Irresistible Attraction (Merciless World Book 2)

by W Winters

  She’s not wrong, but I won’t give her that satisfaction.

  “I’ve never been called charming, Bethany,” I tell her, playing with the way I say her name. Softening it, letting it fall from my lips gently, as if simply whispering it allows it to hang in the air, hinting at all the things we’re leaving unspoken.

  It takes her a moment to say anything at all. The force in her words is absent, and she doesn’t look me in the eyes.

  “Apology accepted, please leave.”

  “We have unfinished business.” My response is immediate.

  I watch as she swallows, hating me but knowing I push more boundaries than just anger.

  “I stand by what I said, you owe a debt.” Her gaze snaps to mine and her exhale is forceful. I continue before she can object. “I wrote up a contract I think you’ll find agreeable.”

  She’s silent as I pull out the folded paper from my back pocket, along with the pen I lifted from her purse.

  Her gaze narrows as she recognizes it. “You’ll need to sit down for this. Standing in the hallway isn’t how I conduct business.”

  Silence.

  Ever defiant.

  I fucking love it. I relish standing here while she makes me wait, as if she could actually control what happens next. Our story is already written, and she knows it. She’ll give in. She knows that too.

  Without saying a word, she stalks to her living room, her arms crossed over her chest until she sits.

  Although I haven’t been in the living room, I’ve already seen it. And the kitchen and dining room. I’m prepared for what’s in every drawer. Seth took care of that for me.

  There’s a heavily poured glass of wine on the table, and she pours it back into the bottle rather than downing it like I thought she was going to do when she grabbed it.

  “You can sit wherever you want, intruder.”

  “Intruder?” I question her and the only acknowledgement I get is a firm, singular nod in time with the glass being placed gently on the coffee table.

  “All right then, attempted murderer,” I quip back and take a seat on the armchair beside the sofa.

  Her mouth drops open and then slams shut, her jaw tense as she stares back at me as if I’ve said something offensive. “Just calling a spade a spade,” I say and hold her gaze as I raise my hands, palms toward her in defense.

  She hesitates to respond and I know I see remorse in her eyes. I know what it looks like; I see it every fucking day.

  “I would have done the same, just so you know,” I confide in her and her tense shoulders ease a bit. Only a fraction though. “I don’t blame you.”

  She’s still silent for a moment, assessing me and everything she’s dealing with.

  I’ll be gentle with her, I’ll give her what she needs. I can be that man for her. And she can be what I need.

  “What do you want?” she asks after a moment. “What contract?”

  Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and lace my fingers together. “You have questions, needs, and so do I. You owe me a debt, whether you like it or not, and I can give you something you never knew you wanted.”

  Her thighs tighten as she swallows thickly, tensing her neck. She pulls the blanket closer to her and asks, “Did you know my sister?”

  “Not personally, but I know things she was doing. She got into some trouble.”

  The reaction is immediate, her expression falling and for the first time I came in here, the pain shows, but she’s quick to hide it.

  “I’ll answer your questions,” she says softly, gaining control of her composure before looking at me and finishing her negotiation. “And you’ll answer mine?”

  A sorrowful smile plays at my lips. “That’s not how this works.” Her bottom lip wavers and her fingers dig into the comforter on her lap. “I want more.”

  The tension thickens between us with every passing second of silence.

  The paper crinkles in my hand as I unfold it and read it to her.

  “For the payment of three hundred thousand dollars, not a penny will be paid in currency. The party agrees that sessions will take place, in which Bethany Fawn allows Jase Cross to question her as he sees fit, questions she will answer honestly to the full extent of her knowledge, and in a manner that will entail no physical harm whatsoever to Miss Fawn. The ability for Bethany to stop all proceedings whenever she wishes, verbally, will halt the session, allowing Miss Fawn to leave as she wishes.”

  I watch her expression, noting how she squirms uncomfortably and pushes her hands into her lap and she then reads the last line.

  “Every ten minutes is equivalent to one hundred dollars.”

  “That’s thirty thousand minutes total, that’s five hundred hours,” Bethany says aloud with no indication in her tone as to what she makes of that sum.

  “Correct.”

  “I couldn’t possibly… that’s a full-time job for a quarter of the year. I won’t let this interfere with my job.”

  “It won’t. We can add in a line if you’d like, stating that it will come second to your occupational needs.”

  “I would be in debt to you for a year at least.”

  “Yes,” I say, and there’s no negotiation in my tone.

  “What about my questions?”

  “They’re yours to ask, but not a part of this contract.”

  “That’s-”

  I cut her off. “Not necessary to be included in a contract regarding how you’ll be paying me back.” I lean forward, holding her gaze. “I choose to answer your questions as a gesture of goodwill.”

  “And you’ll continue to?” she pushes.

  “I don’t have a single problem answering every question you have. Tit for tat.” She gives a small nod of acknowledgement, but nothing else.

  Time passes and Bethany chooses not to push for that to be in writing.

  “How will you be questioning me?” she asks and a warmth flows through me, the tension lighting slowly, crackling between us like a smoldering fire.

