Deal with the Devil

by Meghan March

  “So you were lying when you said you hadn’t heard of me. Good to confirm my assumption.”

  She flicks a glance my way. “Could you be more arrogant?”

  “Probably.”

  “I assume that goes with being infamous.”

  She’s right, but she doesn’t understand the reality of the situation. Infamy brings with it another set of problems that average humans can’t possibly comprehend. Then again, my gut says there’s nothing average about India Baptiste. I wouldn’t be standing in this elevator with her if she were.

  I don’t need ordinary in my life.

  I only want the extraordinary, and I work my ass off to attain it.

  With a quick move of my hand, I hit the emergency button of the elevator and crowd her against the mirrored wall of the car. India’s eyes widen with shock, and her pulse throbs against the side of her throat.

  “You can assume whatever you want about me, Ms. Baptiste. But let me tell you what I expect from you.”

  I step forward, ignoring the buzz of the elevator alarm, planting my foot between the heels of her fuck-me shoes. I’m playing on a hunch here, one that I need to confirm before things take another leap forward into territory where they can’t be undone.

  Her throat works as she swallows, but she doesn’t attempt to evade. No, her pupils dilate, and that’s either due to fear or arousal.

  From the state of her nipples before we entered the elevator, I’m going with the latter.

  She blinks, hauling in a deep breath that causes her tits to lift and brush against my suit jacket. Fuck, I want to feel them on my skin. What the hell is it about this woman?

  My dick, which is always under ironclad control, fills with blood.

  “I don’t care what you expect, Mr. Forge.” Her voice shakes, even as she attempts to imbue it with confidence. She can try to deny it until the sun rises, but she wants me.

  “You will, Ms. Baptiste. I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

  8

  India

  I don’t know what his game is, but Jericho Forge’s proximity is more potent than any drug I’ve ever taken. And that’s saying something, given my prior lives.

  When I pegged him as being dangerous, I was right. But I didn’t realize the extent of the threat. It’s not just the fact that he’s strong enough to literally break me in half in this elevator. No, it’s because I want to get even closer to him.

  His scent—sandalwood mixed with salt and something fresh and clean—is addictive, dragging me even closer to him to get another whiff. I’ve avoided men for almost a decade because they can’t be trusted. Every experience I’ve had has shown me that they bring nothing but trouble into your life. But after only minutes alone with Jericho Forge, I know that I’ve never come up against a man like him. He makes those hard-on popping party boys seem exactly like what they were—boys. Not men.

  I swallow, trying to think of something to say or do to break this spell settling over us, but my head is buzzing like I’ve downed two bottles of my favorite red.

  He dips his head and inhales—like he’s breathing me in the same way—and instead of it being creepy and weird, it’s sexy as hell.

  Stop it, Indy. This is bad. Back away.

  When he steps back and punches the button to silence the alarm and allow the elevator to keep rising, I tell myself we had some kind of skirmish I didn’t know was happening. Regardless, I’m going to say I won.

  Another lie.

  Every inch of my skin is humming with anticipation, begging silently for the brush of his skin on mine.

  I shouldn’t want him to touch me. He’s a stranger. A threat. I’ve clearly identified him as a danger, which means I should scuttle to the other side of the elevator and put as much distance between us as possible, but that would put me at even more of a disadvantage.

  I face my problems head-on. I don’t run from them. But I’ve never faced anyone like him before.

  He’s already proven that he’s a wild card when it comes to my life, an uncontrollable variable, and now slick heat coats my thighs because this dress wasn’t exactly panty-friendly.

  I take what I hope is an imperceptible step away from him, not that it helps shield me from the effect of our close proximity.

  When the door opens, and the ornate white plaster molding and gold-leaf accents of the casino’s hotel appear in front of us, I’m finally knocked loose from his spell.

  Get your shit together, girl. And don’t get trapped in any other small spaces with him. Clearly, you can’t handle it.

  Even I’m not going to try to lie to myself about that. I can’t handle Jericho Forge. I know that like I know my own name.

  Which means I need to think, and quickly.

  He holds out an arm to block the doors from closing again, and waits like a gentleman for me to step out of the car ahead of him. But we both know that there’s nothing gentle under that suit. I felt the hard planes of his body against my curves.

  He felt absolutely fucking delicious.

  No. Stop. Don’t think like that.

  But it’s hard to stop thinking about it when I’ve been on a self-imposed hiatus from men for what seems like forever. If I’d been getting laid regularly, I wouldn’t be reacting like this. Right? Right.

  I step into the hallway, and I don’t wait for his hand to hit the small of my back. Instead, I turn in the direction of the room I used to get ready for this ill-fated night and stride toward the door. At least the room is bigger than the mirrored elevator car, and I’ll be able to put some distance between us.

  Forge catches up to me in seconds with his long-legged stride. I almost expect him to make some remark about me being in a hurry, but he stays absolutely silent as he falls into step beside me.

  Any other man of my acquaintance would fill the void with meaningless words, throwaway compliments, or teasing quips. Not Forge.

  Then again, why would I expect him to be like anyone else?

  He’s clearly in a class all his own.

