Iain wasn’t just rough around the edges—he was uncivilized, despite all the elegant trappings and expensive suits. And Brynn wanted more of it. She wanted Iain in full-on barbarian mode.
She wanted to be taken.
Filthy rich British bad boy Iain Chapman made a name for himself as a ruthless businessman, but if he can secure an investment from Vegas powerhouse Trevor Blake, Iain could take his business to the next level. Solution? Hire beautifully timid corporate trainer—and Trevor’s sister-in-law—Brynn Campbell and seduce his way to success.
Brynn’s everything Iain is not: kind, delicate, decent. But she’s also got a taste for something a little beastly, and it doesn’t take long for Iain to break through her every inhibition. Brynn was supposed to be his pawn, but as Iain gets closer to his goal, he begins to realize he’s not ready to let her go, not now, not ever—even if it costs him everything.
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After meeting Iain Chapman, after being inspected so thoroughly by those light brown eyes, seeing that dimple crease his right cheek—her anxiety had only gotten worse. Iain Chapman was attracted to her. No, not just attracted—he wanted her.
Brynn was a wallflower by choice. She didn’t garner attention from men like Iain Chapman. Handsome men. Powerful men. He must treat all women as potential sex partners, because Brynn couldn’t think of one reason why he’d single her out.
She put him somewhere in his early thirties. Tall, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, the mere idea of what he must look like naked sent a little thrill shooting up her spine. Not that she’d ever find out. Still, Brynn’s fingers itched to grab a pencil and start sketching based on her imagination alone.
Iain was stunning in a virile, hot, masculine way. With his short, black hair neatly combed away from his face, it tended toward wavy. One lock broke ranks and fell across the top of his forehead, where ghostly horizontal lines deepened when he frowned. Which he’d done a couple of times in the last five minutes. Shallow sunbursts radiated from the corners of his eyes—sharp eyes that missed nothing. Not her toenails or her bracelets…or her boobs—he’d checked those out more than once. It must have been a habitual reaction, because Brynn didn’t have much to ogle. She wouldn’t be able to hold the interest of a man who wore arrogance and self- assurance as casually as he wore an expensive designer suit. He even had one of those little pocket-square things that matched his silver tie.
And to top it off, he was British. Not that there was anything wrong with that—both of her brothers-in-law were Brits. Posh ones. But there was nothing posh about Iain Chapman, despite his clothes. The three-piece char- coal suit, the starched white shirt, the power tie—they smacked of wealth. This office, with its expensive furnishings, the outstanding view, and a floor so shiny she could see her reflection—it made a statement. Luxury. Success. Elegance. But that accent gave him away. Iain didn’t come from wealth—he’d earned it.
Now standing only a foot apart, he still leaned toward her. Brynn fought the urge to take another step backward, give herself a little breathing room. Somehow, she man- aged to keep her feet in place.
He was the antithesis of everything Brynn normally found attractive in a man—he was large, intimidating, cocky. She’d only had two relationships, and both had ended up the same way—in humiliation. But they had been boys, unsure of themselves. Iain Chapman was one hundred percent confident man.