Luck of the Devil

by March, Meghan

  We could make it work . . . if I could ever earn her trust.

  She shifts against me, and her spine stiffens as what I assume is a new wave of worries takes over.

  “I promise, Summer and Alanna are fine,” I tell her. “I won’t let anything happen to them. I’ll have Goliath go sleep in the hallway from across Alanna’s door if it’ll help you relax again.”

  She turns to look over her shoulder, her lips parted. “How did you . . .”

  “I’m starting to figure you out. It might take me a while, but I’ve got a good start.”

  “Then what am I thinking right now?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but I know what I’m thinking.”

  “What’s that?” she asks, her brows diving together.

  “I want to kiss you so fucking bad, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  44

  India

  It was ridiculous, but the thought of kissing Jericho Forge right now feels even more intimate than sex. Maybe because I don’t have a lot of experience kissing men, and he’s only kissed me a few times.

  There was a reason Julia Roberts didn’t allow kissing in Pretty Woman. I may not have understood it before, but I get it now.

  Forge brings our joined hands up to my cheek and uses my own fingers to turn my chin toward him. Moving ever so slowly, as if waiting for me to bolt, he lowers his lips to mine.

  The remains of the worry and fear that clung to me disappear as soon as my lips part and his tongue sweeps inside.

  My hand slides out of his grip as I turn my body around in the tub so we’re chest to chest, never losing his mouth. His tongue tangles with mine, and I curve my fingers around the base of his neck, half floating, half resting on top of him.

  It’s as if I’m suspended in an alternate reality where I’m falling in love with this man who would kick down doors and do whatever it takes to keep my family safe. The kiss goes deeper, and my senses are overwhelmed with wanting him. The moment is so perfect, I never want it to end, because it’s one that may never be able to be replicated.

  I pull myself closer to him, planting my knees on either side of his hips and my nipples pressing against his pecs as the bubbling water splashes us both. I want more.

  His hand slides into my hair, gripping the back of my head like he can’t get me close enough. His other arm wraps around my back, pinning me against him.

  “I love the way you taste,” he says against my mouth, and I moan in response.

  Whatever his plan might have been, I know exactly what mine is now, especially with his cock thick and hard between us. I reach down to wrap a hand around it and squeeze.

  “Fuck . . . Do that again.”

  I haven’t had enough sexual experience before to know that being told what to do in bed amplifies the experience for me, or maybe that’s just the case with Forge. Regardless, I stroke him, working his cock in my tight fist, and my pussy grows wetter and wetter with each tug.

  I pull my lips away from his. “I want . . . I want to ride you.”

  Forge’s dark gaze zeroes in on my face as he reaches down to wrap both palms around my hips and lifts me up, a clear hell yes response to my statement.

  As he lowers me, his lips curve into a heartfelt smile that warms his eyes and eases the harsh lines of his face. I already know Forge is strong, but this man, the one holding me with such care, is gentle in a way that demolishes any remaining barriers I’ve been reinforcing.

  But as soon as the head of his cock connects with my entrance, he stiffens, and I lose the smile I wanted to see on his face forever.

  “Fuck, Ace. No condom.”

  It’s stupid and reckless, but I shake my head. “You can pull out. It’ll be fine.”

  It’s a horrible plan to count on for reliability, but it’s worked its way into my head that if I don’t have him right here, right now, I’m going to lose my only chance at something I never knew I wanted. No, something I need. Him.

  It should be a terrifying realization, but right now, I don’t care.

  I push the thought of all consequences aside, and for the space of three breaths, my gaze locks on his. I wish I could read the thoughts behind those stormy gray eyes, but I can’t. Not yet.

  Finally, he lowers me again. He slides me down the hard ridge of his cock, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud as he stretches me wide.

  From behind clenched teeth, he grits out, “That feels too fucking good. Jesus Christ. You’re going to destroy me, woman.”

  Not more than you’re going to destroy me, I think. Because I’m not holding anything back now.

  I rock my hips, impatient to move. Forge’s grip tightens around my waist, and he leans forward to brush his lips across my jaw.

  “Ride me.”

  45

  Forge

  Indy’s pussy is already tight as fuck, but when I tell her to ride me, her inner muscles clamp tight. How the fuck is she so goddamned perfect for me? Right down to the part where she gets turned on when I take control?

  With my help, she rises on her knees, letting the warm water lap against my dick, before dropping to take me balls deep. It’s the most incredible torture I’ve ever felt. Slow and steady, she fucks me as the water splashes around us.

  I’m surrounded by everything India, and I fucking love it. Maybe too much.

  I shouldn’t be taking her without a condom. We both know the risks. But maybe some small part of me is hoping if she gets pregnant, then I can keep her beyond the terms of the deal.

  Either way, if she wanted me as badly as I wanted her, bare inside her, with nothing between us, I would never say no. My instincts roar with raw, primal need, declaring that this is the way it was always meant to be.

