by Naima Simone
“Thank you,” she murmured, as he removed the jewelry and slid it on her left ring finger. The rock weighed her hand down, and wasn’t that just apropos? This whole sham of a relationship was an albatross around her neck. “It’s lovely.”
The half smile deepened, as did the hint of a snarl. “Lovely,” he repeated, rubbing his thumb over the square-cut gem. “Most women would’ve been gushing over a five-carat diamond, but I get a ‘lovely’ from you. Maybe if I told you it was yours to keep after the four months are up, you could manage more enthusiasm,” he said.
“That isn’t part of our bargain,” she replied, stung by the implication in his admonishment. “And I’m so sorry my response didn’t meet your standards. Should I throw myself at you and squeal with glee? Or maybe get down on my knees in gratefulness.”
Something dark and...hungry flickered in his eyes, and she stiffened against the spark of need igniting deep inside her, tingling in the tips of breasts, clenching between her legs.
He shifted forward until a mere breath separated them. Lifting her hand at the same time he lowered his head, he brushed his mouth across the ring, and she barely stifled a groan at the whisper of those full, soft lips she remembered so well ghosting across her skin.
“When you get down on your knees for me, Nadia, it won’t be out of gratitude,” he said in a silken tone that caressed her flesh even as it triggered every feminine warning in her body. This wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.
“We should go,” she breathed, tugging her hand free.
For a heart-stopping moment, he didn’t release her, and in that same moment, she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to drag her closer, consume her mouth like he had in that shadowed hallway and possess her, claim her. Mark her.
But then, he did let her go, and she exhaled. Relieved.
Or at least that’s what she tried to convince herself she felt as she let him settle her wrap around her shoulders and they headed out of her house.
Relief.
Not disappointment.
Eight
“Prime property, Grayson,” Harold Denson boasted. Grayson gritted his teeth as his father’s friend droned on and on about a deal that must be invested in. Why the other man thought Grayson cared remained a mystery.
“Ready to be snatched up and developed. I was telling your father about the project, and he told me to talk it over with you since you will soon be stepping up to head Chandler International. I was happy to hear that, and if I must say so, it’s about time, too. That tech business you’ve been fooling around with has been profitable, I’ll give you that. But it isn’t Chandler. Without your brother—”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Nadia interrupted from beside him. The hand she settled over his chest stemmed the surge of anger strangling him. Between his father obviously announcing to anyone who would listen that Grayson was returning to the family company and the insensitive mention of Jason, he needed space, air, a drink. And to get away from this ass.
“I’m so sorry to steal Grayson away from you, but he promised me a tour of his childhood home before we leave for the ballet.”
“Oh, of course! Grayson, show this young lady how the other half lives. Just don’t get lost, you two,” he added with a chuckle and a leer over Nadia’s breasts and hips that had Grayson’s fingers curling into his palm. Older man or not, friend of his father’s or not, the man needed a quick lesson in how to respect women. Especially the woman on Grayson’s arm.
“Thank you,” Nadia said with a smile. She covered his fist with her other hand, squeezing lightly. “How about we start with the library?”
“Sure, baby,” Grayson murmured, allowing her to lead him away. The library was in the opposite direction, but at this point, he didn’t care. He just needed to be...away.
Focusing on the twist at the back of her head, he imagined loosening it and tunneling his fingers through that wealth of thick strands. Just the thought of wrapping them around his wrists and tugging, hearing that low, hungry moan, diverted his attention from the stranglehold of frustration and sadness he’d felt since stepping foot in his parents’ home.
Jason was everywhere. In the pictures mounted on the mantelpiece over the formal living room’s fireplace. In the framed degrees hanging prominently in the receiving room.
In the empty space beside their father as he held court with his guests. Everyone knew Jason’s spot had been at Daryl Chandler’s elbow.
Grayson briefly squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them, zeroing in on Nadia again as if she were his lodestone. His true north that guided him away from the dark abyss of regrets that just waited for him to slip and plummet into its depths.
