Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Bryn
I shouldn't be this excited. My pulse races, and I release his hand, only to discreetly wipe my damp palms on the hem of my dress. A little white box sits between us, chocolate dessert for… whatever he has plans for later.
My father texted while we were eating, checking on me, ostensibly to ensure he’s answered all questions about the proposition he’s made. And what a fucking choice he’s given me.
Wed a stranger or seduce Mac.
I stare out the window, wondering. Detaching myself from the present so I can make a logical choice, as I’ve been raised to do.
I suppose there are instances of arranged marriages that ended well.
I know of none.
I know a great-grandmother of mine committed suicide when she ended up wed to my great-grandfather.
She gave birth to my grandfather, then hung herself while she still bled from the birth.
They found her, hanging from the rafters, dried blood staining her legs.
It's one of those stories my father has buried, but the women still whisper to one another.
A warning, one might say. My sisters were the ones that told me. Maybe they were warning me as well?
I know for a fact that this is no carefully-orchestrated arranged marriage that he proposes. In some cultures that still value arranged marriages, I'm told that the parents spend a great deal of time finding the perfect spouse for their children.
My father would have no such inclinations. He would only be making sure that whatever deal he made benefited his clan.
The Aitkens Clan is my family, but I feel no allegiance.
I suspect Mac feels quite differently.
I responded to my father quickly, before I silenced my phone.
Bryn: I’m fine, thanks, and have decided on the Cowen Clan option. Putting the cogs into motion as we speak.
“Have you heard of the Cowens, Bryn?” Mac asks in a nonchalant tone, but the way his fingers tighten on the steering wheel makes me suspect this is no casual question.
The truth is, until the conversation I had with my father this morning, the answer would've been no.
I don't know anything about my father’s business adversaries, alliances, or whatever the hell they are.
I don't know anything about rival clans, or even neutral clans, or those that we’re friendly with.
If we're friendly with anyone. I wouldn't know. But of course now, after my conversation with him, that would be a lie.
“Not much,” I tell Mac truthfully, with a shrug. I keep my body posture loose and at ease, as I look out the window. “My father prefers the women in our house to not have anything to do with whatever it is you all do.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but then he nods. “Reckon that could be a good thing.”
I sigh and respond to him before I can school my mouth and think about what I say. “I suppose if the reason was for protection, I’d agree with you. However, it isn’t that at all, but because he thinks so little of who we are.”
Maybe I said too much.
Mac frowns. “In that case, I take back what I’ve said.”
I can’t help but smile at that. There’s something endearing about it, though I can’t quite understand what or how.
“Do you feel that way?” I ask, in a way a child may fish for a compliment. Already knowing the answer but needing the assurance of hearing him say it.
“What way?”
“That women should be kept ignorant of such things.”
He scowls at the road, and my heart does a little flip.
How can a scowl, that slightest downturn of the lips, affect me so?
“Absolutely not. My sisters and mother are the backbone of our entire family.
My brother is the one in charge, though, because he's the clan captain. So he does call the shots. That said, he seeks their counsel, and every decision made is for the good of our entire family, not just the men.” He snorts. “Jesus.”
“Well, then, glad we’re in agreement. Your taste in music might be crap, and you eat meat as if you’re a ravenous dinosaur in danger of extinction, but it’s nice to know we have something we can agree on.”
“Watch it, woman,” he says in a low, warning growl. He puts a hand on my knee and gives me a little squeeze.
“What?” I ask innocently, as my pulse races even faster. He noted how I like a little excitement. I wonder if he knows how badly I crave to be dominated. I give him a sidelong glance, noting his strong, muscled body. If ever there was a man that could dominate me.…
His lips twitch. “Behave yourself.”
He takes a turn down a moonlit road, and I wonder briefly if my bodyguard’s still looking for me. I hope he is, the arsehole.
“It’s gorgeous out here tonight,” I say breathlessly. And God. It is.
The trees are aglow with the light of the full moon, and moonlight glints along a white rock pathway that leads to a small row of houses on a hill.
“Is that your flat up there?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as he pulls into a driveway. This is no small place, but large and airy, one of the most high-end places one could rent.
“Aye,” he says. “I’ve got business in town and sometimes like to have some privacy as well.”
“So do you live with your parents?” My father doesn’t allow anyone to leave his house unless they’re married.
