Free Dark and Stormy Knight by Nina Mason

highly of me, Miss Morland. It’s not in your best interest.”
    “I can decide what’s in my own best interest, thank you very much.”
    Arching an eyebrow, he met her gaze. “Can you? I’m not so sure.”
    Her smoldering indignation caught fire. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    He emptied his glass, grabbed the ewer, and glanced toward her half-empty goblet. “Do you fancy a topper?”
    “I don’t know,” she said hotly. “It might not be in my best interests to get plastered in the company of a pervert.”
    “It isn’t, I assure you.” He filled her glass anyway, and then his own. “And as for the pervert remark, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, eh?”
    Gwyn gulped her wine. She didn’t want to get drunk, just to take the edge off her inhibitions. She was sick to death of shrinking from fun. She’d never roller skated or ridden a bike. She was too afraid of falling, of getting hurt. Her only adventures had been the ones she’d read about.
    Now, here she was with a gorgeous, yet dangerous, man—the embodiment of the fictional character she’d fantasized about for years. Granted, she’d never seen herself strapped to a table in his BDSM dungeon, but she was more than willing to expand her horizons.
    To a point.
    “Do you promise not to hurt me?”
    “It’s not about inflicting pain, Miss Morland.”
    “No?” She boldly held his gaze. “Then what is it about?”
    “Self-control.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
    “You’re not meant to.”
    The butler came in with the main course and dished the food onto their plates. When Sir Leith began to eat, she followed suit. The pheasant tasted a great deal like chicken, though with a denser texture and gamier flavor.
    “I’ll e-mail Mr. Robbins tomorrow about our deal,” she said. “We do have one, right?”
    “Aye, lass. We have a deal. As long as my barrister finds nothing objectionable.”
    She took a gulp of wine. She’d wanted this so badly for so long and yet it felt anti-climactic somehow. Deep down, she knew why. She’d pursued a career in filmmaking because of her father. He’d been taken from her too soon and following in his footsteps was her way of holding onto him. A ghost, however, couldn’t keep her any warmer at night than her books and movies.
    Neither could success.
    But the man beside her could—if she played her cards right. What was a future in Hollywood compared to the magical life she could have here with him?
    Oh, dear. She pressed a hand to her breast. She was galloping ahead of herself again. Time to pull back on the reins. She was ready to marry the guy, and they’d barely finished the main course.
    Mr. Brody returned to clear the dishes. As he left the room, Sir Leith rose from the table, picked up his goblet, and took the wine to the fireplace. Gwyn turned in her chair so she could see him. He was looking at the portrait of his wife.
    “You resemble her a bit, you know,” he said
    “Do I?”
    “Aye. Something around the eyes. And your size. She was a wee sprig of a lass as well.”
    Gwyn did not know how to feel about what he’d just said. She wanted him to want her—but for who she was, not because she reminded him of his dead wife.
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    Leith’s gaze might have been fixed on Clara’s portrait, but his thoughts were on the lass at the table. There was something about her that drew him in, all the more reason to take pains to see her solely as a sexual object. He’d expected her to meet his proposal with considerable reluctance, not acquiescence, and now felt conflicted.
    On the one hand, he wanted, rather ruthlessly, to make her his plaything, to tease and toy with her like a cat with a mouse. On the other, he must tread carefully, must keep his heart locked up tight, must not let her get under his skin the way he’d allowed Faith to do.
    That wouldn’t be easy, given how badly he wanted her. Even now, he yearned to sink his fangs into the pulsing vein on