by Lynda Chance
His answer only made her tense. Why had he paused? There was no question—that pause had been telling—shit. Would he let her go or not? Some part of her needed to know that he’d let her go if she made that choice. It would calm her down while she was here—allow her to feel she had some control. But she didn’t believe him, not really. But she also didn’t want to know the truth, not if she had no way out. She wanted to hide behind the word choice. What did it matter anyway? She wouldn’t allow her family to be hurt if she had the means to stop it. All at once, refusing to put off the inevitable, she flattened her lips and held out her hand as if to seal a deal.
When he glanced down at her outstretched palm, Erin realized her fingers were shaking. Slowly, his grip engulfed hers, swallowing her palm in his much larger one. “There’s no reason to look so alarmed, love. I mean you no harm.”
God, she didn’t trust him, so how could she still want to go to bed with him so badly? “You’re the enemy of my family.”
His thumb began rubbing the palm of her hand in a slow, circular pattern. “That is true—but I’m not your enemy—and that is a distinction you will soon learn to appreciate.”
“Can you blame me for feeling apprehensive?” she questioned. “I’m in a foreign country, married to a man who despises my family, being held here by coercion.”
“That is all true—but you are here now, with me. I am your family now—not your enemy. The path ahead is what you make of it, your choice. The sooner you come to terms with your future—our future, together—the better it will be for both of us.”
So, that was it. This man, practically a stranger, was going to be the center of her life now whether she agreed or not? “Why for both of us? You seem to have what you want.”
“Do I?” His eyes dropped and landed on her lips before coming back to search hers once again. “Revenge isn’t uppermost in my mind at present and I certainly don’t intend to dwell on it.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her breasts before lifting to her eyes again. “Now, I want you. Without that hint of fear I see in your eyes … I want you to acknowledge that the chemistry we have is enough to rock the Richter scale. I want you to melt hot and wet around me every time I touch you.” His thumb began caressing her palm, the heat in his eyes messing with her insides. “Nothing else needs to concern you—you certainly don’t need to be afraid—as long as you don’t purposely antagonize me. I want you to concede that you’re mine and more than that—I want you to understand that I’ll take care of you, in every possible way, and I’ll annihilate anything that stands in the way of your happiness.”
She was in danger of hyperventilating, thinking things through. He thought it was that simple to be happy? But how could she be? She blew out a breath and said, “I can tell you now—making my brothers suffer is going to screw with my happiness.”
His lips twisted as if that small fact were inevitable.
As he remained silent, she slowly took a ragged breath. He wasn’t asking for much, was he? “So that’s the deal? I surrender my life to you and in return you’ll slay my dragons?”
His eyes glinted with appreciation of her understanding—or was it another hint of warning? “Yes, sweetness, that’s it entirely,” he shot back, his fingers tightening around hers. “Your life is mine. I want you to understand that I’m your family now—I’m the one in control of your happiness. And trust me, love, you will be happy. And in return I’ll stand in the way of anything or anyone who tries to hurt you.”
Erin watched closely as his thumb traced the lifeline on the palm of her hand. Listening to his speech, she felt a wave of longing mix with the angst she was feeling. She was feminine enough to feel a shower of sparks crackle through her veins. Wasn’t that every woman’s dream? For a man to want to take care of her? To have her back against the rest of the world? It all sounded pretty freaking wonderful—totally tempting—if only his motivation wasn’t to make her family suffer. If her siblings’ emotions and welfare didn’t come into play, she’d probably be crawling on Max’s lap even now, asking where to sign.
Erin’s eyes closed involuntarily as another shiver of response rippled through her. Damn. Who knew she was such an evil woman? She’d undoubtedly go to hell for the thoughts and feelings she had for her brothers’ enemy—even if those feelings were against her will.
She knew one thing—she couldn’t keep a lid on her exploding emotions for much longer. She needed to get away from him for a while to regroup—and pronto. “I think I need to rest now, Max.”
He came to his feet at once, pressing a bell, and stood over her where she sat. “Yes, of course. Whatever pleases you.” His fingers caressed her shoulder as he stared into her eyes. “That’s the way it will be, Erin. You have only to ask for something and if it’s within my power, you’ll have it.”
Erin rose to her feet, her heart beating in triple time. She began to move away, but Max reached out and encapsulated her wrist until she was facing him again. While a summoned maid waited by the doorway, he towered over her as he looked down into her eyes. “Don’t think too hard about this, Erin. Take our relationship at face value, which is the only truth you need to be concerned with. We’re married—I want you as my wife—and I’ll give you every fucking thing your heart desires.” His fingers tightened in a controlling, yet caressing move. “In and out of the bedroom.”
Her heart stampeding like an out-of-control freight train, Erin gave him a last lingering look before she dipped her head and followed the maid up the stairway.
****
When Erin left the room, Max sank back down on the sofa. Had she believed him at all? The choice must be hers? Had those words actually left his mouth? It was true that he’d initially planned on giving her a choice—as little as that choice was meant to be. But now? After he knew how it felt when her internal muscles contracted around him as she came? After he had the honey-like taste of her skin memorized? After he’d had a full twenty-four hours to get used to the idea that she was legally his? Hell no, fuck no, he wasn’t giving up that shit. She didn’t have a choice at all; there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d let her go.
