Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Leith
Her flat is messy but clean, small yet comfortable. She hastily piles a few books in her arms to clear a chair.
I take the books from her, setting them on a table. “Sit.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I lay a finger over her lips. “I don’t want a tour, and I don’t care if we have to sit on the floor. I want to talk about you.”
Her jaw pulses with tension, but she takes a seat on the nearest chair. I sit opposite her on the sofa, leaning back to take her in.
She’s luminous the way the sun’s corona flares with energy and light. Sea-foam green blends with sapphire in the smoky depths of her eyes, and the precise, hooked tip of her nose suggests refinement beyond ordinary human reach.
My eyes infallibly drift to her bow-shaped lips, pillowy and lush. “What are your expectations of marriage?”
“Now you ask.” She smoothes the skirt of her dress. “For one thing, I expect love between partners.”
I sprawl my legs, getting comfortable. “Go on.”
“Equality between partners.” She ticks off items on her fingers. “Choice and consent.” She glares at me through her auburn lashes. “Common interests. Respect for each other’s privacy and boundaries. Honesty, trust, and communication.”
I stifle a yawn. “Are you finished?”
She thrusts her chin in the air. “You asked.”
I cock a brow. “What about physical chemistry?”
A pretty blush steals over her cheeks. “Aye, I guess.”
“You guess?” My lips pull up at the corners. “What if the man is going to breed the woman?”
Her lips fall open like a gutted fish, but she doesn’t speak.
I wave my fingers. “All those fine things you mention are good for friendship, companionship. But the glue that holds them together is physical compatibility. The woman’s dreams should be filled with the man, and the man should memorize the curve of the woman’s backside, the rhythm of her swaying hips. Anything less is unacceptable.”
Her chest heaves, and she fingers the lavalier of her necklace, vibrating with sexual energy.
I resist the urge to have her sit in my lap. “Come, Iona, you’ve read enough romance novels to know this. And you’ve no doubt had plenty of beaus.”
She drops her gaze to her lap, and her blush intensifies.
My cock stirs in my slacks. “Here’s what you can expect from our marriage. You’ll have the freedom to conduct your business as you need. But you will drop everything when I call for you. Your first duties are to me as a wife. I am your lord and master, and my wishes are paramount.”
“Duties?” she quavers.
Sex will be the most important weapon in my arsenal as I torment her.
“Duties.” I let the word linger between us, let her imagination conjure pictures. “They’ll be pleasant for us both, as long as you obey me.”
“And if I don’t?”
An indulgent smile teases my lips. “You’ll be punished.”
“How?” Her chest rises and falls like an ocean wave.
“Test me and find out, Flame.” Our gazes collide, mine resolute, hers full of alarm.
Pushing to my feet, I begin to examine her bookshelves, which cover every inch of free wall space.
“You’re a fan of the great Russian novelists,” I observe.
She stands, hovering behind me. “What if I don’t want to fulfill my . . . duties?”
I slowly turn, towering above her. A vein in her neck pulses rapidly. “What you want is immaterial.” I thumb her cheek, noting how goosebumps pepper her neck. “But you’ll want to.”
I’ve never yet met a woman who didn’t melt at my slightest glance. Iona will be a puddle at my feet. She may be defiant, but her body tells the real story: it cries out to be used.
By me.
As my fingers trace her deep-set jaw, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, an electrical current zings between us. If I read her correctly, she longs to give me control over her. Which suits me well, since I plan to take it.
I recognize her expression, having seen it on hundreds of women.
She yearns for me to hook her by the waist, slam her to me, and dive on her sweet lips.
Pushing my thumb between her lips, I feel her tongue curl about it.
I press it further in, relishing her suction.
A satisfied smile curves my lips. “I’ll let you dream of it for a while, Iona. ”
Mutiny flares in her eyes, but she can’t very well deny her desire while she’s sucking me. Or while her nipples salute me through her dress. Personally I’d love to close my teeth around a bud through the material and listen to her scream. But there’s time enough for that.
Playing with my prey has never been so enjoyable.
I pop my thumb out, pressing it into her lower lip. “Good girl.”
She quivers like an aspen under my touch. Such a receptive wee lass.
“Show me your room.” I wrap a hand around her nape, steering her toward where I suspect her bedroom lies. A shock of heat explodes where our skin makes contact.
Tension stiffens her steps. She thinks I’m going to press home my advantage.