“Here.” Nadia held out a glass of ruby-red wine, her knuckles grazing his chest. “You look like you could use this.”
“Only if it has a shot of whiskey in it,” he growled, but he sipped the alcohol. Grateful for the private corner she’d found and the distraction of doing something with his hands. Because they would either be wrapped around Harold’s neck or cupping Nadia’s ass. Both would give Grayson immense satisfaction—touching Nadia even more than choking his father’s friend—but both actions would also get him into trouble he didn’t need.
“Do you really want a tour of the house?”
“No,” she said, lifting her own glass to her lips.
He shook his head, raising the wineglass for another sip and studying her over the rim. Part of him desperately wanted—no, needed—to call bullshit. Even Adalyn, who’d been born to a wealthy family had been awed by the Gold Coast greystone mansion. Soaring three stories up, the majestic home had been in his family for four generations. With huge bay and picture windows dotting every floor, stone steps leading up to several entrances and towering peaks, his childhood home resembled a Victorian house deposited in the middle of Chicago.
But Nadia had strolled past the tall iron gates surrounding the property and the gurgling fountain with just a passing glance. Once inside she hadn’t gaped at the vaulted cathedral ceilings, the grand foyer with the winding staircase, the priceless art decorating the walls or the cavernous rooms with huge fireplaces, antiques and crystal chandeliers. No, Nadia had only given his family’s prosperity and affluence fleeting attention. Just as she’d done with the ring.
Why her obvious lack of enthusiasm for the piece of jewelry still grated, he didn’t know. Couldn’t explain. It just...did. He peered down at her left hand and the diamond setting that cost more than some people’s yearly salary. When he’d bought the ring, his intention had been to ensure everyone who saw it understood his serious intentions. In his circle—or his parents’ circle—money spoke much louder than words. But Nadia, it seemed, didn’t care about what it said.
Yes, he wanted her awe. For her to be excited. Or hell, just affected. Because if not, that made her different. And he didn’t trust “different”—it unnerved him. He couldn’t get a handle on it, couldn’t analyze and add it up. It meant she wouldn’t stay in the neat box he’d created for her.
The last thing he needed was for her to be more than any other woman.
The last thing he needed was for her to be...different.
“You didn’t like the ring.”
Hell. Where had that come from? And yet, he couldn’t stop himself.
“Why?” he pressed.
She studied him, her espresso gaze unwavering. “In my experience, rich people wield their money like a weapon. Protecting themselves and those they deem worthy and waging war on everyone else. They arm themselves with money to bring people to heel. When you’ve been on the receiving end of that short leash, how many dollars a person spends on their home, car, clothes and even you, doesn’t matter much.”
Grayson stared at her, each word an indictment against him, his family, his world. They were all guilty—especially him. Wasn’t he paying her to lie? To pretend
to be someone she wasn’t for his benefit?
He shook his head as if the gesture could rid him of the thought and the unsettling pinpricks of guilt. She could’ve turned him down. Hell, she had, but then had returned to him, accepting the bargain. And it was just that—a bargain. One they both profited from. Just like other women in his past, she wanted money from him. Only this time, he was going in with his eyes wide open. No feelings attached. No fervent promises of love. No commitments.
It was the most honest transaction he’d ever entered in his life.
“If money doesn’t matter, then what does?” he drawled, mocking her. “Love? I hate to break it to you, Nadia, but the two are mutually exclusive.”
“Tell me something,” she murmured, and when he didn’t reply, she continued, “Was that ring for me...or for you?”
A disdainful response hovered on his tongue, but remained stuck there, something deep inside him refusing to loose the vitriolic words. Instead, he stared down into her upturned face, spying a knowledge in those dark eyes that made him want to remind her of who he was—her employer, the man paying her a quarter of a million dollars, a fucking Chandler...
