I was arguing my freedom to sleep around, when in practice, I was more virginal than a nun. He was the only man I’d ever even kissed. This, however, wasn’t about my right to sleep my way through Chicago’s elite—but merely a principal. Equality mattered to me. Maybe because for the first time, I thought I might be able to achieve it.
“Let me be clear.” He stepped into the walk-in closet, erasing some of the distance between us. Though he was not close enough to touch me, sharing a space with him still sent a bullet of excitement and fear down my spine.
“You’re not eating, and I’m not going to back down from this arrangement, even at the cost of burying your pretty little corpse when your body finally gives in. But I can make your life comfortable. My problem is with your father, not you, and you’d be wise to keep it that way. So, Nemesis—what could I give you that your parents wouldn’t?”
“Are you trying to buy me?” I snorted.
He shrugged. “I already have you. I’m giving you a chance to make your life bearable. Take it.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled up my throat. I felt my sanity evaporating from my body like sweat. The man was unbelievable.
“The only thing I want back is my freedom.”
“You were never free with your parents to begin with. Don’t insult both our intelligence by pretending so.” His flatlined tenor whiplashed on my face. He took a step deeper into the room. I cemented my back to the drawers, their bronze handles digging into my spine.
“Think,” he enunciated. “What can I give you that your parents never will?”
“I don’t want any dresses. I don’t want a new car. I don’t even want a new horse,” I cried out, waving the shears in my hand desperately. Papa said whoever decided to marry me could buy me a horse to show his good faith. And to think I was devastated then.
“Stop pretending to care about materialistic things,” he snapped, and I twisted around and threw an Oxford shoe at him to stop him from getting any closer, but he just dodged it and laughed.
“Think.”
“I don’t have any wants!”
“We all have wants.”
“What’s yours?” I was stalling.
“Serving my country. Seeking justice and punishing those who deserve to be brought to justice. You do, too. Think back to the masquerade.”
“College!” I yelled, finally cracking. “I want to go to college. They’d never let me get a higher education and make something of myself.” It surprised me that Wolfe caught the fraction of the moment in which I had to school my face from being both embarrassed and disappointed when Bishop asked me about college. My grades were great, and my SAT scores were glorious. But my parents thought I was wasting my energy when I should be focusing on getting married, planning a wedding, and continuing the Rossi legacy by producing heirs.
He stopped his stride.
“It’s yours.”
His words shocked me into silence. My quiet inspired him to resume his steps. He smirked, and I had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he was always raggedly stunning—his face all sharp edges like an Origami figure—but especially when his lips were curled in an Adonis-like grin. I wondered what he looked like with a full-blown smile. I hoped I’d never stick around to find out.
“Your father has explicitly asked me not to send you to college when we get married to maintain The Outfit’s status quo in regard to women, but your father can also go fuck himself.” His words stabbed me like knives. He spoke completely different than he did in public. As if he was another person with another vocabulary. I could never imagine him dropping the F-bomb anywhere but here. “You can go to college. You can go horseback riding, visit friends, and go on shopping sprees in Paris. Hell if I care. You could live your life separately from mine, play your part and, when enough years go by, even take on a discreet lover.”
Who was this guy, and what made him so ice-cold? In all my years on Earth, and all my time spent with the ruthless men of The Outfit, I’d never met anyone quite so cynical. Even the most horrid men wanted love, and loyalty, and marriage. Even they wanted children.
“And what do I give you in return?” I elevated my chin, pursing my lips.
“You eat,” he bit out.
I could do that, I thought grimly.
“You play the dutiful wife role.” He took another step. I instinctively pressed myself harder against his drawers, but there was no escape and nowhere else to go. In two steps, he was going to be flush against me just like Angelo had been last night, and I’d have to meet the inferno of his body and the frost of his eyes.
He lifted the tips of a ruined, maroon-hued tie, eating the entire distance between us in one, purposeful stride, “I was planning a trip to DC, but seeing as your father is up to all sorts of trouble, I decided to stay in town. That means that on Friday, we’ll have guests from DC. You will dress impeccably, you will cut the engagement tales bullshit in favor of a proper, decent version, and you will entertain them flawlessly as you were brought up to do. After dinner, you will play the piano for them, and after that, you will retire to the west wing with me, seeing as they will be spending the night in the east wing.”
“Sleeping in your bed?” I barked out a laugh. Wasn’t that convenient.
