Deal with the Devil

by Meghan March

  Oh, fuck no. Just no.

  Silently, I meet Forge’s dark gaze without blinking. He doesn’t even bother to try to hide the hunger in it. There’s no question what he wants.

  Me.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say, but we both know it’s a waste of breath. Forge has probably never joked in his entire life. And now he wants to put a monetary value on my room key and have me toss it in the pot?

  “You fucking bastard,” Bastien says with hatred practically incinerating his words.

  Forge’s attention cuts to Bastien, and the triumph in his gaze tells me exactly what his goal has been all night. Destroy Bastien through any means necessary, including taking away the one thing he wants more in this room than money—me.

  “I’m not a whore.” I force out the words from between clenched teeth.

  Forge’s gaze shifts to me. “Whores don’t get millions for a night with me.”

  Chills shoot down my spine, and they have nothing to do with the air-conditioning being on full blast. No, they have everything to do with my all-too-vivid imagination conjuring images of a night with the untamable Jericho Forge. Him slipping this dress off my body. Gripping my hair. Taking my lips. Sliding between my legs. Moving over me as I dig my nails into his shoulders.

  My nipples peak, and I slam my eyes shut. It doesn’t help. The scene plays like a movie in my head.

  I knew when he walked in the room that he was dangerous on every level, and I wasn’t wrong. Everything about Jericho Forge screams to me to run in the other direction.

  I shouldn’t be affected by him. But there’s no arguing the truth.

  I open my eyes and stare the man down before making the only real choice I have left. I lift my hand from the edge of the table, and like I’m moving through quicksand, my fingers hover over the keycard.

  There’s no going back if I do this.

  I have to win.

  I don’t have to look down at my cards to see the full house I’m holding. I haven’t been bluffing.

  I will win.

  5

  Forge

  As soon as her pink-tipped finger touches the keycard, a surge of something primal charges through my veins.

  Victory. Need. Possession.

  I’m an unapologetically acquisitive man. If India Baptiste had stayed off my radar, I never would have known I wanted her. But she didn’t, and now she’s going to be mine.

  I can already feel her smooth skin under my fingertips. Taste the salt from the sea air as my tongue traces the thundering pulse at her neck. Hear her voice break as she begs me for more . . .

  With every bit of self-control I have, I push those thoughts from my mind.

  I watch for the tell as she pushes the card into the center of the table.

  “Fine. I call.”

  Nothing.

  She’s not bluffing.

  The three of us turn over our cards.

  De Vere chokes as he leans forward, his jaw practically hitting the space in front of him.

  “No fucking way,” Cruz says softly.

  The Russian chuckles.

  But I don’t give a single fuck about any of them. I’m waiting for her response. That’s the only thing that matters right now.

  A shocked exhalation escapes India’s lips. “No. No. That can’t be possible.”

  I rise from the table where my straight flush crushes India’s full house.

  I won.

  She’s mine.

  “Jean Phillippe, collect my chips. I have more important things to worry about for the rest of the evening.”

  I retrieve the keycard from the center of the table and step toward the door, then hold out my arm.

  “Ms. Baptiste. After you.”

  6

  India

  I lost.

  I lost.

  I lost.

  The realization hammers through me as I stare at Jericho Forge’s jacket sleeve and tanned hand. My mouth goes as dry as the Sahara, and my knees shake as I rise from my seat.

  I bet myself and I lost.

  I’ve done a million reckless things in my life. BASE jumping in Italy. Skydiving in Dubai. Sneaking into a royal wedding, just to prove that I could.

  But never something so reckless as this.

  Above all, I know my self-worth. And now I’ve whored myself out to a man who only pushed me to bet myself because he knows that Bastien wants me.

  I shake my head. As soon as Forge walked into the room, I went from a player to a pawn at the poker table. All over bad blood that has nothing to do with me.

  I want to tell them both to fuck off and run out the door. But I can’t.

  I lost, and I never renege on a bet. Not paying my losses to Jericho Forge would mean kissing my entire career good-bye. No one would ever let me sit a game again.

  One night. It’s only one night, I remind myself. Surely, I can survive it.

  But my reputation may not. If this gets out . . .

  Who would ever take playing poker seriously with the girl who bet herself and lost?

  I’m damned either way.

  I look at Bastien, the person I desperately want to blame for all of this, but I can’t. I asked for his help. That was my choice. I brought this on myself.

  I meet the gazes of every man in the room but Forge. “Gentlemen, I trust that none of you will speak a word about what happened in this room tonight.”

  Cruz nods solemnly.

  “Of course. You insult me to think otherwise,” Belevich says.

  Bastien’s scowl darkens before his expression turns mocking. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”

  I open my mouth, but before I can speak, heat hits my back in the form of a body.

  “You won’t say a fucking word.” Forge’s commanding tone raises goose bumps along my bare shoulders and arms.

  “Is that right?” Bastien asks, and I want to slap him for trying to taunt Forge.

  “Try me, de Vere. I dare you.”