He wanted to beg her to stop peering inside him and seeing the secrets, the wounds he zealously guarded.
“Grayson,” an all-too-familiar voice interrupted his and Nadia’s visual showdown.
He tore his gaze away from his fake fiancée to meet the green one of his ex-fiancée. Adalyn smiled, and the sultriness in her eyes stirred nothing in him but irritation.
“I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all evening,” she said.
“Hello, Adalyn,” he replied, nodding.
Objectively, he noted the sleek length of her raven hair and her petite figure encased in an off-the-shoulder cocktail dress. Without conscious thought, he compared her to Nadia with her tall, lush body showcased to perfection in the silver dress that had his hands itching all night to touch her. He’d cupped those hips. Dug his fingers in the soft flesh there as he drove into her.
Because he could—because this charade granted him permission—he slid an arm around Nadia’s lower back and rested his fingers against that enticing curve. Pressing his fingertips into it, melding the present with his vivid memories.
“You remember Nadia. Nadia Jordan, this is Adalyn Hayes,” he murmured. Turning his attention to his ex, his voice hardened, losing the warmth it’d contained when speaking to Nadia. “Adalyn, Nadia Jordan, my fiancée.”
Adalyn flicked a look at Nadia and then down at her hand. Unless Adalyn had gone spontaneously blind she couldn’t have missed the diamond on Nadia’s finger. Her mouth flattened briefly before regaining the polite society smile that could mean anything.
“Yes, I’d heard the news about your sudden engagement. It’s the hot topic of conversation this evening. Congratulations,” Adalyn said, the sweetness in her smile nowhere near the dagger-edge sharpness in her eyes. “How exciting.” She settled a hand on his chest, and it required every bit of his control not to flinch. “I remember holding that title once, as well. Fiancée to Grayson Chandler. The experience was...thrilling,” she added, her tone lowering, as if inviting him to recall the intimate times they’d shared.
Unable to stand her touch another second, especially with Nadia’s warm body tucked against his, he stepped back. Adalyn’s arm dropped to her side, and he didn’t miss the glint of anger in her gaze.
“Nadia, right?” Adalyn asked, swinging her attention away from him. But Grayson stiffened, a surge of protectiveness sweeping through him. He’d witnessed Adalyn’s cutting disdain in action. No matter that his and Nadia’s relationship wasn’t real. He wouldn’t allow Adalyn to slice her to pieces with that razor she called a tongue. “I almost didn’t recognize you from the last time we met. Your dress is lovely.” Adalyn tapped a French-tipped finger against her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed. “Is that Michael Kors? I’d heard he’d incorporated a few pieces in his collection for...healthier women.”
The petty bitch.
Grayson shifted forward, anger blazing his path. “Adalyn...” he growled.
“Actually, I’m not certain who the designer is,” Nadia interrupted, wrapping an arm around his back and leaning closer. She chuckled, the sound light, soft and so sweet, he tore his glare away from his ex and glanced down at her. With her head tipped back, she returned his gaze, her lovely mouth curved into a smile that held not just affection, but a sensuality that Adalyn damn sure couldn’t miss. Even knowing her expression was feigned for the other woman’s benefit, his breath snagged in his lungs and his cock stirred, hardening.
She was—damn, she was dangerous, the smile on that made-for-sex mouth a fully loaded weapon.
“Can I be honest?” she asked, treating Adalyn as if she were a close friend. “I’m not really into fashion. But thank goodness I have a man who knows me so well, he chooses gowns that I’ll love. Or more importantly, that he loves to see me in.”
Nadia trailed a finger down his chest, and his shirt might as well as have disintegrated under the teasing caress. He forgot about silently applauding how she deftly fielded Adalyn as fire trailed in the wake of her touch. Not caring how it appeared, he grasped her wrist and lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss across her fingertips. Surprise flared in her eyes. But so did desire. And the sight of it had an electrical current traveling through his veins.
