Page 67 of Lochlan

“Do you plan on telling her?”

“No,” he says, rubbing his face. “Not unless she asks.”

“I think you're playing with a fire that just might consume you.”

“Aye, maybe so, but I'm willing to get burned. It won't matter. After this image becomes our brand, there's nothing she can do about it. How much do you want to secure your consent?”

“So we're negotiating?”

“I won't know until you tell me what you want.”

“It's simple, Lochlan. I want you.”

His eyes narrow in disbelief. “I'm not available, lass. It's best you take the money.”

“Then my answer is no.”

He softens a bit to become the persuader. “You're not considering the benefits. We can afford to be generous. We can discuss a lump-sum or you can have a portion of the merchandising.”

“I've already stated what I want. If you're not willing to meet my demand, then the answer is no.”

“For interest's sake, what does ‘I want you’ entail?”

“Just your mind, body, and soul.”

He chuckles. “For what purpose? And for the record, you can possess my body, but my mind and soul are my own.”

“Your body is enough for now.”

“Are you thinking of making me your sex slave to perform all sorts of unspeakable erotic acts on your person?”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh at Lochlan in a short leather kilt and spiked collar, looking like an ad for Highland BDSM. “And here you told me you didn't have an imagination for storytelling. What I want is your attention.”

“You've always had my attention from the moment I saw you.”

“I thought I did after the ice rink, when I seemed to irritate you less. That changed when you met with Fiona in this house. When you returned from your meeting, you wouldn't talk to me and you couldn't get out of our room fast enough that night.”

“Believe me, it was best that we didn't go any further. I take responsibility for what I did. I was caught up in the moment when I was with you and forgot who I am.”

“And who are you, Lochlan MacTavish? I've been with you long enough to know you're not an asshole all the time.”

He spreads his hands in broad supplication. “There's no mystery. I'm exactly what you see.”

“What I see is a man who's struggling with something. I'm taking a wild guess that it has something to do with Fiona. You left her behind in Scotland. Avoided her like the plague when she was here, but after being alone with her for a few hours, you changed. Is it guilt for calling off the wedding? Are you trying to make amends for what you did?”

“Men don't talk about their feelings; we punch things to express our emotions. It's best I keep my counsel to contain my baser nature.”

I throw up my hands. “Then we're at an impasse. I can't help you if you don't let me in.”

“When did I say I wanted your help?”

I push away from my seat. “Every God damn interaction I've had with you screams,Help me, I'm a soulless bastard,” I shout.

His face goes dark, like a tempest brewing, then he glares at me, refusing to respond. He's so damn frustrating I pivot to leave, but his hand clamps on my wrist, stopping me before I can take a step. “Where are you going, lass? We haven't finished our conversation.”

“I'm going to find Aubrey and ask him if one of his staff will drive me home.”

“You wanted my attention, you have it,” he says, releasing my wrist. “Be realistic and tell me what you want.”

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