10

Evangeline

When I meet his gaze, his blue eyes burn with intensity. His jaw is clenched, showing both frustration and determination.

He releases my hand, and I immediately miss his warmth. A chill runs up my spine. I cross my arms and rub my arms covered in lace.

His eyes narrow. "Are you cold?"

I start to shake my head, but pause as he strides out of the kitchen. He returns moments later with a throw blanket, which he drapes over my shoulders.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Without saying a word, he gathers our used plates and cutlery.

"I can lend a hand," I begin to rise, but he touches my shoulder gently, saying, "You rest; it's been a long day."

I sink back into the chair and observe as he loads the utensils into the dishwasher. His movements are fluid, suggesting familiarity with the kitchen. It's not surprising; after all, this is his home.

He switches on the kettle, prepares tea once the water boils, and brings it over to me. The aroma of peppermint wafts from the cup. I wrap my fingers around its warmth, letting it soothe me.

"Where did you get that?" I gesture to a scar above his eyebrow.

"On a mission," he replies, his expression tightening.

I wait for him to divulge more, but he remains tight-lipped. He's adept at keeping secrets, this man. Yet, his reticence only fuels my curiosity. I'm eager to uncover more about him. Even though I'm not considering his proposal—at least not yet—I feel I need to understand his motives, don't I?

"What do you gain from this marriage?" I tilt my chin up. "Why are you offering me such a large sum of money?"

His forehead relaxes. Apparently, this conversation is more comfortable for him than discussing his past.

"When I retired from the Marines, my father wanted me to join the family business and take over as the CEO of one of the companies in the Carrington Group," he explains, taking his seat across from me.

"Sounds like a convenient setup. You show up, and just like that"—I snap my fingers—"you have a job waiting for you."

"Ah, Amarlo wants his dues. I’ll get what's coming to me, as long as I give him what he desires."

"And what does he desire?"

The muscle in his jaw tightens. "He wants me to find a wife and settle down.”

I blink slowly. "Wow. Wealthy people live in a different world. He demands you get married, and you offer me money if I agree to your proposal.”

"It's not quite like that."

I gaze at him, and he blushes slightly.

"Not just that." He rubs the back of his neck. "I must admit, his stipulation did put the idea of marriage in my mind. And then I met you, and something clicked."

Warmth spreads through me.

"Once I secure my position as CEO within the company, I stand to inherit a substantial sum," he continues, leaning forward. "It’s only fair you receive a share. One million upon our marriage within the month, and another after we reach a year."

The warmth fades, replaced by a chill that seeps into my skin. I pull the throw tighter around my shoulders.

"And after that, what? We go our separate ways?"

A peculiar expression flickers across his face before he conceals it. Adopting his familiar cool and distant demeanor, he shrugs. "If that’s what you desire."

"Huh? Isn’t that what you desire?"

"I desire... whatever brings you happiness."

"How does offering me money to marry you bring me happiness?"

"It will finance your sister’s education and your father’s treatment. I presume that's a significant consideration for you."

"Are there other reasons?" I blurt out involuntarily.

A subtle smirk crosses his face. "One particular reason."

"Oh?" I furrow my brow.

"Exactly."

"I’m sorry, I don’t understand."
He holds up his hand as if he’s taking a pledge. "I solemnly promise to give you so many O’s, you won't want to leave when the year is up."

I flush, all the way to the roots of my hair. No one has ever talked to me this way. Worse, how can I be so turned on by his filthy talk? I squeeze my thighs together, then tip up my chin. "You’re uncouth."

"I also promise, I’ll be honest with you." He leans a hip against the table.

"You’re my ex’s father."

"Q."

"Excuse me?"

"You need to practice calling me by my name."

I huff, "Your name’s Quincy."

His eyes flash. "Say my name again."

"I won’t."
"What if I say please?"
"Being polite won’t change anything."
He strokes his chin and looks at me with a contemplative expression. "Because you don’t want a polite man."
I make a rude noise. “Awfully presumptuous of you to arrive at that conclusion when you don’t even know me.”

He smiles slowly, an edge of cruelty in the curve of his lips that has the effect of making me lose my breath. “What I do know is”—he leans forward—"you need a man who’ll command you. A man who’ll make you submit to him."

An electric frisson of sensation pinches at my nerve-endings. When his gaze drops to my mouth, I realize I’ve parted my lips, and my nipples are tight, and the triangle of flesh between my legs is dripping. I lean in, unable to take my gaze off of his, caught in the promise inherent in his words.

"A man who’ll take care of your needs, so you can entrust him to do what’s right for you?—”
My toes curl. My breath hitches. A thousand little hummingbirds seem to flutter under my skin, but he doesn’t stop talking.

His gaze narrows, and his eyes gleam. “—A man who orders you to do his bidding, so you can give yourself up to him, confident that you will be pleasured."
Oh, my god. That sounds like the end of all my feminist ideals. But also, hot. So hot. I bite the inside of my cheek.

"A man who ensures you never want for anything. A man who treats you like the goddess you are. A man who pleasures your body, fulfills your soul, and feeds your mind. And your dirtiest, filthiest urges.” He drags his gaze down my flushed features. “A man who sees through your defenses, senses your deepest, darkest desires, and brings them to life without you having to ever give voice to them. A man who brings you to orgasm over and over again."

