“Separate lives. You can keep me in your room and in your bed, but that doesn’t mean you’ll own my heart.”
He hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t like it. But he shrugs. “What else?”
“We’ll buy a home together in Dallas. I’m not moving to the East Coast.”
His eyebrows raise. “Really now?”
“If you want my connections then you need to be here, in Texas. This is where my family has the most power and sway. I suppose there might even be new opportunities for you here.”
“Interesting,” he says, running a finger around the rim of his glass, and I think about sucking that finger, about tasting the musky, acidic taste of my own pussy and liking it so much I want him to do it to me again. That finger can do things I never dreamed possible and I hate him for it.
“We will lie about our relationship. The arrangement will be a secret.”
“Even to your other family members? Your friends?”
“Especially them. If people in your—” I hesitate here, not sure of the word. “If people in yourorganizationknow about the deal we’re making, tell them to forget it.”
“Done. What else? I’m enjoying this, by the way. I have a feeling you’re going to be a very bossy wife.” He runs a hand through his hair and my eyes drift to his bulging biceps. “You’re going to push me around and take away all my fun.”
“If I have my way, I’ll never talk to you.”
“Except when we’re fucking.” He leans closer again. “Remember my stipulation. I need heirs. I need children. That means you’ll take my cock and let me fill you up as often as I please.”
“As often as it takes to get me pregnant and no more.” I glare at him, disgusted with myself.
“Whatever you want to tell yourself, filthy girl.”
“We’ll sign a prenup for both our sakes.”
“Fine by me. Not that your family has anything I’d want to take right now anyway.”
“Most of all, you’ll do everything in your power to help my family out of this hole we’re in. And to the outside world, we’re a happy couple. But behind closed doors, don’t forget that I despise you, that I’m practically your captive, and the moment I smell an opportunity to get the hell away, I’ll take it.”
“All of that is acceptable. I look forward to catching you again when you try to run.” He finishes his whiskey and places the glass down.
I haven’t touched my second martini. My heart’s racing and I feel sick. I’m sweating and my underarms are damp. I cross my legs, trying not to think about him kissing my neck, biting my shoulder, about his fingers plunging in and out of me as I grind my hips against his palm. God, what is wrong with me? Why do I keep doing this?
“That’s all then.” I nod to myself stiffly. “I suppose my grandfather will be in touch about the paperwork.”
“We have one more thing.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes something out. He puts it on the bar and slides it over.
When his hand pulls back, there’s a ring lying in front of me.
I stare at it. Big diamond, white gold. A lovely ring, an expensive ring. Appropriate for a woman like me. The sort of ring my friends would be jealous of. I stare and stare and think I should feel something—this is my engagement ring, after all—but it’s just a lifeless rock surrounded by some cold metal. It’s emotionless. It’s just a prop.
“Put it on,” he says quietly. “I want to see you wearing it.”
I pick it up, remove the punching-ring I’m already wearing from my ring finger, and slide it down.
I wait for something to happen, for something to change.
There’s nothing. I feel nothing. I’m only emptiness.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. “Look at you, filthy girl, wearing my ring.”
“Are we done here?” I push myself away from the bar and stand, clutching my purse under my arm. There’s a weight inside heavy enough to hurt him if I decide to swing it. I came here armed, I realize. Armed to meet with my fiancé.
How did my life end up here?