“When was the last time you were tested?” I blurted out. It wasn’t exactly dinner conversation – not to mention a little late given that we’d already had unprotected sex twice – but I was going to walk away from this thing with herpes (or worse) then I seriously needed more money.
Marcus lifted a brow. “That’s an interesting toast.”
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “Unless you’re going to start using protection I need to know–”
“I am one hundred percent clean,” he said abruptly.
“How do you know that?”
“Because in addition to being tested every six months, I have used condoms with every single one of my sexual partners.”
“You – you have?” Startled by the admission, I stared at him in confusion. “But you haven’t with me.”
“You’re different,” he said cryptically. “Would you mind if we got on with dinner? I am a busy man, Isabel, and there are more important things we need to discuss.” His gray eyes flashed with annoyance, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook as easily as that. One way or another I was going to get to the bottom of why Marcus had picked me to give a hundred grand to in exchange for seven days of unconditional sex.
“What do you mean, I’m different?”
His mouth thinned with displeasure. “Suffice it to say neither one of us will leave here with a sexually transmitted disease.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know I’m clean?”
“Because I looked at your medical records.”
“You – you did what?”
“Looked at your medical records,” he repeated calmly. “You really didn’t think I would accept your word on blind faith, did you? I am nothing if not meticulous, Isabel, and I never leave anything to chance. Now raise your glass.” This time it wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. “To the next seven days,” he said when I lifted my wine into the air.
“To the next seven days,” I repeated numbly. How the hell had Marcus gotten his hands on my medical records? I guess it was just another example – and a chilling reminder – of exactly how powerful he really was.
I looked up when a woman dressed all in black entered the dining room carrying a covered silver platter. Not meeting my eyes, she sat it down between us, whisked off the lid to reveal some sort of fancy bruschetta, and hurried out of the dining room without a word.
“Bon appetite.” Sliding two pieces of bruschetta onto my plate before serving himself, Marcus began eating. After a moment’s hesitation I followed suit. Some women might not have had an appetite in my current situation, but food was something I never shied away from.
Salads followed the bruschetta. While drizzling balsamic vinaigrette over mine I kept glancing over at Marcus, but I might as well have turned invisible for all the attention he was giving me. The jerk was fully absorbed by his phone and despite his rush to get dinner started he hadn’t eaten more a couple of bites.
I ate in silence for a few more seconds before I decided to remind him that I was still sitting at the table. “What kind of stuff did you want to discuss?”
His brow furrowed as he looked up from his phone. “What?”
“I said, what kind of stuff did you want to discuss?” I hated the whiny tone in my voice, but I couldn’t help it. Marcus was the one who had gone to all the trouble to arrange for me to be here. The least he could do was pay a little bit of attention to me.
“I apologize,” he said, catching me off guard for the second time since we’d sat down. “I’m afraid that I am so accustomed to dining alone I’ve made it a habit to conduct business during my meal. But you’re right. We do have things we need to discuss.”
I shoved a piece of lettuce into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed before I said, “Such as?”
Nudging his salad plate to the side, he rested both of his elbows on the edge of the table. “Such as the rules you will need to follow during your stay here.”
The forkful of cucumber I’d been about to shovel into my mouth paused in mid-air. “Rules? What kind of rules?”
“For the next seven days you will remain in your room from dusk until dawn. If you need anything during those hours, it will be brought to you, but you are not to open your door for any reason. Is that understood?”
My eyes instantly narrowed. “I am not a child.”
“My house, Isabel. My rules.”
“But–”
“You will not argue. You will not protest. When I tell you to do something, you will smile and say ‘yes sir’. Is that understood?”
Was he for real? I waited for him to crack a smile or wink at me. To do something that would indicate he was joking. But the bastard didn’t so much as blink.
“Isabel?”
“Yes,” I snapped.
His head canted to the side. “Yes what, Isabel?”
“Yes…sir.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. When had this turned into a bad porno movie? I’d never called anyone sir in my entire life. Not even my boss at the diner. And yet…and yet there was something strangely erotic about it. Every time I called Marcus ‘sir’ I would be reminding him – and myself – who held all the power in our twisted little relationship.
Which I’m sure was exactly what he wanted.
“The west wing is completely off limits, as is the east. They are both undergoing renovations and are not safe.”
Great. More restrictions.
“You may have free run of the grounds during the day–”
“Yippee,” I muttered sarcastically.
“–but stay away from the docks. The ocean can be unpredictable. Otherwise, I hope you will enjoy your stay here, Isabel.”
“That’s it?” My eyebrows arched. “No decree on how many times a day I’m allowed to pee?”
The corners of Marcus’ mouth twitched. “No. Of course it is a given that you will make yourself available to me whenever I wish. One hundred thousand dollars is a large sum of money. I intend to get every penny’s worth. Starting with tonight.”
“Tonight?” I echoed. He wanted to have sex again? The man was insatiable. Not that I was complaining. The one thing I liked about Marcus – no, the one thing I loved about him – was the way he made my body feel. Sex with my past lovers and sex with Marcus was like comparing a flashlight to a firework. In short, there was no comparison. If he wanted to fuck like rabbits for the next seven days straight I was down.
His eyes glittering with sensual promise, Marcus inclined his chin-ever-so-slightly. “After dinner return to your room and change into something more…revealing.”
Did that mean he didn’t like my skinny jeans and black silk shirt? I knew I should have gone with the red dress.
“I want you wet,” he said huskily, his gaze never leaving mine. “Do you understand, Isabel?”
My breath caught as I unconsciously squeezed my thighs together. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” he whispered.
“Yes…sir.”
Look for the next installment in the Invitation to Sin series (Isabel’s Seduction – Book 3) this July, available wherever e-books are sold.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying up late finishing a good book.
She isn't very fond of doing laundry.
www.jillianeaton.com
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