Reluctant Bride

by Sam Crescent

  I will do this. Not because I want to, but because this will keep everyone safe. The club is under pressure to protect me, the president’s daughter, at all times, and it has them spread thin. Being the cause of any problems for my father, or any of the other members, is the last thing I want to do. I hate being a burden.

  “Fine.” I huff at my father. “When?”

  He takes a deep breath before answering me, as though preparing for my reaction. “Tonight.”

  Shock courses through me. I have no time to say goodbye, no time to go home and sort out my life before I have to leave it for an undetermined amount of time. Hell, I may never come back. But I school my features and hide my shock, before nodding.

  “Great. I’ll get my shit together.”

  Turning on my heel, I head outside and take a deep breath. Just as I am about to head back inside, my gaze connects with Dozer, my father’s latest prospect. I know he has a crush on me, and I decide to use it to my advantage.

  Putting an extra sway into my hips, I head to where he is standing. “Hey, Dozer. Are you headed out?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you think you could give me a ride?” I smile up at him while batting my eyelashes.

  Dozer looks toward the clubhouse before gesturing for me to jump on his bike. The machine beneath me roars to life. As we leave the compound, I catch a glimpse of my father. And he is furious.

  Chapter Two

  Nero

  Standing beside the priest, I know I look calm and collected on the outside, but inside, I’m a mess of emotions. First and foremost is frustration. I’ve waited more than a year for this meticulously planned moment. I’ve gone to great ends to make this marriage happen, and the bride is late. The second emotion is impatience. For an explanation, see the first emotion.

  Tonight has to go off without a hitch or I will lose my mind.

  The first time I saw Thalia James, it was accidental. I was on my way to meet her father, Leon “Sway” James, President of the Immortal Saints MC, about a business proposition, when I saw her get into a car parked close by. From the little I could glean from their conversation, it was clear that she was his daughter.

  For the first time since I put that useless, cheating, backstabbing, snake of a woman I called my wife in the ground, I was drawn to a woman. After Ivy, I swore I was done with women, and for the better part of five years, I’ve been single, celibate, and happy. That is until I saw Thalia.

  The moment my gaze landed on her, I knew I would stop at nothing to have her as mine. Her curly red hair, mischievous green eyes, and abundant curves drew me in instantly. I was so far gone for this woman I had never spoken to that I agreed to a deal with her father. One that had far better perks than any other organization running drugs for me.

  I spent days pining for her and planning a way to get her into my bed when a wrench was thrown into the works. My investigator found out that Thalia was only seventeen. This fact didn’t dim my lust or want for her in any way, and although I may be a ruthless motherfucker when it came to running my drug empire, I had to wait.

  But I wouldn’t leave Thalia up to chance. I make my own fate. Instead of withdrawing from her and her father’s life, I started a cat-and-mouse game with them. Clubs are always in rivalry with one or another, always living outside the law, always needing to protect their families from either the police, other clubs, or just generally bad people.

  The plan was simple. First, I had the police—who are on my dime—harass my Thalia more than usual. Second, I had one of my men make death threats against her. And to push her father over the edge? I had two of my men kidnap her just over a week ago. It was simple, since we weren’t really trying to keep her hostage and the plan was for her to escape, but with every encounter, her father grew more desperate to keep her safe. My plan had finally come to fruition.

  Thalia turned eighteen three days ago, and I made a casual remark that her father should find her a powerful husband to take care of her. It didn’t take much to steer the conversation in my direction. And although I made it sound like I would be doing him a favor, I couldn’t have been more pleased if I tried.

  My thoughts are interrupted as the wedding march sounds and Thalia comes walking toward me. Locking up all emotion, I try to look disinterested, but all I want to do is whisk her away. There are only ten or so people in attendance, including her father and my right-hand man.

  When she reaches me, I clench my fists to keep from pulling her into my body. She looks luscious, and it takes everything in me not to growl at any man looking at her. As she’s dressed in a modest white sundress with a lace overlay, her curves are on display for all to see. Her wild, red curls hang around her in an untamed mess, tempting me to touch a spiral. But the most obvious thing is the scowl she wears.

  She isn’t here willingly, that much is obvious, but I will win her over. There isn’t any other option.

  Chapter Three

  Thalia

  People often refer to me as an MC princess. I’ve been called that all my life. First, as daddy’s little princess growing up, which was cute and all, and later by the teens I went to high school with, thinking they could use it against me, or even make me feel bad about who I am and how I was raised.

  But that has never deterred me from wearing that badge with honor. Angie even had a t-shirt made for my birthday that read Biker princess and proud of it. But even being the club princess couldn’t save me from this. About an hour after leaving the compound, Grimm finds me. He is my father’s right-hand man, the VP of the club, and probably part bloodhound.

  If anyone needs someone found, Grimm is the guy. It’s how he earns for the club. He finds the people who don’t want to be found, just like me. Kicking and screaming, I’m dragged back to the club and locked in my room where I have no choice but to get ready for my impending marriage.

