Chapter 5
“Alright!” I yell as the pounding on the door continues.
Pulling the rope to secure my robe, I hurry to the front of the bar and begin the process of unlocking it, wondering who the hell would be knocking now.
It’s ten thirty in the morning; we don’t open until twelve!
I was supposed to have an hour to get myself ready for the day.
My hair is still wet from this morning’s swim, and I had hoped to wash it before my shift begins, but I won’t be able to now.
“Yes?” I yank the door open only to come face to face with Roman Knight.
I have seen this man more times in the past twenty-four hours than I have in my entire life.
He towers over me in the doorway, his hat casting a deep shadow down his face.
Remembering everything from last night, panic comes over me, and frantically, I check behind him, wondering if he changed his mind to have me arrested.
“I just want to talk.” He offers me his hands in a surrender-like motion.
When I see the coast is clear behind him and there are no deputies waiting with handcuffs, I relax. “I haven’t had enough caffeine yet to deal with whatever this is.”
As rude as it may be, I don’t care. I move to close the door on him, but he shoves a foot out, stopping it from shutting.
“Hear me out,” He catches my eyes, the amber in his like molten gold this morning.
It should be a crime to look as good as he does, but he’s the type of man you can’t look away from.
With those high cheekbones and sharp jawline, he has the type of face you want to trace with your fingers to see if it feels as beautiful as it looks.
But I also know what is good for me, and Roman Knight is certainly not good for me.
“No thank you,” I offer and try to close the door again.
He chuckles, “Niamh.” My skin breaks out in goosebumps with the way my name rolls off his tongue. “You’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
“Is ‘no’ a foreign concept to you?” I ask him honestly, head cocking to the side as I study him. “I can explain what it means if you’d like.”
One dark smudge of a brow lifts. “You’re in a lot of debt.”
He says it so casually, like we’re having a good old catch up over coffee, but the words still slap. My head snaps back, and I feel the blood drain from my face. How does he know that!?
“And I can help.”
My lips curl up as I remember him slipping that hundred into the tip jar. I bet he believes his money can buy him anything, get him anything, even people.
There’s a reason the Knight family is royalty.
Sure, they’re charitable; they donate and pour money into this town, but I’ve come across many people just like them who don’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts.
They always want something, what they have is never enough.
I just don’t know what I could possibly have that Roman could want.
He has that big house and all that land, horses and cars, and I doubt he ever worries about anything. That must be nice.
“Is there something wrong with you?” I snap at him, “How do you even know that!?”
“How long before you lose it?” He leans on the door frame and crosses his arms, the material of his shirt stretching to accommodate. It’s the type of build only working a ranch can achieve, his skin sun-kissed, hands roughened by countless hours of hard labor.
“That’s really none of your business.”
“What if I make it my business?” He challenges.
“Why?”
“I need something from you.” He admits, those whiskey eyes swirling, holding mine.
“Of course you do.” I sigh and shake my head. “I’m not interested. Please leave.”
“Niamh,” His voice softens, “Please, just hear me out.”
My eyes bounce between his, and despite my better judgement, I widen the door, just enough to let him inside.
A breath seems to leave him as he steps past me, removing his hat.
I close the door and immediately regret it, the air turns thin with only the two of us in here.
I can smell him — that sandalwood and clove scent, earthy, a little woody and spicy and it wraps around me.
The man is imposing, standing at least a foot, if not more, over me.
He’s wide, with his thick arms and thighs that stretch out those dark denim jeans, and I don’t need to feel his hands to know they’re rough.
“Well,” I press, clearing my throat, “What is it?”
For just a split second, something like nerves come over him and his brows lower while his throat works on a thick swallow. “I need a wife.”
I stare at his stupidly handsome face for a minute, not quite understanding why he needed to tell me that. “Okay?”
He rolls his neck from side to side, clearly uncomfortable.
“I’m not sure what the hell is going on with you,” I step away, “We don’t know each other, I’m not sure why you felt the need to come tell me this so maybe it’s best we just say goodbye now.”
“You’re not understanding,” He groans. “It’s you.”
I think I choke on my tongue, or maybe it’s air, or maybe it’s both because I suddenly cannot breathe as I cough, attempting to bring up a lung. I see him reach out as if to help, but I skirt away from his hand, trying to pull myself together. He is not serious.
