“Oh, I’m loaded honey,” I sass, “can’t you tell I’m a diamond heiress just by the look of these booty shorts and my glitter wig? Actually, let me just slip into the bathroom for a minute and brush the rest of the glitter out of my hair first.”
Cormac chuckles, gently helping me off the bed. “Are you sure you’re well enough for this?”
He’s Scottish, certainly, but his accent is more of a smooth burr than an incomprehensible string of syllables. We had a classmate from Edinburgh in the Spy division last year and we could only understand every third or fourth sentence he uttered. My gaze drops to his neck. There’s a tattoo peeking out of his shirt collar and suddenly, I want to see all of it. I want to trace it with my tongue.
“Absolutely,” I said firmly.
“Fish and chips,” Cormac says, returning the menu to the stunned waitress. I’m pretty sure she started ovulating the minute she laid eyes on him and how could I blame her?
“How about you?” she asks me, gaze still fixed on him.
“Um, I’ll have the Angus burger, thanks.” I press my lips together, trying not to laugh when her hand reaches out blindly for my menu.
There’s a little growl, and I realize it’s from him. He’s drinking his pint of Guinness and glaring at her. The poor woman comes to her senses and backs away.
“This place is beautiful,” I venture, looking around the little room. “How did you find it?”
The Angus is perfect, a little pub down by the Thames, unpretentious but cozy, with wooden beams darkened from years of smoke and a beautiful old bar with a huge display of bottles behind it.
“I have business this way on occasion,” he says before taking another drink. I wait, but apparently, that’s all he’s going to share.
“I have a proposal.”
“Aye?” He’s watching me with complete focus, and it’s alternately flattering and a little terrifying. His eyes are jade green, I see that now, glittering in the candlelight.
“No last names,” I say, suddenly feeling brave. Well, probably more like reckless, but for one night I don’t want to be dutiful Mala Chandler. “No, ‘What do you do for a living,’ or ‘Where did you go to school.’ None of that.” I lean back, spreading my arms over the back of the leather booth. “I’m Lady Mala, a diamond heiress. Lovely to meet you.”
His full mouth quirks up in a half smile. “Lovely to meet you as well, Lady Mala. I am but a simple sheep farmer.”
Laughing, I try to give him a regal nod, “Very well, Farmer Cormac, you may share your meal with me.”
Pressing a huge hand to his chest, he bows his head. “An honor.”
The food is delicious, and our stories get increasingly ridiculous until I nearly spit out my white chocolate bread pudding as he spins a tale about training a squadron of sheep to take out a band of roving wolves. “The real trick is gettin’ them to hold the grenades, you see,” he says, ordering another Guinness, “no opposable thumbs.”
My hand’s over my mouth, trying to swallow my dessert without choking and I grab my water, finally getting myself under control. “What do you call it when a sheep leaps out at you?”
His brow rose, “I fear to guess.”
“A lambush!” I start laughing again.
He chuckles, most likely at how dumb I am. “Devastating, that one.”
“Sorry, I didn’t come prepared with more combat sheep-related jokes,” I said, still giggling a bit.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he says, his voice a touch deeper and that just turns it into a weapon. I can feel an ache burning in my center and my thighs tighten.
“You’re just saying that because you want my diamonds,” I squirm a bit under his gaze. He’s absently running a thick finger along his lower lip and all I can think of is how it would feel inside me. Nothing has ever been inside me, I wouldn’t dare not be the perfect, untouched princess my family expects me to be.
“I want you,” he says bluntly and I think a little whine escapes before I press my lips together. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
I think about how reckless it would be to spend the night with this gorgeous, brilliant stranger, about my responsibility to remain the pure Chandler Mafia Princess. Then, I think about what my father said to me.
“It should have been you, not Michael.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I watch that thick finger of his make another sweep over his lip.
“Yes.”
