I turn away from the elevator and wonder if Forge is setting me up to add more to what I already owe him. I snag the card out of Summer’s fingers and toss it on the stand behind me that houses the controls for the door.
“We’re not spending his money.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Isn’t it your money too? Or did you sign a wicked-bad prenup to snag that beast of a man?”
Her question hits me like a punch to the gut. Jericho Forge is a billionaire who won’t let me leave the boat without a security guard like it’s standard operating procedure. Why didn’t he have me sign a prenup? My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the roar of Goliath starting the tender’s engine.
“Come on, let’s go.” Summer grabs my hand and pulls me toward the boat, but the question is still firmly fixed in my mind.
What is your game, Forge?
39
India
“I can’t believe we’re finally here.”
Summer’s excitement is contagious once we’re standing amongst the bustling tourists on the quay in Saint-Tropez. The beautiful provincial architecture and old-world charm is preserved here like nowhere else I’ve ever been. My sister is practically bouncing beside me, no doubt mapping out exactly where she wants to go first, but my mind is on something entirely different.
My husband. There’s something he’s not telling me. Actually, if I were placing bets, I’d say there’s a metric shit-ton he’s not telling me.
Summer charges through the crowd, and I know if I don’t keep up, she’ll be long gone. I glance over my shoulder to see Koba melting into the crowd, his gaze scanning constantly before locking on me.
What kind of threat do we need to be worried about? That’s the new question bouncing around in my brain, along with: Did Forge pay Summer’s ransom, or did they steal her back? Is that why he’s worried about our security? Why didn’t I ask him?
“Summer, hold on a second,” I say as I rush forward and grab her hand.
“What?”
“Please . . . be aware.”
My sister looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’m the one who just got rescued from being kidnapped. If I’m not paranoid, why are you?”
“I don’t know, but . . . I just don’t want to take any chances. Let’s be smart.”
I wish Forge were here. It’s another stray thought in my head, but one that I can’t get out. I didn’t realize it until this moment, but for some reason, when I’m around him, I feel safe in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.
My whole life has been a series of close calls. Almost starving to death. Staying out of the hands of the cops when I shoplifted and picked pockets. Nearly getting kidnapped myself one night before Alanna took us in. Almost losing my sister . . .
I’m always waiting for the next bad thing to swing through and upset the balance. But when I’m with Forge, the only thing I’m scared of is myself. How he makes me question my sanity because of the way my body responds to him. How he taunts me into becoming a sex kitten I don’t recognize. How he makes me fearless.
And now that he’s out at sea and I’m here, all my old insecurities and worries are coming back like bad habits I wish I could drop for good.
“Come on, let’s go to Gucci,” Summer says, pulling me along like I didn’t just tell her to watch her back.
“With what money?”
My sister throws a look over her shoulder and then holds up the clear credit card I left on the control unit. “With this.”
“Dammit, Summer. I told you—”
“And I decided your idea was stupid. I like pretty things, especially when I’m not paying for them.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself and think of reasons I shouldn’t strangle her. The primary one is that I just tethered myself to a man I don’t know to save her, so killing her would be counterproductive and probably wouldn’t help me get an annulment.
Wait. Do I want an annulment?
Summer pulls me through the crowd until we reach the door of Gucci, and when we walk inside, I still haven’t been able to answer the question.
It shouldn’t be that complicated. But it is.
What does Forge want from me? How long does he expect this marriage to last? How long will it take for him to get his full financial benefit before he cuts me loose?
Those are the only things on my mind as Summer struts through the store in borrowed clothes that no doubt look better on her than on their original owners. Clerks rush toward her like they have some special ability to identify people holding unlimited credit cards.
“Can we help you, ladies?”
“Oh, definitely,” my sister says.
The shopping expedition takes over, and my questions fall by the wayside.
* * *
Two hours later, we’re loaded down with bags, and we don’t look much different from the other tourists walking along the cobblestone streets of Saint-Tropez. I search the crowd for Koba, but I don’t see him. Where the hell did he go?
“My arms are tired.”
“Then stop buying shit.”
She shoots me another are you stupid look and then stops in her tracks. “Oh my God. I didn’t realize she had a store here. We have to go in.”
I look up at where Summer is pointing, and there’s a Juliette Preston Priest sign painted in azure blue, which is her signature color, said to be inspired by the waters surrounding Ibiza.
“We don’t need anything else.”
“Call it research to prep for my new job. You do want me to succeed, don’t you?”
“Summer . . .”
My sister ignores me and heads for the door, leaving me to hustle behind her and catch up.
Dammit. This is the last place I want to go because I’m going to be faced with the gorgeous creations made by a woman who has shared my husband’s bed. Or as Summer would say, someone who’s had the good dick . . . when I still really haven’t.
Not that my sister knows that, nor will I ever tell her. She will question everything even more critically than she already is if she knew Forge and I have never slept together.
Against my will, I open the door to the store and see the gorgeous and flowy blue, cream, and white clothes that have made Juliette Preston Priest’s designs so sought after in havens for the rich and bored.
