by Nicole Snow
In my half-conscious state, it's easy to indulge the Snow White fantasies I've had since I was a little girl, being brought to life again by the handsome, noble prince. But the rest of my brain switches on, and I remember who he really is.
I jerk up, pushing him away, instantly angry as I see the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Jesus, don't you ever knock?”
“Why should a man knock when it's his place?”
“Nice. I'm lucky you're so respectful of a woman's privacy, jerk.”
His smirk turns into a full grin, and he comes closer, sitting next to me at the edge of my bed. “And I'm very fortunate you never learned how to swear like an adult. Stand the fuck up.”
Annoyed, I obey. I think I set a new record for the time it takes to feel familiar fire in my cheeks. My blood goes from lukewarm to molten in less than ten seconds, about the time it takes for him to put his hands on my waist, and slowly maneuver them to my hips, where he stops and cups my rear through the silky fabric.
“Ass out. Legs apart.” He pauses, moving his hands lower. When he slides several stiff fingers between my thighs and eases my legs apart, I whimper, holding in a harsh breath. “Good girl.”
“Excuse me?” I'm stunned. He says nothing.
Okay, a woman can put up with a lot, but he's just hit my limit. Whirling around, I shove his hands off me, freeing myself from his invasive and horribly sexy grasp.
“Last I checked, you're my fiancé, Cal. Not my personal valet. I'm old enough to dress myself. I've given you more than I ever should've, now get out of my room!” I hold out a finger, pointing to the door.
Still wearing the same awful smile, he stands, grabs my wrist, and brings it to his lips. “Maddie, you're trembling. We've got to get better at this. I need you to touch me without looking like you're about to either keel over or drown in your own lust if we're going to close the deal.”
“Deal? What deal?”
“Us,” he growls in my ear, making sure I'm able to feel his heat. Goosebumps line my neck, every sensitive inch of my flesh rising to meet their unwanted master. “The dress works. You'll be a knockout tomorrow. My fucking knockout, and only mine.”
No matter how many times his fingers glide across my body, they still make me jump. I fall back against him, deeper into his grip. My ass brushes his hard-on, tenting through his trousers, leaving no doubt whatsoever what he wants behind the sarcasm, the teasing, the thrill he gets drowning my panties in a heat I can't cool.
Yep, it's bad, I think to myself, as soon as I see us in the mirror, his face hovering over my shoulder, brilliant blue eyes pointed at my cleavage. From ice cube to hot mess, just like that. And I don't even know how to do it in reverse.
I'm worried this pretender freak knows how to push buttons on my own body I didn't know were there. When I try to pull away, ever so slightly, my knees moving like quicksand, he curls a big arm around my waist and pulls me backward, into his throbbing erection.
When I feel it, I gasp. He growls, low like thunder, an animal glint in his eye.
“Cal...” I whisper, running my tongue over my lips, too afraid to say the rest for several seconds. Oh, and if only I could keep it in. “What are you doing? I thought we weren't...weren't supposed to...holy hell.”
It falls out when his free hand snakes up my side, rolling my nipple. One simple motion, no more than several seconds, and somehow able to make my thighs shake on command.
“Of course I want to, doll. Hell, I'd love nothing better than to throw you down face first, shred the dress you're supposed to be wearing for my rich friends tomorrow night, and fuck you like I should've years ago.”
Oh. My. God.
I don't realize how rough I'm breathing until his hard-on grazes me again. That's when I moan, and the soft sound moving through my body resonates in my lungs, which can't produce more than a couple shallow breaths every few seconds.
Not when this want, this need, this confusing, relentless urge keeps calling me to do the worst with him, consequences be damned.
But he isn't done toying with me yet. My fingers go to his huge tattooed wrist, digging into the black rose inked on his skin. Its make believe thorns could prick me, and still I wouldn't care, falling deeper and deeper into this wall of muscle and divine, masculine scent surrounding me, cutting me off from my own better judgment.
“Obviously, we can't really do this, Maddie.” And just like that, he untangles himself, and walks away, heading for the door. He acts like nothing happened when he stops, adjusting his collar, looking at me as if we're almost about to head out for a night on the town instead of rip each other's clothes off. “It's wrong, you know. You could never handle it.”
He can't be serious. I'm speechless, jamming my thumb into my chest. “What? Me?”
“You're too good for casual. Some things never change. If you could open your legs, enjoy the dozen Os I fuck into you tonight, and then wake up tomorrow like it never happened, we'd be on, so on, in just a heartbeat. But I'd have better luck asking for my asshole father to have a magic change of heart tomorrow morning, making this whole thing pointless. Sorry, my mistake. I won't be teasing you again.”
There's no time to answer, to quip back, to drop the nice girl act stamped into me since I was raised by a woman who directed the Sunday choir at our church, and curse Calvin Randolph to the darkest F'd up parts of hell.
Because by the time I'm able to move my tongue without tasting the foul taste he's left in my mouth, he's already gone. I'm left in front of the tall mirror, looking like a fool, wondering how hard I'll lie tomorrow to make sure everybody doesn't see the brutal truth written on my face.
I'm starting to hate this man.
He saved me once, but he's no hero. He's a pushy, screwed up, arrogant alpha-hole joke who takes every liberty I never agreed to when I came running back to the States to bail him out. I knew I should have amended that stupid contract to say no teasing allowed.
I won't even mention the complete lack of gratitude.
As soon as my ninety days are up, I'll be out of here on the first flight to Asia, without caring whether or not Sterner has more work lined up for me or not. Or faster, if I can't hold the urge to slap him across his callous face. I can't share the same continent with this reckless idiot who loves winding me up for amusement.
The sad part is, if he'd just drop the pretenses and apologize, or at least open up, then I might be able to forgive the teasing, the wit, the frantic push to places that aren't even on the same map as any of my comfort zones.
I might remember the horror he's lived for the ten thousandth time, and forget his wild infractions.
I might be able to wrap my head around his heart, and figure out where it comes from.
I might stop the hate sprouting like a bad seed in my heart, nourished by the desire, the disdain, and the incredible, conflicted emotions he stirs up like a tsunami.
And yes, I might be able to deal with the sick, sick feelings for him I've been ignoring since the second I got here. Everything he preys upon, and everything guaranteed to be my undoing if I ever loosen up, let them out, and come to terms with my seven year attraction to this unfathomable creature.
When he texted me earlier and touched off the latest round of crap, he was right.
Ghosts can't make me wet.
Demons, on the other hand, have uncanny powers. And there's no way Cal's demented hold over me is anything less than pure evil.
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