  A couple of hours later, my father unlocks the door to my room and watches me closely. He’s waiting for me to make my move, but there are no more moves to be made. I don’t want to get married, but I clearly don’t have a vote in this matter. I walk past him without a word and head downstairs. Outside, I slide my helmet on my head, and instead of riding on the back of my father’s bike, like I always would, I jump on the back of Reaper’s bike.

  Without asking any questions, Reaper pulls out of the compound and heads toward the church. The entire drive, I’m tense and on edge. What if my husband expects me to be a wife in every sense of the word? What if he’s old and disgusting?

  Arriving at the church, I have an intense urge to tuck tail and run, but they would just find me again. So, I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and open the door, not knowing what to expect.

  Walking into this church and seeing the man I’ve secretly been fantasizing about for the last year or so is too much.

  He’s a man I’ve seen around my father many times. Clearly, they have some kind of work arrangement, and he can be nothing more than a thug. I asked around and learned he’s the head of the American branch one of the largest Columbian drug cartels. Sadly, that fact has only made him more attractive in my fantasies.

  Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin tone, and a physique most twenty-year-olds wish they had. He’s dressed in a perfectly pressed suit, not a hair out of place, and I’m wearing my mom’s old wedding dress. I feel inadequate, like a child playing dress-up. And most of all I’m pissed off.

  I don’t want to get married, much less to this man I know nothing about, and the fact that he makes me feel inadequate just standing next to him pisses me off. How can a man I have never spoken to make me feel so unlike myself just by breathing? Not to mention the fact I hate my attraction to him. I wanted to be able to hate my new husband, and now all I feel is lust.

  Reaching the podium to stand before the priest, I’m aware that anyone with eyes can see my scowl, but I refuse to relax my face. I won’t show anyone that I’m anything less than displeased.

  The priest rambles on about love and the
sanctity of marriage as if this is real. I want to stop him and ask what he thinks is happening here. I am an eighteen-year-old biker princess—for lack of a better term—who’s being forced into a marriage with a man who’s clearly twice my age and probably one of the most dangerous men in the world.

  But I don’t do that. I stand silently and wait for this farce of a wedding to end so I can go and be unhappy in my new home. I answer at all the right places and even when I want to say I don’t, I say I do.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces with a smile.

  My husband reaches out and cups my face before staring down into my eyes. Briefly, an emotion flits across his gaze, but before I can decipher it, he slants his mouth over mine. I stay stiff, expecting him to give me a peck and move away. But expectations are not always the end result. Slowly, he traces his tongue along the seam of my lips, coaxing me to open for him. Briefly, I consider just staying as I am, but with this being my first kiss, I decide I should at least try to enjoy it. Slowly, I open my lips to him and allow him entry.

  The taste of rich coffee and cigars explode across my senses. Before I can contemplate stopping, a moan pushes through me. One of his hands lands on my hip, pulling me close to him, letting me feel his very large erection before I pull away. I can’t believe I just did that. What kind of woman am I?

  One moment, I’m pissed as all hell, and the next, I’m moaning into his kiss. Dear Lord, I must be losing my fucking mind. No matter how attractive he is, or how many times I’ve thought of him at night or in the shower, this isn’t going to happen. I’m not going to surrender to this man. Never.

  Chapter Four

  Nero

  The kiss lingers on my lips. Her taste, the softness of her lips, how she sounded when she gave over and moaned. It’s driving me insane. All I can think about is getting her home and underneath me. But as much as I want to do that, I know I can’t. Even if she did respond to my kiss and my touch, I need to take it slow. I need her to need me before I take her. She needs to be in love with me.

  Looking around the few people here, I realize my bride is no longer a part of the crowd. Turning, I lock eyes with Marco, my second in command. Without words, he knows what I want to know and nods his head in the direction she went.

  Moving through the large double doors, I find my bride sitting outside on the church steps, staring into the distance. Her father would have a panic attack if he could see her out here alone, the fear of her getting hurt driving him to insanity, but I’m not worried. I know she isn’t in any danger and never will be.

  Quietly, I take a seat beside her on the steps. I don’t pressure her to talk or attempt to touch her. We sit in silence for a little while before angles her body in my direction.

  “This isn’t going to work,” she says.

  “She speaks.”

  “Don’t do that.” A heavy sigh leaves her full lips. “Why would you even want to marry me? You don’t know me.”

  “Why do you assume our marriage won’t work? You don’t know me.” I throw her statement back in her face.

  “I don’t need to know you.” She responds with that same glare from earlier. “I know myself. This will never work. You’re never going to be happy with me as your wife.”

  I furrow my brow. “Why are you so sure of that?”

  “Because I don’t like sex.” The lie is written across her face. I want to roar, thinking of any man beside myself with his hands on her, but the past is the past. She’s my wife now and no other man will ever have her again.

  “Perhaps you have never had sex with the right man?” I question instead of losing my temper.

  A blush blooms over her cheeks. “That wouldn’t matter. You must be fifty, and I don’t find you attractive.” This second time she lies, her gaze darts away from me. She does find me attractive. I felt her nipples pebble through her pretty wedding dress when we kissed. But I also know when to push something and when not to. So I let her think she’s gotten away with the lie.

