Spoken For by Emma Briar Read Free Book Online Page A

own space like rows of baby cribs.
    I find it all incredibly fascinating, although that doesn’t stop my gaze and attention from drifting to Roman far too often.
    He’s completely disbanded the office look today. His faded jeans are snug, treating me to an eyeful of his hard backside and muscled thighs. His chunky jumper is navy, not quite a polo neck, but reaching midway up his throat. He hasn’t shaved, either. His jaw is darkly bristled and his hair is messed from the battering we took in the strong winds as we tromped through the pine forest to get here.
    We’ve hardly spoken a word.
    I feel his intense gaze on me every now and then, but every time I look, it’s gone. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
    He’s made no effort to drown my senses in charm once this morning. He isn’t unpleasant. Merely polite and distant.
    I don’t mind all that much.
    My earlier decision is still holding by a thread.
    When we make our way to the house for lunch, snowflakes flutter from the pine boughs above to dance in the gusts of wind. Roman strides up ahead with Connor, their heads down, probably engaged in the conversation they started in the third barn—the work shed.
    I’m not sure what else is left to do.
    We’ve toured the inner workings of the distillery. We’ve absorbed the feel of Kleighnorm.
    I suppose we could toss a couple of initial concepts about with Connor, but that is Simone’s department. We really should have postponed this visit until she was well.
    Access from the house to the distillery is via a side door that opens into a room used for muddy wellington boots and coats. As we break through the pine coverage to approach that entrance, there’s no sign of Roman or Connor.
    The door stands open and the paved stone out front is packed with freshly fallen snow. The temptation is irresistible.
    I bend to scoop up a handful of snow, patting it into a ball.
    Liam is a step ahead of me. His snowball, hard and wet, wings my shoulder.
    “You’ll regret that!” I swirl about, aim and fire.
    And miss.
    He dashes behind a tree and I streak after him, scooping up another ball as I go. My next shot hits him square on the forehead. Luckily for Liam, I’ve a weak arm.
    He wiggles his fingers at me in a Come and get it gesture. I keep my wary eyes on him as I squat to re-arm. I’m not wearing gloves and my fingers are frozen, but this is too much fun. A wicked grin slashes his jaw, but he’s still gesturing so I know he doesn’t have a snowball primed.
    He’s not a total idiot, though. We’re out of the treeline again, and he’s taking small steps, unobtrusively moving away from me.
    “Come on,” he challenges. “Give me your best shot.”
    I saunter towards him, my arm locked to fire, taunting him with a couple of mock throws. He twitches, only ducks left once. He’s good, which is why I have to get a little closer.
    When I throw for real, I’m less than three feet from him. He swerves, but I still get a good whop on his shoulder.
    I’m grinning like mad until I realise he’s lured me to this spot. He raises his arm to give a hard tug on a low hanging branch, showering us both with snowflakes.
    “Bastard!” I grab more snow and throw myself on him, intending to rub it into his face and hair. Before I get that far, he slips out from under me and we land up sprawled on the soggy ground.
    Liam doesn’t pause to catch his breath. He flips and straddles me, cuffing my wrists above my head with one hand, his other hand gathering a pile of muddy snow. “What was that you were going to do?”
    “Liam,” I warn. “Don’t you dare.”
    “Fair chance.” He climbs off me and closes his eyes. “Run and hide.”
    I scramble to my feet with a giggle and do as he suggests. I run. Because he will catch me and then I’ll be eating snow-mud.
    I don’t see Roman standing in the doorway, arms folded, scowl darkening his expression, until I almost slam straight into him.
    He steadies me, then crosses his arms again.