“We’ve been using my mother’s m-maiden name,” I hurriedly say, my volume increasing in tandem with my desperation to get the correction out. “I’m not even sure if my birth certificate registers his surname but just in case”—I wave a hand limply at his phone—“you know, your system doesn’t recognise…”
“Just give me your best name,” Menzies says, his eyes as flat and filthy as an old bronze coin. “The name most likely to produce an accurate search.”
“Yvette Georgina Worthington.”
I stare at the floor, feeling a slight sense of relief as Lachlan’s hands creep back to my hips, then link around my waist. “Little liar,” he whispers in my ear as I close my eyes and miserably wish it were tomorrow already. Or next week.
Shit, if anyone’s taking requests, then a decade from now would be fabulous.
“She’s clean,” Menzies says, letting out a whistle between his teeth. “Some overhang from a biker gang up north—”
“I’ll clear it,” Lachlan interrupts.
Menzies continues as though he didn’t speak. “But it’s under the limit and looks like she’s a bit young to be the initiator.” He tears his gaze from his phone screen to look me up and down. “They want her held as collateral.”
The world slows while my blood forms into icy crystals, scraping the insides of my arteries with their sharp edges, cold flooding into my extremities. “What? What does that m-mean?”
“I said I’d clear it,” Lachlan snaps. Menzies glances at Creighton, who inclines his head.
“Do it. The last thing I need is some MC gang deciding they have beef with us.” His gaze turns back to his son. “This is your idea of a suitable date?”
“I evaluated her based on how good she’d be to fuck, not how much she owes to a gang nobody ever heard of.” Lachlan pulls me back, so I’m under his arm rather than standing in front of him. The possessive touch scrambles my head nearly as much as his blunt words, sending my brain into freefall. “Perhaps you should prioritise your next marriage along the same lines.”
Creighton dismisses him with a tiny shake of his head and turns back to me. “While you’re under my roof, I want you to stay with Lock or have this maid”—he pushes her towards me—“escort you. No wandering off by yourself under any circumstances, are we clear?”
I nod so eagerly that I could qualify as a bobblehead. “Yes, sir.”
Lachlan decides at that moment to curl his right hand into the fancy mess of my hair, grabbing hard enough that when he pulls, I tilt my head back. He presses his lips to mine, such an obvious demonstration of possession that I’m not sure if it’s the exhibitionism or the actual kiss that robs my lungs of their next breath and sends my head into a tailspin.
I expect him to pull away when I hear his father moving. Instead, the kiss deepens, his lips softening as he moves his left hand from my hip to my cheek, cupping along my jawline and holding me exactly where he wants me.
Between my heart already beating hard from the strange situation to the slight layer of shame for being touched so publicly, my body struggles to deal with a host of confused information.
My excited delivery system bumps out its messages, speeding and colliding, trying to report on so many mixed signals that my nerves become completely overloaded, dissolving into full body tingles.
Lachlan pulls back, gently wiping his thumb over my bottom lip while my eyes fix to his, stunned. “That’s better. Now you actually have something to repair.” His voice drops lower, for me only, “Thanks for making me look like a jackarse in front of my father.”
“I didn’t mean—”
He nods to the maid, waiting by my elbow. “Go on. Your face is a mess.”
The statement echoes off so many similar sentiments lurking in my head that my expression must betray me, and he hooks me back towards him.
“I just meant your makeup. Don’t worry. I still have every intention of taking your beautiful arse to bed at the end of this.”
My head buzzes, my lips are swollen and hot. I’m not sure how I’m meant to take his statement andnot worry. If I’d held doubts about how he plans to end this night, they’ve gone.
The waiting maid clears her throat. “It’s this way,” she says, taking my elbow and guiding me in the right direction.
I follow her without further delay, grateful when she leads me into a quiet space where we can shut the door on the imposing family. Unfortunately, the comparative peace gives my mind carte blanche to think its worst.
I haven’t been with anyone since moving here. My last relationship hadn’t been the greatest, something my ex took pains to point out repeatedly was my fault. I’ve never slept with someone for money or in trade, never even thought about it, and don’t have the slightest idea of how that will change things. Of how I’llfeel about myself when I wake tomorrow morning. Of what it will be like if I want to stop but can’t.
My stomach tightens so hard it pulls at the nerves in my throat, making it so I can’t get a deep breath.
“I’m not sure how to fix my face,” I tell the young woman since she’s stuck in here with me. “I don’t have any supplies.”
She nervously cups her elbows, frowning. “Could you wash it off?”
