“Cairstina and I will be heading home for the night,” he says, taking his napkin off his lap and putting it on the table, as if he's ready to go. But before he stands, his father clears his throat.
“How much longer do you plan on keeping her?”
Keeping her. As if I’m a dog kept by the hearth?
Leith blinks but doesn’t respond at first. “That's a conversation I’d rather have privately.”
His father smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. I can't quite place the look he's giving Leith, but it looks cold, calculating even. I don't want to hear what he has to say. I don't like him.
“Why is that? I would imagine if she's good enough for you to take home with you, that you trust her enough to have this conversation in front of her."
“You bloody well know why I'd rather have this conversation privately."
I don’t.
“And you should,” Nan says, glaring at Bram, who stoutly ignores her. The others look down at the table, as if they don't want to be obtrusive in this conversation.
This time, Leith pushes up from the table. He reaches for my hand, and we leave the house in silence. The door slams behind us.
When we get back, the sun has set and nighttime approaches. A brisk wind picks up, and it's so cold I’m shivering. But he doesn't even seem to notice. He opens the door and drags me in, then slams it behind him.
He makes a fist and slams the wall above me, making me jump, and the overhead lighting bounces off then on again.
“He doesn’t fucking know,” he growls, and I wonder what it is his father doesn't know. "We had a simple task today. We were supposed to go into town, fuck up your brother, find out what we could about the Aitkens.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and text him.
You did your best. You had to put your sister’s safety above all.
He smiles grimly. “Aye, but we fucked up the wrong people. And fucking up the wrong people is one of the worst fuck ups of all."
I’m furious at his father’s pressure on him, and I know for a fact that he doesn't want me here. I also know that pleasing him matters to Leith, and I wonder how far he'll take it. I wonder what it means to please his father. What I want to tell him is thathis father is a man who will never be fully pleased, so he might as well not even begin to try. I would know.
I frown when I text him again.Well I'm not sure how your perfect father could've done the perfect thing at the perfect time, with just the right amount of force, with being perfectly perfect. But I happen to like imperfect people myself.
He reads the text I sent him. And breaks out in a grin so beautiful it makes my heart melt. It's the type of smile that makes a girl disintegrate, her resolve evaporate. I hate that I melt like a pile of sugar in the rain, but all I want to do is make him smile at me like that again.
“Come here,” he says, drawing me over to him. He cradles the back of my head with one of his strong, powerful hands. His fingers flex, sending shivers of awareness down my spine. His second hand comes to my waist, then slowly slides down until he cups my arse. He squeezes me there, too, and heat pools at my core.
“Bloody hell,” he grates in my ear. “I don't know if you'll be the death of me or if you’ll teach me how to truly live. But I’m willing to find out.”
Captured between his hands, held in a spell only he can cast, I go up on my tiptoes and bring my mouth to his. He’s a man who likes to command a situation, but I control every second of this kiss. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck. Bring him closer, and when his mouth parts open in surprise, I slide my tongue against his. The touch of his tongue with mine makes him moan. I love this, the feel of him in my hands, the way his body responds to mine, the way he doesn't even bother to fight the heat that flares between us.
He slides both hands down my sides, then up beneath my top, until his palms explore my naked skin. He quickly divests me of my top, and whips it against the wall as if it's in the way. Next, my bra.
When I’m standing in front of him bare-chested, he pulls his mouth off mine so he can bring his lips to my breasts.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls, before he captures my nipple between his teeth and sinks his teeth into the tender bud. My head flies back, my mouth parts, and he suckles the place he just abused. My knees wobble at the intensity of the feeling. I need him to stop, and yet I'll die if he does.
He thumbs my second nipple while he laves the first, until my legs feel like jelly and blood pounds between my legs, making my pussy throb with need.
With rough, impatient yanks and tears, he rips the rest of my clothes off and leaves them in a pile.
A fire crackles in the fireplace as he leads me to the couch.
“Fucking bedroom’s too far,” he growls. “I want younow.”
Does he really want me? Or does he just need to prove that he owns me? The doubts in my mind quickly come to a stuttering halt as his heated gaze meets mine.