  We reach the door at the end of the hall much too quickly, thanks to the pace I set. My heart hammers like I sprinted in my pumps instead of walking as calmly as possible. The thought immediately reminds me of the last time I did have to sprint in heels . . . because of Summer.

  Summer.

  How could I have forgotten about my sister for even the few minutes it took to get up here? I blame Forge for that too.

  I straighten my shoulders and shore up my posture with every bit of courage I have remaining. I will survive this encounter with my wits intact because I have no choice. Tomorrow, I have to start putting together another game. That $10 million I need isn’t going to appear overnight in my bank account, and the men who are holding my sister hostage aren’t going to take Monopoly money for her ransom.

  And if she’s lucky, after I pay her ransom, I might not kill her myself for getting us both into this horrific situation. Why did she—

  I cut off the question I’ve asked myself dozens of times because it doesn’t matter. Little sisters are put on this planet to complicate the lives of their older siblings. Or maybe that’s only in my case because I’ve probably enabled her behavior to the point of being unhealthy, trying to make up for her shitty childhood. Clearly, I’ve done neither of us any favors.

  I will save you, Summer. I promise.

  Forge’s hand flashes out with the keycard, and the indicator light on the brass plate lights up green.

  Rather than shy away from what’s coming next, I let my newfound determination drive my actions. My fingers beat his to the handle and I push it open, slipping between his body and the entrance to the room. The door swings on silent hinges, and I smirk this time, because in no way, shape, or form did I have any plans for a seduction scene to be happening in this room. In fact, I would have put money on that not happening.

  If Forge was expecting a scene set for a romantic interlude, he’d be dead wrong.

  My makeup is strewn all over the vani
ty next to my straightener and curling iron. My hair dryer is tossed on the massive bed, where I left it so I wouldn’t forget it like I did at the last place I stayed. The hotel robe is spread over the chair with my jean shorts and the tank I wore here.

  The door clicks shut behind me, and I tear my gaze off the state of the room and swing around to face him.

  Like I just did, Forge takes in every detail of the room, and I don’t mean the expensive wall-coverings and rococo furnishings. When his attention returns to me, his dark eyebrows edge toward his hairline.

  I cock a hip, sliding into my confident persona once more.

  “What? Did you think this”—I wave a hand up and down my body and face—“happened by accident? I didn’t exactly wake up this way.”

  Kill the fantasy. Show him the reality. That’s my game. No man wants to truly see behind the curtain.

  Instead of being put off by my confession, Forge lifts his lips into that mocking smirk again. “You think that changes anything?”

  And there it is. Cards on the table, so to speak.

  “It should. No man wants a woman who’s obviously this high-maintenance, right?”

  For the first time, the smile extends to his eyes as some kind of new light shines in them. He surveys me from head to toe with a long, lingering stare that sends a thrilling charge across every inch of my skin.

  My heart beats faster. My lungs fight for more air. My lips press tighter together.

  “I don’t think you have the first clue what a man like me wants, Ms. Baptiste.”

  I prop my hand on my hip, trying to shut out the feeling of my body going haywire.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Forge. I’m sure you’d like nothing more than for me to strip off this dress, climb on that bed, and spread my legs for you so you can mount me like the conquering villain you obviously think you are.”

  A dark chuckle rumbles from his lungs as he shakes his head slowly. “Not a single fucking clue.”

  He takes a step toward me, and my instinctive reaction is to step back. My generous ass hits the vanity, and I curse myself for showing such obvious fear.

  “Liar,” I say, trying to cover up my mistake with bravado. It won’t be the first time I’ve brazened out a situation, and it won’t be the last.

  “You think a man like me wants anything that comes easy? I like the hunt. The chase. The challenge. That’s what drives a man like me.”

  “Then you picked the wrong girl, Forge,” I lie as I formulate a new plan to escape this room with my wits intact. “I’m as easy as they come. No chase. No challenge.”

  I reach under my right arm and pull down the hidden zipper of the dress. My heart rate kicks up another million beats per second as the bodice falls away from my unrestrained breasts, and I wiggle enough to shove the dress to my feet. I don’t care that the action makes me feel like a slut. I’m all about bluffing to get myself out of this situation.

  “I’m ripe for the taking. No effort required.”

  His stormy gray eyes never leave my face, not even a single dip to look down at everything I’ve uncovered. The air around us turns electric. My nipples harden further, and I tell myself it’s from the air-conditioning in the room and not because I’m dying for him to give them attention.

  But Jericho Forge does nothing of the kind. He steps around me.

  What the hell?

  I whip around, one arm covering my breasts and my right hand automatically going to cover my other lady parts.

  Forge grabs the robe off the chair and tosses it at me. “Cover yourself up. You’re not a whore. Don’t pretend you know how to play one, or I won’t think twice about taking what you offer next time.”

  9

  Forge

  I have to give her credit; she’s trying to manage me with every bit of skill and cunning she has.

  The problem with that? India Baptiste doesn’t realize her own appeal when she tries such a ballsy stunt. The confidence it took to do something like that just makes her more fascinating, in a way I didn’t expect.

