Beauty and the Bachelor(11)

     



 

So he took. Conquered. Devoured.

A too-quiet voice of reason argued he should be gentler, tender, coax  her into the kiss with soft brushes of lips over lips. But the moment  his mouth touched hers-game over. With a low rumble, he swallowed the  whimper she released, claiming her. Angling his head, he thrust his  tongue between her parted lips, sweeping the sweet interior, thrusting,  sucking, inviting her to tangle with him. Hesitantly, she met him,  returning the sensual caress with cautious strokes that soon became  bolder, hotter, wetter. Groaning, he pressed closer, demanded more.  Every flutter and lick of her tongue against his traced and teased his  cock. He lowered a hand to the curve of her hip, palmed it. Again, that  image of his fingers gripping her flesh as he rode her, driving deep  into a pussy he instinctively knew would be tight as a fist.

Damn it, he wanted more. He wanted to brand her with his mouth, touch, cock.

He wanted to drown in her heat. Become lost in it …

What the hell? He jerked his head up, abruptly ending the kiss. His  chest rose and fell on the harsh breaths rushing from between his lips.  Lost in her heat, in her. The dangerous thought rattled in his head as  clear as a snake's furious warning. One kiss. One fucking kiss, and  already he was slinging purple prose around like a damn poet. How many  men-including his father-had allowed sex and lust to hoodwink them into  believing in love? Silently, he snorted. Love. Thank God the much-lauded  concept that made people lose their goddamn minds wasn't part of this  bargain.

Revenge. Retribution. Justice. And yeah, sex. Blistering sex, if that kiss was any indication, but not emotion. Not love.

Stepping back, he inhaled … and wished he hadn't. Sensual, warm  honeysuckle taunted him. Hell, was that her soap? Shampoo? Lotion? Part  of him wanted to purge the scent from his senses. And the other half  hungered to strip her naked, bare all that honey-and-cream skin, and  stroke his body over hers, drench himself in her special perfume.

He took another step back.

Her thick fringe of lashes fluttered then lifted, revealing eyes clouded  with passion. And he almost reclaimed that space. Damn. Pivoting on his  heel, he rounded his desk, placing the furniture between them. And he  still didn't trust himself. Not when she pressed her fingertips to her  lips, damp from their kiss. Not when her gaze shifted to him, awe  whispering through the desire.

Not when his zipper was doing an Etch A Sketch impression against his dick.

"I take it we have a deal," he said, his voice, hoarse with lust, rougher than he intended.

She blinked. Dropped her hand to her side. The sensual pleasure cleared  from her expression as if it'd never softened her lovely features. Her  frame stiffened, her shoulders straightening. He could almost perceive  the wall of propriety slamming down between them. Too late. He'd  glimpsed the carnal creature hidden behind the facade of decorum.  This … arrangement might be in the name of vengeance, but their marriage  wouldn't be in name only. He'd tasted her passion. And he craved more.

She stared at him. "You fight dirty, Lucas Oliver," she whispered.

"There's no other way to fight, Sydney," he mocked just as softly. "One week."

She blinked. "What? One week for what?"

"Before we're married."

Her head snapped back as if clipped by a verbal punch. "Are you kidding me? That's not enough time."

"This isn't going to be some huge event splashed over the papers. We don't need more time."

"I. Do," she gritted out. "Two weeks. At least."

He studied her, noted the glint in her eyes that hinted she was rapidly  approaching the limits of her temper. God, that would be something to  see. Sydney, letting go, uninhibited. Especially since a hint of what it  would be like still tingled against his mouth.

"Fine," he conceded, not analyzing why he didn't push the issue. "Two weeks."

A tense silence, heavy with an invisible but palpable force, hummed in the room.

"How long?" she asked. "How long before I'm free?"

That shouldn't have stung. But fuck if it didn't. Hell, marriage was a  trap designed to break spirits and trick people into losing their  identities, voice, and pride all under the guise of surrender, trust,  and the most deceptive of them all, love. But it was a trap he was  willingly caging himself in. With her.

