Deal with the Devil

by March, Meghan

  “I don’t know if Juliette is the gossiping type, but this is juicy news. One of the world’s most eligible billionaires getting hitched after he publicly swore off marriage? When it gets out, it’s going to spread like wildfire.”

  I sigh and stretch out on the thick cushion, letting my head drop back onto the pillow.

  How the hell am I going to handle this?

  48

  Forge

  I avoid Indy and my cabin until the sun rises over the islands ahead of us. I didn’t trust myself to lie in bed next to her without keeping her up all night, and she needs time before she’s ready for everything I want from her. Instead, I spent the entire night working on everything I’ve let slide since she shifted into the center of my world.

  As soon as we drop anchor, I allow myself to close my laptop and make my way to the salon.

  “You’re coming with me,” Goliath says to Summer.

  “What about me?” Indy asks.

  They all look at me as I enter. Indy’s cheeks turn pink, and I can’t help but hope she can still feel me with her every step. Maybe that’s fucked up, but I don’t care.

  “You’re coming home with me. Where you belong,” I tell her.

  “But I need to see Alanna too,” she argues.

  “We’ll bring her out to the island tomorrow and tell her the news.” I shoot a look at her sister. “You say nothing about this when you see her. Understood?”

  Summer nods as Indy’s shoulders stiffen.

  “But she needs to know. She’s going to wonder why the hell I’m not with Summer.”

  “Summer will make your excuses, and Alanna will understand as soon as you tell her tomorrow.” Indy will keep arguing until she runs out of air, so I try to preempt what’s coming out of her mouth next. “I’d like to spend the afternoon showing you our home. And then this evening . . . I have something special planned for you.” I reach out to grab her hand as her mouth snaps shut.

  Argument over. I glance back at my new sister-in-law.

  “Summer, your job starts Monday. Someone will make sure you have the information you need about where to go and when.”

  “Thank you, Forge. Really. I know I haven’t said it enough, but . . . you saved my life and went above and beyond. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “But—”

  I wave her off as my new favorite boat approaches the yacht. “Go with Goliath. Enjoy your freedom, Summer. Don’t fuck up.”

  49

  India

  As I lose sight of Summer and Goliath, I can’t help but wonder what is going to happen when I get to Forge’s private island. He didn’t come to bed last night, and he was completely MIA until minutes ago.

  Why is he avoiding me?

  I’m not sure about anything right now, least of all how I feel about all of this. The last time I was on his turf, he made me a deal and I broke it in the most appalling fashion—I ran straight to Bastien.

  I’ve been telling myself that since I didn’t use Forge’s million, the deal was null and void and there can be no further consequences to my actions. Whether he agrees with me is yet to be determined. It’s not like I’m about to bring up the subject.

  When the military-looking black boat that I rode on out to his island before ties off to the yacht’s expansive swim platform, Forge leads me down the stairs. He jumps aboard and says something to the captain before returning to the side to help me on.

  “Sit here.” He points to the chair adjacent to the helm, and the captain gives him a nod.

  “Enjoy, Mr. Forge.”

  “What the hell is he doing?” I ask when the captain hops off the black boat and unties it from the yacht.

  “What I told him to do. Find his own way back. You and I are getting some lunch. Goliath told me you didn’t eat breakfast.”

  I turn to look at him sharply. “Wait, if we’re going for lunch, why didn’t we go with Summer? I thought—”

  “You’ll see.”

  Forge takes the wheel and with an expert hand, he guides us away. As soon as we’re a safe distance from the yacht, he guns it in the direction of the island, but not toward the dock I used before.

  Wind whips my hair, and I quickly pull it back into a low ponytail as the boat speeds around the cliffs to the other side, which I’ve never seen before. It’s almost a straight drop-off down a sheer rock face. It’s utterly breathtaking.

  We slow to a stop, and Forge turns off the ignition.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he reaches for the hem of his shirt.

  He peels the polo off and tosses it over the seat. “Going fishing,” he says, sidestepping me to open a compartment. He unearths a dive mask and a spear gun.

  “Wait, what?” I step back as he climbs up onto the large sun pad on the back of the boat, looking like freaking Aquaman again, and slips the mask over his face.

  “You’ll see.” He picks up the spear, turns, and steps off the side, holding the mask against his face.

  “Forge!” I rush to the side of the boat to look, and he flips his body. All I see are his toes before they disappear beneath the surface.

  I may have spent a lot of my life living on an island, but that doesn’t mean I’m a big water lover. As a result, I’m not a strong swimmer. I can dog-paddle enough to get by, but that’s about it.

  And now I just watched my husband throw himself overboard with a freaking spear.

  What in the actual fuck?

  “Oh my God. We’re not anchored.” I don’t know why I bother to say it out loud because no one’s around to hear me. The boat bobs on choppy waves, no doubt drifting away from where he dove in.

  What if something happens to Forge? I can’t save him. I’m not a lifeguard. I scan the surface of the water, but I see nothing.

