Chapter 6 #2
I shouldn’t want to please him, yet I do. When his lips curve in an enticing smile, it’s as if his velvety voice said, good girl. My entire body lights up like a glowstick.
This is not at all the reaction I have to the bulk of the male population. Which is why I suspect Leith is a sinister magician conducting the black arts.
On me.
He crooks two fingers, and I find myself stepping toward him, blushing to my ears.
I don’t know what I expect him to do, but it isn’t this. He wraps his fingers around my throat in a sensuous clinch, owning my circulatory system, my air supply, and my focus.
Liquid heat floods my center, and a throbbing thrums between my legs.
My heart tears on a rampage as he pulls me closer, grazing his lips to my ear.
“Such an obedient wife-to-be.” He strokes his fingers down the column of my throat, and my breath hitches.
Every vibration of his voice is a needle prickling my core.
His very presence, heady and commanding, seeps through my pores and ignites all my nerve endings.
My body involuntarily arches into him. He gives my pulse points a squeeze, rendering me even more helpless.
“For the purposes of our guests tonight we’ve been madly in love for months. Understood?”
Anger flares in my chest at his cool control. “You’ve got this all worked out.”
I try to pull away, but he holds me firmly in his grip. His tone taunts and bores a minuscule hole through my brain. “I will take every inch of your fight and convert it to pliancy.”
Rebellion and randiness commingle in my blood, till I can’t think straight.
A masterful smile touches his lips. “I see you understand. Come.”
He presses a hand to the small of my back, leading me out to the waiting car—the same Ferrari I rode to his house in last Saturday. Draven tips his head at me from the driver’s seat as Leith settles me in back. While Leith saunters around and opens the door, I briefly consider bolting.
But where would I go, and how would I ultimately escape him?
To make a smart move, I need to think ahead and think clearly.
The heady scent of the Highlands invades my nostrils, and I take a few deep breaths in, covering my folly by looking out the window.
He’s your enemy, Iona. You can’t show him weakness, or he’ll use it against you.
I hate myself for drinking in his profile out of the corner of my eye. For wanting him to speak to me again, even if just to torment me.
When he says nothing for an agonizing stretch, I finally break down and speak first.
“Will you let me go after tonight?” My voice cracks, and my fingers shake as I dig them into my thighs through the dress.
He leisurely pans his gaze over my lap, up my heaving chest, to the pulse racing in my neck. His tone blends amusement with finality. “I will never let you go, Iona.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “Why?”
“I’ll let you puzzle that one out,” he allows in indulgent tones, though a dangerous edge slices through his words.
Setting my jaw, I jut my chin up. “I’ll turn you in for blackmail.”
He returns to his phone, stifling a yawn. “I thought we’d established, that isn’t on the table.”
“I’m no good for you,” I attempt.
He cuts his remorseless gaze to mine. “I’ll be the one to decide that.”
My breaths speed up. I have to give this everything I’ve got, since I’m pleading for my life. “Wouldn’t you rather marry someone you know just a wee bit? I’m a complete stranger.”
“I ken you enow to know you’ll suit my purposes.” He pockets his phone, a menacing glitter lighting his eyes.
My purposes. Are those the wifely duties he referred to the other night? A shiver skates down my spine.
Out of desperation I resort to common sense. “Marriage isn’t supposed to be a transaction. It should be done for love.”
He rolls his tongue over his top teeth. “To the contrary. Marriage has always been transactional and always will be. Even when it involves love.”
I see arguing will get me nowhere with a seasoned lawyer, so I try a different tack. “Just think what a horrible mob wife I’d make. My head in the clouds, my nose in books, and next to no experience with the world.”
Draven pulls over in front of the restaurant, and Leith climbs out of the car. “You’ll have to learn how to swim with the sharks.” As he opens my door, he drawls in an undertone, “Starting now.”
Another shiver, this time of dread, steals over me.
Splaying a palm over the base of my spine, he leads me into the restaurant. The entrance is a half-level above the rest of the floor and open to the room. A sea of eyes turns toward us in unison, and splatters of applause erupt through the crowd.
The men wear anything from tuxes and three-piece suits to casual button-downs and slacks.
The women, who make up about a third of the guests, are likewise dressed to the nines.
Collectively they impress and intimidate me at once.
I find myself huddling closer to Leith for security amongst all these strangers.
This even though he’s the least safe person in this room.
Moyra, Malcolm, Isolde, and Chance swarm us, the women sporting smiles a mile wide.
A few weeks ago we had a hen’s night out with Reyne—Moyra’s best friend—Moyra, Isolde—Reyne’s baby sister—Skye, and me.
So I’ve gotten to know Moyra and Isolde a little.
Now their familiar faces bathe me in relief, just as the bits of info I have about their fiancés make me fear Malcolm and Chance a fraction less.
“Congratulations, hen!” Isolde folds me in her arms, kissing my cheek.
“Congrats, babes.” Moyra crushes me in a fond hug, whistling long and low. “You look red carpet ready.”
I divide an admiring look between them. Moyra wears a green lace sheath body-con maxi dress that accentuates her remarkable curves. Isolde’s figure-hugging knee-length vermilion dress turns a number of heads, bringing out the red highlights in her strawberry-blonde waves.
“You both look ready to slay,” I gush.
Malcolm’s malevolent gaze dances among various men nearby. “I’ll be ready to slay—any man who looks her way.”
Chance takes a sip of his whisky. “We can join forces, bro. We’ll start by gouging their eyes out, moving on to their genitals.”
