8. Raif
“How dangerous are you?”
Across the terrace, my new wife lifts her sunglasses to see me better.
I put down my pen, close the leather document folder, and lean back in the chair. After the ceremony, I’d seated myself at the dining table and gave a solid impression of someone engrossed in paperwork. Someone who hadn’t resorted to curling his fingers around the chair arms until they turned chalk white and ached. I longed to cross the distance between us, to lift her from the sun lounger and carry her into the bedroom, picking up where we left off.
But there are two issues with this.
It wasn’t the agreement we made.
And in doing so, I win her body, but I also lose. Because it would be playing right into her hands.
So here I’ve sat for the past eighty-seven minutes, trying to talk myself out of the decisions I’d made.
Messy wasn’t what I’d planned for. My life is fucked up enough. I’d stared at the documents Lachlan left, reading the same page over without any of it sinking in. All I could think about was how wrong this is. And how right she felt pressed against me. Those tiny, desperate breaths she’d made echoed in my ear, and my skin prickled to feel her squirming against me again. She’d wanted my fingers so badly but refused to admit her need.
I guess I’m as bad as her because it took every ounce of my fucking willpower not to push them inside. I wanted her shocked gasp and needed to feel her sweet pussy walls throbbing around me. I would have if she were any other girl. I would’ve have taken my fill, bent her over the sofa, and fucked her right there without a thought for who might walk in.
But Lavender is… not so easy. With every look, she flays. And every touch is like a war waged. And sometimes wars are inevitable, no matter the stakes. But to the victor go the spoils. And I’m coming for them.
“I promise to…”give you my body for multiple seven figures.
It should make her complicit, at least. Instead, she looks at me as though I’m the one in the wrong. And maybe I am, but I do know that I don’t have one ounce of regret. I can’t wait for the full wedding experience because that’s what the last eighty—nine minutes now—have come down to.
I want her. And I’m going to have her.
No need for it to interfere with the rest of my plans.
I plan on fucking her so well that she won’t be able to resist me for the duration of our marriage.
“Has the cat got your tongue?” she taunts when I don’t immediately answer.
“You ought to hope not. You’d miss it too much.”
She gives an arctic twist of her lips and drops her sunglasses back in place. With a sigh, she raises both hands over her head.
At least I know I’m not suffering alone. During our wedding interval, she’d almost pulled my hair from the roots once she realized I wasn’t going to finish her off. She called me sadistic and huffed when I said it was just unfinished business. Then she’d muttered something that sounded like I was lucky she didn’t finish me off.
Not the same connotations.
Lavender sighs theatrically and reaches back to curl over the top of the sun lounger. Then she arches her back like the pretty little cock tease she is.
My cock feels teased plenty. Point in fact, once the ceremony was over and the documents signed, I’d hustled everyone out of the door. Everyone but Lachlan, who’d insisted on a few words. We’d stepped into the home office, and he stopped short of asking me why the prenup needed to be changed in such a hurry, why it had jumped from one million to over five. Not that an idiot couldn’t guess what we’d been up to in the villa. I guess the fact that I can’t keep my eyes off her also doesn’t help.
By the time I’d gotten back to Lavender, she’d stripped off her cover-up and was sunning herself on a lounger. I’d stood in the shady interior of the lounge and remembered the breathless, eager sounds she’d made as I’d swiped my fingers through her arousal. That husky moan as I pinched her slippery clit. That I hadn’t gotten her off was the whole point. I was just repaying her in kind as my fingers slipped from between her legs. I’d brought them to her lips and painted her arousal there. She’d turned in my arms, so angry, but that hadn’t stopped me from kissing the fuck out of her.
“I say when.” Her agreement feathered across my lips.
“Fine by me.”
“And I say where.”
“We both know you would’ve let me fuck you over the bar.”
She’d rolled her eyes as though to signify exactly what she thought about that.
“I’ll sleep in your bed for the duration of our agreement.”
“Marriage,”I’d amended.