Adalyn’s laugh carried an edge, like shattered glass. “Well, isn’t that sweet? And, I apologize if I offended you, Nadia. But can I be honest, as well?” She didn’t wait for Nadia to reply but dipped her head as if about to confide a secret. Again, Grayson fought the urge to step in front of Nadia, to shield her from Adalyn. “I know tonight has probably been a little overwhelming for you, but you’ll have to forgive us our curiosity. This relationship came out of nowhere. Usually, Grayson is constantly in the society columns and gossip sites. But we haven’t seen him with you once. Almost as if he’s been keeping you under wraps. Hiding you.”
Adalyn’s implication was clear. That he was ashamed of Nadia. His fury returned tenfold, and he couldn’t contain the menacing rumble that rolled out of him. Even Adalyn had the sense to back up a step.
“You’re right, Adalyn,” he agreed, voice quiet, carrying a warning. “There is nothing ‘usual’ about Nadia. She’s unlike any woman I’ve been with.” He allowed the including you to remain unspoken. “I selfishly wanted to keep her to myself before subjecting her to the BS that goes along with being my wife. She’s that special to me.” Sliding his hand from her hip and up her spine, he cupped her neck, drawing her closer until she rose on her toes. Until her breasts pressed into his side. “Now that you’ve experienced the other side of my life, are you ready to leave me?”
“Never,” Nadia said in that same teasing lilt, but her eyes... Those dark eyes held all the confusion swirling inside of him over how far he was taking this exhibition of affection.
“Good,” he murmured. Then brushed his lips over hers.
But it wasn’t enough.
That small hit of her taste had him ignoring Adalyn and the roomful of people, including his parents and sister. He returned to Nadia’s mouth for more. For a deeper sampling. To thrust his tongue past her parted lips—whether parted in shock or desire, he didn’t know—and take what his memories wouldn’t let him forget. Reacquaint himself with what his logic assured him couldn’t possibly be as good as he remembered.
Logic could go fuck itself.
She was every carnal wish and wicked sin wrapped in beauty and light.
She was the one to break the kiss. The one who retained a modicum of propriety and restraint. Not him.
That quick, she’d gone to his head, and he’d gotten drunk on her.
Goddamn.
He lifted his head, noticed the stares, heard the murmuring. Adalyn had disappeared at some point during the kiss, but he could almost f
eel the weight of his parents’ displeasure. In spite of the playboy reputation he bore, he didn’t do this—lose control, make a spectacle of himself—ever.
This woman. She flayed to pieces every resolve, every vow he’d made. He couldn’t go there with her. Deliberately, he conjured an image of himself a year ago after he’d ended his relationship with Adalyn. How broken he’d been. How disillusioned he’d been. Adalyn hadn’t only cracked his heart down the middle, she’d stolen his ability to trust himself, his judgment.
His ability to trust, period.
And Nadia, though she might desire him, she only wanted from him what every other woman did.
What he could give her.
He could never lose sight of that.
Never.
“Grayson,” Nadia whispered.
But he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t meet that gaze. Because, despite the reminders of why he had to tread carefully with her—with himself—if he glimpsed desire in those beautiful eyes, he might seek out the nearest room with a door and lock. And damn the consequences, he would lay her out and take everything she would offer him. Then demand more.
“We should get ready to leave for the ballet,” he said, grasping her elbow and leading her toward the living room entrance.
He had to reestablish the grounds of their arrangement.
This relationship was fake. It had an expiration date.
Nadia Jordan was his end game.
She could be nothing else.
Nine
“Mr. Chandler, your father is here to see you,” Mrs. Ross announced on the other end of the line. “He doesn’t have an appointment, sir.”
A faint spurt of humor echoed through him at his assistant’s reminder that was more directed at his father than him. Her disapproval hummed beneath the cool tone, but it would be lost on Daryl Chandler. He was the kind of man people shuffled their schedules for. The kind of man who demanded it.