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Her brow furrows. “Must be a city lass ‘cause I’ve not heard the Golden Girls gossiping about you dating anyone at home.”
“Golden Girls?” I ask.
“You know, the older women at the church?” she says. “I’m in their choir and the only one under sixty years old but they are good to me, they are.”
“Ah, Freya called them the pecking hens. That bunch told on her more than once, reporting back to my mother when they caught her with a smoke.” I hold back the urge to cross the room and tug at the end of a lock of her red hair. “But I’m guessing that lot never did have to tell on you, Fiona. You were a good girl, weren’t you?”
Ignoring me, she taps the pen against the paper. “Name?”
“Let’s leave that blank for now.”
She gives me a funny look but doesn’t question me. “Alright.” She brightens as she starts jotting down more questions for me. “I’ve never been a wedding planner before. This is exciting. But of course…if you have gaps in staff or need extra help cleaning or cooking, I know my place. I’m happy to help with anything as long as the money goes toward paying off my father’s debts.”
“There will be no need for that.” My tone is firm. “Like I said, ye won’t be lifting a finger.”
“I appreciate that, though I don’t see why yer not making more use of me. Surely, I could clean in the morning and plan in the afternoon and evening…”
“The kind of wedding I’m demanding will take all of your time. It must be the best wedding the islanders have ever attended. And I want them all to drink their fill. Let them stay over. Book every hotel room in the city that you can.” I let her in on our arrangement with the nearest hotel, a beautiful castle-like building on the High Street. “The Sherwood keeps an entire floor open for us, for our frequent visitors from the island.”
Speaking about the wedding dulls her apprehension. She no longer looks at me as something that may bite. Lowering her guard, she relaxes further.
“How fun! A proper do-up. People will have something to look forward to.” She scribbles something down. Keeping her gaze on the paper, she asks, “And when it’s all over, I go home?”
“We can talk about that later.”
She stares down at the page of her notes for a moment. She closes it slowly, slipping it back into her bag. Finally, her eyes meet mine.
“Mr. Burnes. I’m more than happy to help, to work hard for you, but I’d like to know the details of our arrangement. How much do I owe you? How long will I work for you? And…” she says, “when will I get to go home?”
This is her home. A sinister smile spreads across my face like a snake slithering out of hiding. My tongue slips over my bottom lip.
I move toward her a step. She steps back. “The bride is someone I've had my eye on for a long time.”
"Who?" she asks.
I don’t answer. Instead, I stride across the floor, closing in on her. After all this time, I finally have her in my home, under my control, and within reach.
“W—who?” she asks again, her voice wavering.
Her cheeks lose their color, leaving her skin even paler.
“The wedding you’ll be planning”—my words hang in the air like a heavy weight filled with promise and threat—“is ours.”
Her eyes flicker from mine to my lips, her breath quickening with each passing moment. I see the struggle behind her gaze, the battle between fight or flight. I get close enough to smell her; the soft scent of her shampoo mingles with the natural aroma of her skin, intoxicating me as I breathe in deeply.
“You can’t mean…” she whispers, her voice trembling with shock.
For ages now, I’ve been determined to have her, to make her mine in every way possible. And finally, I get to speak the words that will seal our fate. “Yer going to be my bride. Consider your father’s debts settled.”
She trembles in my presence, but a fierce determination sets in her gaze. “And if I say no?” she challenges.
She gasps as I take her in my arms, her body stiff and motionless as I wrap my larger, muscled mass around her. My arousal is evident as I press myself against her, hinting at what awaits her when she becomes my wife.
“No. N—no!” She tries to pull away.
I hold her tighter. Feeling me pressing into her, harder now, she gives another gasp, one filled with heat and shame. “Lord,” she whispers. A smirk forms on my lips as I lean my face down, inhaling her scent, feeling the tickle of her soft hair against my skin as I bring my lips to her ear.
“My wife will never say no to me,” I growl. “And if she's naive enough to try, there will be hell to pay.”
