Anticipation of what was to come sent tremors of excitement through me as Cristian stretched the silence between us.
“I brought you here because I have been looking, for quite a long time, for the right woman,” he finally responded. “One who can measure up to me. One who intrigues me. Excites me. Who will suit the life I’m going to give her. Who secretly craves that life.” There was an edge to his voice.
My heart was in my throat. My mind battled against the words. At being excited, turned on and terrified at the meaning of them.
“You’re here because the man who gave you that ring is a piece of shit.” He nodded toward the diamond on my left hand.
I blinked.
Out of all of the scenarios that had been rushing through my mind, Pete had not appeared in any of them. In fact, he barely appeared in my mind at all.
“What does Pete have to do with this?” I frowned. “What does Pete have to do with you?”
Cristian sat back in his chair, never taking his eyes off me. “Pete has a gambling problem,” he said bluntly. “He is a man used to winning. In life.” His eyes ran over my body. “In love. Pete does not know how to lose. He does not know the cost of losing.” Cristian’s words were clipped now, brows furrowed, and his posture was stiff. There was obvious anger there. Dislike. Disdain.
I couldn’t focus on that. Instead, I focused on the words, trying to make sense of them.
“Pete owes you money?” I asked, still confused, feeling off guard and hating it.
He nodded once, the inane gesture violent.
“His parents, his trust fund, can more than cover whatever debt he’s racked up,” I said, placing the whisky on the desk, my head too light. I needed my wits about me.
“I’m afraid not,” he countered, never taking his eyes off me. “His parents, from what I understand, have cut him off. And he’s burned through his trust fund. On an apartment in The Village. Various failed business ventures. Substantial medical bills.” He listed these off without emotion, and I hated him for it. He’d done enough research to understand where the money went, and he’d used it as a weapon nonetheless.
I straightened in my chair, narrowing my eyes. “If you have access to all of this information, then you already know whatever money I have certainly won’t cover Pete’s debts.”
I wasn’t exactly surprised that Pete had become addicted to gambling. He was the kind of person who thought he was good enough to make money in games that had bankrupted millions. He was still looking for a quick fix, still looking to make a name for himself. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him tumbling further and further into debt, the money itself meaning nothing because it was worthless to him. He’d been raised surrounded by endless wealth. He suspected his own would be endless too. That he’d win eventually.
No, Pete’s transgressions did not surprise me. The fact that I was being dragged into them did, though.
Cristian was not some sleazy bookie operating out of a hole in the wall. He was much, much further up the food chain. Which meant I could only guess how many zeroes were on the end of the number Pete owed. I had savings, an impressive amount to most people, but it would be pennies compared to that.
“I don’t want your money, Sienna,” Cristian informed me coldly. The chill in his tone sent fire over my skin.
“What do you want, then?” I demanded, raising my voice, my composure cracking.
“You,” he said simply. “I will have you. As my bride.”
Chapter Six
I stared at him a long time, a low ringing in my ears.
“I’m here because you want a wife?” I spat, unable to fathom the words I was saying.
Cristian did not look amused or like he was readying to tell me the punch line. He nodded once.
I gaped. Closed my mouth. Opened it again. Searched his face for some clue that he was joking, although I already knew this was not a jovial man. But the prospect was so utterly ridiculous, it had to be a joke. Some fucked-up prank.
But what I knew about people, about reading faces, about him, told me that this was real. He was serious. He had summoned me here, to his office, to fuck me, to propose marriage. No. Not even propose. To propose meant there was a choice in the matter. I got a very distinct feeling that I had no choice here, however ridiculous that prospect seemed.
My mouth went dry, knowing I’d let this man inside me without protest. No, I’d practically thrown myself at him. And he’d fucked me knowing that this was what was going to follow. The fucking bastard.
We had one night together. I knew nothing about this man. I’d only just learned his name.