  New chills ripple down my limbs at the threat Forge delivers so easily—and yet there’s no question of its gravity. I wouldn’t put anything past someone rumored to be as ruthless as Forge.

  And now I have to spend the night with him.

  Bastien’s lips curl up into a sardonic grin. “Enjoy your toy for the night, Forge. Try not to break her. I’ll be ready to remind her what a real man is like as soon as you’re done.”

  That fucking asshole. He sits with his ankle crossed over a knee, talking shit while someone’s life hangs in the balance. Not that he knows what hangs in the balance. Because I would never trust him enough.

  I should have known better than to ask Bastien for help.

  I shouldn’t have been so cocky at the table.

  I should have called off the game as soon as Forge showed up and upset my carefully constructed plan.

  But I didn’t. Now I have to live with the consequences.

  Ten million in seven days or else . . .

  Forge’s massive hand curves around my hip and splays across my belly, cutting off any semblance I have of rational thought. With a single move, he pulls me back against his chest, and it feels like every inch of his body has been carved from granite.

  “There won’t be anything left for you when I’m done, de Vere.”

  My brain is a scattered mess as Forge guides me out of the room. Shock. Disbelief. Overwhelming despair. They all rip through me as his hand slides from my belly to my hip as he walks me toward the elevator.

  The elevator.

  That will take us up to my room.

  The room that opens with the key that he won.

  I freeze a dozen feet away from the double doors, and he immediately stops beside me.

  For the first time since we left the card room, Forge looks down, those stormy eyes scanning my face as if he’s trying to see inside my head.

  From all the rumors floating around about this man, one might almost be convinced that he can read minds.

  M
y mind goes blank as my body absorbs his presence. His intoxicating scent. It’s too much.

  “Second thoughts?” Forge asks, the bass-toned pitch of his voice cutting through the din of the crowded casino.

  Second thoughts? That comment disproves the mind-reading rumor. I passed second thoughts before we stepped out of the card room.

  I knew what I was doing. I was so damn sure I would win tonight. I considered all the angles.

  Except him.

  I fucked up. Big time. And it might cost my sister her life.

  “I don’t think second thoughts quite describes what I’m thinking,” I tell him, keeping my tone calm, even as my brain spirals downward to the potential consequences of my actions.

  “Stop thinking then.” His order is simple, but effective, and he takes another step to direct me toward the elevator.

  Stop thinking?

  No. I can’t. I’ve lived the last fourteen years with only my wits, and not thinking is the last thing I need to do. But I can stop overthinking.

  Pause. Rewind.

  He won my room key. That’s it.

  Not me. Not my body. Not my mind.

  Just my fucking room key.

  I go stiff and he waits, his gaze narrowing on my face. Forge says nothing, presumably waiting for me to say something. Well, he won’t have to wait long because I’ve no shortage of things to say to him right now, starting with . . .

  “You overplayed your hand. You didn’t win me, Forge. You won a hotel-room key.” I nod toward the jacket pocket where he slipped it. “Enjoy the room with my compliments. I have other things to do this evening.”

  With my chin high and my shoulders straight, I step away from him, congratulating myself on outplaying the player and immediately thinking about how quickly I can put together another game.

  I make it exactly one step before his hand wraps around my wrist.

  “I don’t think so, Indy.”

  His use of my nickname pisses me off. “Only my friends call me that. You are not a friend.”

  Something flits across his harsh features. The dark stubble of his five o’clock shadow adds to the piratical look with his severe jawline and rough-hewn cheekbones. I don’t know the man well enough to know what it is, and I don’t want to know.

  “But de Vere is?”

  “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? The pissing match between you two?”

  His expression goes blank and, beneath the stubble, his jaw shifts.

  “You needed to win tonight. I don’t need to know why to see how desperate you were in there. I’m guessing you need another game now. You’re probably already trying to figure out how to put one together and where you’re going to come up with your stake. But no one, and I mean no one, is going to let you sit a game when I let it be known that you didn’t honor your debt to me.”

  I already know he’s right, but it doesn’t stop me from swallowing the saliva pooling in my mouth, and wishing the heat of his touch and his stare weren’t causing equally heated reactions in other areas of my body.

  I cannot be turned on by this high-handed, dictatorial behavior. I can’t.

  Another lie to myself.

  “What exactly do you want from me, Mr. Forge?” For the first time all night, I get a reaction out of him that’s something beyond his stony-faced stare.

  One corner of his mouth curls up, and it’s like the hand-painted ceilings of the casino cracked open and light shined down from the heavens. Well, maybe not exactly, but close.

  A half smile from Jericho Forge does more than unleash heat. My nipples peak against the bodice of my dress, and without a bra, there’s nothing I can do to hide my body’s traitorous reaction to him.

  “You’re not ready for an answer to that question, Ms. Baptiste.”

  Something about the timbre of his voice and the absolute certainty in every word releases another wave of concerning reactions. It’s like he’s already playing my body, almost better than he played me at the table, and he hasn’t so much as moved his hand.