Leith coolly accepts two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hands me one. “Men who worry about other men looking at their women are insecure.”
Chance barks a scornful laugh. “As if you won’t be in our same boat once you fall in love with Iona.”
Burning shame covers me from the crown of my head to my toes. I want to curl in on myself or slink through the cracks in the floor. Does everyone know this is a forced marriage and we only just met? At the very least, now they all know Leith doesn’t care for me enough to be jealous.
“I’m surprised your jobs don’t satisfy your bloodthirstiness,” Leith observes with a touch of mockery. His coldness rattles me and makes me want to shake him up.
Malcolm regards him with pity. “Enjoy your state of denial while you can afford it. Once you realize your wife’s worth, you’re only as good as her last approving glance or word.”
“Good thing none of us waited for our men’s approval, right, sisters?” Isolde links arms with me and Moyra. “We pursued our own passions regardless of what our partners said or did.”
I swallow, thinking of how I folded to Leith when he threatened to upend my family’s life.
A wicked smile touches Leith’s lips as he looks down at me, reading my thoughts. “What’s the harm in letting women think they wield a wee bit of power?”
So arrogant and condescending!
“A wee bit?” Moyra echoes, aghast. “Forgive me, but you sound like someone who feels threatened by women.”
“Give me one good reason why I should feel threatened,” Leith provokes, sipping his bubbly. His unruffled demeanor suggests Moyra is entertaining at best, delusional at worst.
“I don’t know.” Moyra casts about. “Maybe you’ve gone up against talented female lawyers.”
Leith smiles into his drink. “If we’re being honest, I’ve met none I haven’t effortlessly raked over the coals.”
Isolde steps into the fray. “Fine, then let’s go to the other extreme. Do you think women are less than men?”
He looks down at her through hooded eyes. “Women depend on men in a way men never could depend on women.”
I muster the courage to speak. “Just because a woman depends on a man doesn’t make her weaker or less. In fact, it may make her stronger.”
Leith tilts his head, respect breaking over his features like sudden dawn. “There you have a solid argument, Flame.”
My already blazing cheeks heat more intensely.
“I don’t seek your approval, Leith,” I fire back.
He cups my chin, making molten lava flow southwards. His amused expression sets my nerve endings on fire. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetheart.”
Malcolm loops an arm about Moyra’s waist, snatching her close. “For that matter, seeking her partner’s approval doesn’t make a woman weak.”
“Nor does dispensing with that approval make her strong,” Chance adds, sliding his palm from Isolde’s lower back to her nape and fisting her hair.
Moyra exchanges a laughing look first with Isolde then me. “You men will say anything to keep us under your thumb.”
“It’s not a question of keeping you there but of keeping you happy while you’re there.
” Leith’s gaze never wavers from mine, boring a hole straight to my soul and setting up residence there.
My brain tells me to take a step back, out of his orbit of supremacy.
But my body remains willingly trapped in his hold, afraid to blink in case I miss an emotion streaking across his face.
“So you admit you aim to please us,” Isolde retorts.
“We’re your masters, not your tormentors.” Leith drags his tongue over his lower lip, maintaining eye contact with me. “At least, not always.”
Unable to breathe, I feel a wet spot form in my panties. Why his words should arouse me defies my understanding.
Chance releases a dark chuckle, and Malcolm’s lips twitch. They agree with Leith on this point.
“Well, I answer to no man,” I declare with more bravery than I feel.
Leith releases my chin, drains his glass, sets it on a passing waiter’s tray, and plucks a fresh glass, all in one fluid motion. “Come.” He turns on his heel, striding away and leaving me scurrying to keep up.
I redden, knowing I look a tube.?1 I just said I answer to no man, and here I am following him obediently. But the alternative is unthinkable: getting swallowed up in a crowd of strangers, most of them dangerous men.
He knew this, and the smile playing over his lips shows he’s laughing at me.
He leads me to where a frightening, powerfully built older man stands beside a man who looks like his twin.
“Iona, this is Diran and his brother Callum. The bosses.” Leith opens a hand, urging me forward.
I extend a shaky hand, which Callum engulfs in his much larger hand. Diran takes my hand and raises it to his lips, kissing the back. I note that both brothers have ink covering every inch of visible skin, including their fingers.
“A pleasure, Iona.” Diran tilts his head. “You don’t look much like your mother.”
This takes me aback. “You know her?”
“Yvaine De Monroy? Of course.” Diran tips back his whisky. “One of Edinburgh’s loveliest socialites. Lowden Garvie’s a lucky man.”
He knows who my stepfather is too!
He must read the shock on my face. “I’ve lived a long time, met many people, and seen plenty in my profession.”
An involuntary shudder travels down my spine. His profession is deadly, criminal, and destructive.
Diran no doubt senses my judgment and reluctance, for suddenly his features assume a hard cast, and his tone is brusque. “Time for the tests.”
Tests?
“Before you join our Syndicate family, we subject you to a series of tests,” Callum explains.
Oh, God no.
I’m about to protest, saying I don’t know what, when Diran dings his glass and calls the room to attention. “Good evening, everyone. It’s now time for the preliminaries to the engagement. Come closer so you can hear and see everything.”
The guests press nearer, quieting.
My heart pole-vaults into my throat as I lean into Leith. “I—I can’t do this.”
He moves me in front of him, murmuring low in my ear. “Time to swim with the sharks, Flame.”
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