“But sex is a one-time deal.”
“One night,” I amended. One fuck wasn’t going to be enough.
“Fine, but that’s it. Consummation over. I’ll sleep in your bed, but you can’t be an arsehole about it.”
I’d frowned, not sure what she meant.
“You can’t…” Something flickered on her face, but it was gone before I could make sense of it. “Pressure me. Say stuff that you think might make me give in.”
Who the fuck has she been sleeping with? More to the point, where do I find them to cut off their balls?
“Fine.” But it’s far from fine.
“And you can’t keep upcasting the money. Making me feel bad about it.”
“Lavender,” I half growled, “who the fuck do you think I am?”
“I wish I knew,” she murmured, then shook herself. “After that, sleep together is all we’ll do.” She’d lifted her chin imperiously.
“Your choice, princess.”
“Yeah, it is. Besides, you don’t have enough money for a second time.”
I smiled. She had no idea.
She’d stepped back then, putting a little distance between us. “Deal?”
“One more thing. Tod.”
Her expression flickered. “What about him?”
“You’ll love him from afar until this year is over.”
“Fine.” She’d straightened her scrap of a dress.
“Done.”
And she will be. Because I’m that asshole.
“Dangerous. Pfft!”
Lavender’s muttering yanks me back to the present, and I watch as she moves on the lounger kind of huffily.
“How dangerous could he be when he’s so obviously getting on in years? I mean, he’s as deaf as a post. I wouldn’t be surprised to find all that hair is a well-glued toupee.”
The corner of my mouth curls. That mouth of hers gives me such a fucking hard-on.
As for old, I am older. Old enough to know better and horny enough not to give a fuck that this was supposed to be a clinical business deal.
With the side benefit of pissing off her brother.
“I heard you,” I say, pushing back my chair. “I’m just not sure where the question came from.” I turn and make my way to the bar, finding a smile tugging at my lips when I find her bouquet in a water-filled glass. The flowers were a last-minute addition, one that cost me serious money. I told myself it was more about soothing S?nor Moreno’s fucking scruples, but now I’m not so sure.
What does it matter?I think as I pull open the wine fridge. I needed to get married, and I have. I’ve made my peace with my change of decision. I guess now is as good a time as any to celebrate it.
“I don’t need a body count or anything.”
I pause, the bottle of Dom in the air. Body count? For a moment, I wonder if she’s asking how many women I’ve fucked before my mind turns the question her way. How many men…
I become aware of the grip I have on the bottle.
None of your business, asshole. I should be counting the ways I’m going to fuck her and how much each fuck will cost, not getting annoyed over faceless men.
Today has been like a train jumping the tracks. And that’s one fault I can’t lay at the door of her brother.
“Do you know repeating things is one of the signs of dementia?”
“Dementia?”
“There you go again.” Amusement fills her quiet words.
It might be more the case that she’s determined to make me demented.
“You know, the stuff you say is a little out of the ordinary, princess.” I grab a couple of glasses and make my way out onto the terrace.
“I feel a bit like a princess,” she says, tipping her chin to the sky as though she’s determined to catch the last of the sun’s lowering rays. “I don’t remember the last time I lay around all day, drinking champagne.”
“Don’t forget water,” I say, putting the champagne and glasses down to hand her a fresh bottle of mineral water. The ice bucket on the table is more like a watery pool at this point.
“You worried I might make a foolish decision?” Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she glances at me playfully. “Another foolish decision, even?”
“Like get a killer hangover?” I purposely misunderstand her again as I take a seat on the lounger next to hers. I don’t lounge, though. I face her. Feed on the sight of her from behind my sunglasses.
“That would be the perfect end to our wedding.”
“Civil ceremony,” I supply, watching her master a grin. “Who said I was dangerous?” Like I need to ask as I set the glasses on the side table between us.
“Who’d you think?”
What a pussy this Tod is.
“Did he tell you I threatened him?” Deniability is in how violence was mostly implied.
