He grins at me, an actual, full-out grin. “Aye, lass. Honest to God it soothes my temper, working out.”
I look around the room, nodding. Jesus, could I use a cuppa.
“Got any tea or coffee?”
He grins. “Of course.”
“Do you drink it?”
He nods, gesturing to a pot on the counter. “Aye.”
“When I was little, my mum told me coffee stunted my growth,” I tell him with a laugh. “I told her I wanted to stunt my growth so that I could stay small.”
“Looks like your plan worked,” he says with a chuckle. He leans back in his chair, his eyes twinkling at me.
“Maybe too well.”
“What’s your mum like, darlin’?” he asks, as I pour myself a cup of steaming coffee, pour some milk in, then sit back down.
How do I describe my mother?
“She’s… well, she had a stroke last year and she’s been different ever since.”
“Has she? Tell me about it.”
My throat gets a little tight, and I swallow hard. I don’t ever remember a time when anyone asked me to tell them about my family. My entire life, everyone knew exactly who the Aitkens Clan was. And though I can logically conclude there’s no way that he knows what my father’s planned and why I’m here, I still enjoy that he treats me with respect like this.
“Aye. She was downright nasty when I was a child,” I sigh. “But she’s mellowed over the years, and after the stroke, has become less meddling and critical.”
He cringes. “Less?”
I shrug. “Aye. It isn’t a big deal, really. She was pressured by my father to have perfect children, and anything we did wrong, she did wrong. If we didn’t get perfect marks in school, it was her fault. If we talked back or didn’t obey, it was her fault. So… she did everything she could to make sure those things never happened.”
He winces. “Sounds terrible.”
“It wasn’t fun.”
It isn’t fun.
“Aye, but like I said, she’s calmer now. She forgets things, and often makes things up as well. She needs a good deal of help, and she’s got staff that help her.”
He sobers. “And how does your father handle that?”
Is it my imagination that makes me hear a change in his tone? This isn’t the jovial Mac of the past day and a half, but… someone different. Out of curiosity, I ask, “Was your experience quite different, then?”
“Oh aye, you could say that. My mum’s a firecracker, and when you meet my sisters, you’ll see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
When you meet my sisters.
“Bryn.”
“Mmm?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, lass.”
“Do I?”
I’m clenching my mug of coffee hard, and I’m feeling all kinds of queasy since he’s mentioned his sisters.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “We’re going to face this beast now.”
Panic rises, and I find it a little hard to breathe. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice sounding normal but failing miserably.
He leans across the table. “I mean we’ve got a wee change of plans, lass. We’ll get you dressed, then take you up to the main house before we go into town. You look nervous, and I need you to see there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” I whisper.
He lifts my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the back like a prince in King Arthur’s court.
“Nothing.”
Chapter 9
Mac
I’m battling within myself so hard, it’s a wonder she doesn’t see right through me.
I know what my plan is with her. I know why I brought her here. Then why the fuck am I bringing her up to the main house, just so she can meet Mum and my sisters? I know exactly where I am, and I know I'm a bloody idiot, because I feel myself softening.
I brought her here to keep her safe, knowing full well the irony is that she isn’t at all safe from me.
Then why, when she woke in the middle of the night shaking, clearly in a panic, could I not help but hold her? Why does it matter to me so much to see her sleeping peacefully again, like a wee bairn, the worries of the world erased from her features, breathing softly beside me?
And why now, when I see panic written on her features, do I feel the need to soothe her worry and show her everything’s just fine?
Last night was fucking brilliant, and I won’t forget that.
I liked waking up beside her, and if I have my way, I’ll find myself inside her again, and fuck that worry right off her face.
I shouldn’t be worried about easing her concern or making her feel safe. I should be seducing her so she falls for me before I get the revenge I’ve planned.
But isn't part of the art of seduction making her fall in love with me? And isn’t it important for a woman to feel safe, to really trust a bloke, before she can fall in love?