“You’ll sleep in the next room.” His body was now hovering over mine, and he was touching me without really touching me. He poured heat my own curves drank thirstily, and even though I hated him, I didn’t want him to step away.
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. I wanted to refuse, but also knew that by agreeing to his deal, I’d have the chance to actually live a decent life. But I couldn’t surrender to him willingly and completely. Not so fast. He laid down his rules, his expectations, and his price for his messed-up version of my freedom. We were striking a verbal deal, and the need to put a clause or two of my own was primal.
“I have one condition,” I said.
He curved one inquisitive eyebrow, the tip of the tie in his hand gliding its way to my neck. I raised the shears in a knee-jerk reaction, ready to stab his black heart if he touched me inappropriately. But not only did he not recoil, he actually awarded me with that smile I’d been wondering about. He had dimples. Two. The right one deeper than the left. The tie fluttered across my shoulder blade, making my nipples pucker inside my bra, and I prayed to God it was padded enough for him not to notice. I clenched from the inside, my stomach tumbling and dipping. A delicious ache spread in my womb like warm goo.
“Speak now, or forever hold your peace, Nemesis.” His lips fluttered so close to mine for a split second, I wouldn’t object if he kissed me.
Jesus. What was wrong with my body? I loathed him. But I also craved him. Terribly.
I looked up, tensing my jaw. “I will not be made a fool. If I’m expected to be faithful, so will you.”
He moved the tie from my shoulder blade, dipping it down into the slit of my cleavage before moving it back up to my neck. I shuddered, fighting to keep my eyes open. A pool of wetness gathered in my cotton underwear. His eyes were dead and serious when he asked, “That’s your one condition?”
“And the notes,” I added as an afterthought. “I know you know about them because you ruined my kiss with Angelo. Do not read my notes. The wooden chest is mine to open, read, and explore whenever I’m ready.”
He looked so blasé, there was no way I could detect whether he tampered with the box or not. And by now, I knew my future husband would never willingly volunteer any information to me.
My future husband. It was happening.
“I take verbal contracts quite seriously.” He brushed the tie over my cheek, his smile still intact.
“So do I.” I gulped, feeling his hand prying my fingers open. The shears dropped to the floor beside us, and he squeezed my palm in his, his version of a handshake.
Our hearts were pounding together in a completely different way from when Angelo and I were tangled in the darkened alcove like two messy teenagers fumbling for their first kiss yesterday. This felt dangerous and feral. It felt exhilarating, somehow. Like he could tear me apart, no matter how many shears I arm myself with. I forced myself to remember that he’d slept with Emily yesterday while being engaged to me. To keep in mind his cruel words when he thought I’d slept with Angelo on the same night I presented my engagement ring to Chicago’s highest society.
He was not my playmate. He was my monster.
Wolfe picked up our entwined hands and brought them level with my chin. I watched in fascination as his dark, big hand enclosed my ivory, small one. Little, black hairs peppered each finger above his knuckles, and his arms were veiny, tan, and thick. Yet somehow, our size difference didn’t look ridiculous.
My heart stammered in my chest as Senator Keaton bent his head down, his lips brushing my ear.
“Now clean the mess you’ve created. By evening, you will be given a new laptop connected to WiFi and a Northwestern brochure. By night, you will have your dinner and a snack. And tomorrow morning, after breakfast, you will practice the piano and shop for a dress that will make our guests foam at the mouth. Am I understood?”
He was crystal clear. But I chose to pull away, bat my eyelashes, and answer him with one of the taunting smirks he was so fond of. I lacked real power in the situation between us, so sarcasm didn’t cost me a thing, and I found I had it in spades.
I brushed past him and strode away, leaving him alone in his walk-in closet.
“For someone who doesn’t negotiate, you just went pretty far.”
He chuckled behind me, shaking his head.
“I’m going to bury you, Nemesis.”
I TUGGED AT THE NEW yellow tie, tossing it on the floor.
Too calm.
I slid a green one from the rack, wrapping it over my neck before thinking better of it.
Too chirpy.
I plucked out a silky black velvet one and pressed it against my white shirt.
Perfect.
My sexual frustration was getting the best of me. I could barely walk straight without thinking of dipping my cock into the nearest open mouth in my vicinity. It’d been days since the last time I sank my dick in a wet pussy, and the last encounter with the fairer sex was lackluster, to say the least.