  Piece by piece, I’ve started to figure her out, and the intricate and fascinating puzzle that is my wife is coming into focus. I still don’t know what she wants from me, if anything.

  Would she ever consider changing the terms of the deal and bargaining away her thirty-day deadline? Could I negotiate my way into her giving me a chance to make this real? It doesn’t matter if it’s thirty, three hundred, or three thousand days—no finite amount of time will satisfy me. I want more from her.

  With that realization firmly in place, I grip her hips and torture myself with her slow, steady strokes. She whimpers, and I lift her up and off my cock.

  “You need more to come. Turn around and grab the edge of the tub. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

  She rises on unsteady legs, and I circle her waist to hold her ass right in front of my face.

  I press a kiss to one cheek and then the other. “Every part of you is so fucking beautiful. Someday, I’m going to take that tight little ass and make you come harder than you ever have before.”

  She shivers, and I release her so she can reach for the edge of the tub as I stand. Her tits hang in front of her, and I cover her back with my chest so I can reach around and play with her nipples.

  “Please . . .”

  The plea blasts into me, and I can’t wait any longer. No more teasing. I need to be buried inside her again.

  “Hold on tight.”

  With one hand, I grab my cock and center it on her entrance. As soon as I get a kiss of the heat of her pussy, I slam inside. Indy moans as her muscles squeeze my dick even harder.

  “Oh my God,” she whispers. “More. I need—”

  My fingers splay over her pussy. “I know what you need.”

  I pull back and tunnel inside, over and over as I strum her clit. Water splashes everywhere, and I don’t give a single fuck about the mess we’re making. All I care about is every whimper and plea coming from her lips.

  She’s fucking amazing as she pushes back against my strokes, taking me deeper and harder. Her inner walls flutter and then lock down on my dick, trying to hold me captive as she comes.

  I take her faster, increasing my pace, stretching out her orgasm as mine threatens to shoot down my spine like lightning
and erupts from my balls.

  I’m not ready for this to end. I keep fucking her over and over until unintelligible sounds come from her mouth and she comes again.

  Only then do I pull out and grip my cock as rope after rope of my cum covers her ass.

  I stagger backward, my knees weak, and drop into the water once more. My heart thunders like I swam from here to the shores of Ibiza. Indy’s legs wobble, and I reach out to steady her and guide her back down into the water against me.

  “I got you.”

  I press a palm over her chest, and her heart pounds as hard as mine. When the beats slow into a normal rhythm, she releases a long breath.

  “I guess you really did know what I needed.” She turns her head to look at me over her shoulder like she did earlier, and this time, there’s a lazy, satisfied expression on her face. “Thank you.”

  When she leans toward me and presses a kiss to my lips, I know that there’s absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do to keep this woman in my life.

  46

  India

  My phone chimes in my purse on the nightstand, and I roll over. The first thing I notice is that there’s no solid mass of body heat beside me. Despite the twinging soreness between my legs reminding me of last night, I miss his presence.

  Yesterday morning started out with exactly the right kind of bang, and I wouldn’t mind repeating it.

  Regardless, it doesn’t matter because Jericho is gone.

  I sit up in bed and reach for my black Valentino clutch on the nightstand. Instead of seeing a text from Summer or Alanna, like I expected, there’s one from an unknown number. The calm I woke up feeling drains away like the water in the bathtub as I unlock the phone to read it.

  Your invitation is official. I’ll see you in Prague. I’ll bring my five million.

  My first thought is How the hell did Belevich get my number? It’s quickly followed by the second question in my brain . . . Do I really want to go?

  After everything that’s happened, I know it’s a risk. But pieces of the puzzle are still missing, and no one is going to bring them to me. I have to go find them.

  Then there’s my reputation . . . Belevich got me an invite to the grand prix, and if I don’t show, how will it reflect on me? I know I could make excuses, but after he went to the trouble of securing the invite, it could be argued that I was too intimidated to appear. Poker is still very much a boys’ club, and there’s a part of my ego that wants to show them that I’m still the better player.

  It is my job, after all. If I stop playing poker, I would have to find something else to do, and I’ve never had the temperament for coaching online wannabe players.

  It’s not just about the money. I can’t live without a purpose and a goal. Poker has kept me focused and sharp. It’s also a skill that only stays honed to this level if constantly practiced. The grand prix is the perfect way to prove to the world that not only am I the best female poker player, but there’s no man I can’t beat either.

  So, basically . . . I have to go. For myself, and to discover whatever information Belevich is holding back. I would be an idiot not to take this calculated risk.

  My decision made, I tap out a reply.

  I’ll see you there. Better bring more than five million.

  I climb out of bed and spot my robe laid across a chair near the sliding glass doors. I grab it and shove my arms in the long sleeves before peeking beyond the curtain to see the tub. In the morning light, it seems no less decadent. It is definitely one experience I need to be put on my repeat list.

