by Lara Adrian
“Out of the question.”
We both glance at him, into the flinty hardness of his expression. Rush slowly shakes his head.
“No one is allowed inside my studio while I’m working. Ms. Laurent will come alone, and she will agree to be cooperative and open to my instruction while we’re in the session.”
He’s speaking to Daniel, but looking at me, waiting for my acknowledgment. I want to refuse him, but the words don’t come. “How long will it take? The sessions, I mean. How long will I need to be there?”
“Some days I’ll have what I need in a couple of hours. Other days, we could go longer, possibly into the evening if I feel it’s required.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Daytime only. Preferably mornings, and no more than four or five hours at a time. No Saturdays or Sundays, either.”
I don’t volunteer about my commitments at home or the fact that I’m attending classes part-time between the two alternating temp jobs I juggle during the week. Every Wednesday I do accounting work at a dentist’s office in Brooklyn. On the weekends, I wait tables at a diner near my house in Queens. I’m relieved that Daniel doesn’t volunteer those personal details, either. I intend to keep my real life separated from anything having to do with Jared Rush and his unexpected proposal.
A proposal I am on the verge of accepting, I realize with no small amount of reservation.
“I’m not in the habit of being held to working on the clock,” he says, pinning me with narrowed, studying eyes. “But I’ll make an exception . . . for now. If I feel I need more of your time, we can negotiate those terms as they arise. Either way, I expect I’ll have what I need from you in roughly a couple of weeks’ time. Is that acceptable to you, Ms. Laurent?”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Good. Then, we’re settled on the terms?”
I nod. Daniel lets go of a heavy sigh before turning to me and pulling me into a tight embrace. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my ear. “Christ, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, Melanie.”
“I wouldn’t make her wonder about that, if I were you.”
I didn’t realize he could hear Daniel. I didn’t realize he’d moved off the sofa, either, but now he’s standing tall on the other side of the cocktail table, watching as I extricate myself from Daniel’s arms.
Rush extends his hand and Daniel wastes no time reaching for it. “Thank you very much for your understanding tonight, Jared. I hope we can put all of this behind us.”
“Ms. Laurent,” Jared Rush says, turning to me without indicating whether he feels tonight’s arrangement has satisfied him where Daniel is concerned. He holds his hand out toward me. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract for our signatures before you leave. Until then, I trust a handshake will suffice.”
I place my fingers in his palm and they are immediately swallowed up in the warmth and strength of his grasp. Electricity travels through each digit and up my arm as I stare into the shrewd, unreadable depths of Jared Rush’s deep brown eyes.
He doesn’t smile, but there’s no mistaking the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.
A shiver of unease chases the current of awareness that’s still vibrating through me as he holds both my hand and my gaze captive.
Whatever Jared Rush set out to accomplish with us tonight, that look tells me he believes he’s already won.
6
MELANIE
Jared Rush’s lawyer slides the contract across the desk for my signature.
His name is Nathan Whitmore, and it turns out he was one of the players at the poker table downstairs. Tall, with espresso-dark hair and piercing gray eyes, I place him somewhere under forty. Definitely not the stodgy counselor I’d pictured when Jared announced his attorney would be drawing up our agreement and joining us in the study.
I glance down at the signature page of the contract we’ve all reviewed and agreed to, and are now signing in triplicate. The only name still missing is mine.
I pick up Whitmore’s glossy black Montblanc pen and hurriedly scribble my name on the line below Daniel’s neatly written signature on all three copies of the agreement.
To the left of ours, Jared Rush’s scrawl is jagged and aggressive, as bold and imposing as the man himself.
“Thank you, Ms. Laurent.” Whitmore’s deep voice is all-business. We stand, and he presents one of the three executed copies to me, and another to Daniel. Slipping his pen into the interior pocket of his impeccably tailored suit jacket, he nods to his client. “Can I do anything else for you tonight, Jared?”
“No, I’ve got everything I need.” Rush’s gaze collides with mine across the cocktail table. “Unless Mr. Hathaway or Ms. Laurent have questions for you, Nate, you’re free to go back to the game downstairs.”
Daniel says nothing, while I shake my head. The contract terms were simple enough to understand. In exchange for three-hundred-and-thirty-thousand dollars, I belong to Jared Rush for up to four hours per day, three days a week, until his painting is completed.
Woodenly, I shake the lawyer’s offered hand, trying to ignore the electricity that’s been rolling off Jared Rush for the duration of our meeting. Every cell in my body is aware of him, aware of everything about him, no matter how much I want to deny it.
As Whitmore leaves the room, Daniel wraps his arm around my shoulders and brings me close. I lean into the familiar feel of him beside me, but it brings me little comfort now.
“If we’re finished, Jared, I’m sure Mel would like to get home.”
He nods. “Of course. I have your address on our agreement, Ms. Laurent. I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow morning at eight o’clock and bring you here for our first session.”
“Tomorrow?”
“So soon?” Daniel adds, his arm tensing around me. “Can’t you at least give her a day to get used to the idea?”
“No,” I blurt, shaking my head. “I can’t do it.”