  I come to a snap decision of my own that takes even me by surprise. Before, all I cared about was taking her from Bastien and breaking her, but now . . . things are more complicated.

  First, she won’t go to Bastien willingly. That’s clear from the words exchanged in the card room. Second, I doubt it’s possible to break her easily. Every instinct of mine says she’s too damn resilient for that. All she wants to do is survive me and move on with her life, preferably never seeing me again. Which is too bad, because I want the fire and sass and intellect she wields like blades. I want her—and that changes everything.

  India clutches the robe to her chest and stares at me like I’ve lost my goddamned mind, and maybe I have. She holds up the terrycloth like a shield, which is ironic considering she just shamelessly bared herself. But the red flags of color rising on her cheeks tell me that move cost her.

  I catalog the knowledge, filling in the gaps of the picture of her that’s already formed in my mind.

  She’s not just desperate, bold, and impulsive. She’s wary and on edge, and I’d bet a cool million that it’s been a long time since she last let her guard down around a man.

  That’s a challenge I can handle, because her body doesn’t lie.

  If she truly didn’t want me or react to me, I would have let her go . . . after sufficient time to torture de Vere.

  But not now. She blew it with her stunt. I can’t turn away from the hunger in her gaze that she’s too inexperienced to hide, regardless of the masterful poker face she had at the table.

  Of the hundred things I plan to teach her and show her, that’s one I’ll never school her on.

  “What the hell is your game, Forge? Are you into some weird—”

  I cut her off as I step toward her. I drop my gaze to her chest, covered by the robe securely belted around her waist, and once again meet her gaze.

  “If I want you to strip, I’ll tell you. You don’t make the rules here, Ms. Baptiste.”

  I bend over to pick up the crumpled gold fabric of her dress and bring it to my nose, breathing deep. “How long has it been since you had a good, hard fuck to keep you in line and out of trouble?”

  Her blue eyes widen again, those pupils telling me everything I need to know in the dim light of the room. It’s been a long fucking time. It shouldn’t make my dick jerk, but it does.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Listen very carefully to me, Ms. Baptiste. If you pull another stunt like that, I’ll spank your tight little pussy until you scream. I don’t care where we are. You and I are just getting started.”

  10

  India

  I bite down hard on my lip to keep my mouth from dropping open.

  He did not just say that.

  But he did.

  Jericho Forge isn’t going to play by the rules as I know them. Thinking he would was just one more mistake in the long line of them I’ve made tonight. Now he’s staring at me like he has the right to do what he just said.

  Heat pulses between my thighs, and I hate that my body is on board with his plan—a fact I will lie about until the world comes to its final end.

  Forge drops into the one empty chair and clutches my dress in his lap like it’s his possession. His heavy stare rakes over me, and he jerks his chin toward the bed, reinforcing that he thinks I’m his possession now too.

  “Sit. We have things to discuss, and I’m not a patient man.”

  “I don’t take orders from you or anyone else,” I tell him, trying to retain some kind of authority in this situation. I won’t offer myself up to him on a silver platter again. Not when my brilliant reverse-psychology ploy backfired completely.

  “I don’t give a fuck about anyone else. You take orders from no one but me.”

  That shouldn’t turn me on. It really, really shouldn’t.

  “Sit, India.” His final order helps me regain my grip on my anger.

  “I’m not a dog, Forge. Don’
t treat me like one.”

  He leans back in the chair. “But you play the bitch, don’t you?”

  My temper flares, and there’s no question that I’d shoot him right now if I were holding a gun. “I’m not playing the bitch. This is me. If you think you’ve got some sweet, innocent idiot who’s going to bow to your orders, you’ve misjudged me completely. I promise I’m not nearly as interesting as you’ve no doubt convinced yourself I am. Plus, I’m not even a good lay.”

  Again with his freaking smirk. “That’s easily fixable. You might even thank me when we’re done.”

  Fucking smug bastard.

  “Hell will freeze over first.” I kick off my heels and march to the bed and sit, my arms crossed over my chest. “And just so we’re clear, don’t even think about touching me. In fact, if you put your dick anywhere near my mouth, I’ll bite it off. Swear to Christ.”

  For some reason, my brash declaration makes him laugh, and his deep chuckle conjures visions of a dark prince designing new ways to torture his victim.

  But I’m not a victim.

  “You won’t get the privilege of my dick anywhere near your mouth until you earn it.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Forge.”

  His sardonic grin evaporates like it never existed. “Respect. That’s the other thing you’ve clearly never learned. I’ll add that to your list of lessons, along with being a good fuck.”

  “Over my dead body.” Anger scorches through me like someone released a torrent of napalm. There is nothing this man could do or say that could make me want him now.

  Even if I’m still wet thinking about him.

  He leans back in the chair and crosses one ankle over the other. Every movement seems lazy and inconsequential, but there’s no way anything he does is anything less than supremely calculated.

  “Your body is exactly why we’re here. Not only are you desperate enough to gamble yourself, I’m guessing that desperation just tripled after you lost to me. You need a lot of fucking money, and you need it very, very badly. Why?”