by Anne Stuart
She’d been a fool to come. Why in heaven’s name had she thought that she needed to face him to exorcise his power over her? All she’d done was succumb anew, so that she could barely look at him without melting. God, she wanted him so much that it was eating into her soul like acid! She had to get out of here without distracting herself. Had he really locked the door?
“All right,” she said coolly, crossing her legs and leaning back against the sofa. “But you have no witness. If I don’t like what I signed, I’ll take you to court.”
“Susan will lie. She witnessed your other signatures when you took off to California—”
“That’s because I’d asked her to.”
“And I’ll ask her to do this one. She will, too.”
Laura glared at him, flipping back to the first page of the legal document. “We’ll see,” she said fiercely, staring at the words without seeing. When they finally swam into focus, they still didn’t make sense. She looked up at him, astonished. “Prenuptial agreement?” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Yes,” he said blithely, standing over her. For the first time she noticed how nervous the implacable Whirlwind was, and her bones began to melt. “Let me just summarize the major points in the agreement. It takes too long to wade through the legalese my lawyers assure me is necessary. In return for sole ownership of the Glass House Plaza, you will have no claim on any of my other possessions at the time of the marriage. Anything acquired after the marriage would be owned jointly.”
“You’re crazy.”
Michael shrugged. “You might as well accept it. New York is a community property state, anyway. The Plaza is worth a lot more than half my estate right now, and it starts us off on more of an even footing. This way neither of us wins.”
“And neither of us loses.” She set down the papers, rising from the sofa. “Why, Mischa?”
Now that the time had come, he seemed curiously loath to say it. “Ask Sonya,” he said with just a trace of asperity. “She’ll be glad to tell you.”
“She’s already told me, and I didn’t believe her. I need to hear it from you.”
“Come here.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Do it the hard way. Without touching me. Tell me.”
“What is this, revenge?” he demanded, still fighting.
“No, Mischa. Justice.” Her voice was soft, seductive and very sure. A bubble of joy was building inside her, threatening to burst, but she had to hear the words.
He crossed the room, standing in front of her, inches away, so close that she could feel his body heat reaching out for hers, so close that she could feel his tense breathing stir her hair. “All right,” he said. “I love you. It doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t fight it anymore. I’ll give you anything I own if you’ll marry me, even this damned stupid Plaza that’s been an albatross around my neck since the moment I thought of it. You don’t even have to love me back if you don’t feel like it. We’ll work on that part.”
Even her four-inch heels weren’t high enough. Reaching up on tiptoe, she threaded her arms around his neck, smiling up at him, her heart pounding against his. “You don’t have to bribe me,” she whispered. “I already love you. And I’ll marry you. I’ll walk around the world barefoot on coals for you. Just say the word.”
He kissed her then, pulling her up into his arms so that her feet slipped out of her shoes and dangled in midair, kissed her with a hunger that nothing would ever sate. When he set her down, his arms were trembling, but he managed a wry smile. “You signed the papers. It’s mine.” And with great deliberation she began to rip off his shirt, the buttons flying everywhere around the room.
“Gold digger,” he muttered, tugging her lavender sweater over her head.
“Snake,” she replied amiably, as they sank to the floor.
“Love,” he murmured against her skin.
“Love,” she agreed, closing her eyes in pleasure.
And outside, the New York sun glinted benevolently through the smoked windows of the Glass House, gilding the lovers within.
About Anne Stuart
Anne Stuart is a grandmaster of the genre, winner of Romance Writers of America's prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award, survivor of more than thirty-five years in the romance business, and still just keeps getting better.
Her first novel was Barrett's Hill, a gothic romance published by Ballantine in 1974 when Anne had just turned 25. Since then she's written more gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, romantic adventure, series romance, suspense, historical romance, paranormal and mainstream contemporary romance for publishers such as Doubleday, Harlequin, Silhouette, Avon, Zebra, St. Martins Press, Berkley, Dell, Pocket Books and Fawcett.
She’s won numerous awards, appeared on most bestseller lists, and speaks all over the country. Her general outrageousness has gotten her on Entertainment Tonight, as well as in Vogue, People, USA Today, Women’s Day and countless other national newspapers and magazines.
When she’s not traveling, she’s at home in Northern Vermont with her luscious husband of forty years, an empty nest, five sewing machines, and when she’s not working she’s watching movies, listening to rock and roll(preferably Japanese) and spending far too much time quilting and making doll clothes because she has no intention of ever growing up.
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