Mac (Mountain Men 2)

Then he opens every closet, every door, and even checks the bathroom to see if anyone's hiding in the shower stall. It's an odd sort of routine, but for some reason I like seeing him do this. His body’s taut like a spring, as if he’s ready to pounce at the first sign of danger. I suspect if anything were to threaten us… he’d protect me. He's the type that would, I know it.

Strangely, I realize I’ve known this from the very moment that we met.

As he does his investigation, I peruse the apartment. It definitely doesn't look very lived-in. It's immaculately tidy, not a dirty dish in the sink, nothing out of place or a speck of dust anywhere.

But it isn't just the cleanliness of the place that makes me draw in a quick breath. It’s how gorgeous it is. This is absolutely stunning. I can't believe this isn't his primary residence, because if I lived here, I'd never want to leave.

He’s called it a “flat,” but it’s really a penthouse. In front of us is a double height drawing room with a gorgeous glass-encased staircase to a gallery. I suppose the bedrooms are upstairs. I’m eager to see them.

Everything is spacious, wide open, with full walls of sheer glass. You could sit anywhere on the main floor and see outside. Though it's nighttime, it's a full moon and the moonlit garden looks glorious outside this window. The furniture’s black leather. There’s a coffee table and end table in front of the couch, looking modern and sleek in blacks and whites. A black and white checked rug is on the floor, black and white accents throughout the room.

There’s a rocker by the fire, and small vases of fresh flowers on nearly every flat surface. I peek past the drawing room to the kitchen, and gasp when I catch a glimpse. Sleek black countertops, stainless steel appliances. It’s fucking stunning.

We’re not here to see the kitchen tonight, I know that for a fact.

Mac trots back downstairs. “Coast is clear,” he says. “You were a good girl staying there.” He sobers when he reaches the landing, leans a hip against the rail, and beckons to me.

“Now come here, Bryn.”

I walk to him tentatively, dragging my feet, for I have no idea what he will do when he actually has me. But when I reach him, he merely takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. “You’ll like what’s up here.”

My God, his “flat” spans three full floors. The massive living area on the first floor has the kitchen and an open dining area with the fireplace. The second floor has two bedrooms, and even a quick glance shows me there’s an ensuite.

“What’s on the third floor?” I ask.

He gives me a teasing shrug. “You’ll see.”

We walk up another flight of stairs that takes us to the third floor. I cover my mouth with my hand, awestruck.

There’s a wood-burning stove, comfortable-looking loveseats and chairs, books scattered about, and a door that leads to a patio and garden on the terrace, lit by the moonlit sky. There’s another toilet, a small one, as well as a dorm-sized refrigerator and a wooden wine bar.

He tugs me along with him and reaches for the handle of the door that leads to the rooftop.

“It’ll be cold out there, won’t it?”

He shakes his head. “You’ll see.”

He picks up a remote on a small table outside the door, hits a button, and an electric fireplace comes to life outside.

“My God, Mac, how can you ever leave this place to go back home?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “When you meet my family you might understand better.”

“So let me get this straight,” I say, giving him a teasing look. “You’ve got an amazing family, you’re clearly filthy rich, and you’re… well, really bloody hot. Is there anything wrong with you, Mac Cowen?”

He grins, prowls even closer, and whispers against the shell of my ear, “I’m kinky as fuck, bonnie lass. I like my woman to be submissive and eager, and I have no fucking hard limits.”

I place my hand on his shoulder to steady myself, since I’m trembling with anticipation and a little nervous at the same time.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He reaches for my chin and tips my face upward, his eyes holding mine for a moment before he kisses me. Hot and sultry, his lips glide over mine with a possession that makes me tremble. I’m panting when he lets me go, and he leads me onto the terrace.

I’m not going to stop him. No matter what he does, no matter what he says, I’m going to let him have his way with me. I tell myself it’s because I want to do what I promised my father, but I know that’s only an excuse.