The Deal (Arranged Book 1)

by Stella Gray

  “Your father is a strong man,” he said. “He will recover.”

  I clutched his shirt, not caring that I might be wrinkling it. Stefan didn’t seem to care either, gathering me tighter against his chest as he soothed me. For the first time since we had gotten married, I felt cared for. I felt supported. I felt seen.

  I cried until I didn’t have any more tears left, Stefan holding me the entire time. As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, completely drained but feeling somehow lighter, I wondered if my heartless husband was really as heartless as he seemed.

  Tori

  Chapter 17

  I’d been back in Springfield for a month. My dad was out of the hospital now and adjusting to life with a pacemaker. He had been ordered to take things easy, but it had taken both me and Michelle working around the clock to keep him from overexerting himself. Finally, his doctor had relented and allowed him to go back to work.

  It was a relief for all of us to see him back on his feet and raring to go. The last month had been hard on all of us—getting my father to cut back on his workload and his drinking had been the hardest—but we’d all settled into a new, more reasonable routine.

  Now it was time for me to head back to Chicago. To start school. To join Stefan in what would be our new home.

  It was strange. Even though Stefan and I had texted occasionally during my father’s convalescence, our relationship felt more harmonious now that we were apart, much like it had been during our engagement. He was warm toward me, caring, solicitous about my father’s health. But all along, I wondered what would happen when we were together in person again. I couldn’t let go of the memory of him watching me touch myself in the shower and that searing kiss we’d shared in Budapest. Would things be different now?

  I was eager to find out, but nervous to see him again.

  I hoped he’d be the kind, caring Stefan who had held me during the flight back to the States, whispering calming words into my ear. But I knew he could just as easily revert back into the controlling workaholic who had made me stay in our hotel room, who sent me out with a babysitter during our honeymoon.

  I knew I’d be distracted by school, and he’d be focused on work, but what would our marriage look like once we were in the same city again? Once we were living together? Would we even share a bedroom? Or would it be like living with a stranger? Someone who at times seemed hell bent on ignoring me?

  I was eager to head to Chicago, though. Not just to see how things would change—or not change—in regard to my marriage, but because I would finally be starting school. It was the whole reason I had entered into this arrangement in the first place, and I was more than eager to meet my professors and fellow students.

  It would also be nice to get out of my father’s house. After all, that was the other main reason I’d agreed to this marriage—to gain my independence. After a month of essentially waiting on him hand and foot, I was ready to focus on myself, on my marriage and my education.

  “Are you ready?” Michelle stood in the doorway of my bedroom as I finished packing the last of my stuff.

  “I think so,” I said, looking around my mostly empty room.

  The majority of my belongings had been shipped to Stefan’s place in Chicago after the wedding. If everything had gone according to schedule, we would have returned there after the honeymoon, but my father’s illness had thrown a wrench into all those plans.

  “How are you getting there?” Michelle asked as we headed down the hallway. “Should I arrange something with your father’s driver? Three hours is a long time to be in a taxi.”

  “Stefan is sending a private car,” I told her. “It should be here any minute.

  He had texted me that morning to tell me when to be ready, but beyond the logistics, that was it. The formality stung. I had almost convinced myself that once we returned from our trip, he’d drop the icy exterior and turn back into the man I’d met at my birthday party. Carefree, good-humored, and genuinely interested in me. But maybe that man had been a lie all along.

  Before heading downstairs, though, I went to say goodbye to my father. It was still strange, getting used to his tired, more fragile appearance. He looked a thousand times better than he had when I first arrived at the hospital, when he was pale and drawn in the stark white bed, but it was hard to reconcile this man in recovery with the fighter I’d always known.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked him, approaching the bed where he was working on a lap desk strewn with papers, a tablet in one hand and a pen in the other.

  He scowled, and I bit my lip, trying not to laugh at him. I knew he hated the pacemaker—he said it made him feel old and infirm—but he had always acted like such a baby whenever he was sick.

  Michelle had taken the brunt of his bad moods, but she didn’t seem to mind. Then again, she had spent the last fifteen years practicing her wifely duties. While staying with them, I had tried to observe how she acted, how she treated my father. I took tons of mental notes, knowing that it would all come in handy when I was reunited with Stefan.

  “Leaving for Chicago?” he asked, the scowl still fixed to his face.

  “Yes.” I held up my bag. “The car should be here soon.”

  A horn blared from outside. Perfect timing.

  Michelle smoothed the blankets around my father, who looked both grateful and annoyed at the attention.

  “I’ll let you know when I arrive,” I told them.

  My father just grunted, while Michelle came over and gave me a tight hug.

  “We’ll see you soon. And remember what I said,” she added in a low voice.

  I nodded. She had been baffled upon learning that Stefan and I still hadn’t consummated the marriage, and she’d spent the duration of the trip sneaking up on me and pulling me aside to give me hints on all the various ways I could seduce my husband. It was equally informative and deeply embarrassing.

  “Don’t focus too much on school,” my father said from his bed. “Men don’t want wives who care more about their education than their marriage.”

