Handsome devil, p.4
Handsome Devil, page 4
part #3 of Forbidden Love Series
The words tumbled out of my mouth clumsily. It wasn’t often I lost my footing, but speaking about Mum did that to me. I twisted my fingers in my lap.
“And this week, well, I met with her doctor. And he mentioned that there is this trial…I mean, experimental treatment here in the States. In New York, in fact, for dementia patients. It’s an in-patient, all-encompassing treatment for people who are in the middle stage of the disease. There’s a lot of red tape and fine print, of course, but the doctor mentioned that the initial results of people who enrolled in the program twelve weeks ago are groundbreaking. They were able to reverse some of the symptoms back to the early, mild stages and gain these people years more to live rather comfortably,” I said breathlessly, getting animated despite myself.
If there was one thing Tate loathed, it was melodramatic people.
Tate’s apathetic gaze told me he was losing both his patience and interest.
He checked his watch again. “Can you cut to the chase? My trainer’s coming at five thirty, and I’d like to have my bulletproof coffee beforehand.”
Curling my fingers into fists to prevent myself from slapping him, I answered slowly, “I am tired of living away from Mum, of hopping between continents to see her. I would love to secure her a place in this program.”
Tate elevated an eyebrow. “Is anyone stopping you?”
He was going to make me spell it out for him. Bastard.
“I need someone with connections. Someone who’d be able to pull some strings and get her into the program.”
“I assume I am that lucky someone.” He knotted his fingers together, tapping his indexes over his mouth.
My gaze dropped to my feet.
“I haven’t pegged you as a rule breaker,” he mused, a hint of a smile hiding behind his perpetual snarl. “First time?”
“Yes,” I lied. I’ve done so much worse. You have no idea. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for the little that is left of my family.”
“And what, pray tell, am I going to get in return for ‘pulling some strings’?” He used his long fingers to mimic quotation marks.
I gulped.
I knew we’d reach the bargaining portion of the conversation. And though I hadn’t many haggling chips, I did come up with a few ideas.
“I thought you might do this from the goodness of your heart?”
“I possess no such thing, and you know it.” He waved me off. “Next?”
“Helping me get Mum into the program is to your financial benefit. It would ensure I’d be on top of my game. I wouldn’t have to be preoccupied all the time. Wouldn’t have to go to London so frequently. That’s at least once a month. It would be a good investment for you.”
“How tempting.” He stroked his square chin. “Even so, I am afraid wasting my resources and power for the pleasure of you doing your damn job sets a dangerous precedent. See, I am, first and foremost, a businessman, Gia. This is a transaction like any other. Make it worth my while.”
Now he did smile, and I almost wish that he hadn’t.
He looked so arrogant, so wildly pleased to see me squirming and vulnerable.
I wondered if he’d ever loved someone. A parent. A sibling. A friend. A pet.
Likely not. To love was to relinquish control, and Tate was too fond of that particular ingredient.
“Right, then.” I clapped my hands together. “This brings me to my third and final offer. I would love to pay you back by working for free. I’ve enough money saved up, and I could do my job without any monetary imbursement if y—”
“Christ, how unimaginative.” He threw his head back and groaned, shaking his head at the ceiling with a chuckle. “This is how you Brits lost an empire. What a constricted way of thinking. Shaving a few hundred thousand dollars from my company’s two-billion annual expense sheet is a terrible stimulus.”
“What do you want, then?” I actually stomped, losing my patience.
“You.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I misheard him. I must’ve.
“If I’m going to break the law and likely a few fucking families standing in line for this bullshit experimental trial, I want your life in exchange for saving your mother’s. It’s symbolic, symmetrical, and one of the very few things money can’t buy me.”
“Me, as in…?” Ice wrapped around my bones. My stomach roiled.
Do. Not. Vomit.
“You, as in you become my wife. You wear my ring. You live under my roof. You take my name. You suck my cock.” He paused, examining his fingers in sheer boredom. “You bear my children. I’m thinking four, minimum. We’re bound to make mistakes on the first few before we create someone worthy to inherit the company. Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “Maintaining my friendships. Socializing is my least favorite pastime. Rhyland’s and Row’s wives seem to like you. Keep up our appearances.”
He was mental.
More alarming than that—he was dead serious.
I could tell by the contemplative look on his face. He was looking for more responsibilities to dump on me.
“W-where is this coming from?” I forced out a weak laugh. “You hate me.”
“Yes, and?” Tate’s dark brows slammed together in confusion. “That is not germane to the fact that you are the perfect candidate for childbearing. You’d do nicely.”
“Why would you like to have children with someone you dislike?”
“Because you are intelligent, analytical, of excellent health, and athletic. Plus, most people are too stupid to shine my shoes, let alone raise my successors. You’ve proven competence during our time together. I can dislike you and still acknowledge you possess all the things I’d want in a wife.”
“Respectfully,” I cleared my throat, “you’re a psychopath.”
“I prefer inventive.”
“I’m too young for you.”
