“Hello Michael,” I offer my hand and thank god he doesn’t try to kiss it. His eyes are sharper, and it’s clear he’s going to be harder to charm. “I wanted to thank you for adding the low-income apartments for women and children to your first building plans. I have a friend who oversees Martha’s House in London and she’s always talking about her worries that the homeless population shows a higher percentage of children every year.”
His grey eyes light up. Does the developer have a soul?
“Thank you,” he says, “I’ve been looking forward to creating this hybrid multiple-unit housing since I discovered that a member of my own family had been homeless before we found her.”
“This is a wonderful way to honor her.”
I’m surprised to find that Knowles and I share a desire to create transitional spaces for the homeless. After a few minutes, he even asks me to share my thoughts about the project that would now to certainly be involving MacTavish construction.
“I’m looking forward to hearing more,” Michael nods, smiling. His silver eyes light up and suddenly, he’s one of the most gorgeous men in the room. My husband, who is still by far the most handsome, is staring at the interaction, eyes slightly narrowed.
“You made Michael Knowles smile?” Dougal growls in my ear when we’re alone again. “Yougeasach,you charming little thing. He looked a little too attentive for my liking.”
His fingers dig in at my waist, smoothing the cashmere dress over my hips. “I feel as if I need to remind everyone in this ballroom who you belong to.”
“Other than actually peeing on me to mark your territory, I dinna ken you can make it any clearer, husband,” I said, feeling his long fingers flex.
He draws back with a huge grin. “Do ya’ know that’s the first time you’ve called me that?”
“What?”
Dougal bends down, kissing my cheekbone. “Husband. You called me husband.” His long arms wrap around me and the feel of him, all tattooed skin and strength, makes my knees weak.
“Tell me, wife, would you like to see my office?”
The question seems a bit out of the blue, but if he wants to show it off… “I’m game,” I agree, smiling when he laces his fingers with mine.
As we leave, I see Gideon standing across the room, staring at us with a mix of heartbreak and fury.
I’ll have to mention his odd behavior to Dougal… maybe he knows what’s wrong with Gideon.
Back in the SUV, it only takes a couple of minutes to drive into the parking garage for MT International. Two of his men follow us into the lift, which requires Dougal’s palm print to operate.
“How do you know so much about homeless housing transition?” He's leaning against the mirrored wall, watching me take in the city from the glass side of the lift.
“My mother was very passionate about the cause,” I say, smiling at the memories, “she would take me to the shelter with her often. I’d bring toys for the little ones and play with them.”
“I can tell she was a remarkable woman,” he says gently.
“She would have liked you, I think.” Where did that come from? It’s true though, Mamawouldhave liked Dougal for his charm and sharp wit.
The lift emits a cheerful ‘ding!’ when we reach the top floor. “Of course, His Grace would always require the highest perch to look down upon his loyal subjects,” I tease him as he pulls me out of the lift.
“Remind me to punch Lachlan in the throat for ever telling you that shite nickname,” he grumbles.
The two guards take up position in the massive marble entryway as Dougal pulls me further into his domain. “There are three conference rooms on this floor, and another office Cormac uses on occasion.” He opens the door to his office, using his palm on another biometric scanner.
“Pure dead brilliant,” I sigh.
The office is a corner one - of course - with two walls of glass showing Glasgow slowly coming alight against the sunset. Dougal sits behind his massive desk, watching me. There’s a grouping of couches and comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace, a walnut antique bar, which I notice is well stocked, and overfilled bookshelves. I like that, the only element that doesn’t reek of perfection in this stern, dominating room.
“Your villain’s lair is very impressive,” I say, wandering around with my hands on my hips. “Your lair could take on any other lair, beat it up, and take its lunch money.”
“I’m not Batman and this isn’t alair,”he chuckles. Pushing his chair back, he pats his leg. “Why don’t you come over here and admire the rest of the office from my lap?”
“You’re not going to try anything, are you?” I ask suspiciously.
“Of course I am.”