  “Sign first,” I answer, swallowing thickly as I pass the paper to her, followed by the pen. Her fingers brush against mine, gentle but hot. The sensation travels from my knuckle all the way up my arm, the nerve endings coming alive with heat.

  My throat’s dry and my blood hot just thinking about her allowing me to show her.

  “You realize I’ll never believe I owe you anything?” she questions me, a simple statement, so matter of fact.

  “You owe me your life for that stupid shit you pulled. Whether you want to believe that or not.”

  She picks at some indiscernible fuzz on the blanket before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

  Remorse and conflict swirl in her gaze, but she’s quick to hide it from me.

  “I like that you’re less angry.”

  “That happens when I greet the bottom of a green glass bottle with a label that reads Cabernet.” Her tone is muted, but she gives a small huff of a laugh, and lets a smile kiss her lips for only a moment.

  “I need to know what you’re going to do to me,” she says before clearing her throat. “I’m not naïve. I know … I know you can do what you want. I know you may lie to me, hurt me, fuck me, whatever it is you intend to do, I’m not stupid.” I can hear her swallow and then she adds, “But what if I did go along with it? Would you really tell me what happened to her?” Her eyes gloss over and her voice softens.

  “A question for a question,” I tell her. “An answer for an answer.”

  “You’re going to be disappointed with my answers,” she says with a weary note to her voice. “She barely told me anything. I was speaking out of anger when I saw you.”

  “You came to my bar, you looked for my family. You tried to shoot me.” With every sentence, she cowers more and more. “There’s a reason for those actions.” She nods solemnly.

  “What are you going-”

  “Just sign,” I cut her off and she moves her focus to the empty glass. My pulse is racing, my nerves on edge. And ye
t, she looks so … unaffected by the weight of what’s to come. Like some part of her has given in.

  “I need this as much as you do.”

  Her huff is nothing but sarcastic. Easy, I remind myself. Go easy on her now. It will be different later.

  “It will be an escape from the pain if nothing else. You need it,” I tell her and this time her expression changes slightly, as if she’s so very aware of the agony that mourning is. It’s also an aphrodisiac. There is never a more relevant time to be touched, or to be loved than when someone you love is gone.

  “You want another glass?” I offer with a slight teasing tone to lighten the mood, an asymmetric grin pulling at my lips when she peeks up at me through her thick lashes.

  “I may have had more than enough already.”

  The sofa groans as she leans back on it, reading the single sheet of paper once again.

  The faint light from the disappearing sun kisses her skin as the loose shirt slips down her shoulder and she has to readjust it. She doesn’t look back at me as she does. With her legs bent, her bare feet resting on the edge of the sofa and a thin blanket thrown over her lap, she looks far too casual for this moment.

  As if that exposed skin of hers wasn’t everything I’ve been thinking about since I first saw her across the bar. As if I don’t want to rip that shirt off of her and devour every inch of her body with open-mouth kisses, dragging my teeth along her skin and making her that much more sensitive for what I’m going to do to her.

  There are moments in time, pauses in your reality, where you realize this instant will be a memory forever. Something that will never leave you. I’ll remember this one forever.

  I hope I never forget how the adrenaline is rushing through me, how eager I am. I want to remember it all. Every single detail.

  I’ll remember it, and I’ll have to, because I’m going to lose her. She’s not meant to be mine.

  That doesn’t mean I won’t take her, though.

  “If I say no?” she asks, her wide hazel eyes searching mine for something.

  “It doesn’t happen.” There’s no hesitation in my answer.

  “If I say stop?”

  “It stops.”

  “Why do it then? Why would you do this?” she asks with her brow furrowed.

  “Because I know you want it. I know you need it.” She’s silent in return.

  “This would never hold up in court,” she says, finally breaking the quiet.

  “I have no desire to ever see you in a courtroom, Miss Fawn. I didn’t even intend to write this down; I only did it because I thought you would respond better, maybe even listen to what I’m offering, if it was written in black and white.”

  “And what is it you’re offering exactly, Mr. Cross?”

  “Answers, and an escape, a way to pay a debt I know you can’t afford.” My gaze stays on hers, holding her in place until she gives me an answer. “This is a world you know nothing about, Bethany, and I’m willing to bring you into it. I’m willing… and you’d be wise to take this deal.”

  “Call me Beth.” She corrects me without looking at me as the pen scribbles her signature, right on the line next to mine.

  Desire sinks into my blood in an instant, surging through every fiber of my being as the paper and pen find themselves on the coffee table. Signed on the dotted line.

  “I’ll go easy on you,” I tell her as I stand up, preparing myself to show restraint. She stays where she is, pretending not to be affected in the least.

  “Is that right?” she asks as I pour a glass of wine. She stares at the dark liquid swirling before speaking out loud. “I’m already a little further than the right side of tipsy, Mr. Cross.”

  I fucking love the way she said my name. My cock stiffens, immediately hard just from having her obey me, having her speak to me like this. There’s something about a fiery woman submitting that makes me lose all control and focus, giving it all to her.

  “It’s for me,” I point out and take a sip. It’s cheap wine, but decent enough.