He gave me a pitiful smirk. “Men in my tax bracket don’t adhere to age-gap norms.”
“I can’t marry you.”
“Yes, you can. You don’t want to. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?” I blinked.
“People do shit they don’t want to do all the time. Work, exercise, pay taxes. The ability is there.”
I shook my head. “We’d be miserable together.”
“We’re already miserable together.” He tucked another cigarette into his mouth, cupping his Zippo to light it. “The only thing that’ll change is that you’ll get your Centurion back.” He gave me a slow once-over, exhaling a plume of smoke sideways. “And a few good fucks a week, which will do a world of good to your rigidness.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all the things he could want…of all the ways he could torture me…
“That’s the most deranged thing I’ve ever heard you say, and trust me, the competition is tough.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “Money is a great opiate. You agree, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I said plainly.
Tate looked at me like I was a puppy who tried—and failed—to pee on its designated pad. “Sweetheart, the only reason your cunt is not the shape of my dick is because up until now, you were too sufficient for your own good as a PA.”
“And now?” I choked out.
How did he know I fancied him? Even I wasn’t sure of it half the time.
“Now, I’ve found a better use for you. It is far harder to find a bride than a secretary.”
Especially when you are the devil incarnate.
“How about…” I stopped, calculating my next move. This was negotiation. And Tate was bloody good at it.
He slipped one hand into the front pocket of his trousers and seemed to be tapping the side of his thigh through them impatiently. He was waiting for me to finish my thought.
“I mean, I’d love to date you and see where this is going,” I suggested feebly.
“First of all, no, you would not. And second, I don’t like to be lowballed. It’s marriage or nothing. Take it or leave it.”
“Are you forcing me—”
“No, not forcing,” he corrected offhandedly. “You’re free to walk from this place right this second. You’re free to walk out of my life right this second. Free to keep your job regardless of your answer. Free to quit it. I am merely offering you a deal, and quite a generous one. Ask your friends’ husbands what kinds of deals I usually put on the table. They are never this benevolent.”
Row and Rhyland despised doing business with Tate. And they were people he didn’t outwardly despise. Where did it leave me?
“Well, I’m so bloody touched.” I put a hand to my rib cage. “That you’re altruistic enough to offer I become your whor—”
“Stop right there.” He raised his palm. “Nobody gets to call my future wife a slut other than me.”
“You plan to call me a slut?” I blinked fast. It was just my luck to work for a madman.
“Only in the bedroom.” He sucked on his cigarette, the ember burning orange. “You’ll love it.”
“Do you understand?” My teeth ground together to a point of dust. “You’re essentially forcing me to have sex with you to save my mother’s life?”
“Miss Bennett, you wound me. I would never force myself upon you.” His voice felt like the edge of a knife, cold and sharp, traveling along my skin. “You will come to me willingly. Happily. ’Tis human nature to seek warmth where one can get it.”
“Warmth?” I laughed humorlessly, nauseous with rage. “You’re high if you think I’d ever sleep with you. Even if we’d been married for a hundred yea—”
“Enough.” He put his cigarette out swiftly. “The human race has remarkable spirit. We have survived countless wars, famine, pandemics, natural disasters, oppression, floods, and nuclear accidents. I have every faith you will survive—and thrive—in a marriage with a six-three handsome man worth ninety billion dollars who is fond of reciprocal oral sex and will leave you to your own devices. Your five minutes are up. Give me your answer.”
I hated him.
I hated him so much the hatred had a taste and a scent and a shape.
It was a living, breathing thing inside me.
It thrummed under my skin. Still, I knew I had no choice. He wasn’t going to budge. He had all the power.
All I could hope for was that this was one of our games. Something I could bargain my way out of at some point.
“Well?” Tate flicked his wrist to check his watch. It was, I realized, a tic. “What’s it going to be?”
“This marriage…” I took a deep breath. “How do you envision it?”
“With a rigid set of rules,” he replied. “We live in different corners of my estate. I provide you with money, security, freedom, and comfort. My means and connections would be at your disposal. You, in return, provide me with heirs, company, and arm candy for social events.”
“That’s all?” I frowned.
He quirked an eyebrow up. “Am I missing something?”
Yes. Friendship. Feelings. Love.
“And are you still going to be obnoxious to me?” I asked.
“Naturally.” He opened up his arms, undaunted. “You’re the only person I know who is foolish enough to defy me.”
My disobedience being attractive to him wasn’t a good thing, because I could never stop butting heads with that demon.
“I don’t even know your real name,” I pointed out.
I didn’t know much about my boss, but the little I’d stumbled upon in Forbes three years ago fascinated me. He’d spent his early years in an orphanage—or a boarding school of sorts—and was adopted as a teenager, where he took on a different name. No one knew his real name. Not even his friends.
“Tatum Blackthorn is my legal name,” he retorted. “Anything else?”
I rolled my tongue along the walls of my mouth. “I have rules too.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“The results of your side of the bargain won’t be immediate. It’d take time to see if Mum is getting better and the experiment is working. Therefore, no heirs the first two years of our marriage.” That’d buy me some time.