  “Don’t be so old-fashioned, Daddy. Stefan supports my academic pursuits.” I was bluffing, of course. I knew he was happy to pay for my schooling, but I had no idea what bearing that had on our relationship. Or if we were even going to have a proper relationship going forward.

  I leaned over, gave my father a kiss on the cheek, and headed out to meet my car.

  We arrived in Chicago hours later, pulling up to an extremely nice, extremely expensive building. It wasn’t until the driver helped me out of the car that I realized I had never seen Stefan’s place. I had no idea what to expect.

  The driver took my bags and escorted me into the building. At least he knew where we were going. I couldn’t have said which condo was his. I didn’t even know if this was the same place he had lived in before we got married or if it was a completely new place, or maybe even a wedding gift from his father.

  When we knocked on the door, a friendly-faced older woman opened it.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Zoric. I’m Gretna. Your personal chef. Please, come in.” Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, a few loose strands framing her ruddy cheeks, and she had deep-set eyes that seemed to twinkle in amusement as she took in the way my jaw dropped at the sight of the elaborate foyer beyond her, all black marble and dark blue walls with gold accents.

  “Personal chef?” I echoed, feeling like Little Orphan Annie.

  She nodded, motioning me inside again.

  “My god. I—I’m so glad to meet you. Please, call me Tori.” I stepped into the condo, and Gretna took my bags from the driver and sent him on his way with a tip. The first thing I registered, beyond the echo of my steps on the marble floor, was how good the place smelled.

  “Dinner will be ready at seven,” Gretna said when I commented on the heavenly aroma. “Mr. Zoric will join us then. Would you like a tour?”

  I hid my disappointment that Stefan wasn’t there, mainly because I should have expected it. No do
ubt he was working. He was always working. Obviously it was necessary in order to maintain a residence, and a lifestyle, like Stefan’s.

  Gretna took me around the spacious condo. It was richly decorated but still masculine in its dark, soothing tones, and I couldn’t help noticing that it was also extremely well-kept. The place was spotless, with gleaming, polished furniture, leather couches, and starkly dramatic artwork on the walls. It looked like the world’s most expensive bachelor pad. Clearly this had been Stefan’s place before we got married and he hadn’t changed a thing.

  I didn’t mind. In fact, it gave me a little more insight into who he was. Almost like peering into his brain. A brain that was very masculine and very intense.

  “And here is the master bedroom,” Gretna said, pushing open a heavy door.

  She followed me in and set my bags on top of the bed. For a moment, I thought that there might have been a mistake, that she hadn’t been instructed to put me in the guest room—but then I glanced into the huge walk-in closet and found a number of my dresses from Vienna neatly arranged on one side. Someone had unpacked all of them for me and organized them. I was sure Stefan wouldn’t have let someone else do that without his explicit instructions. He was a man who liked to be in control, and I assumed that especially applied in his own home.

  That meant we’d be sharing a bedroom. Interesting.

  I had half expected, after everything that had happened on our honeymoon, that he would have completely dropped the pretense of a real marriage and given me a room of my own somewhere else in the house.

  Not that I was complaining. Sharing a bed with him would make it even easier to implement some of the techniques Michelle had tried to impress upon me.

  All I had to do was wait for him to come home.

  “I need to go finish up,” Gretna told me, looking at her watch. “The rest of the family will be arriving just after seven. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?”

  I blinked.

  “The rest of the family?”

  Gretna nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Stefan’s family—his father and siblings will be joining you for dinner. A very special dinner.”

  A special dinner? I glanced at the clock. And less than an hour to prepare?

  The cook hurried off with my warm thanks and I immediately went into prep mode. I had to shower, do my hair and makeup, and pick out something suitable to wear. I had barely spent any time with Stefan’s family beyond our introduction at the wedding—it was important that I impress them now that we’d be having more focused, intimate face time.

  As I rushed through my shower, I barely registered the luxurious bathroom other than a perfunctory appreciation of its gleaming gold faucets and more of that veined black marble that Stefan seemed to favor. I managed to blow dry and style my hair in record time, and then wrapped myself in a warm, fluffy robe that had been left out while I went to the closet to pick out my outfit and corresponding jewelry. I knew I had to look incredible for Stefan’s family—every inch the trophy wife.

  I was bent over, looking through my suitcase for a pair of earrings, when I heard something behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder and found Stefan standing in the doorway of the closet.

  He was wearing one of his designer suits—as always—but his tie was undone, his collar unbuttoned as if he had been in the process of changing. He was incredibly sexy like that; half in business mode and half at home. A hint of bare skin was showing, begging to be explored with my fingers. With my tongue.

  He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were intense. Hungry.

  I’d seen that look before. It was the same look he had worn when I caught him watching me in the shower. But this time, I wasn’t going to let him walk away so easily.

  Slowly, I turned around, keeping my eyes on him. I dropped my hands to the belt of my robe, languorously sliding them toward the knot. His gaze darted to my fingers, carefully tugging the bow apart. I could see that he was at war with himself. With his desire.

  It was a war I wanted to win.