Of course, it was imperative she believe she had a choice, tiny as it was. He needed things to run smoothly, and that would only happen if she thought she had a choice, and therefore, the things he had said had been necessary. But did she really have a choice? He knew himself—and the answer to that question was—not a snowball’s chance in hell. No choice. Zero choice. She was staying here, with him. He wasn’t about to let her go—not today, not tomorrow, and as far as he could foresee, not any time in the near future.
****
When Erin woke up, all traces of lingering headache and jet lag were gone. When she glanced at the clock, she knew the reason why. She’d slept twelve hours. As she sat up in bed, she noticed the indent in the pillow next to hers. A thrill, followed by a cold chill, ran down her spine. Had he slept beside her?
Refusing to dwell on it, she got out of bed to inspect the bedroom suite. She needed to stay busy for a while, before she forced herself to think about the choice. What choice did she really have? And hadn’t she already made it? For the moment, she let herself forget about the angst of her situation to look around and get her bearings.
The suite was as beautiful as the rest of the house. The bed itself was huge, an American king, and it was done in colors that were soothing to her eye—thank goodness. The suite held a sitting room with French doors that opened to a balcony of white stone. A circular wall surrounded the balcony and it contained a small outdoor dining set and twin lounge chairs.
An explosion of pleasure hit her system as she turned completely around and took in the entire outdoor area. The loungers and dining set had matching cushions of a deep red color with a Greek key pattern—which happened to be one of her favorites. The stone wall contained a built-in fireplace, which she had to admit, was one of the things she’d always been enamored of in an outdoor setting.
The patio,
at first glance, was indescribably romantic. If one were in the mood to be seduced by romance.
The bedroom suite contained two dressing rooms that flanked a single bathroom, and a quick peek behind the first door gave Erin the answer she was looking for. The bedroom suite definitely belonged to Max—it couldn’t be otherwise with a blazing row of overhead lights showing off designer suits and crisp, pressed shirts, which took up the walls of the dressing room. She could even detect his lingering scent. Her stomach flipped and she quickly shut the door. So. She wouldn’t have her own bedroom—not unless she asked and even then it would be a long shot.
She opened the door to the second dressing room and gasped as she found herself peering inside the closet of her dreams. It was perfect! She took a step inside and as she turned slowly in a three-sixty, her breath caught in her throat. The room was almost exactly like the pictures she’d posted on her blog. Her heart beat forcefully at the sheer coincidence of the interior design that so mirrored her own ideas. Was it coincidence?
A chaise lounge with feminine lines sat in the center of the room—exactly as she’d always wanted. Underneath, a spacious Oriental rug with a gorgeous design added another layer of comfort to the room. But the crowning glory? A delicate mini chandelier hung from the ceiling and cast the perfect light—so different from the bold lighting in Max’s dressing room.
The small room was almost completely empty except for the few clothes that had been in her suitcase and which were now hanging in a lone corner, all washed and pressed. The space was definitely larger than a normal walk-in closet, at least four times the size of her closet at home. It contained a selection of built-in drawers and sleek-looking shelves that lined three of the walls.
Everything was done in soothing colors and she was infinitely relieved to know that she wouldn’t have to share a closet with Max. Letting her mind wander, she realized that the chaise lounge would undoubtedly make it convenient to sit and put on shoes or stockings. She pictured herself doing just that and was immediately blasted with a barrage of conflicting emotions when she pictured herself as the mistress of this house—it was enough to make her back out of the room and shut the door.
Looking around the bathroom that Max undoubtedly expected them to share, a quiver of unease shook her. There was a double vanity of white marble, and on closer inspection, she saw that the gold tray on top already contained the few personal items that had been in her cases. Glancing away from the alarming vision, she made sure the door was locked before jumping into the shower. She quickly ran through her ablutions before applying a small amount of makeup for the sole boost that it gave to her self-confidence.
After dressing in one of her conference outfits, she dug through her large handbag. She pulled out her wallet and checked that her credit and debit cards were where they should be. She counted her cash and found she had a reasonable amount that made her feel more secure—even if they were American dollars. But as she dug around deeper, she began to panic—her passport was missing. Max had taken it? Fury and panic exploded in her head and bled down her spine. Bastard had taken her passport. So. Not. Good.
Her fingers sank around the comforting weight of her phone, knowing damn good and well he could have taken that lifeline as well. The battery was still good, and although it seemed to be roaming, she had full bars. Just the weight of the phone in her hand made her feel more confident, but before placing the phone call to her mother that would seal at least her immediate future, she left the suite and sought out the man who’d orchestrated her presence in his country.
Finding a maid in the great room, she was pointed in the direction of a study with a solid wooden door that stood only partially ajar. She stood to the side a moment, trying to get her nerves under control. She could hear the deep rumble of Max’s voice and assumed he was on the phone. Pieces of his conversation floated on the air but she didn’t try to put any of it in context—until she heard this: ‘No, are you kidding me? Take it down. I have a wife now—I never needed an interior designer.’