  Wait, when did I get so concerned about making sure Forge is safe?

  Probably about the time I realized he’s the only man who hasn’t tried to take something from me I didn’t want to give, or use me in a way I didn’t sign up to be used.

  Does this mean I actually like my husband?

  Bubbles break the surface before I can answer the question. And, praise Jesus, Forge’s head comes next.

  “Watch out,” he yells, and I jump away from the side of the boat as he tosses something over the edge.

  “Holy shit!” A spiny beast flops around on the deck. I turn to yell at Forge, but he’s already gone again.

  He did not just catch a lobster with his bare hands. But the prehistoric-looking creature crawling around the floor of the fancy boat tells me I’m mistaken.

  Another sixty seconds pass before my panic levels rise again. I really don’t like wondering if he’s going to come back up.

  But he does. This time with another lobster. He tosses it over the side, ignoring my “What the fuck are you doing?” and dives again.

  He really is Aquaman.

  Except he’s not an actor playing a role. Forge is the real deal.

  Indy, you need to watch yourself, the voice in my head says. Don’t go getting dick-struck by him because he released the Kraken on you.

  Before I can tell the voice to shut the hell up, he surfaces a final time and swims around to the back of the boat. Just like the morning I saw him climb out of the Med off the coast of Monaco, Forge’s dripping-wet body is a sight to behold. How can a man who should work at a desk have all those abs? But judging by the fish skewered on the spear, nothing about Forge is normal.

  I was right when I thought he was a pirate.

  “I hope you like sea bream.”

  I’m still watching with my mouth hanging open. “You just . . . jumped off the boat.”

  He stares at me like I’m stating the obvious, which is fair, since I suppose I am.

  “And caught lobster and speared a fish.”

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  One of the lobsters’ antennae hits my foot and I screech. “Fuck no!”

  I jump onto the neare
st high surface and out of the reach of the spiny little bastard. Losing my balance on the sun pad, I wobble dangerously close to the edge.

  Forge’s arm wraps around me, steadying me and keeping me from falling overboard. “Careful,” he says, and the chuckle in his voice sounds like he’s trying not to laugh at me.

  I look down at him. “I don’t like live lobster running loose.”

  His lips twitch, and I poke my finger into his chest.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me. I didn’t know what the hell you were doing, and then you just start tossing creatures in the boat.” His smile widens, and I poke him again. “No laughing.”

  He reaches up to curl a hand around my neck and guides my head lower until his mouth slides across mine. My lips open and he slides his tongue inside, tasting me and tempting me in equal measure.

  By the time he pulls away, I’m not only wet from the water dripping off his tanned skin.

  With a knowing smile, he says, “I guess I’m cooking lunch then.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, my jaw hangs open in shock again. Not only did Forge dock the boat and tie it off by himself, he carried both lobsters and the fish up to the outdoor kitchen and cleaned them all. Now he’s manning the grill like he cooks for himself every day.

  “Shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t someone be doing this for you?” I gesture to the grill. “I mean, you must employ a bazillion people.”

  He meets my gaze with one brow raised. “Don’t trust my cooking?”

  “No, it’s just . . . it seems weird. I didn’t figure billionaires cooked for themselves,” I say as I shift on the stool he told me to take unless I wanted to clean fish. So, on the stool I sit.

  “You forget, I wasn’t always a billionaire, but I’ve always liked to eat. That means I know how to cook.”

  As the sun moves higher in the sky, it dries Forge’s hair into a wavy black mane brushing his shoulders. He really shouldn’t be allowed to cook, because he’s already too devastating as it is.

  You’re already married to him, so what does it matter if you drool over him a little more?

  My inner voice has a point. After all, I can still feel the pulse between my legs from yesterday.

  He checks the temperature of the lobster with a meat thermometer and uses tongs to set them on two red plates. A few minutes later, he puts a chunk of the freshly grilled fish and wedges of lemon on them as well.

  “Let’s eat.”

  I follow him to the table where he offered me the check for a million dollars, and that’s when the surreal nature of this meal hits me.

  How did I even get here? The last week has been a crazy whirlwind, and now my life is completely unrecognizable. I left this table India Baptiste only days ago, and now I sit here as India Forge.

  Never in a thousand years would I have predicted this.

  I watch the man across from me as he digs into the food he caught and cooked. When he realizes I’m not eating yet, he pauses.

  “Something wrong with your food?”

  “No. I’m sure it’s great. I’m just . . . overwhelmed, I guess.”

  “By?”

  My teeth dig into my bottom lip until I work up the courage to tell him the truth. “You.”

  The corner of his mouth tilts at my admission. “You’ll get used to it. Eat.”

  I’m three bites in and trying to control my urge to moan over the freshest lobster and fish I’ve ever eaten when a buzzing sound comes from near the grill.

  His phone.

  Forge rises and walks over to it. When he looks at the display, he swears under his breath before looking back at me. “I have to take this. Don’t wait for me.”