“I don’t exactly, no,” he says, but he doesn’t offer any more details. “Here we are.”
He shuts the ignition off, when my phone buzzes again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head when I pick up my mobile. “I really am.”
“Go on,” he says, gesturing to my bag.
I pull it out, noting a text from a number I’m unfamiliar with.
Unknown: Where the hell are you? You’ll pay for doing this.
My pulse spikes. Who the hell is this?
Bryn: Who is this?
Unknown: It’s your fucking bodyguard, Michail. Don’t even know who the fuck I am?
Well that definitely spikes my temper.
Bryn: I don’t think you quite got the memo, Michail, but you’re not allowed to talk to me that way.
Unknown: Let’s talk about what we are and are not allowed to do.
“Bryn, what the hell? Everything okay?”
I blow out a breath and show him my phone. “Look at what this arsehole’s saying to me.”
Mac reads the messages, then scowls, glaring at the screen.
“Who the fuck does he think he is? We’ve got bodyguards working for us, too, and they’re not allowed to talk to any of us this way. He works for you, not the other way around.”
“Exactly.”
“Let me reply,” he says, still scowling.
I nod.
Bryn: Hey. This is her date. She’s safe, and if you threaten her like that again, Aitkens will hear about it.
“That should shut him up,” he growls, handing me my phone back. “Put that away, now.”
I should feel odd about him telling me what to do, but for a reason I can’t quite fathom, I don’t. I grew up repressed and belittled, never having a say in anything I did or where I went. And I hated it, every minute of it.
Why does it feel so different with Mac?
I want to egg him on a little, tease the dominant out in him, like there’s a little red devil on my shoulder, whispering in my ear.
Poke, poke, poke.
I still remember what he said earlier.
If you ever wear something like that to buy groceries again, I’ll take you across my knee to teach you better.
“And if I don’t?” I say, tipping my head to the side and giving him a taunting look. “Would you…” I drop my voice and lean in closer, my breasts heaving with excitement. “Spank me?”
Without missing a beat, he nods soberly. “Yes.”
I bite my lip as heat rolls through me. I squeeze my legs together, suddenly so turned on I could fuck him right here on the seat between us.
He leans over, lacing his fingers behind my neck, a move that I've come to crave. No one’s ever touched me like that before, so it’s…
his. I love the possessive feel of his fingers on my skin.
When he gently flexes, it’s like he’s reminding me that he could hurt me, but he won't. I hardly know the man, but what he says without opening his mouth at all speaks volumes.
“Are you going to behave yourself, Bryn?” He bends his mouth to my ear and licks the very edge before nipping the lobe. My pulse spikes, and I draw in a sharp, ragged breath. “Or do I have to make you?”
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. Fuckity fuck.
“Oh, I can be a very good girl,” I tell him, nodding soberly. I give a little shrug. “I can also be quite naughty.”
He runs his fingertips from my neck to my back, a gentle brush that makes me shiver and draw closer to him.
“Tell me, Bryn,” he purrs in my ear, his voice deep and husky, an aural aphrodisiac.
“If I were to touch you between your legs right now, part your thighs and run my fingers along your panties, would I find them wet?”
Fucking soaked.
I swallow and nod, unable to speak, as he rests one hand on my thigh, the other still traveling up and down my spine as he taunts me.
“And what if I were to take you over my lap?” he continues, his hand moving up a fraction of an inch on my thigh. “If I were to punish you, would that leave you hot and bothered and wet between your legs?”
“I don’t know,” I breathe. “I’ve never in my life been spanked, but the thought of it being you…”
I couldn’t explain why it excited me if you paid me, but every threat he makes sends frissons of excitement through me.
“That’s perfect,” he says in a low rumble. “Because I haven’t been able to get the image of you bent over my lap, squirming while I spanked you, out of my mind.”
“Oh,” I say with forced nonchalance. “Kinky bugger, aren’t you?”
He drags me onto his lap and restrains me against his chest, one arm holding me tight while he grips the back of my neck with his free hand. “You have no fucking idea, gorgeous.”
Dear God, I hope he’s not joking about that.
“This is what we’re going to do,” he whispers in my ear. “We’re going into the house, and you’ll walk in behind me.”
What? I’m pulled out of the sexy bubble in the car when he instructs me like this.
“Because I’m a woman?”