Summer is already holding a white bikini against her body. “This would look way better on you. Try it on.” She shoves the wooden hanger toward me.
“I don’t want anything from this store.”
A woman steps out from a door camouflaged by the blue-and-white mural on the wall. “I believe that’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone say they didn’t want anything from my store.”
Fuck my life. It’s her.
Juliette Preston Priest.
Shouldn’t she be in Ibiza? Why the hell is she in Saint-Tropez?
“Don’t listen to my sister. It’s an honor to meet you.” Summer steps forward and holds out a hand. “I’m Summer Baptiste. I’m going to be your new executive assistant.”
Juliette’s hawk-like gaze sharpens on us. “Isn’t this quite the happy coincidence then? I didn’t expect to meet you until next week when Jericho said you’d be back on Ibiza.”
She calls him Jericho. I don’t know why that rubs me the wrong way, but the hair on the back of my neck stands up like I’m a dog cornered in an alley.
Summer is completely oblivious, as always, and keeps talking. “I wanted to see Saint-Tropez. Brigette Bardot is my idol.”
Juliette assesses my sister and nods. “You’ll do just fine then. We all owe Ms. Bardot a debt of gratitude for bringing attention to Saint-Tropez, and for her advances in fashion.” Her attention shifts to me. “So that makes you the woman Jericho is willing to pull in favors for. What was your name again, darling?”
It’s official. I don’t like her. The condescending way she says darling makes me want to tear her hair out. But I’m not jealous. At all.
“India Forge.�
�� I don’t know what possesses me to say my new name, but it’s totally worth the shock value.
Juliette’s composure slips, and her eyes widen in disbelief for a beat before she covers it. She lifts her chin even higher as she surveys me more closely.
“Clearly Jericho is keeping secrets from me. Interesting.” Her tone takes on an insouciant quality, but I can tell she cares very much about the bomb I just dropped on her.
“He said you’re old friends?” Summer asks, catching on to the tension rising between us.
Juliette smiles. “Very good old friends. But apparently not good enough to be invited to the wedding, though. I’ll have to take him to task for that. I never thought I’d see the day that he settled down for one woman.” She tilts her head and studies me like I’m a bug under a microscope. “You must be very special for him to give up his legion of admirers.”
Legion? Now she’s throwing around the word legion. Oh, hell no.
Before I can think of something sophisticated and yet cutting to reply, she taps a finger to her lips and steps toward me. “I recognize you. Why do I recognize you?”
“She’s the legendary India Baptiste. Poker player extraordinaire,” Summer supplies helpfully.
Juliette snaps her fingers and points at me. “That’s it. I’ve heard Bastien de Vere mention you . . . quietly, of course. Probably because he didn’t want Jericho to steal you away. Too bad for him, I suppose. But then again, Jericho always wins.”
The fact that she knows about Bastien doesn’t sit well with me.
“That explains everything,” Juliette says with a self-satisfied smile.
“What do you mean?” Summer asks, and I’m back to wanting to shut her up any way possible.
“The vendetta. Jericho’s sworn to take everything he can from Bastien. He wants him to feel the same pain Jericho did when Bastien murdered Isaac. He would never have married you otherwise. But this way, he owns you, and Bastien has to watch as he parades you around as his newest possession for everyone to see.”
Murder? That’s why Forge hates Bastien? My stomach drops to the floor when I realize that their bad blood stems from something much worse than I could ever imagine.
I’m trying to keep my expression blank, but Summer turns to look at me, her eyes wide.
“Is that true, Indy?”
“It’s complicated, Summer.” I’m praying she’ll drop it, especially in front of her new boss, and somehow, she hears my subliminal begging.
“There’s nothing complicated about how he looks at you, Indy. Even I can see that. Plus, he gave me explicit orders to make sure you’re spoiled today.” She turns back to Juliette, and I want to hug her for not making the situation worse. “He even gave us his credit card to buy whatever we wanted, but only if Indy buys as much as I do.”
Instead of wiping the smile off Juliette’s face, Summer’s words cause it to turn even more smug. “I’m sure he did. He likes his women to be walking perfection because it reflects better on him.” She circles a hand around in the air near her left ear. “Who do you think helped me start my label? There would be no JPP brand without Jericho investing in me and my dream.”
I force a bright smile onto my face. There are a million things I want to say right now, but every single one of them will end up costing my sister this job, which could actually set her on the right path and keep her out of seedy underground poker games. So instead, I keep it as civil as I possibly can.
“He’s very generous, and it appears none of us are above his charity.”
“Very,” Juliette says, dripping with condescension. “Now, why don’t I pick out a few pieces for each of you that’ll suit your figures and send you back to him looking better than you ever have. Unless, of course, you already own my designs?”
“That would be amazing,” Summer says, bright and cheery. She holds up the white swimsuit in front of me. “Wouldn’t Indy look incredible in this?”
Juliette studies me, and again, I feel lacking. “I have something better for her silhouette. Us well-endowed girls need a little more support than that offers.”