“He said you’d use his head as a receptacle to serve overpriced cocktails if I didn’t…”
“See me?”
“Well, I saw something,” she demurs. The corner of her mouth twists as though to stop herself from smiling.
“Was it stars?” Reaching for the champagne, I twist off the wire basket. Her eyes are dark as she watches, not that she’ll admit to enjoying the experience.
“Maybe it was your alter ego.”
“I’ll take the compliment.” Something tells me I won’t be on the receiving end very often.
“Do.” She gives an airy wave. “I give them where they’re due.” She sounds so uncomfortable but I don’t think that can be true.
“I give them too.” I twist the cork. It pops. “Lavender Deveraux, you have such a sweet fucking pussy.”
“And you have a dirty mouth,” she retorts, not withholding her smile this time. “But it’s Whittington. I won’t be taking your last name. We’re not living in the Victorian era.”
“What’ll that cost me?” I begin to pour the champagne into one of the flutes, ignoring any other sentiment that might be poking at me.
“Not everything is up for sale,” she retorts, irritated.
I pause and put the glass down. “There isn’t a thing in this world that isn’t for sale. It’s just a question of discovering the price. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”
“I don’t feel bad,” she retorts. “Why should I feel bad? What are you trying to insinuate?”
“Calm down.” I set the bottle down, realizing I’ve touched a raw nerve.
“I am perfectly calm,” she utters mulishly.
“Lavender.” I place my hand on her thigh, like it’s something I’ve done a thousand times before. Her skin is soft and slick, the scent of her sunscreen heady. I want to grip. Tighten it. Hear her gasp, then sigh as I slide my hand higher and—
Fucking focus.
Inhaling, I start again. “That you shouldn’t feel bad was exactly my point. I didn’t leave you a great deal of choice.”
Whatever storm was brewing seems to dissipate, heat and tension seeping out of her limbs. “What I don’t get,” she begins quietly, “is why you would offer me money to marry you in the first place. Carrot and the stick? I imagine a stick is usually enough to make people do what you want.”
“That’s true.” How did this conversation veer off course so quickly? “But you didn’t deserve the stick.” And I didn’t want to use it. I’ll need her understanding in the coming weeks and months, along with her support. Fear works, sure. Intimidation and threats, but it would’ve been a stupid move.
“I’m sure I didn’t deserve any of this,” she says airily.
“That’s why I’m making it worth your while. And I’ll say again, what’ll it take for you to take my name?”
It shouldn’t be important—it shouldn’t even be a fucking conversation. Yet here we are, bargaining. Playing as she rolls her eyes, she answers me like I’m a small child.
“Fine. I’ll hyphenate it. But I’m not changing my passport and stuff. It’s hardly worth it for twelve months.”
“Lavender Whittington-Deveraux,” I purr, setting the bottle down, my other hand still resting on her silky thigh.
“You do realize you’ve just made forms very difficult to fill out. There are barely enough little squares for my regular name.”
“But I’m so appreciative that you’ll suffer on my behalf.”
She gives a theatrical sigh. “You’d better be.”
“Let me show you just how appreciative,” I purr, tightening my grip a touch. “You only have to say the word.”
“I think you’re trying to distract me with your sexy voice and flirty eyes.”
“You think I have a sexy voice?” I ask… using my sexiest intonation.
“Stop that and answer my question.”
“Hmm.” I swipe my thumb against her inner thigh. “Remind me, which question was that?”
“Tod,” she says, pressing her thighs together as though that might stop me. “Did you threaten him with a stick?”
My jaw tightens, the idiot’s name pissing on my mood. “His head is empty enough to serve cocktails in. But no, he wasn’t at risk.”
“He might be from me.” This she murmurs quietly.
“That’s your prerogative, my vengeful wife.”
“Maybe it’s you I should be angry with, given you’re the one who put him in that position in the first place.”
Should beangry. Given she isn’t, I’d hate to see her truly pissed off.
Liar, whispers a little voice inside me. Or else you wouldn’t be reacting like this, aching to slide your hand higher. Feel her heat. Slide through her wetness.
