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And give me some filthy details, dirty man.
“You. Completely. Without hesitation.”
“I don’t—” I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. What does he mean, completely, and why is he on this damn bed with me right now? It’s like the guy can read my freaking mind. “I can’t just, uh, promise we’re going to, you know—”
“Fuck?” His smirk is infuriating and attractive all at once, the arrogant prick. “If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to force my brother’s hand and drag my family into a painful conflict, what we have must seem real. Even if it’s an arrangement, anyone outside of this room has to think we’re actually together.”
“Even if I can’t stand you?” I whisper, breathing hard.
“We both know that isn’t true.”
“Except that’s the problem, you don’t know me at all.”
“Go on, fight me, argue all you want, but we both know I’m right.”
I close my mouth, glaring at him. “I don’t think I’m a good enough actress to convince anyone that I’m in love with you.”
“Nobody said anything about love. Men in my family marry for many reasons. Convenience. Obligation. Lust.”
“I’m not in lust with you either,” I blurt out, which is patently not true, and he’s got to know it by now.
I’m very much in lust with this man.
Which is sick, given the circumstances.
“All that matters is we act as though what we have is for the long run. My family cannot know that you plan on divorcing me the moment our partnership has run its course. Do you understand? It doesn’t matter if you hate me, so long as you’re not going to leave.”
I nod slowly. It makes a lot of sense. “I can do that.”
“Good. That means we do certain things.” He puts a hand on my calf, slowly moving it up to my thigh.
I let out an involuntary whimper that lights his expression like an atomic bomb.
“You shouldn’t,” I say, my lips trembling, nearly numb with tension. “I mean, what things are you talking about?”
“We’ll share a life. We’ll share a house, a bedroom, a shower, a bed. We’ll live like husband and wife.”
I close my eyes. His hand stays on my thigh only inches from my aching core. He’s kneeling over me now, blocking out the ceiling lights. When I look at him again, his face is in shadow, his mouth open, his eyes locked on mine. Shirtless, gorgeous. Muscles flexed and powerful. I think of his arms wrapped around me as he carried me from the hotel earlier today. That seems like forever ago. But I remember what those arms can do.
“You’re going to cross the line, aren’t you?” I say it in a strangled whisper. “The second you get me into your bed, you’re not going to play nice.”
“No, princess. I promise I won’t play nice.”
“I want boundaries. I want space. We pretend for everyone else, but in the privacy of our own home—”
“In the privacy of our own home, you will be mine.” The way he says it, so fierce and sure, it’s the most attractive thing I’ve ever heard. “You said yourself that you’re a bad actress. If I give you a single inch of space to fuck this up—”
I try to wriggle away, but he keeps me there, now leaning forward to pin one of my wrists up above my head. I gasp, back arching, my chest rubbing against his.
I wish I didn’t have this stupid wedding dress on still.
Though at least it’s getting some good use.
“I won’t fuck anything up, you asshole.”
“I won’t let you,” he says, his face so close to mine it’s killing me. “We’ll live as husband and wife because that’s what we’ll be. Do you understand me, princess? If you’re mine, then you’re all mine.”
“What about when this is over? You’ll let me go? I can leave you?”
He nods slowly. “You can leave me. I don’t keep what wants to be free.”
“Convenient. And what about right now? I would love to be free right now.”
“Liar.”
“Even more convenient.”
“We both know what you want.” His lips move down to my neck. I groan, biting my lip to stop another whimper, as my free hand wraps into his hair. He kisses my throat, moves up to my chin.
“This is a bad idea.” I say the words. I know they’re true. I’m not going to do anything about them.
And apparently, neither is he.
Because he pulls back slightly.
Then he presses his lips to mine and kisses me.
Chapter 9
Alisa
That kiss. That stupid, perfect, amazing, incredible kiss.
I thought I liked his smell. But his taste is even better. Yes, there’s some whiskey, but there’s also lemon, and mint, and something deeper than that, a darkness, a need underpinning everything.
He holds onto my hair, fisting it tight as he kisses me, pinning me back against the headboard of the bed.
