Deal with the Devil

by Meghan March

  My lips press together because I have no idea how I’m supposed to handle this. Forge and I never discussed what story we’d give people, because the chopper touched down with my sister. Then again, Forge is the one who raised the subject, so he can deal with the explanations.

  Except he doesn’t. He’s totally silent, watching us both.

  Seriously, man? He just unleashed a tidal wave of curiosity, and he isn’t even going to toss me a life raft?

  Wait. Maybe this is some kind of test?

  “Indy?” My sister’s eyes widen, and her voice rises.

  “It was a whirlwind. I can barely believe it myself.” I glance up at Forge, unable to read his blank expression. “We just . . . clicked, and . . . one thing led to another.”

  “You don’t even like men,” my sister says.

  “I like men just fine!” My retort comes out a tad bit defensive.

  “Really? Then why have you been under a dick embargo since I’ve been old enough to know what dick was?”

  A fiery flush creeps up my cheeks, and there’s nothing I want to do more than hug my sister so tightly she can’t speak, and maybe muzzle her.

  Forge’s laughter booms out, and he moves to stand behind my chair. His big hands, the ones that held me by the hair and throat when I was on my knees in front of him, curl around my shoulders possessively.

  “She was waiting for the right dick to come along.”

  I can’t see his face, but the grip of his fingers on my skin lights up my body in all the places I just managed to calm down. I can’t let my nipples get hard sitting at lunch with my sister. Just, no.

  With shock stamped on her features, Summer stares at us in silence for several beats. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Congratulations would be a good place to start,” Forge says.

  Summer presses her lips together, and I know she sees through the game we’re playing. She knows me. Knows that I never intended to marry anyone, and I’m pretty much allergic to romance, especially the whirlwind kind. “If you forced her . . .”

  Forge’s fingers tense on my shoulders, and I know I have to make this convincing, or Summer is going to raise hell and probably call the police and tell them I was coerced. Which is ironic, considering she’s the one who put me in this position.

  I reach up and lay my palm over the back of his wide hand and squeeze. “Really, Sum? Would someone have to force you to marry a gorgeous billionaire who would do anything for you? Including sending out the rescue team to save your sister?”

  All tension in Forge’s touch disappears, and I wonder if I’ve shocked him. My sister, on the other hand, still doesn’t look quite convinced . . . at least, not until she bursts out laughing.

  “You finally got the good dick.” She shakes her head. “I get it. I really do. But damn, Indy. At least hold out a few months so you can make him pant after you.”

  Mortification rushes over me, and I’m grateful that Forge is behind me where I don’t have to look him in the eye.

  “Ms. Baptiste, I suggest you refrain from speculating about the reasons your sister had for marrying me. I can assure you, I was very, very persuasive.”

  “I have no doubt. But I still don’t believe this whirlwind-romance bullshit. I’ll have to see that for myself first.”

  One of Forge’s hands leaves my shoulders to slide up to my throat. His fingers wrap loosely around the column of my neck as he tilts my head back. “She’s the most unique woman I’ve ever met. How could I not want to make her mine?” His dark gray eyes spear into me with an intensity exclusive to him.

  I’m so struck by his words and expression, I sit stunned while he leans down to press his lips against mine. It’s barely a kiss. More of a brush against my mouth with his. But something about it knocks me off-balance enough to open a crack in the wall I built a decade ago to protect myself from men.

  This isn’t real, I remind myself. He married me for some kind of tax break or something. Not because he actually thinks I’m unique and wanted me. Right?

  Forge releases me and steps away from my chair, and Summer watches us with her mouth hanging open. I suppose that’s one way to take her mind off being kidnapped. I’m praying she bounces back as quickly from this as she does everything else. It’s one of her talents I’ve always envied. She just lets the bad roll off and moves on with life.

  “Damn. Okay. I guess I’ll just sit here and wish my own bajillionaire would look at me like that.”

  “Start by staying out of underground poker rings, Ms. Baptiste,” Forge tells her as he takes the seat next to mine at the table.

  Summer swallows and nods. “Got it. Which means . . . I need to find an actual job.”

  “I’ve already secured you one. You start next week.”

  “What?” Summer and I both ask as we turn to look at the man I married.