  “Don’t confuse me going along with this for something it isn’t,” she says a little harder, with more resolve than I expect.

  “Oh, and what isn’t it?”

  “I’m not just going to let you do what you want and get away with it. I’m not that easy, and I’m not submitting to your every wish if that’s what you think this is.”

  A beat passes before I ask her, “Then what are you doing?”

  “I’m simply learning the ropes of your world, Mr. Cross.”

  “This is how you’ll learn. You’ll do what I say. I ask the first question, then once I’m satisfied with your answer, you can ask me whatever you want. Those are the ropes, Miss Fawn.”

  Her long brown hair brushes against her shoulders as she nods, making her shirt fall once again and a shiver run across her skin. She’s quick to lift the thin fabric back into place, as if it will be staying there.

  “Lie down.” I give her the first command and just like yesterday, in the guest bedroom when I waited for the book she held so tightly, she hesitates, testing me before obeying.

  “I’d like to address an important matter first,” she states innocently enough, arching a perfectly plucked brow at me.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s seven seventeen,” she tells me and I grin, letting the rush of desire take over.

  “I already started the clock at six fifty-two when I pulled into your driveway.”

  Surprise widens her eyes.

  “Lie down.”

  “I’ll say no if you tell me to spread my legs for you.”

  The determination in her voice is surprising, considering how badly she wants me.

  Although I don’t speak the sentiment out loud, I make her words a personal challenge.

  “You’d spite me to deny yourself a basic need?” I ask her and before she can respond I add, “I have no intention of fucking you today, but I know you need to be fucked long and hard … both that mouth of yours and your cunt.”

  Indignation flashes in her eyes, darkening them, which only makes the golden hues that much more vibrant.

  “If I put my hands between your thighs, would I find you hot and wet for me?” My voice is calm, although my dick leaks precum, throbbing from the very idea that her cunt is ready for me.

  “You’ll never know,” she says offhandedly before lying down, covering herself with the blanket and resting her head on the one pillow that was tucked in the corner of the sofa.

  “I asked you a question.” My words are hard, and her hazel glare whips to mine. “Is your cunt soaking wet for me?”

  “No.” She answers savagely and begins to ask her own question, but I tell her, “I’m not satisfied with that answer.”

  I drop to my knees one by one to get closer to her, feeling her heat, but not touching her. Not yet.

  Somehow I keep my voice low and controlled when I repeat my question, “Is your cunt soaking wet for me?” My breathing is short, my palms hot with desire raging inside of me.

  Give in to what’s to come, my cailín tine.

  The Gaelic phrase fits her, everything about her, perfectly. My cailín tine. My fiery girl.

  Lifting her head and staring boldly into my heated gaze, she answers, “You’re an attractive man, Mr. Cross. I’ve been wet for you since you pinned me against my foyer wall.” Her blink is slow and deliberate. When she opens her eyes, she stares at the ceiling as if her heart isn’t racing out of her chest, as if the blush on her cheeks is only from the wine. With her hands on her chest, she gently places her head on the pillow and asks politely, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”

  Sitting back, I rest my hands on the rustic wood floors on either side of my thighs, forcing myself not to touch her. It’s so cold, and a much-needed reminder of how hot I burn for her.

  “You aren’t in the position I want yet, but yes, I did say I would go easy on you this first time.”

  “Who killed my sister?” Her words are b
lurted out and her body tenses. “I want a name,” she adds quickly.

  “I don’t have a name, but I’m looking into it and when I do – which I will, I promise you – when I do have a name, I will tell you.”

  “So you’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”

  “That’s another question, Miss Fawn. I’ll gladly answer it now, but then I get two in a row.”

  Her wild eyes search mine for a moment as she clenches her jaw before nodding in agreement.

  “Not only did I have nothing to do with her death, neither did my brothers or anyone who works for me. I have no idea why she was killed… yet.”

  She swallows thickly and her forehead scrunches as she wars with whether or not to believe me.

  All I can think about is the one night at The Red Room. I bet her sister told her about that night and that’s why she came searching for me and knew to go to my club.

  “Move your hands above you, to here,” I say then reach up and pat the arm of the sofa. She’s slow to obey, but she does. Her nails sink into the fabric and that loose shirt slips down her shoulder again, showing me more of her soft skin. I run a finger along the curve of her arm, leaving goosebumps along my path.

  “I don’t know-”

  I cut off her objection. “I want to know when you’re lying to me, and I’ll do as I see fit.” My words are barely spoken, because my focus is on how flushed her skin is already from such little contact.

  I take my time, moving her hair to the side so I can see her slender neck and the dip in her collar.

  Reaching into my left back pocket, I pull out a simple, black silk tie and tell her, “Your wrists will be bound.” Her eyes flash to mine, and I take another sip of her wine. It’s so much sweeter the second time, not unlike herself.

  Although she watches as if she’d like to object, she doesn’t. Instead all she says is, “Seven thirty-four.”

  “One thing you’ll find benefits you greatly in this arrangement is that I enjoy taking my time,” I tell her, picking up her left wrist, wrapping it and then the other before tying the two together. “Your body will tell me if you’re lying to me. Your body will tell me everything.”