Tate didn’t flinch.
I continued, feeling like a heavy stone rolled off my chest. “I decide when, where, and how we consummate this marriage. You will not pressure me. There’ll be no time limit on this.”
An indifferent nod. He was oddly confident that I would come to him readily. His ego was bigger than Nebraska.
“I come and go as I please. I do not answer to you. And when my mother passes away, our marriage contract expires, and I get to decide if I want a divorce or not.”
He scowled. “Absolut—”
I held up a hand. “This shouldn’t be an issue if you plan on taking care of her. This is my assurance. Bear in mind that if all goes well and we have spawn, I am less likely to leave. Or at least I’d give you a fair chance.” Lies. I would not. And there’d be no spawn. But he didn’t need to know that.
Tate suppressed a grin. “Such a ballbuster at twenty-six. I want to add more rules.” He stood, eating up the distance between us. He stopped a breath away from me.
My heart rioted. He smelled of tobacco, fine leather, spice, and my own personal demise.
“One, this is exclusive. You dump your little boyfriend as soon as you walk out of here. Two, you act like you don’t detest me in public. Three, do not hire anyone to assassinate me. If you want to kill me, do it yourself.”
I let out an exasperated snort. He remained stoic.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
“Haven’t you been married three times before?” My eyebrows slammed together.
“Yes.”
“Did any of them try to assassinate you?”
“Only one that I know of, but it is possible the other two were more discreet.” He sounded entirely unbothered. “I married my way up the high society ladder. I’d inherited wealth, not status. I needed the latter to make GS Properties what it is today.”
“So the marriages were to make connections?”
“Yes. They knew what they were getting into. But some people get incredibly touchy about being used as a tool.”
“How overly dramatic of them,” I huffed. “Children?”
“They weren’t very mature, but I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Successors.” I rolled my eyes, sighing. “Do you have any?”
He shook his head. “None.”
Tate being thrice divorced was a positive sign. If he treated marriage like a currency, there was bound to be someone more beneficial for him in the future. He’d have to enter another union. To break things off with me.
“I agree.” I choked on every word. “On the stipulation that you will secure Mum a spot in the experimental trial, fly her out here, and allow her to stay with us once she finishes her treatment.”
“Acceptable,” he clipped out.
“I’m afraid I won’t bud—really?” My knees buckled. I didn’t know if I was relieved or terrified. “O-okay then.”
“Now, there’s only one matter left.” The feral spark returned to Tate’s gunmetal pupils. “You need to prove that you can touch me without recoiling.”
My mouth parched. “How is this important exactly?”
“Well, you’ve given yourself unlimited time to warm up to the idea of touching me. It is vital we establish you are capable of it at all.” A diabolic sneer found his mouth. “As it happens, I am right here, within reach.”
Panic slashed through my spine.
He wanted me to touch him. Now.
My formidable, decadent boss.
The man I’d seen blackmail and annihilate people for sport.
I refused to recoil.
“Where?” I asked evenly.
He shrugged. “Anywhere. Everywhere.” His voice, low and husky, licked at my skin like a smothered flame. “Surprise me.”
“Close your eyes,” I ordered.
“Why?” His eyes narrowed.
“Marriage is built on trust, isn’t it?” I blinked innocently. “We need to start somewhere.”
Shockingly, he let his eyelids flutter shut.
I lifted my hand toward his face, teetering on the fine line between panic and exhilaration. I had a feeling that even though his eyes were closed, not only could he see me, but he could also see through my clothes and thoughts and feelings.
I let my fingers guide me. Tell me which part of him they wanted to explore.
My fingertips fluttered less than an inch from his face, searching, contemplating, deciding…
I pressed two fingers to his mouth, surprised to feel it hot and soft against my fingers. Human.
I sucked in a surprised breath.
He always looked so cold. Like he was carved out of stone, engraved by the sharpest scalpels. The tips of my fingernails scraped his lips apart.
My head was swimming. I thought I felt the hot edge of his tongue pressing against my skin for a taste, but I couldn’t be sure.
What I was certain of was the terrible, desperate ache that built inside me. It felt like someone cracked an egg in me, and its content, yolky, thick, and warm, pooled between my legs.
And in that moment, I knew why Tate had not balked at my condition about taking my time consummating our marriage.
He knew.
Knew one touch would reveal my entire hand.
Every single card in it.
That I was attracted to him. That his darkness always appealed to me. That it mirrored a side of me no one was privy to.
Tate’s eyes snapped open, his gaze meeting mine. There was satisfaction there. Hunger too. The starvation of a man beaten, damaged, and wrecked but not broken.
His mouth spread into a grin, and my fingers fell upon his straight white teeth. He was the Cheshire Cat now. Playful and elusive.
“This’ll be fun.” His teeth grazed my fingers. “You know what they say. Fourth time’s a charm.”
Age seven
It was my birthday. I was 93.6 percent sure of it.
