Mac (Mountain Men 2)

Bryn: I’ll be there in a few minutes! Wait for me!

Mac: Of course.

Double sigh.

I grab a pair of heels and my bag, when realization dawns on me with such blinding clarity, I freeze mid-step.

That’s it.

That’s it.

This isn’t the dismal choice I thought I had, not when I think of this short-term.

I’m an idiot for not realizing this before. I know exactly what I need to do.

If I’m to be seducing Mac Cowen, my father can’t say a thing against my being with him.

He can’t stop me.

He can’t punish me.

He can’t take me away from him.

Not if this is exactly what he’s instructed. Not if we’re texting, going out to dinner.

Not even if I’m spending the night.

I’ll have the car, money, and freedom.

For the first time in my life, I’ll have an excuse to do exactly what I want to.

A glimmer of hope blooms in me. I won’t think about how I’ll handle what my father’s commissioned me to do.

I won’t betray Mac. I can’t.

But I can pretend, can’t I?

I won’t believe that Mac set me up, I won’t. The thought makes me hold my belly as it rolls. I cringe.

It seems so… convenient.

Serendipitous, even? There’s no way Mac planned all this. He couldn’t possibly know my father would demand this of me, and even if he did… why? Why would he seek out me, the daughter of Banner Aitkens?

Why would he hit on me the way he did?

I won’t believe it. I can’t.

He’s just a bloke.

I’m just a girl.

But my father’s words ring in my memory as I stare in the mirror.

Destroy him.

Which of us will be destroyed in this process?

Chapter 5

Mac

I sit at the bar beside a pair of redheads. Sisters, maybe? But they don’t even turn my head. I nurse a Guinness and think of Bryn.

Bryn doesn’t want me to buy her a drink. Smart girl. She doesn’t know me. She’ll be here soon anyway.

“Hello,” one of the redheads says. “Too lost in your dreamworld to hear someone talking to you, handsome?”

Both of the girls break into laughter, and I shake my head.

“Maybe I am,” I say, facing them. “Did you say something?”

“Aye,” one says. “Wondered if you were looking to hit the dance floor.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, ladies. I’m waiting on someone.”

One sighs, rolling her eyes at the other one. “See? Told you. He’s taken.”

Taken. It’s the first time in my life anyone’s ever used that word to describe me.

They leave.

“She’d better get here soon,” the bartender says with a teasing grin. “Next time at least bring a wingman, eh? Bloody handsome bloke like you ought not to be sitting alone at the bar. Those women are vultures, I tell you. Vultures.”

There was a time when that’d amuse or flatter me, but not tonight. Instead, I’m scoping the exits, the doorways, and plotting how I’ll get Bryn alone or away from her bodyguard. If I can’t do it here, I’ll find a way when we leave the pub and head to the restaurant.

I text William.

Mac: Where is she now?

He’s tracking her, and on standby for anything I need.

William: She’s at the door.

I feel the anticipation in my belly at seeing her again, but I ignore it. I’m here on a mission, and nothing will hold me back from that.

Mac: Excellent, thanks. Do me a favor and scope the exits at the restaurant. Find out what her bodyguard drives.

I slide my mobile in my pocket and turn casually, half-facing the door so I don’t look like I’m too eager, or stalking her, even though that’s exactly what I’m fucking doing. I see her walk past the window as I take another pull from my pint. The door opens, and she walks in.

Holy Mother of God, she looks fucking amazing.

I’m not sure I can even recall what she was wearing earlier today, but I can guarantee you every bloke in this room notices her now. To be honest, if she were mine, really, truly mine? I wouldn't ever allow her to leave dressed like that.

If she were mine, she’d never fucking leave the house. Even as it is, I want her all to myself.

Her hair’s piled on her head in loops and curls, and she wears elegant, ivory pearl earrings and a matching necklace. Classy and gorgeous. She wears a shimmery white dress, iridescent in the overhead light with barely-there glimmers of purple and pink, that hits several inches above her knee. She wears spiky heels and carries a little bag by her side so tightly, I wonder if she’s self-conscious, or nervous.

She’s a stunning blend of classic and sexy that makes me fucking lose my mind. I imagine dropping to one knee, putting a ring on her finger, and claiming her in every fucking way I can so no one else ever touches her.

Jesus.

For one moment, I totally forget my purpose. Vengeance for my family is the furthest thing from my mind. I want to make every man in this room know that she belongs to me. I don’t want them to look at her, speak to her, or be anywhere near her. I get up to meet her, to show anyone who looks her way that she’s bloody taken.