“I can handle her,” I shrugged. “Right now, getting the item and her to a safe, secluded space is the most important thing.”
Standing at the foot of her bed, I watch her sleep. Isla may not have wanted this marriage, but neither did I. Like that night at the docks, and when I erased the footage of her in our club, I didn’t quite know why I agreed to marry her. Only that I wanted to.
Chapter Eleven
In which Dougal cooks, and Isla seethes.
Isla…
I know Dougal was in my room, staring at me like a creep. Refusing to open my eyes, I pretended to sleep until he finally left.
What was he doing? Gloating? Plotting? Lusting? Why didn’t that last thought disturb me as much as it should? His touch had been decidedly non-sexual so far, throwing a hood over my head and handcuffing me isn’t exactly foreplay.
There was a moment when he had me on the couch, though, where I could feel his cock pressing against my hip. Or maybe his gun. I hope it was his gun. It was much larger than I expected. I assumed any MacTavish man would have a tiny dick to go with their arrogant, overblown personality.
When I wake up, it’s late afternoon. The bedroom I’m in is beautiful. It had been prepared in advance for a guest with fresh linens and even a big vase of flowers, as if they had housekeepers come in and freshen up this big, empty lodge every week. It’s still all timber and stone, but there are comfortably cushioned chairs by the tall windows and an attached bathroom with a huge clawfoot tub and thick, velvety towels. My beat-up server’s outfit is too filthy to put back on after a long soak in that clawfoot tub, so I pull on the big terrycloth robe and stroll back out into the bedroom.
I can hear that the helicopter’s taking off again from the launch pad behind the lodge. I watch it rise gracefully over the roof and sail off to the left. North? Was that north? I’m not sure what direction we’re facing. Frustrated, I turn back to the bed and realize there are several outfits laid out. Leggings, cashmere sweaters, a couple of dresses. All simple, but good-quality. Hiking boots, and running shoes, I snort when I hold up the pair of high heels. I drop them to the floor when I see the pile of lingerie.
That slimy bastard.
They’re all delicate wisps of silk and lace, bras meant for pushing up my tits rather than comfort and scanty undies meant to crawl up my arse.
“You’re never seeing me in these, MacTavish,” I sneer, holding up one tiny pair.
“Well, now I’m deeply disappointed.”
Squawking like a startled pigeon, I whirl to find him leaning against the doorway.
“Sorry, I’m not putting on any fashion shows for kidnapping bastards today.”
He chuckles, his teeth white against his dark beard and I’m unreasonably annoyed that he finds this amusing. “Ya’ will eventually, wife. I can wait.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“What?” He straightens, puts his hands in his pockets, and strolls toward me. “Wife? We are man and wife, there’s no getting around it.”
“For now,” I sneer. Then something hits me. A realization that makes me ill.
Papa. He must be pulling his hair out. I’ve never gone silent for this long after a job. And the most important one he’s ever sent me on? He must think I’m dead.
“I need-” I suck in a breath and start again. “As your wife, I would like to ask you for a small wedding gift.”
His brow rises, “Go on.” Oh, he’s enjoying this.
“My father. I’m sure he’s worried sick about me. I want to call him.”
Dougal walks across my bedroom, looking out the windows at the mountain vista. “Your father’s already been notified that you’re alive and well. And married.”
It feels like my head is on fire. “Youtoldhim? What did you do?”
His smile is unpleasant. “We notified him that while your mission was a failure, you were alive and well and spending your honeymoon in seclusion with your new husband.”
“Did he- I just-” I walk in a circle a couple of times, trying to calm down before I leap on him and jam my nails into his eye. He’s watching me with a look of calculated concern that is doing nothing to calm my rage. “I want to call him. I need to talk to him.”
“No.” My captor’s expression is cold and indifferent. “He’s been notified. There is no more discussion on this matter.”
“No! It needs to be discussed!” Without thinking, I’m across the room and gripping his arm. “If our positions were reversed, you would want to contact your father.”