A million tiny sparks zing my blood stream. A bead of sweat runs down the valley between my breasts. Heat licks up my spine, and I feel like I’ve dived into a vat of lava.

"So, you see”—he drags his thumb under his lower lip—"I think we’ll do very well together."

His gaze, his voice, his presence… It’s too overwhelming. My skin feels too tight for my body, and my chest feels like it’s pushing down on my ribcage. I arrange my thoughts into some semblance of logic and clear my throat. "From the outside, it’s going to raise a lot of questions that I broke up with my ex, only to marry his father."

"First of all, you didn't break up with him. He jilted you at the altar."
My face must reflect some of my hurt because he winces.
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean for it to come out like that. What I’m trying to say is that he was a fool." He spears me with a look that almost makes me melt. "But it doesn't matter, Evangeline, because I don’t care about anyone else’s opinions."
"Easy for you to say," I grumble. "You’re a man. Taking up with someone younger than you will enhance your reputation."

He smirks. "And being associated with the CEO of a Carrington Group division will enhance yours."
I chew on my lower lip. He’s right. It’s not only the money. His connections will open a lot of doors for me. I would definitely find a platform for my paintings. He probably knows all of the rich folks in town. The kind who’ll be interested in buying my paintings. Not to mention galleries who’ll be receptive to exhibiting my paintings.

And if I take him up on his offer, I’ll no longer be an artist who paints to interpret the human condition, but someone who entered a marriage of convenience to find a platform for her art. I’ll be another in a long line of materialistic women before me who married for money.
So what? I need the cash, for Elizabeth’s tuition and to extend my father’s life. I curl my fingers into fists.

If only he weren’t so ridiculously sexy, and macho, and dominant, and every freaking thing which appeals to me. With his brooding good looks and the hint of 'tortured poet' in his eyes, he’s everything I’ve ever hoped to meet. He’s everything I was sure I could never have. The chemistry between us feels like too much. Too real. And that makes resisting him so very difficult. “What if your family guesses our arrangement is… uh… not real.

“They won’t, because of the attraction between us. You feel the connection between us, don’t you?”

I want to agree, but that would imply that this arrangement of convenience makes logical sense, and I’m not ready to acknowledge that aloud... at least not yet. When I remain silent, he crouches down and meets my gaze. "I’m not going to conceal what happened from my family. I’ll be transparent with them that I saw you and desired you, and when my son left you at the altar, I stepped in to help. It elevates—"

"Your image as a knight in shining armor and portrays me as the vulnerable woman who had no choice but to marry you?" I ask dryly.

He shakes his head. "Let me clarify. You hold the power in this."

"You’re not making sense." I hunch my shoulders. "Wouldn’t I end up dependent on you, after all?"

"And I, on you. Remember, I need you to fulfill my father’s condition. We need each other." His gaze turns smoldering. "Besides, it had to be you.”

My heart leaps into my throat. A pulse flares to life between my legs. “Wh... what do you mean?”
His lips curve. “As soon as I saw you, I knew it had to be you. The connection between us ensures anyone who sees us together will believe our story. So, you see... It couldn’t have been anyone else. That’s why I need you.”

He looks deeply into my eyes and, oh my god, the heat of his gaze turns my blood to lava. The pulse between my legs intensifies. He hasn’t even touched me, and I am so turned on.
He must see the reaction on my features, for he nods. “Of course, it’s up to you how you spin this for yourself. Either you can play the victim of your circumstances, or?—"

"Or?"

"Alternatively, you could see this as an opportunity," he suggests, studying my expression with confidence. "With my financial resources and influence, you can pursue your dreams. Surely, that's invaluable?"

He’s correct. And that fact only complicates matters. I wish his logic didn't resonate with me. I wish he wasn't so convincing. I wish I wasn't so inexplicably drawn to him, enough to override every rational thought in my mind. Time seems to stretch. The tension in the air between us intensifies, thickening. Every part of me feels the weight of his presence, his commanding aura that seems to envelop and captivate me... in a strangely positive way.

As he straightens up, I inhale deeply, realizing belatedly that I had been holding my breath.

He assesses my expression. "Do you need more time to decide?"

Fact is, I’m wavering. He makes a good argument, but... this is my life. And this decision will impact me in so many ways and for the foreseeable future. Surely, I need to think it over some more? “Yes,” I square my shoulders. “Yes, I do.”
He wipes his thumb under his lower lip. “I’ll give you a week to think it over.”
“A week?” I gape at him. “That’s too short; I need more time.”
“Ten days, then?”

Is he kidding? How can he expect me to make such a life-altering decision in that short timeframe?

A gleam of mischief enters his eyes. The playfulness is so surprising, it makes me stare. So, he wants me to negotiate, huh?
“Three months,” I jut out my chin.
“Two weeks,” he retorts.
“Two months,” I scowl.
“A month, and that’s my final offer,” he snaps in that bossy tone. A shiver squeezes my spine. I want to say yes right away, but I make myself pause and pretend to consider his offer.
“A month,” I finally agree.

“Good.” He nods in a decisive gesture. “But know this. I get what I want.”