They both look at me in question. Rush’s brow furrows. “You just signed an agreement that says you will.”
“I mean I can’t start tomorrow. I have a personal commitment that I can’t break.”
“What could be more personal than the contract in your hand, Ms. Laurent?”
“I have an exam in the morning.” It’s not something I intended to explain to him, but he’s not giving me much choice. “International Business. It’s a requirement for my MBA.”
He seems surprised. “You’re a student?”
“Part-time.”
Although his brow is furrowed, his beard-shadowed, square jaw rises in acknowledgment. “All right, then. We can begin on Thursday morning. I’ll send my driver—”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m fully capable of getting here on my own.”
It’s bad enough I had to provide my address for the contract. There’s no way in hell I’ll allow him to send one of his people out to fetch me.
Besides, what would my mother think?
I can’t even go there. I’m not going to tell her about any of this. She doesn’t need to worry about the choices I’m making—questionable as they may be right now. God knows she worried enough about Jen and her choices while my sister was alive.
I’m supposed to be the practical one. The level-headed one who’s always walked a careful, if boring, path.
The one who’s never let her, or anyone else, down.
“There’s a subway station a few blocks up the street. I’m used to taking the train into the city. I don’t need a ride.”
He acknowledges with a vague nod, but I can tell he’s not happy with my pushback. “Thursday morning, eight A.M., Ms. Laurent.” His deep voice makes it sound like a command.
“Fine,” I reply, amazed that I can sound so cool and unaffected when every cell in my body is crackling with the need to get away from this man and the unholy arrangement I’ve just entered into with him.
An arrangement that’s set to begin less than thirty-six hours from now.
&nbs
p; Daniel thrusts out his hand and eagerly pumps Jared’s. While he offers more thanks and relief for Rush’s understanding tonight, I turn away and head for the door, folding the contract papers and stuffing them into my small evening bag.
I’m not sure I’m even breathing until I open one of the study’s heavy doors and step out to the brighter light of the opulent corridor outside. With my face in my hands, I sag back against the millwork of the wall as all the breath in my lungs gusts out of me on a shaky exhalation.
I’m furious with Daniel, but I’m even more upset with myself. And with Jared Rush.
“Oh, God. What have I done?”
“Is everything all right, Miss Laurent?”
Gibson’s quiet inquiry brings my head up with a jolt. I didn’t even notice he was standing in the hallway. Now, my face heats with added humiliation.
I force a smile, which feels fake and tight. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”
He gives me a dubious, if polite, look. Before he’s made to offer some lame response, Daniel exits the study. Thankfully, alone.
“We should go,” he says, glancing sheepishly at the silver-haired gentleman. “Goodnight, Gibson.”
“Mr. Hathaway, allow me to see Ms. Laurent and you out.” Gibson gestures for us to follow him back to the elevator we rode up on together. “I’ve already taken the liberty of having your car brought around. You’ll find it waiting for you outside.”
“Okay, thanks.”
As soon as the elevator doors open, Daniel grabs my hand and practically pulls me through the grand foyer. The tuxedoed doorman lets us out to the cool night air and it’s all I can do not to bolt for the idling car at the curb.
I slide into the passenger seat without meeting the valet’s eyes, feeling paranoid that everyone in Jared Rush’s employment knows I’ve just been bought by him.
I close my eyes, wishing I could blink and none of this would be real.
But it is real, all of it.
And for the duration of the drive to Queens, neither Daniel nor I seem capable of putting any of it into words.
He slows as we approach my modest house. Golden light and the flashing glare of the TV glows from behind the drawn curtains of the living room. Daniel pulls into the short driveway and puts the car in park.
When he turns off the engine, I glance at him in question. “What are you doing?”
“I’m a gentleman, Mel. I’m going to walk you to the door.”
“No.” My refusal comes out sharper than I mean it to, and the look of guilt and torment on his face deepens. “I can manage on my own. Besides, it’s late. Everyone is probably already asleep. I wouldn’t want to wake them.”
“Right. Of course, you’re right.” He reaches for my hand, clasping it between both of his. Shame edges his voice with a rawness I’ve never heard in him before. “Melanie . . . I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry about all of this.”
I don’t say anything. My confusion and anger with him is still ripe, even more so than my shock over what happened tonight in Jared Rush’s study.
“I’ll make this up to you, Mel. I swear, I will.”
“It’s late,” I murmur for a second time. “I really need to get inside.”
I pull my hand from his grasp and open the passenger door. As I climb out, he leans my way. “Melanie, I love you. You know that, right? What I said earlier tonight—that I love you more than anything else in my life—I meant it. I can’t lose you. Please, tell me you can forgive me for all of this.”
Can I? Right now, I’m not sure. But I give him a nod. It’s the only response I’m capable of when the world around me seems to be spinning out of control. I quietly close the car door behind me, then walk to the house.
My legs feel boneless beneath me, despite that my little purse feels ten pounds heavier with Jared Rush’s signed contract folded inside it.
