His mouth watered as the image of her open to his sight and the sound of her screaming out his name as her hips arched, pressing her flesh against his mouth came to mind.
Pulling himself back from the same bloody reaction he had every time he thought of her, Iain downed the last of the whisky in the glass on his desk and sat to examine the reports once more. She had, his sources said, not left her house or gone to the orphanage since that day. Mrs. Hunter kept to her usual schedule of shopping, visiting, helping at Clare’s school and so on. Her solicitors and secretary arrived and remained for several hours each day. Her household servants came and went. Life went on without a sign of Lady Clare Logan. A knock drew his attention, and he called out, allowing them to enter.
“Sir,” Ned said as he nodded his head. “Ben and Mr. Cairns are waiting outside. Are you ready to see them?” Since he did not object, Ned opened the door to the two and invited them within. Once they were seated, Ned took his usual place next to Iain’s desk to make notes of anything that needed to be followed up or tracked down.
“Well? Where is she?”
“We are working on it,” Cairns said. Iain said nothing. “She may have left the house the night... in question.”
“What of your sources there?” Cairns had mentioned having a servant in Lady Clare’s household on his payroll.
“If the lady indeed left that night, it might explain the silence from my source,” Cairns said quietly. Iain knew the man was more dangerous as he grew quieter. “I have not been able to locatehereither.” A lady’s maid would travel with her, so Cairns’ undisclosed source might be the one person closest to Clare. In spite of his frequent use of such spies, he was oddly ill-at-ease over this revelation.
“Our latest offer?” He had ceased interfering with her permit approvals, but that had not stopped him from pursuing the property—his need for that had not changed.
“Refused.” Ben placed a letter on his desk.
“The other offer?” Iain looked at Ben. Just because he’d given up one path to pressuring her to accept his offer did not mean he’d given up. They’d arranged for another of his companies, one—like the hotel—that could not be traced back to him, to make an offer on the same property to see her reaction.
“They received the offer, and it isunder consideration,” Ben answered again. “It was sent a week ago.”
“Any indication that the lady had seen it?”
“None,” Ben said.
Iain closed his eyes, wondering how he had completely fucked up something that should have been signed and sealed months ago. If the staggering amount he’d offered hadn’t done it, his reputation and power should have. Anyone with a man of business or a solicitor would know of his acumen and practices. Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head at no one in particular.
All he’d wanted was a chance to find out why she refused such a lucrative deal. That had been his plan. Then he began to think with his ballocks instead of his mind and things went to hell—in a spectacular way. But to hell nonetheless.
“Iain?” Ben’s voice pierced his silent thoughts, and he opened his eyes. “What happened between you?”
“It does not concern you,” he snapped, slamming his hands on the desk and scattering the papers into the air and onto the floor.
“I beg to differ with ye,” Ben said. “Our quarry has run to ground. Negotiations have ceased. All conventional methods that have been successful in the past have failed.” The only man he considered somewhat a friend leaned on his fists over the desk. A bold move since Ben knew the brutality in Iain’s blood and his capabilities of using whatever weapon he could find. “Ye hiv tied our fucking hands in doing yer fucking business. So, I ask ye again,Iain—what happened between the lady and ye that night?”
Iain emptied the room with a nod as Ben remained leaning over him. If his Scots accent was breaking through the cultured speaking voice he usually maintained, Ben was furious. Ben did not get angry—not this angry—often, so Iain needed to pay heed to it.
“Did ye molest her?” Still the Scottish sounds.
“I. Do. Not. Force. Women.” Iain pushed the words out through his clenched jaws. He had very few rules by which he lived, but that, that, was one of them.
“Fine!” Ben yelled. “So, did yeseduceher then?”
Iain glanced away from his friend’s knowing question. Ben had the ability of ferreting out Iain’s escape, admitting the truth of a matter when he did not wish to. It had become a game between them—if Ben did not choose the specific and correct word to describe Iain’s transgressions, Iain could deny it. It was juvenile and stupid, but a game they played when Iain was not in a mood to discuss some matters.
Yet, Ben had been integral in his success since Iain’s rise in Glasgow’s competitive, nay cutthroat, environment, and he owed him at least some explanation.
“I tried to.”
The three words echoed out between them and then the only sound was Ben’s furious breathing, followed by the foulest words they’d learned in the stews of Glasgow. Words never forgotten and always first out in situations like this one, especially between men, between friends and between those raised in the forgotten and avoided places as they’d been.
“Why did ye do such a thing? Ye ken, ye ken how important she is to this deal. To our expansion plans.”
“I want her, Ben. I want her.”
“That’s what Tess is for. Seek her out. She’ll ease your urges and not expect more.”
“I want more than that. She makes me want to take her in every way possible—against the wall, on the floor, bent over my desk, screaming out my name until she cannot. I want her naked and writhing under me and I want her fully clothed with her skirts tossed up over her head. I want to argue with her and to prove her wrong. To make her beg.” Iain was panting by the time he finished. He poured a large serving of whisky and downed it in one mouthful.
