough on her own; she’ll love the company,” I say. “We want you to be comfortable. ”
“Why am I here?”
“We can discuss that later.”
“I’d prefer to talk about it now.” Trembling with fear, she shifts her gaze to meet mine, forcing herself to speak. “I’ve just been surrounded by strange men, forced to pack up all my belongings, and driven to your house, all the while thinking the Hoax had abducted me for people-trafficking. When I arrived, only knowing this was your and Freya’s home from pictures I’d seen on a friend’s phone, I came to the conclusion I was here because of my father’s gambling debts. Money he’d come to you to borrow.”
My jaw clenches at her words.
“But now you tell me I’m not to work. So, again, I ask. Why am I here?”
My eyes travel from the top of her head, over the curves of her breasts, to her bare legs where they stick out from the hem of her dress as I think of delicious naughty reasons she’s here. She stills under my hungry gaze, then looks away, that lovely flush deepening over her pale cheeks.
Finally, I say, “You’ll pay me back by planning a wedding.”
“Me? Isn’t that something Freya would be better at?” She eyes the room from the carpet to the drapes. “Did she decorate this place? It’s beautiful.”
“Aye, she did. But I need your touch.”
“Mine?” She shakes her head. “I helped Kitt with her reception, but that was just a simple island do at the Baynes-Burnes house. You were there, you remember. Some flowers from Marta’s florist. A cake from down the bakery. Nothing fancy like here in the city. I wouldn’t even know where to start.” She pauses, thinking. “I could help in the kitchen. I like to bake.”
“I have a chef,” I say.
She heaves a sigh. “My father owes you money, so I’m willing to try to plan this wedding. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want.”
She cups her chin in her hand, pensive. After thinking for a moment, she says, “Right. I’ll need the date. And the first thing I imagine we’ll need to secure is a venue for the ceremony and one for the reception. Will there be a church wedding?”
I glance over her cardigan sweater and Mary Jane shoes.
“Aye. A traditional ceremony, then a fantastic reception. One that has people talking about it for the ages. The groom likes to throw a massive party.”
“So island people will be invited.”
“Aye,” I say.
“If you don’t mind, I’m just going to take some notes.” She flips open the flap of the bag she carries over her shoulder, pulling out a pale pink notebook decorated with flowers and kittens. There’s a matching pink pen clipped to the front.
“Are you always this prepared?” I ask.
“Yes. ‘Fraid so. Annoying, I know.” She flips the spiral notebook’s hardcover around so a clean sheet of lined paper is ready for her. “Shall we start with the name of the groom? It’s you, I’m assuming?”
“Aye. ”
She visibly relaxes at my response. Thinking she’s safe. That I’ve no personal interest in her.
How very wrong she is.
“And the bride?” She eyes me, the top of her pen slipping between her glossy pink lips.
I don’t answer.
Her brow furrows. “Must be a city lass ‘cause I’ve not heard the Golden Girls gossiping about you dating anyone at home.”
“Golden Girls?” I ask.
“You know, the older women at the church?” she says. “I’m in their choir and the only one under sixty years old but they are good to me, they are.”
“Ah, Freya called them the pecking hens. That bunch told on her more than once, reporting back to my mother when they caught her with a smoke.” I hold back the urge to cross the room and tug at the end of a lock of her red hair. “But I’m guessing that lot never did have to tell on you, Fiona. You were a good girl, weren’t you?”
Ignoring me, she taps the pen against the paper. “Name?”
“Let’s leave that blank for now.”
She gives me a funny look but doesn’t question me. “Alright.” She brightens as she starts jotting down more questions for me. “I’ve never been a wedding planner before. This is exciting. But of course…if you have gaps in staff or need extra help cleaning or cooking, I know my place. I’m happy to help with anything as long as the money goes toward paying off my father’s de bts.”
“There will be no need for that.” My tone is firm. “Like I said, ye won’t be lifting a finger.”
“I appreciate that, though I don’t see why yer not making more use of me. Surely, I could clean in the morning and plan in the afternoon and evening…”
“The kind of wedding I’m demanding will take all of your time. It must be the best wedding the islanders have ever attended. And I want them all to drink their fill. Let them stay over. Book every hotel room in the city that you can.” I let her in on our arrangement with the nearest hotel, a beautiful castle-like building on the High Street. “The Sherwood keeps an entire floor open for us, for our frequent visitors from the island.”
Speaking about the wedding dulls her apprehension. She no longer looks at me as something that may bite. Lowering her guard, she relaxes further.
“How fun! A proper do-up. People will have something to look forward to.” She scribbles something down. Keeping her gaze on the paper, she asks, “And when it’s all over, I go home?”
“We can talk about that later.”
She stares down at the page of her notes for a moment. She closes it slowly, slipping it back into her bag. Finally, her eyes meet mine.
“Mr. Burnes. I’m more than happy to help, to work hard for you, but I’d like to know the details of our arrangement. How much do I owe you? How long will I work for you? And…” she says, “when will I get to go home?”
This is her home. A sinister smile spreads across my face like a snake slithering out of hiding. My tongue slips over my bottom lip.
I move toward her a step. She steps back. “The bride is someone I've had my eye on for a long time.”
"Who?" she asks.
I don’t answer. Instead, I stride across the floor, closing in on her. After all this time, I finally have her in my home, under my control, and within reach.
“W—who?” she asks again, her voice wavering.
Her cheeks lose their color, leaving her skin even paler.
“The wedding you’ll be planning”—my words hang in the air like a heavy weight filled with promise and threat—“is ours.”
Her eyes flicker from mine to my lips, her breath quickening with each passing moment. I see the struggle behind her gaze, the battle between fight or flight. I get close enough to smell her; the soft scent of her shampoo mingles with the natural aroma of her skin, intoxicating me as I breathe in deeply.
“You can’t mean…” she whispers, her voice trembling with shock.
For ages now, I’ve been determined to have her, to make her mine in every way possible. And finally, I get to speak the words that will seal our fate. “Yer going to be my bride. Consider your father’s debts settled.”
She trembles in my presence, but a fierce determination sets in her gaze. “And if I say no?” she challenges.
She gasps as I take her in my arms, her body stiff and motionless as I wrap my larger, muscled mass around her. My arousal is evident as I press myself against her, hinting at what awaits her when she becomes my wife.
“No. N—no!” She tries to pull away.
I hold her tighter. Feeling me pressing into her, harder now, she gives another gasp, one filled with heat and shame. “Lord,” she whispers. A smirk forms on my lips as I lean my face down, inhaling her scent, feeling the tickle of her soft hair against my skin as I bring my lips to her ear.
“My wife will never say no to me,” I growl. “And if she's naive enough to try, there will be hell to pay.”