"One year," he ground out. That's all he needed for the plans he'd  already set in motion to come to fruition. And by then, he'd almost  certainly be gnawing at his foot to escape the ball and chain around it.  "You'll leave with a healthy divorce settlement for your trouble."         

     



 

"For my trouble? Do you define trouble as hurting my family, humiliating  Tyler and his family, and ruining my reputation?" She snorted. "Keep  your money. But I do want a contract drawn up." Ice and suspicion  dripped from her tone. "I want a written, legal, binding contract that  you will not send my father to jail and will leave him alone."

Leave Jason alone? Did she actually believe their engagement and  marriage would be the end of it? Yes, both would cause Jason  embarrassment and have him scrambling to make excuses to the Reinhold  family. But by removing Tyler and his family's financial backing from  the equation, Jason would be firmly trapped in the hole his greed had  dug. And while Lucas did plan to return Blake Corporation to the black,  the funds came with a price. For the past two years, Jason had been  steadily releasing more and more stock to cover his fraudulence. And  Lucas had been quietly purchasing each share as they became available  through the different companies under Bay Bridge Industries'  conglomerate umbrella. By the time he revealed his true identity to  Jason Blake, it would be as a majority stockholder. And the other man  would be reduced to nothing more than a figurehead of the company he'd  ruined his best friend for. Lucas wasn't quite there yet. But he would  be-soon.

Part of him longed to spill the truth to Sydney about her father, to rip  the mask away and expose the ugly, rancid reality of the man she  championed. The man she was willing to literally sign her life over for.  But he'd come too far. It'd been too long. And he couldn't risk her  revealing his plans to Jason. Not now.

So close. His breath rattled in his chest. God, I'm so close.

And a woman-no matter how much he craved her taste or wanted to be  buried balls deep inside her-was worth his revenge. His father's  retribution.

He smiled, and its arctic temperature matched hers. "Of course," he  drawled. "I require written, binding documents with all my  transactions."

For a moment, her eyes closed, and though she tried, she wasn't quick  enough to conceal her flinch as his verbal blow struck. He clenched his  jaw. Hell, yeah, he was a cold, grade-A bastard, but damn it, she hadn't  deserved that barb.

Frustrated, he balled his fingers into a tight fist. "I-"

"You really are the beast they call you," she murmured, then turned, and  spine straight, head high, strode from his office. The quiet click of  the door closing as effective as if she'd slammed it.

So the kitten had claws. And her scratch had drawn blood.

Best he not forget that.





Chapter Seven


For the second time in as many days, Sydney stood outside her father's  corporate office building. Yesterday, anxiety and a sliver of hope had  filled her chest. Today, that hope had been obliterated with Terry's  confession and her signature on a legal, binding contract.

By the time she'd returned home from Lucas's office, the contract  detailing the terms of their agreement had arrived in her in-box. Almost  as if he'd already had the document drawn up in anticipation of her  acquiescence to his blackmail. She scoffed. No "almost" about it-Lucas  Oliver was one of the most arrogant men she'd ever encountered. He'd  probably harbored no doubt she would ultimately surrender.

With the document printed out, perused, signed, and mailed back to him  by that afternoon, she could find no reason to put off revealing the  news of her broken engagement to her father. Dread curdled in her  stomach. She swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea born of fear and  worry. While a fighter used his fists to pummel and inflict pain, her  father employed words and subzero silences to bruise and maim. She'd  been on the receiving end of those debilitating blows of disapproval too  many times to keep an accurate tally. Yet every instance seemed like  the first, the most hurtful.

And now she had to face her father and reveal she was not only going to  humiliate him by publicly ending her relationship with Tyler, but  possibly ruin a long business and personal relationship with the  Reinholds.

He wouldn't know that in dealing this blow, she would also be saving the  very thing he loved most. She'd failed him once-she wouldn't do so  again.

She sucked in a breath, already bracing herself against the cutting condemnation and scorn.

"Sydney."