Though my cock jerks in my trousers, I plan to leave her hanging. Let her pine for me, her mind paving the way for my advances.
Her room is more organized than the rest of the apartment, still filled with books but carefully arranged.
“Show me what you planned to wear to our engagement party.”
“I hadn’t planned on anything.” She munches on her lower lip.
I eye the dresses hanging in her wardrobe. Beautiful as they are, I’d already decided to send her one of my choosing. The air between us crackles with erotic potential as her gaze falls to my lips.
I take a step back, out of the magnetic circle in which our bodies pull each other like the moon exerting its force on the tides.
Admittedly I’ve never felt like this with a woman.
Like I’m being pulled into an undercurrent so strong I won’t be able to swim my way out.
The sensation is strange, uncomfortable, and alarming.
“Be ready at 6 on Friday. Wear what I send you.”
Turning my back, I stalk out of the room and down the corridor to the door.
Her hurried steps follow me. “I don’t need anyth?—”
I hold up a hand, silencing her. “What greater pleasure is there than dressing a beautiful woman? Don’t think of denying me that pleasure, Iona.”
With that, I leave, before I can make a greater fool of myself.
* * *
“Here are twenty-five of the contacts.” My legal assistant Galiene leans over me as I finish typing an email and shoot it off.
She smells of the jasmine accents of her Diorissimo perfume, and her long, sleek, straight, dark hair brushes against my collar.
Though wildly overqualified for this job, she isn’t permitted to do much more in the male-dominated organization that is the Crew.
“This was the low-lying fruit, including Lowing’s info. But it was the most obvious start.”
I roll my chair to the side, subtly giving myself some space as I glance over the sheet of paper she’s presented. “Good work. Gather another twenty-five by the end of tomorrow, if you can.”
She’s been working backward, locating the names of the suppliers and construction companies in Birmingham, Liverpool, and Manchester, then contacting them to double-check that they had deals with us.
The job is slow going, since she has to reassure each one their information won’t be leaked and that we’re trying to safeguard their reputation.
She pouts her thick lips, her yellow-green eyes glowing like a wildcat. “What’s your end game?”
“To call the Lord Advocate’s bluff, for one.
” I balance the tips of two pens against each other as Galiene perches her pencil-skirted backside on the edge of my desk.
I tolerate her casual stance because it’s the end of a long day in which I’ve loaded her down with research.
“For another, identify the key players and give them advance warning so they can bury the evidence.”
She leans back on one hand, crossing her legs. “What will we do to win the case, though?”
“I’m working on getting Dallis Leavy subpoenaed.” I spring from my chair and pace toward the meeting area, discontented with my meager patch-job solutions. I need to find a direct counterattack against the prosecution. Or make this whole case unsustainable for our opponents.
Galiene hops off the desk and clicks on her sky-high heels over to the sideboard, where I’ve poured a whisky.
She fixes herself a cranberry sparkling water, looking at me through her lashes.
“Can’t you argue that this sets a dangerous precedent for theft of trade secrets, data breach, and discrimination against an organization? ”
I chuff a dry laugh. “Try convincing the Procurator Fiscal the Crew has the right to call for those laws to be enforced.”
She leans against the credenza and flicks her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m surprised the Procurator Fiscal and Lord Advocate aren’t afraid for their families.”
I tip back my glass, relishing the prickly heat of the single malt. “It’s too risky for us to go that route, though Darian wouldn’t hesitate to.”
“How do we know that even if we retrieve the contacts the court won’t first make copies of the list and publicize it?” Darting her tongue out, she moistens her lips.
I frown at a black-and-white photograph of a French circus troupe that hangs on the opposite wall. This is unusual territory for the Syndicate, and I’m a pioneer. “I’ll deal with the court.”
I’ll leave it up to Diran and Darian to ensure that anyone who had access to the list doesn’t use it against us.
“Are you hungry? I could order in for us . . . or we could grab a bite somewhere,” Galiene offers.
I glance at my watch, about to turn her down in favor of putting in another couple of hours, when a sharp rap sounds on the door.
“See who that is.” I drain my glass, annoyed by the intruder’s boldness.
Galiene’s stilettos stab the hardwood floor as she swishes over and opens the door. A long-faced man of late middle age pushes past her. Garbed in a herringbone suit with a paisley cravat, he brings a whiff of self-importance and desperation.