  I have to make a stand. Say something rational. Demand answers. Even if it’s only to prove I can.

  “Why? Why me? Why tonight?”

  Forge’s hooded gaze drops to my cleavage, and I feel more exposed than ever in this dress.

  “Because de Vere wants you, and I enjoy taking things away from him.”

  My bottom lip drops. “That’s it? It’s really, truly only about Bastien?”

  I don’t know why, but that pisses me off even more. Maybe because some part of me—a stupid part—wanted him to want me for me. Not because of some ridiculous grudge.

  “You should be more careful about the company you keep.”

  A loud burst of harsh laughter from beyond our bubble tears Forge’s attention off my face.

  Bastien.

  He’s twenty yards away and pretending to laugh with Jean Phillippe while he glares daggers at Forge.

  “We’ll finish this discussion in your room. I’m not having it here.”

  My gaze snaps back to Forge’s rock-hard features. “And if I say no?”

  “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and try every room in this fucking hotel until the keycard opens one.”

  I can imagine him throwing me over his shoulder like the pirate I thought he resembled earlier. Especially because I know not a single soul in this entire building will be able to protect me from him.

  An inappropriate curl of lust has me shifting in my Prada pumps. Do I really want to be protected from him? Would I run into Bastien or Jean Phillippe’s arms to escape him?

  No.

  My gut says I can’t trust either of them any more than I can trust Forge. And wasting time acting like a terrified virgin isn’t going to help me win the money I need any faster. I need tonight over and done with. I have to come up with a new plan.

  I level a stare on Forge. “I’ll go with you, but I won’t hesitate to call every law enforcement agency and media outlet in the entire damn world if you touch me without my consent ever again.”

  This time, both corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk.

  “That’s not a concession you needed to ask for, but I’ll give it to you anyway. Let’s go.”

  7

  Forge

  I have to give her credit. She’s a bold woman, hanging on to the tatters of her pride with a scrappy strength that helps me form an opinion of her character.

  She’s also reckless as hell, which for some reason piques my interest in her even more. A woman willing to take these kinds of risks should have few inhibitions when it comes to everything I want from her.

  From the blue fire in her gaze to the incensed set of her lips, I can tell she’d rather be anywhere but near me, but her body tells a different story.

  She shifts in her fuck-me heels, and her nipples are hard enough to cut glass. I know when a woman is interested, even despite herself, and India Baptiste is fighting a losing battle.

  Drop your guard, and I can show you a whole new world.

  The stubborn set of her shoulders says she won’t, at least not without encouragement. Or manipulation.

  Women aren’t as complicated as the world makes them out to be. Watch them. Listen to them. Learn them. Use your knowledge to get what you want. Every human is capable of being manipulated, and India Baptiste will be no different.

  Inside the elevator, the floral aroma isn’t as strong, and I finally get a hint of the spicy perfume she wears. Audacious, just like her. The urge to rinse her clean to get to the true scent of India’s skin takes me by surprise.

  She’s not special. She’s just a pawn in a game to fuck with de Vere. Don’t forget it.

  I remind myself of what matters, but somehow it doesn’t eradicate the desire to strip her bare and find out what really drew de Vere to this woman. I see the surface appeal. Thick blond hair, indigo eyes, a body that has enough curves to stop traffic. But that’s not the whole picture, because there are dozens, if not hundreds, of women who fi
t that description, passing through Ibiza.

  She humiliated de Vere years ago when she shot him down publicly, but for some reason, he hasn’t given up wanting her, and he hid it well enough to escape my notice. Which means one of two things—either he can’t resist the challenge of her, like any other man. Or she’s the kind of woman who makes a man think long and hard about what he wouldn’t do to possess her.

  Either way, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Clearly, de Vere still wants her, and that’s enough reason for me to take her and break her so that he’ll never have her.

  Perverse? Fuck yes.

  Do I give a damn? Hell no.

  “Floor?” I ask, swiping the key across the card reader that will allow the elevator to move.

  She glares at me, and I resist the urge to smile at her contrary nature. It shouldn’t turn me on, but nothing about this woman is following my normal rules.

  “Eight.”

  I’m content to stay silent in the elevator after I press the appropriate button, but India speaks as soon as the car moves.

  “How did you know about the game tonight? Who told you?”

  “Does it matter?” I ask, avoiding the question. It’s a lifelong tactic that continues to work no matter how often I’ve employed it. Most people are happier to answer questions than ask them, and most are too nonconfrontational to call me out on it.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter.” India’s short reply and straight-ahead stare clue me in to the fact that she’s not going to be as easy to outmaneuver one-on-one as she was at the poker table.

  Luckily, I get off on the challenge.

  “People tell me things, especially when it’s a high-stakes game happening in my own backyard.”

  “I bet they do. You probably have paid informants across the damn globe. Are they friends with the women you keep in every port?”

  My lips quirk into a partial smile, which has to be a record for tonight. I’m so rarely amused that I’m thrown off by the oddity of the feeling, but I shut it down.