  Without looking away, I finished untying the belt and slid the robe off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. I was naked—completely naked—in front of him.

  Heat sparked in his gaze, and we stood there at an impasse, neither of us moving, until finally he swore under his breath.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, kitty cat,” he said.

  My blood ran hot. The battle in his eyes raged on. I lifted my chin in a challenge.

  Before I could blink, I was in his arms. I gasped as he took my mouth with his, the kiss brutal and intense and everything I wanted. He pulled me tight against him, his hands everywhere—my breasts, my ass, my hips, my hair.

  His mouth on mine wasn’t romantic or sweet or cautious, his hands groping me so roughly that I would probably have bruises in the morning. I wanted more.

  I arched against him, grinding my hips into his, my entire body hot and aching for his touch. I didn’t care that I was being needy, practically begging him to get me off. His tongue was hot against mine and he broke away just long enough to grab my hair in his hands, yanking my head backward so he could bite and suck my throat.

  Wrapping my leg up around his hip, I tried to get closer. I was naked but he was still fully clothed, and it was shockingly erotic to rub myself against him that way, feeling the hard length of his cock behind layers of expensive wool. I was desperate for relief, the months of anticipation building inside of me until I could barely stand it.

  His hands moved downward, gripping, squeezing, slapping as they went. One hand tightened around my hips, pushing me away from him. I nearly wilted in disappointment until with hardly any warning, he spun me to face the mirror. His hand came around my front and delved between my legs.

  “I want you to watch,” he growled. “I want you to look at yourself in that mirror while I fuck you with my fingers.”

  I was already hot and wet for him, and I gasped as his fingers glided into me hard and fast. His hand was still fisted in my hair, forcing my eyes forward, forcing me to look at myself, at the glaze of lust in my own eyes.

  Stefan had perfect, long fingers, strong and sure in their movements. I was panting, grinding myself against him as he fingered me, out of my mind with pleasure. I couldn’t hold back, his deft strokes bringing me to the edge almost immediately.

  He tugged my head back, his tongue deep in my mouth, his fingers pumping inside of me—it was almost too much to bear, the sensations overwhelming. I could feel my release building inside of me, and I reached behind me to clutch Stefan’s shoulders, my groans pitching higher, my breasts heaving with my shuddering breaths.

  His mouth broke from mine, his voice hoarse as he sucked my earlobe between his teeth.

  “Take it,” he growled into my ear. “Take all of it, kitty cat.”

  His hand moved faster, his fingers switching to shallow thrusts designed to tease my g-spot. My body felt like liquid fire. The orgasm started to surge through me, and I moaned Stefan’s name, giving myself up to the ecstasy.

  I came in his arms in a hot, helpless rush, crying out as my entire body shook with release. His grip went tight around me as my knees buckled, my muscles going slack with relief.

  But still it wasn’t enough. He had made me come but I wanted more. I wanted him inside of me. I wanted him to come with me. I unclenched my hands from his shoulders, his fingers still moving inside of me, milking the last gasps of my orgasm from my body.

  As I turned around and reached for his belt, my hands brushed against his hard cock, straining against the fabric. He was ready. And I was hungry for him. I wanted him now.

  But just as I managed to unbuckle his belt, the doorbell rang.

  Tori

  Chapter 18

  “Wait,” I begged as Stefan pushed me away. “Please.”

  “Get dressed,” he said gruffly, re-buckling his belt and swearing under his breath.

  I was completely naked, wilting and spent after the intense orgas
m he had just given me. I was still coming out of my haze, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

  It was the single hottest moment I’d ever experienced. And now it was over.

  Stefan grabbed a new tie and fixed his buttons, looking over at me.

  “Pull yourself together,” he growled. “And make sure you look presentable, not like a whore who just got fucked in a closet.”

  His words should have stung, but they just made me hotter. I liked it when he was rough. When he was intense. I wanted more.

  I wanted to wrap my body around him, slide to the ground, and unbuckle his belt before taking him into my mouth. I wanted to drive him to the edge and push him over, just like he had done for me.

  But now wasn’t the time. His family was here.

  Stefan finished adjusting his clothes and stormed out of the closet. He was upset, but I didn’t think it was because his family was here. I was sure that he had been seconds away from giving me what I wanted. Tearing his own clothes off and fucking me right on the floor of our shared closet. He had been about to lose control.

  I had learned by now that it didn’t happen often. Maybe that’s why he was so pissed off.

  Was that why he had been avoiding me? He didn’t want to give up his power?

  Somehow, that made me feel better about everything that had happened. Maybe Stefan did want me, and desperately, but because of some fixation on maintaining complete dominance, he wasn’t allowing himself to fuck me. It wasn’t serving me, but I had to admit it was kinky.

  I quickly put on one of the more modest dresses I had bought in Vienna, a lavender, knee-length sheath that covered me modestly while still showing off my shoulders. I’d find a way to break through Stefan’s ironclad control. I’d done it once, I could do it again.

  With a quick check in the mirror, making sure I looked neat and presentable, instead of freshly fucked, I headed out to the dining room to greet Stefan’s family.