Leith (Mountain Men 1)

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “They did what I told them alright, but I won’t easily bring these all upstairs.”

I text him. Would this many things even fit in that little room?

He growls as he reads it. “Not easily.”

I hate that I feel rejected, that he doesn’t want me here, but what more do I expect? I’m not his date. I’m his prisoner. Still, I dislike that he wants to eject me from his private life and sequester me in that room again.

“Well,” he mutters, hands on his hips while he looks at the boxes. “Let’s unpack them and be sure they all fit.”

A little blip of excitement skates through me at that. Will I… try them on in front of him?

When I don’t move, he waves his hand impatiently. “Go on, then. What are you waiting for?”

I hasten to the boxes and bags, and quickly begin to unpack them. One bag has denim trousers, faded with little rips in the thighs, the trendiest thing I’ve ever touched. Another has buttery soft leggings, and another a cardigan and jumper. There are skirts and boots, tops to layer, in dark reds and various shades of pink, navy, and black.

My cheeks heat when I open a pink bag with dainty boxes in it, for when I open the boxes, I remove tiny scraps of silk and lace that I suppose are some sort of knickers, and pretty satin bras that look more expensive than my entire wardrobe at home.

I quickly tuck them back into the bag before he sees, but I swear I see a corner of his lips quirk up.

He leans against an overstuffed chair in his living room, perched on the edge.

“Go on, then,” he says in that husky voice of his. “Try them on.”

I hold the clothes up to him and feel my eyebrows rising.

“Aye,” he says, with an almost smile. “I said try them on.”

I look for a doorway to a bedroom or powder room, but he stops me.

“No, Cairstina. I want you to change right here.”

I place the clothes down on the sofa cushions so I can send him a text.

Excuse me? In front of you?

He reads the text, and his body tightens. A muscle ticks in his jaw as his eyes meet mine. “Oh, aye, lass. Did you miss the part about you belonging to me, now?”

I blink, then blink again.

Excuse me?

He reads the text, and his eyes darken.

He pushes himself off the sofa and stalks over to me. My heartbeat accelerates, but I make myself stay right here, to hold my ground. Have I pushed him too far?

When he reaches me, he laces his fingers at the back of my head, then flexes them around the nape of my neck.

“Did I bring you here as my prisoner?” he asks, but he doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. Weaving his fingers through my hair, he bobs my head up and down so I nod.

“And as my prisoner, are you expected to obey me?”

Again, he forces the nod.

“Good girl.”

My cheeks flame as my body heats from his touch, the masterful way he’s commanding this situation. He leans his mouth to my ear and whispers in a husky voice, “Then strip, lass, before I make you.”

They say curiosity killed the cat, but perhaps it killed Cairstina, too, for I really, really want to know what his making me would look like. So I don’t obey, even though a part of me craves it. I want to do something, anything to affect this man, to have some control over him, to break past his hardened exterior. Something tells me it will be worth getting past that deep wall of anger he wears like a shield.

He hasn’t really hurt me yet, but done a lot of blustering and threatening, and even some of his threats have excited me for reasons I may never know.

A beat passes, then a second, and it seems it finally registers with him that I’ve no intention of doing what he says. He shakes his head slowly from side to side, but a glimmer of excitement lights his eyes.

“Did you say no to me, lass?”

I scowl at him, maintaining my position, and give one firm nod of my head.

He surprises me with what he does next. He buries his face in my hair and tightens his grip, inhaling deeply, as if to fortify himself.

Though his words are threatening, his voice is velveted steel, making my heart beat even faster. “You know what will happen if you disobey me, Cairstina.”

Do I? I don’t, though.

And I want to.

I try to swallow but I can’t, my mouth is dry and I’m somehow frozen in place.

“This is your last chance,” he warns. Does he not want to make me obey him?

But when his body presses up against mine, I feel the length of his erection, and I know. That’s exactly what he wants to do.