As the words pierced through her consciousness and she realized exactly what they meant, she fell back against the wall and tried to remain composed. Her heart was racing so quickly it was almost scaring her. The bastard had posted that job opening to bait her into working for him? She knew it! The job had been too perfect.
And if she’d applied for the position, what was his plan after that? Undoubtedly he’d meant to get her to Argentina one way or the other—and here was more proof of what kind of man she was up against.
As he ended his conversation, it took her a moment to get her pulse settled, and when she moved to the door opening, she saw Max seated behind an enormous desk of solid mahogany. Clutching her phone tightly, she cleared her throat, trying to contain her frustration and nerves. He glanced up and as their eyes caught and held, her stomach fell to the floor at the look of charged lust displayed so openly on his features.
Dropping his gold pen, he stood to his feet in what was obviously a show of respect. “Good morning. You slept well, I hope?”
She had slept—it must have been a combination of stress and jet lag that had knocked her out so thoroughly.
“Yes, thank you,” she said in a controlled voice—trying like hell not to lose her temper the moment she saw him—conniving asshole had her passport.
Inclining his head, he stepped from behind his desk and strolled to the front, where he casually leaned against it, folding his arms over his chest as if prepared to indulge her. “You’ve found everything you need so far?”
“Yes, thank you.” Would he indulge her? How far exactly? Could she manipulate him to do her bidding? As she watched him watching her with a primitive hunger that he wasn’t trying to hide, she realized abruptly that she held a powerful weapon in her arsenal. Women had been manipulating men with sex since the dawn of time—could she do the same? She’d never in her life anticipated having such a base thought, but could she be blamed for having the idea now? And should she be worried at the shiver of excitement the idea generated?
She had no other tool to use against him—and they were at battle—could she win the entire war if she tried? And if she did win, what would she win exactly? Max? A marriage as he described, where she would have his attention, his affection, everything she secretly desired for her future, sans her brothers upset? Turning the tables on him would be the ultimate revenge. Losing his heart to her would totally serve him right for using her as a pawn. And who knew? Maybe she’d choose to stay married, once he was irrevocably in love with her.
He continued to study her intently, making her nerves jump. One side of his mouth twisted in a half smile as he continued to appraise her. “You’re being very polite.”
She felt a flurry of butterflies that she ruthlessly suppressed. She couldn’t let him get to her—he’d taken her passport. “That’s a good thing, right?” Did that sound like flirtation in her voice? She hoped so—where else was she supposed to start in her quest to win?
His eyes glinted with a show of approval … and something else. “Very good, darling.”
Erin took a deep breath and in a non-combative tone asked, “My passport seems to be missing. Do you have it?”
His lips firmed as a dangerous light touched his eyes. “I do.”
Keep it together, Erin—keep it together. “Why?”
He paused a moment too long before answering, “I’m merely keeping it safe for you, love.”
She narrowed her eyes; she couldn’t help it. Then she pasted on a fake smile and said through gritted teeth, “That’s so sweet, but I’d like it back.”
“I thought you were staying here,” he volleyed immediately.
She nodded stiltedly. “I am, but it’s my passport and I can keep it safe all by myself—truly, it likes to live in my purse.”
His legs shifted—just that much apart—his body language reflecting a hint of irritation. “Your purse isn’t the place for a passport. Don’t worry about it—I’ve got it when you n
eed it.”
“Max—”
“Yeah?” he interrupted.
“I’m trying not to lose it here. There’s no reason you should have taken it—”
“I’m your husband,” he retaliated quickly, harshly.
She inclined her head as if agreeing with his statement. “True. But my passport is—”
He interrupted her with biting words, his eyes sharp and his stance firming. “Do you understand what marriage means in Latin America?”
She could see it in the set of his facial features—he was about to announce that he was the supreme ruler in their relationship. “Argentina is a democracy,” she argued, “Surely you’re not saying that women don’t have equal rights?”
His voice turned harsher than anything she’d heard from him as he enunciated each word. “I’m saying that there are two people in our relationship. As your husband, it’s my job to decide what’s right for you—as my wife, it’s your job to obey me in all things.”
Erin was temporarily struck mute as an added quiver of unease formed in the pit of her stomach. She felt anger, she felt panic, she felt very real fear. She’d never expected he would lay it out like that—even if she had suspected he felt that way. And this from the man who’d confiscated her passport, virtually holding her hostage in this marriage. Her heart began a torrential beat as she watched him watching her. “There are laws in this country—”
“My law,” he cut in forcefully. “The Provinces are almost entirely autonomous—we’re left alone to do as we wish. Look around you, Erin. I own everything as far as the eye can see and then some. The people you see here work for me. I pay them a more than respectable wage and they’re loyal to me because of that reason. The men who wear guns do so at my bidding to protect what we’ve built here—most are so loyal that they’d die for me—so who do you think makes the laws here?”
****