“I wasn’t the one who gambled without the means to pay.”
“He said he didn’t know the stakes until it was too late.”
“He could’ve stepped away from that table at any time. He didn’t have to mention your name. Hell, he didn’t even have to bring you into it.” Though I’d counted on it.
“But you knew I was there. You planned for—”
“His greed? You’re overestimating my talents.” All men are greedy. You just have to find what it is they crave. What Tod wanted was money, maybe a little adulation.
“But you did twist his words.”
I keep my eyes on hers because the tiny white triangles of her bikini are a fucking travesty. And a feat of grace, how they hold all that lusciousness.
“He said you purposely misunderstood what he was offering.”
“I needed to get you in the room for a conversation.”
“Conversation?” Her brow quirks like a taunt. “What if I’d had the money to cover him? Would you have moved on to someone else?”
“I knew you didn’t. But I would’ve come at it from another angle.”
“But why me?”
“Why not you?” I spread my fingers, maximizing the contact with her skin.
“I’m not some random choice, though, am I?”
“You’re not,” I admit.
“But when you came into the gallery—”
“It wasn’t to set you up.”
“I don’t know whether to believe you,” she says, moving onto her back again.
My gaze sweeps over, my will melting like ice cream dropped to a hot sidewalk.
“Then believe this.” I take off my sunglasses, setting them down and swiping up a champagne flute. Fuck, I want to swipe her up,drag her back to my lair, set her on her back, and fuck this craving out of my system. “Only an idiot gambles when he doesn’t have the means to pay,” I say, filling her glass. “Shallow men believe in luck. I believe in cause and effect.” I allow the weight of my words to sink in as I pass the flute her way.
“Thank—oh!” She gasps as I spill a little of the cold liquid on her stomach.
“Oops,” I mutter insincerely.
“You did that on purpose.” Her eyes narrow like vengeance as her hand moves to rub at the spill. I catch it, and her breath holds as I move to my knee before hitting the air once again as I swipe the flat of my tongue across the spill.
“There.” The word is all husk and want as I lick her again. “All fixed.”
I glance up. Her mouth is open, and the hand not holding her glass still hovers in the air.
“Remind me,” I begin, not moving. “Was it three full-priced artworks for a flash of your panties?”
My delivery of her earlier words makes her smile. Kind of.
“The point is moot, don’t you think…” Her eyes dip, indicating her bikini bottoms. “You’re already looking at them. I suspect you’ve been staring at them all that time you were supposed to be working.”
“That’s what you think, is it?”
“I know it. I could feel your eyes on me.” With a tiny sigh, her body softly undulates. It makes me wonder just how wet I’d find her right now.
“What will it cost for you to take them off?”
“I don’t know… what would it take for you to seduce me?” Her tone is all tease as I hook my fingers into the thin sides of the white fabric.
“Six? Ten?”
“Raif.” This time, my name is a soft warning. But she doesn’t stop me. “We can’t keep doing this.”
“We can do whatever we like. That’s the pleasure of being us right now. Ten,” I add. “Twenty.” I begin to tug, and she lifts a little, aiding the fabric’s slide. “Thirty.”
“Thirty pieces,” she whispers.
I frown, my mind going to silver and biblical connotations.
“There are thirty pieces in the gallery’s next exhibition.” Her eyes are like dark sapphires as she watches me drop the tiny garment to the lounger behind me.
“Done.”
“You don’t know how much each piece is worth.”
“Doesn’t matter. Double them. Triple.” I’m having this moment. “When is this show?” My voice is soft as my fingers make manacles around her ankles.
“Soon.”
“Better put sold stickers on every piece.” I slowly slide her legs apart.
“Raif, here?”
“Uh-huh.” Wider. Wider. Until her heels hug the edge of the lounger.
She tips her face to the sun as my hands glide from ankle to knee and higher.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” I say, parting her flesh for my gaze. “And you’re all mine.”