Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(51)

“My future is my concern,” she said softly but with steel beneath it. “You’re buying a five-year pretend wife, and I’m buying a chance for my mother to live. That’s it. That’s the deal, or we don’t have one.”

My chest ached. This woman was in a position to get almost anything she wanted from me, and all she wanted was for her mother to be well.

For the first time in years, I had hope for humanity.

“How about this,” I said. “I’ll put the money in a trust and name you the sole trustee. That way it will be protected, and you can have access to the money whenever you need it, instead of having to rely on me. I think it would be . . . awkward for you to have to come to me with every bill. Then whatever is left over when your mother gets better, you can do with as you choose. Buy your mother a bigger house, give it to charity, whatever you want.”

When she opened her mouth to protest, I said firmly, “That’s the deal, or we don’t have one.”

She pressed her lips together. We looked at each other in silence as the clock ticked on the wall and my heart pounded like a jungle drum.

She said quietly, “All right, Mr. Boudreaux. You have a deal.”

She stood and held out her hand. I rose, crossed to her, and took it. Staring down into her beautiful brown eyes, I said, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jackson.”

Holding my hand and gazing up at me, she sighed. “I suppose if I’m going to be your wife, I ought to have a nickname for you. Does anyone call you Jax?”

Oh God, she moaned. God, yes. Please—Jax—

With a gargantuan effort of will, I pushed aside the memory of the intensely sexual dream I’d had about her after the first time we met.

“No,” I said, my voice rough. “No one calls me Jax. No one but you.”

When her lips curved up at the corners, I felt like I’d been living my life up to then at the bottom of a dark well filled with trash and slimy water, and someone had just lifted the lid and lowered me a ladder.





FRENCH QUARTER BEIGNETS

Makes about 3 dozen

1½ cups warm water



½ cup white sugar



1 envelope active dry yeast



2 eggs



1¼ teaspoon salt



1 cup evaporated milk



7 cups all-purpose flour



¼ cup shortening



1 quart vegetable oil



3 cups confectioners’ sugar





Preparation

Mix water, sugar, and yeast in large bowl and let sit for 10 minutes.



In another bowl, beat the eggs, salt, and evaporated milk together. Stir egg mixture into yeast mixture.



Add 3 cups of the flour to the egg/yeast mixture. Stir to combine.



Add the shortening and mix. Continue to stir while slowly adding the remaining flour until all ingredients are well combined.



Place dough on lightly floured surface and knead until smooth.



Cover dough with plastic wrap or towel. Let rise at room temperature for 2–3 hours.



Preheat oil in a deep fryer to 350 degrees.



Roll the dough out to ¼² thickness and cut into 2² squares. Deep fry in batches, flipping constantly, until golden. (If beignets don’t pop up, oil isn’t hot enough.)



Drain on paper towels.



Shake confectioners’ sugar onto hot beignets. Serve warm.





NINETEEN

BIANCA

I left the same way I arrived: in a cab, by myself, fraught with anxiety.

If my mother knew what I’d just agreed to, she’d slap me silly.

She knew I’d gotten the twenty thousand from Jackson for the catering event, but admitting I’d be getting a million for marrying myself off to him so I could try to save her life was another situation altogether.

Knowing there would be a nondisclosure in our contract was actually a relief. It meant I had a legal obligation to keep my mouth shut about my real reason for marrying the Beast.

Now I just had to figure out what fake reason I was going to try to sell.

“He’s so charming I couldn’t help but fall in love with him, Mama!” I muttered sarcastically to myself. The cabbie shot me a strange look in the rearview mirror, but I had more important things to worry about than his opinion. Before I left, Jackson told me that we had to be married and living together by his birthday, which was in just over two weeks.

Two weeks. I had to think fast.

“Unplanned pregnancy?” I mused, garnering another stare from the cabbie. I thought about it a moment, then shook my head. “Not unless you want to pretend you’ve been sleeping with a man everyone thinks you hate and then fake a miscarriage in a few months.” I sighed, watching sunlight glitter off the lake as we sped by. “Temporary insanity? Hmm. Probably the most reasonable explanation, other than suffering a recent head injury. Lord, this is bad. How am I gonna get anyone to believe I married him for love when all we do is fight?”