  “I am forty-two, not fifty.” I smirk at her. “But I’m happy to make an arrangement with you.”

  Her interest is clearly piqued as she stares at me, waiting to hear the offer I’ll present. At the core of my being, I’m a businessman, and I’ve never made a deal that doesn’t favor me.

  “Let’s get going. We can work through the details in the car and then I can show you your new home.”

  Rising from the steps, I extend my hand to her. After a moment, she takes my hand, allowing me to assist her as I lead her back into the church. Her touch burns me, sending electric shocks running through my entire system.

  In the church, she releases my hand and moves toward her father. Like some lovesick fool, I follow behind her.

  “We are headed home.” She stares flatly at her father.

  “Thalia—”

  She cuts him off with her hand lifted. “This was your choice. You forced me into this and now I have to follow through.” She doesn’t hold back, distaste dripping from every word. “I will be leaving with my husband now. We have a lot to discuss and this is no longer the appropriate venue. Goodbye, Dad.”

  She turns on her heel to find me behind her. She stares into my eyes and I can see the tears shimmering there. Taking her hand in mine yet again, I lead her outside, down the steps, and into the waiting car. A single tear escapes, which she angrily swipes away before turning to look out the window.

  Thalia may not know it yet, but she’s perfect for me.

  Strong.

  Tough.

  Ruthless.

  Chapter Five

  Thalia

  After driving for fifteen minutes, I have my emotions back under control. I needed to make a clean break from my dad, for both of us. I have to accept the fact this is my new life now. I’m no longer the biker princess of old but the wife to a cartel boss. My father may have business with Nero, and I’ll always be his daughter, but our worlds are no longer the same.

  Turning away from the window, I find Nero staring at me. “You know that’s creepy, right?” I question with a lifted brow.

  “What? Staring at my beautiful wife?” He smiles in return.

  I want to slap the smile from his ridiculously handsome face. What forty-two-year-old man has dimples?

  “Don’t flatter me. It won’t get you anywhere.” I place the same scowl I had during the service back on my face. “I’m your wife only on paper.”

  “Sure, sure.” He nods. And although he uses words of acceptance, I feel like he doesn’t accept that at all. And even though I have that niggling feeling, I press forward.

  “Tell me about the arrangement.”

  “It’s simple, actually. Be my wife. Let me take you out and treat you well. Allow me to shower you with gifts and affection in public. You will be seen with me regularly and will entertain my associates. You will care for my son Mathias.” Taking a deep breath, he continues. “And in return, I won’t expect you to perform any other wifely duties. I won’t expect you to fuck me. I won’t expect you to suck my cock. I won’t expect you to do anything sexual. Until you want to.”

  Arousal soars through my veins. My cheeks heat, my nipples pebble, and slickness gathers between my legs. The moment he mentioned me sucking his cock, I couldn’t stop my gaze from moving between his thighs. And although I may lie and say I don’t find him attractive, he can’t hide his arousal as easily.

  He clears his throat, drawing my gaze back to his.

  “I will never want to do anything remotely sexual with you. And because of that, I find the terms to your agreement acceptable.” I hold my body taut, trying not to betray what I’m truly feeling.

  Nero watches me closely before nodding. Silence reigns inside the luxury car we are traveling in. The privacy window is up, ensuring the man driving can’t hear or see us. Taking a deep breath, I relax my body, making the biggest mistake of my life.

  Before I can contemplate what’s happening, Nero has me flat on my back across the seat,
both my hands secured above my head, and his weight pressing down on me.

  “What the—” I try to squirm out of his grasp.

  “Stop, Thalia.” There’s so much force behind his words I have no other option but to obey. “I won’t force you to do something you don’t want to. But I want to make myself perfectly clear.”

  He waits for me to lift my gaze to his, to make eye contact before he continues.

  “You may lie about how you feel. It’s your choice, even though you deny us both what we want.” Between my thighs, he rotates his hips, pushing his rock-hard cock against my pussy. I barely contain the moan that wants to slip free from my lips.

  “But you are my wife. Before God, you promised to be mine, whether you wanted to or not.” Nero has a scowl on his face, and I know this is serious. “If you allow another man to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you”—he thrusts between my thighs again—“I will kill you. I will not be made a fool of by a woman for a second time. No matter how badly I want you. Do you understand?”

  A second time? The way he phrases it is strange, but I can’t worry about that at this moment. Nero stares at me until I nod. He shakes his head before lowering his face to the crook of my neck. Slowly, he rubs his nose up the column of my neck, causing my entire body to shiver. In all my life, I’ve never had a man handle me or speak to me this way. But his dominance has my arousal running even higher.

  “You need to say the words, wife. I need to be sure you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand.” The words leave me in a whisper.

  “You come to me when you need a release, yes?” He releases my hands, moving one hand along my body until he reaches the hem of my dress. Swiftly, he lifts it and cups my pussy through my underwear.

  I can lie about my attraction to him as much as I want, but there’s no hiding the wetness soaking through my white lace panties. My chest rises and falls quickly as he growls in my ear.