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Father makes an exasperated noise and I can see him throwing his arms in the air from my peripheral vision. “You should be thanking your brother, Keiran. We came here today to offer you an olive branch. To make sure you and Isla are properly protected. Is this really the way you intend to thank us?”
I’m not sure what part my father played in any of this. He’s acting like he brokered a Middle Eastern peace deal or something.
Whatever.
I don’t care what their rationale is. I just want them to leave.
“Thank you,” I made a dismissive gesture, still without looking up at my father or brother. “Now get out.”
They’ve insulted me. Shamed me. Embarrassed me in front of my staff. Pretty sure their work here is done, at least for today.
Now they can both fuck off.
I pace to the window, every muscle clenched tightly. Looking out over the Glasgow skyline, I’m enraged.
Looking out this window usually reminds me of how hard I’ve worked to get the nicest view in the whole fucking city. That I might have had a great start to life — being titled and all — but that only I struggled and pushed to get to where I am.
Right this moment though, it rings hollow.
I have all the money in the world, and yet I still let something terrible happen. That knowledge is a burden that I’ll bear for years to come.
Mr brother and father were right about one thing, though… I do need more security. More than I need a new assistant, even.
I stalk over to my desk and press the intercom button. “Get me on the phone with the Grayrose campaign’s security office.”
The woman on the other end answers quickly. “Yes, Lord Grayrose. One moment.”
Looking back at the Glasgow skyline, I try to rein in my impatience.
CHAPTEREIGHT
ELLA
It’s just before dawn. I’m half awake, sleepily reminding myself that I’m not in my own bed. I roll onto my side and look over at Keir, who is splayed out across the bed and snoring very lightly.
In the gray light from the window, he is so handsome that I almost can’t breathe. His eyes are closed, revealing a fringe of long, dark lashes. His patrician nose juts proudly out. His high cheekbones and strong jaw are carved as though they were made of marble and hint at a divine origin.
Keir’s dark hair is matted down just above his temple. I smile and run my fingers over it, my touch gentle. It’s funny… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have a single physical flaw in the waking hours. He’s always just so very rigid and perfect at every moment, even when he’s dressed to go running.
But just now he has bedhead. And for some reason, it’s endearing. It’s the smallest thing and yet it makes my heart clench.
God, what would happen if Keir was actually open and vulnerable around me? I would probably up and die from elation.
Keir shifts in his sleep, rolling onto his side. I know that I need to sneak out of Keir’s bed and back to my own room soon. But this is one of the rare occasions when I’m awake before he is and I can’t bear to disturb him yet.
I wrinkle my nose. Just another few minutes. Then I’ll go.
Keir wouldn’t say exactly what happened yesterday afternoon at the office with his father and brother, but it must have been ugly. He was so angry and frustrated when he came home that he was an absolute bear, his words short and clipped, a black cloud over his head. It took all evening for him to even begin to relax.
There was no doubt in my mind that he was still blowing off steam when he pulled me into his bedroom late last night and practically ripped my clothes off. The sex was hot, of course—it always is with him—but I couldn’t fully lose myself in the moment because I kept wondering what they’d done to get under his skin so badly.
It was pointless to ask, though. The chances of him opening up and sharing any of his feelings while he’s still so angry are pretty close to zero. Actually, scratch that.
Keir never shares his feelings unless they are anger, impatience, or desire. It’s a pretty limited palette that he paints with.
So I’m letting him sleep now and hoping his dreams are at least a little more peaceful than his reality has been lately. It’s in these quiet moments that I remember why I’m drawn to him. It’s not just his looks. Not just his muscles. Lord knows it’s not his way with words most of the time.
But underneath that tough, gruff exterior is a heart of gold—a lover and a father and a caring, protective man who has good intentions even if they’re hard to see and understand sometimes.