Am I being pranked? The man did not just tell me I’m going to be his wife.
“Did you hit your head?” I wheeze. “Do I need to phone someone for you?”
“I have to get married, Niamh, to secure the ranch. You need money. It’s a win-win situation.”
“What? You’re not going to get down on one knee?” I joke because what the hell am I meant to say to that? It’s certainly not yes and more of a fuck no.
“If that’s what it takes.” He shrugs and starts to lower. I dart forward, grabbing his shirt to stop him from doing that.
“What the fuck! No. Stop that.”
My hands are curled into the front of his shirt, only an inch between us. He looks down at me, a quirked brow and half smile to greet me as I frown up at him. I release him quickly and almost lose my footing but catch myself on the back of one of the chairs.
“You can’t be serious.” I rush out.
“Trust me, this is the last thing I want to be doing, but I’ve been left with no choice.”
“Okay, well, you’ve knocked on the wrong door, cowboy. There is no way.” My hand slashes through the air.
“I will pay off your debts, in full, as soon as we reach an agreement.” He holds up his hand as if trying to placate me. “And I’ll pay another five hundred thousand at the end of the contract.”
“There are a thousand women in this town more suitable.” My throat feels tight, and is it getting hot in here? I need to crack a window or something. He’s offering a million dollars to marry him. Holy shit.
“They’re not what I need.”
“And just what do you need, Roman?” My knuckles are turning white where I’m squeezing the top of the chair.
“I need someone who isn’t going to fall in love with me.”
“Oh my God, you’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“No.” The word comes out blunt and sharp, a lash that splits the air between us. “Absolutely not.”
I start to move toward the door that’ll take me up to my studio, shaking my head as I go. I need to get out of here, but he follows.
“Roman, leave. Right now.”
But he doesn’t, he follows me right up the stairs, his hand slapping out to stop me from shutting the door on his face again. He forces himself inside and pauses, looking around my home.
“You live here?” I can feel the snub in the words, see the disgust on his face. Sure, it’s no sprawling ranch house, but who needs all that space anyway!? This is perfect for me.
“You need to go.”
“Niamh,” He sighs, “Just read the contract.”
“Contract,” I repeat on a squeak. He reaches behind him and pulls out a rolled-up envelope.
“I can help you,” He pleas, “I just need help in return.”
I stare at that envelope like it’s a bomb ready to detonate. Maybe I’m the one who hit my head because this is surreal. This cannot be real life.
“The answer is no.” I hold his stare, standing my ground.
“Just like that?”
“There is no universe where I agree to marry you, Roman. What the hell are you even thinking?”
“I’m desperate, Niamh.”
“I can see that.”
“Just read the contract.” He places the envelope down on the counter, right next to the bowl of fruit I’d placed there earlier, my name scrawled across the front in blocky letters.
“I’m not reading that.” I tell him flatly.
“You will.” He turns and starts walking toward the door.
“What do you mean I will!?” I grab it and chase after him. “Take it with you.”
He spins on me, and I slap the envelope against his chest.
“Take it with you.” I repeat.
“I will not.”
“Roman!”
“Would it be so terrible?” He cocks his head, eyes roaming over my face softly, slowly. “Being married to me?”
“Yes!” The word hisses from me, and I ignore the way he’s looking at my mouth. I definitely don’t wet my lips or feel the way my stomach tightens. The air around us warms, his eyes on my mouth, his chest a firm, hot brand under my palm.
“Ouch.” One side of his mouth kicks up into a half smile, two lines appearing at the edge of his lips.
“I’m sure that hurts your delicate ego.” I tip up my chin, trying to claw back some of my power as I push away how my body is responding to his proximity.
“My ego is just fine, sweetheart.”
My eyes narrow on him.
“Think about it.” He continues and finally steps back, letting my hand drop away from his chest.
“I won’t.” My voice carries down the stairs, following his retreating form.
When I hear the door open and close downstairs, I numbly walk to my bed, falling onto the edge, the envelope dangling from my fingers.
Me? Roman Knight’s wife?
Well, that was a throwback. This is a little less Beauty and the Beast though and more delusional cowboy using money to fix all his problems.
If only money didn’t fix all our problems. That five hundred grand would fix everything.