  With a spring in my step, I head out of the bedroom to find my husband. I check the kitchen first—no sign of him. Not outside on the patio eating breakfast either.

  Where the hell did he go?

  His office. I make my way back down the hall and knock. Within seconds, I get a reply.

  “Enter.”

  Inside, Forge is seated behind the massive desk and sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. He looks up, and the first thing I notice is that his hair is a mess, like he’s been running his fingers through it over and over.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “Did you need something?” His habit of answering a question with a question is alive and well this morning.

  “Just wondering where you were. Did you eat breakfast?”

  “No. I had business to handle.” His tone is curt and his posture rigid.

  I step closer to the desk, which is covered in files and papers. “What’s wrong?”

  The dark gray of his eyes looks like the cloud wall of a hurricane. Almost black and completely foreboding.

  “Why would you think something’s wrong?”

  “Because you won’t answer my question. You’re evading.”

  His defensiveness tightens my throat, making me feel like I’m standing in front of a stranger, and not the man who promised he could carry my burdens last night.

  Forge crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me like there’s nothing he’d rather do than hustle me out of his office. Something inside me that was just beginning to bloom wilts.

  “There will always be things I can’t tell you, India.”

  Shrinking back, I mimic his posture, crossing my arms over my chest. But in my case, it’s a protective gesture.

  “I’m not asking for the keys to the kingdom. You looked upset. I was being a decent human being and asking if everything was okay. Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.”

  47

  Forge

  The message I got first thing this morning from my helicopter mechanic wasn’t one I ever want to receive.

  The chopper’s been fixed, but we need to talk. There’s no way this happened by accident.

  I’ve spent the last hour in my office racking my brain to figure out how the fuck someone could have tampered with my helicopter.

  I already have my suspicions about Koba, and he could have had access to it, but I’m not going to condemn him without proof. Especially because there’s no security footage of him near the helicopter while it was on the island.

  After questioning the pilot, I still don’t have any more answers, except that he only left the chopper unattended for about ten minutes after landing in Mallorca so he could use the toilet.

  Which makes me think that I wasn’t the target—Indy was.

  My instincts say that no way in hell did Federov take care of the threat that caused Summer to get kidnapped, and I’m also not convinced de Vere is working alone. He has nothing to gain from hurting her except knowing it would be a strike at me. Although . . . given my death by a thousand cuts plan that I’ve unleashed over the last ten years, maybe that’s exactly what he would do.

  Either way, I don’t have any final answers to the questions plaguing me, and I need them right the fuck now. Or rather before now, because Indy is looking at me with hurt in her eyes, and I hate it.

  Twelve hours ago, she was close to breaking, and the last thing I want to do this morning is drop one more burden on her. But I also can’t keep something like this from her.

  “The malfunction that kept you from flying back from Mallorca wasn’t a routine mechanical issue.”

  Her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

  “Someone did it on purpose. There’s no way it was an accident or routine failure.”

  Indy jerks back as if someone pushed her. “Someone . . . someone wanted us to crash?”

  “Possibly. Or they wanted you to stay put and not be able to leave. But we always have a plan B, and when your gut said something was wrong, you were right.”

  She uncrosses her arms. Slowly, she walks toward the wooden armchair opposite my desk and lowers herself into it. “Bastien.”

  “Possibly, but he was there before and during the entire game, so I don’t know when he’d personally have had the opportunity. But someone working for him could have done it.”

  “That motherfucker.” Her chest heaves, widening the gaping lapels of her robe
as anger rises on her face. “What is his fucking problem?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out—whether this goes beyond the revenge I’ve been exacting, or if this is spurred by something different.”

  “Like what?”

  I tap the contract on my desk that her father marked up while she was away that night. “I know you don’t want to hear about this.”

  She follows my line of sight. “This has to do with my father, doesn’t it?”

  “Possibly.”

  She closes her eyes and presses her lips together. “Then just tell me.”

  “He’s a wealthy man. A very wealthy man.”

  “So what?” India asks as the clouds cover the morning sun and the room turns dark.

  “That makes you a very wealthy heiress, because you stand to inherit it all.”

  48

  India

  I’m nobody’s fool . . . except, apparently, when it comes to Jericho Forge. “That’s why you married me without a prenup. So you’d get half of everything he has when he dies.”

  It’s not a question; it’s a statement. There’s no way in hell he would have done such a thing unless it was financially beneficial. I hate those words even more now than I did before.

  “It crossed my mind, but I also knew there was a very small probability our marriage would last that long.” He says it casually, but it feels like a slap to the face.

  “If that wasn’t your motivation, then why the hell did you marry me?”

  “Whether you believe me or not, it wasn’t all about leverage. It was also to protect you.”

  Forge’s posture exudes confidence, like he knows he did the right thing and doesn’t feel the least bit of guilt over keeping any of this from me.