She turns and walks away to a rack, pulling out a blue suit that is so beautiful, I hate it immediately. “I designed this one specifically for myself. Of course, I rarely wear the top, as I prefer fewer tan lines.”
Of course. Of course she goes topless, because she probably doesn’t feel the least bit self-conscious walking around with her perfect boobs that defy gravity.
“I think I’ll pass. I’m really shopped out at the moment.”
“I insist,” Juliette says. “You’ll never find a better swimming costume. I promise. You can ask Jericho, and he’ll tell you I’m never wrong about things like this.”
Every time she says his name, I grit my teeth together, and I hate that.
I shouldn’t care that she once laid claim to the man I’m married to, and no doubt knows him better than I ever will, because this isn’t even a real marriage. I shouldn’t care about any of it.
But I do.
And when I try the suit on, it’s perfect, and I hate that too.
* * *
“I think that went well, don’t you?” Summer says as we leave Juliette Preston Priest’s store and the summer heat closes in on us. The sea breeze is blunted by the rows of stone buildings and the growing crowd of people.
“I’m not speaking to you. Maybe ever again.”
“Come on, Indy. She was nice. She’s going to be my boss, and she found you the perfect suit.”
“Not speaking to you,” I say, not caring that I sound like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.
“He fucked her. Who cares? He married you.”
My mouth drops open, and I swing around to look at my sister.
Before I can reply, a man’s shoulder knocks into mine, and I stumble. A burning slash of pain lights up my side, and I fall forward. The cobblestone street rushes upward, and my knees slam into it before I can untangle my arms from our shopping bags.
“Indy!” Summer screams as she staggers sideways, almost landing on top of me. My sister rights herself, bracing her hand on my shoulder before reaching out to pull me up.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I reach down to touch my side, and my hand comes away with smudges of red. “He cut me.”
I look down at the mess of bags I dropped to the ground. Well-versed in dealing with creative pickpockets on Ibiza, mostly because I’ve been one, I immediately notice what’s missing.
My purse. Damn it, I just bought that!
“Oh my God. We need to get you to a hospital. You’re bleeding.” Summer’s tone edges on hysterical, but my brain locks down the pain.
“No, I need my damn purse.” I bounce to my feet and whirl around to catch a glimpse of a man jostling the crowd to slip around a corner.
I see you, asshole.
“Stop him! He stole my purse,” I yell just before bolting after the thief. I don’t bother to wait for Koba, who I see fighting through the crowd to get to me from the opposite side of the street.
The thief is out of sight, but pedestrians point in the direction he went as they check to make sure he didn’t grab any of their property. I shove through the crowd, weaving in and out as Summer yells for Koba and the police.
By the time I turn the corner, I assume the guy will be long gone. But he’s not.
I skid to a halt when I see an enraged dark-haired man holding the thief up by his throat, pressing his back against a wall.
“Give me one good reason to turn you over to the police instead of taking you out to sea and watching you drown,” Forge growls, terrifying the man who claws at the hand wrapped around his neck.
What the hell is he doing here?
He jostles the man again. “You think you can steal from my wife and get away with it? Do you have a death wish? Answer me.”
The man shakes his head and starts mumbling words in a mishmash of French and English.
“That’s right,” Forge says.
“You’re fucking sorry. Drop the goddamned purse.”
The man complies, and my purse hits the cobblestones.
Forge looks toward me, scouring every inch of my body. His gaze stops on the hand I have pressed to my side.
“He hurt you.” It’s not a question.
“He cut through the strap of my purse and caught some skin.”
“Show me.”
I lift my palm off my wound, revealing the spot where the sliced fabric is now rusty red.
Pure, unadulterated fury sweeps over Forge’s features, transforming his already murderous expression into one even more lethal. His nostrils flare as he turns back to the man he’s holding against the wall with one hand.
“You made her bleed.” His grip tightens on the thief’s throat. “You’ll fucking die for that.”
“Oh my God, he’s really going to kill him.” Summer’s voice comes from behind me. “And the police are going to see it because they’re right behind me.”
“Boss.” Koba’s voice joins the fray. “They’re sixty seconds out. No more.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The man’s feet kick in the air as his face turns even brighter red and his eyes bulge. Forge pulls the man’s back off the wall before slamming him harder against the brick.
“You made her bleed, and I’ll make you bleed. Eye for an eye.”
Police yell at pedestrians to move out of the way as they come closer.
I step forward, my hands out like I’m approaching a wild beast and hoping not to get eaten. “Forge, please. Put him down. The police will take care of him.”
The man I married, the man who looks like he has no problem killing this thief with his bare hands, looks at me once more. The rage is gone and his dark gray gaze ices over.
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because I don’t want to visit my husband in prison. The idea of conjugal visits creeps me out.”
Something flits over his features. Slowly, he releases his grip on the man’s throat, and the guy hits the ground in a crumple of limbs. Relief washes over me, and I feel like the woman who is able to talk down the Hulk when he’s angry and green. I’m not sure why that kindles a warm sensation in the pit of my stomach, but it does.
Deal with the Devil Page 15
