Chapter 7

Vivian

When I raise my gaze to his, his blue eyes smolder. His jaw is set. There's frustration on his features but also, resolution.

He releases my hand, and I miss his warmth at once. A shiver zips up my spine. I wrap my arms about myself and rub my lace-covered arms.

His gaze narrows. "Are you cold?"

I begin to shake my head, then stop when he stalks out of the kitchen. He returns a few seconds later with a throw that he wraps about my shoulders.

"Thanks," I murmur.

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

"I can help." I begin to stand, but he touches my shoulder and says, "You rest up; it's been a long day."

I sink back into the chair and watch as he stows the utensils in the dishwasher. His movements are easy, like he's spent enough time here to know his way around. Which shouldn't be a surprise. After all, this is his home.

He flips on the kettle, and when the water boils, brews the tea and brings it over to me.

The scent of peppermint rises from the cup. I wrap my fingers around the warmth and allow it to percolate through my blood.

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

"On a mission." He firms his lips.

I wait for him to share more, but he doesn't. He's a master at keeping secrets, this man. But that makes me more curious. I want to find out more about him. If I'm going to consider his proposal—which I am not... yet—I need to understand this motives, right?

"What do you get from this marriage?" I tip up my chin. "Why are you offering me so much money?"

His forehead clears. Apparently, this is an easier conversation for him than sharing about 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 Davenport Group companies." He takes his seat opposite me.

"Sounds like a good deal. You turn up, and just like that"—I snap my fingers— "you have a job waiting for you."

"Ah, Arthur wants his pound of flesh. I'll get my due, provided I give him what he wants."

"Which is?"

The muscle at his jawline flexes. "He wants me to find a wife and settle down."

I blink slowly. "Wow. Rich 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 like that."

I stare at him, and he has the grace to flush.

"Not only." He rubs the back of his neck. "I admit, his putting down that condition meant I had marriage on my mind. And then I saw you, and something clicked."

Warmth floods my veins.

"Once my role as the CEO within the division is confirmed, I stand to inherit a lot of money." He leans forward in his seat. "It's fair you get a percentage of it. One million when we tie the knot within the month. Another when we complete a year."

The warmth fades away, and once again, a chill invades my skin. I pull the throw around my shoulders.

"And then, what? We walk away from each other?"

A strange look comes into his eyes before he manages to hide it. Wearing that cool, distant mask I'm coming to recognize as his default expression, he raises a shoulder. "If that's what you want."

Huh? "Isn't that what you want?"

"I want… whatever makes you happy."

"How is paying me money in return for my marrying you going to make me happy?"

"It's going to pay for your sister's education and for your father's treatment. I assume that's one reason you would be."

"There are more reasons?" I can't stop myself from asking.

A sly look comes into his eyes. "One specific reason."

"Oh?" I frown.

"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 Quentin."

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, Vivian, 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 Davenport 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 Lizzie'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 say yes, but that would be admitting this marriage of convenience makes sense, and I don't want to do that aloud... Yet. When I stay silent, he bends his knees and looks into my eyes. "I'm not going to hide what happened from my family. I'm going to be open with them that I saw you and wanted you, and when my son decided to leave you at the altar, I came to your rescue. It enhances?—"

"Your status as a knight in shining armor and me as the helpless woman who had no choice but to marry you?" I ask drily.

He shakes his head. "Let's get one thing straight. You own the power in this."

"You're not making sense." I hunch my shoulders. "After all, wouldn't I be dependent on you?"

"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?"

"Or you can claim this as an opportunity." He peruses my features, his tone confident. "With my money and influence, you can pursue your aspirations. Surely, that"s invaluable?"

He's right. And that makes it worse. I wish he didn't make sense. I wish he weren't so persuasive. I wish I weren't so drawn to him, enough to override every sane thought in my head. The seconds stretch. The air between us sizzles and grows heavy. Every cell in my body is aware of his bulk, his solid presence, his broad shoulders, that force of his dominance, which seems to wrap around me and pin me down… in a good way.

When he straightens, I draw in a breath, and the rush of oxygen makes me realize I forgot to breathe.

He surveys my features. "Do you need more time to make up your mind?"

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."