  Without waiting for my reply, he walks toward the house before answering with a gruff, “What?”

  I keep eating, but I’m more curious about who he’s talking to than I am hungry. He didn’t sound happy to get the call.

  I take my time, but my plate is clear but for fish bones and destroyed lobster shell when Forge comes out of the house, dressed in a suit and tie.

  “Whoa. I didn’t expect the dress code to change so drastically.”

  His expression is grave. “I have to go. I’ll be back when I can.”

  “Like . . . in an hour? Tomorrow? Next year?”

  “Make yourself at home. Someone will find clothes you can wear, or your things will be brought from the yacht,” he says, specifically not answering the question I asked.

  “Is everything okay?” I push up from my seat, unease creeping along my spine. This Jericho Forge isn’t the smiling one who looked proud that he caught lunch. This Jericho Forge looks like the man who took every penny I had at the poker table with ruthless and cold-blooded determination.

  “Do whatever you want, but don’t try to leave the island,” he says, then turns and heads for the stairs that lead down to the pier.

  “Forge!”

  He pauses to look back at me.

  “I’m not ready to be a widow yet.”

  Something flits across his expression, and he gives me another nod.

  As soon as he disappears, I push back the chair from the table and hurry to the edge of the patio to watch his confident, long-legged stride take him to the boat. He unties it, climbs aboard, and then he’s gone.

  I watch the boat for as long as I can keep track of it.

  And I’m now alone. On an island.

  I clean up the remains of the meal, putting the shells and bones into the bag he used for cleaning the lobster and fish. I wash the dishes, close the grill, and look out at the stunning view before me.

  This place may be beautiful, but when there’s no one else around to share it with, it feels awfully lonely. Does Forge ever get lonely? I immediately dismiss the question as silly.

  With the bag of fish and lobster scraps in hand, I take the same path my husband took down to the pier, hoping that they would normally toss them back into the ocean to be recycled by nature. Or maybe I’m littering, but whatever.

  I sit on the end of the dock, letting my legs hang over, and toss in the first lobster carcass. Immediately, a big fish rises to the surface to steal it away. The second one attracts another fish.

  Well, that’s kinda cool. I haven’t fed fish since . . . Lord, I don’t even remember how old I was. Our mom took Summer and me to Italy for a couple of months, and we stood on the shoreline after eating pasta. Summer begged her to let us bring the bread from dinner to feed the fish.

  I’m so engrossed in rinsing out the empty plastic bag when I’m done that I don’t notice the speedboat roaring toward the island until it’s almost to the pier.

  It’s red. Not black like Forge’s.

  Whose boat is that?

  Immediately, I pop up and scuttle backward, preparing to run back up the stairs to the house, but I pause when I see messy blond hair blowing around the man’s head like a tarnished halo.

  Bastien.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Nothing about this can possibly be a good situation.

  He pulls up to the dock and tosses me a line.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I squeeze the rope, not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. I can’t tie up Bastien’s boat at Forge’s dock. He won’t just spank my ass for that. He might drown me.

  “Did you marry him?”

  The wind catches the plastic bag and rips it from my hand as Bastien’s green eyes pierce me.

  I have no idea how he found out, but I press my lips together for a beat. “Yes.”

  “Fuck! It was a setup.” Bastien’s tone turns harsh.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your sister’s kidnapping. It was all bullshit. He played you.”

  Blood rushes in my ears as I stare at him in disbelief. Nothing he’s saying makes sense.

  “No. No. That’s not possible.”

  Bastien looks over my shoulder, and I hear someone shouting my name from the top of the cliffs.

  “Forge only cares about the money. H
e doesn’t care who he hurts, especially you.”

  “I don’t believe you. You have to leave.” I glance behind me and see two men rushing down the carved rock stairs toward the dock.

  “Think, Indy! Why the fuck would he marry you? He had a reason. You don’t know who you really are.”

  “What the hell do you mean, who I really am?” My chest rises and falls faster and faster as I wonder what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into.

  I trusted Forge. He got Summer back . . . and he did it before we were even married. I was so grateful that I didn’t push harder for an explanation.

  “Forge is using you to get what he wants from your father.”

  “My father?” My entire body shakes as I blink repeatedly.

  Bastien looks beyond me again and thrusts out his hand. “I’ll tell you everything, but you have to come with me now.”

  Footsteps pound down the pier behind me.

  With trembling fingers, I reach out, and Bastien grabs my hand.

  “Good girl. Let’s go.”

  Indy and Forge’s story continues in Luck of the Devil and concludes in Heart of the Devil, both available for preorder now by tapping on the titles.

  Have you met Lachlan Mount, the Ruthless King of New Orleans? Keep reading for a glimpse of the darker and dirtier side of New Orleans, in Ruthless King. Tap on the title to purchase!

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  You don’t know my name, but I control everything you see—and all the things you don’t. My reach knows no bounds, and my demands are always met.