***
Aff yer heid - Scottish slang for crazy or insane
Stonner - Scottish slang for an erection
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which discussions with best friends end with a punch in the face.
Sorcha…
“I want to call my family.”
Alastair is changing into another suit and clearly planning to go out tonight. He doesn’t seem weary from our flight at all. I follow him into his braw-looking dressing room. It’s the size of your average apartment with beautifully carved walnut shelves and drawers and three floor-to-ceiling armoires with ancient, silvered mirrors on the doors. With my husband’s custom-made business wear hanging up and displayed so perfectly, it’s essentially suit porn.
“This isn’t a good time,” he says, eyes on the mirror as he loops the ends of his tie over into a tidy Windsor knot.
“They know by now that you took me,” I’m persisting because I’m mad at him for shutting me out, turning back into the indifferent man who purchased me. “Please, let me call my Ma, she must be worried sick. I’ll- I’ll tell them I’m here willingly. No rescue needed.”
My little joke fails to move him.
“I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”
His head turns sharply and he pauses while pulling on his jacket.
“You can have me, anyway you want.” His eyes are dark and his fingers grip the dresser. “Yes,” I nod encouragingly, “just like that. Whatever dark and twisted thing you’re thinking, let’s do that.” I’m blushing and screaming internally. This is awkward and desperate and I am no sexy, alluring goddess. But I’m using whatever tools I have at my disposal.
For a moment, I think I have him, then his jaw tightens and he pulls on his suit jacket. “I can do ‘that’ to you anytime I wish to, my bride. Trying to manipulate me through sex will not work.”
“Please, Alastair. Please let me call my mother.” My voice breaks and I’m ashamed of it.
“I have other, much larger concerns than your family right now,” he says, lifting me and setting me aside like I’m a chair in his path. “You will stay here, protected, and we can revisit this conversation at another time.”
“Damn ye’ and all your ancestors!” I shout, losing all control. He ignores me and leaves the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
***
Alastair…
I turned my back on Sorcha. If I’d looked at her, seen her heartbroken face, I would have caved. I would have given in to her because I love her smile. The innocent way that she lights up, her lovely face glowing with happiness. When she finally smiled for me on the island, it changed everything. Hearing her laugh, making her come… It's now my favorite pastime. Fuck golf and poker, my wife now commands all my attention.
“...are you listening to me, you arse?”
Stirring, I blink and focus on an irritated Alec. “Apologies. You were saying?”
He shakes his head, settling back in his chair. As much as I enjoy my penthouse, Alec’s London townhouse enjoys a level of opulence that borders on the absurd. He bought three townhouses not far from me here in Knightsbridge and combined them into one enormous residence. There are over two dozen empty rooms because he hasn’t had the time or inclination to do anything with them.
“Well, I was discussing the idea of using the MacTavishes as cannon fodder.” He tilts his head expectantly.
Why does that movement seem so familiar?
“Are you saying that you want them to be the bait in the triad ambush?” I ask.
“Exactly.” He points a finger at me. “Your… your wife will never need to know what happened. But those chucklefucks didn’t put down the Chen Triad, the way they’ve bragged. So-”
“What did you just say?” I ask.
“What? About the triad?”