I pause at the front door and wait to watch Daniel drive away. When he’s gone, I unlock the deadbolt and step inside. Mom’s dozing on the sofa with one of her European travel programs running on the TV. Six-year-old Katie’s sleeping snuggled in front of her, still in her clothes when she should be in bed this late on a school night.
I’m not sure who’s the bigger child, my niece or her grandmother, who spoils Katie the way she never could for Jen or me when we were growing up under my father’s strict rule. Mom’s gotten more indulgent about a lot of things since her heart attack last fall. Then again, so have I where she’s concerned.
I shake my head and sigh, beyond the capacity for anything but gratitude and love when I look at what’s left of my little family. We’ve been through hell and back together, thankfully the worst of it being over before Katie was old enough to understand or to grieve.
Moving silently, I shut the door and reset the locks. Placing my evening bag on the table near the door, I slip off my shoes before padding over to the sofa. Mom stirs with a soft, muffled snore as I carefully extricate Katie from her arms.
I carry my niece upstairs to her bedroom and get her into her pajamas. She’s out before her pale blond head hits the pillow, and I pause inside the room for a moment simply to watch her sleep.
She is the reason I was able to agree to Jared Rush’s very indecent proposal tonight.
As much as I care about Daniel, it wasn’t him I was thinking of when I put my signature on that contract.
It was this little girl.
She and my mom, both.
For them, I can do this.
For them, I would do anything. Even take off my clothes for a man like Jared Rush, baring myself down to my soul if that’s what it takes to help make a better life for us.
I step out of the room to let Katie sleep.
Mom’s still snoring softly when I return downstairs to collect my purse and shoes after brewing a cup of tea to bring up to my bedroom while I study some more for my exam in the morning. As exhausted as I am, I know I’m not going to get much sleep.
And while I almost have myself convinced I can drown out everything that happened tonight with several hours of study on global supply chain management, it only takes a few minutes before I toss aside my books in frustration.
My thoughts are spinning, my head still vibrating with the deep baritone of Jared Rush’s whisky-edged voice. My senses are still alive and thrumming with the unholy heat of his gaze.
God, what have I done?
Grabbing my evening bag off the edge of the bed, I pull out the contract and read it again, even though the terms are singed into my memory. His demands are clear, simple. Concise. As bold and aggressive as the jagged signature with which he sealed our agreement.
Jared Rush has secured my unclothed presence and cooperation in front of his canvas in exchange for the staggering sum of three-hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
He is a man who gets what he wants. I saw that firsthand tonight.
I felt it, and a part of me still stirs with that awareness, no matter how much I’d like to deny it.
And while it’s only my time and body that belong to him for as long as our agreement stands, I can’t help feeling that if I’m not careful, it will be nothing less than my heart and soul on the line.
7
JARED
After they’re gone, I head downstairs to cover Hathaway’s losses with my friends and other guests. As the host of this gathering, I have an obligation to make sure every player at the table belongs there. Allowing a financial risk like Hathaway—a rank amateur, compared to any of the men and women playing tonight—is a responsibility I fully accept.
Hell, I’d all but expected him to wager more than he could handle.
Call it a test. Call it a calculated move in a game he’s not even aware we’re playing.
Either way, tonight Daniel Hathaway gambled big—and lost.
And I damn well mean to collect.
I mean to collect on everything I’m due.
The fact that I’ll have the added pleasure of settling that debt in the company of
a woman like Melanie Laurent only sweetens the prize. I knew she was gorgeous. I’ve been seeing her luminous eyes and silky auburn hair in the back of my mind for weeks now.
I’ve been wanting her ever since she walked into Muse. I hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of that want tonight. She walked into my study and my cock took instant notice.
She’s been gone for more than an hour and I’m still feeling the crackle of electricity that passed between us, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. I’m still craving her with a need that astonishes me.
A curt nod to the game room bartender as I approach sends him off to pour my usual. He returns a moment later with the aged Macallan. “Thanks, Adam.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Rush.”
I take a long swallow from the glass, but the whisky’s smooth burn doesn’t do a thing to take the edge off me. No more than the others that came before it had.
Melanie Laurent got under my skin tonight. Not only because she’s a knockout, but even more so because of her fire.
I didn’t expect the wholesome-looking beauty to agree to my proposal. I know she wanted to refuse. The way those glittering pale blue eyes of hers turned stormy gray and crackling with offense when I suggested she pose nude for me made it clear she would’ve liked nothing better than to smash one of her delicate fists into the center of my face.
She might yet, before all of this is over.
Fear for her boyfriend’s wellbeing was probably the only thing that kept her fury in check tonight. Fear, and caring. It’s obvious even to me that Daniel Hathaway is important to her. She’s protective of him. Loyal. She stood up for him, fought for him.
But does she love him? I’m hardly one to guess.
Does Hathaway love her? He’s already told me over half a dozen cocktails at one of our business lunches that they’ve only been together about three months. More than enough time for a man to get himself twisted into a knot over a woman like Melanie Laurent.
Any man but me, that is.
As for the state of their romance, I don’t give a damn one way or the other, although there’s a side of me that hopes he does love her. It will make seducing her away from him all the sweeter.