  “You got me a job?” My sister blinks as though she’s trying to comprehend the words in some foreign language.

  “Yes. I understand you have a degree in fashion marketing. I have a close friend who could use an executive assistant knowledgeable in the business. She’s quite talented and needs the help. She’s agreed to take you on for a probationary period to see if you’re a good fit.”

  This time, I’m the one with my jaw practically sitting on the table. “When did you do that?”

  “Ten minutes ago,” Forge replies, his dark gaze saying more than his words.

  After I blew him in gratitude, he got my sister a job. Arousal stirs between my legs again, and I shouldn’t be turned on by this.

  A silent conversation passes between us. You give me what I want. I give you what you need.

  I swallow and shift in my seat, hoping I’m not leaving a wet spot on the fabric of this borrowed skirt. I am so fucked.

  “Wow. Thank you,” Summer says, oblivious to the tension mounting at the table. “Who is she? Is it someone I’ve heard of?”

  “Juliette Preston Priest.” Forge drops the name of one of the most sought-after celebrity designers who keeps a villa on Ibiza and has made a massive splash on the international fashion scene in the last few years. A woman whose name I’ve seen linked with his in the press.

  A close friend is how he described her.

  Jealousy rips into me like a lightning strike, catching me completely off guard.

  When Summer asks, “Didn’t you date her?” I grit my teeth because I don’t want to show a single shred of my emotions that are rising due to the subject of this conversation.

  I don’t care who his close friends are. I don’t care who he dated. I don’t care who he ever dates in the future.

  All lies.

  No. No, they can’t be lies because this marriage isn’t real. He can be with whoever he wants, whenever he wants, and I don’t care. I got my sister back, and that’s all that matters.

  As Forge picks up his napkin and drops it on his lap, he replies to my sister. “Date? Men like me don’t date, Ms. Baptiste.”

  Men like me don’t date. I repeat his words in my head, and I know what he means. Men like him just—

  “Was she your mistress?” Summer says, cutting off my thought.

  My heartbeat roars in my ears, and I can’t believe I’m listening to this. Even more, I can’t believe I care that I’m listening to this. I’m not a jealous person. I’ve never felt a sliver of jealousy in my life when it comes to a man.

  But you’ve never been around a man like him before either, Indy.

  Forge helps himself to the food on the table rather than answering, but it doesn’t deter Summer in the least.

  “Did you break it off, or did she?”

  “Summer,” I say as a warning, my tone clipped.

  “What? Just because you don’t want to know who else got the good dick doesn’t mean I don’t, especially if I’m working for her. I need to know if she’s going to secretly hate me because my sister snagged the prize she wanted.”

  Summer’s ability to state the truth with
out bullshit, even in front of Forge, is probably something I should applaud her for, but all I feel is humiliation.

  “Ms. Priest and I parted ways on amicable terms. She wouldn’t do me this favor if that weren’t the case.”

  “Well, that answer gives me exactly nothing to go on, so I’ll have to assume that you left her with a giant string of diamonds like those British lords used to do when they decided to offload their aging courtesan for a younger model.”

  I should be glad she’s not cowering in the corner after her ordeal, but still, I groan and drop my forehead into my hands. “Just stop. Please. For the love of God.”

  “What? You’re the one who told me to read books. I happen to love historical romance. Besides, it’s not like your new hubby is going to go sniffing around his leftovers. Isn’t that right, Forge? Because then you’d have a pissed-off little sister to deal with, and I might be half your size, but I’m meaner than I look.”

  “Your threat is duly noted, Ms. Baptiste. I will inform Ms. Priest that you’ll be reporting for duty on Monday as agreed upon.” He pauses, shooting Summer a meaningful stare. “Don’t fuck this up. I know you’ve been through a lot, but you get only one chance from me. Is that clear?”

  Any levity on Summer’s face disappears with the serious tone of his voice. “Clear as crystal, Mr. Forge.”

  The table goes quiet for several minutes as we eat in awkward silence.

  I can’t stop thinking about Juliette Preston Priest, and why he didn’t choose her to marry if all he needed was a bride. Or was I just the only one who was desperate enough to agree to a no-questions-asked request? Was that a test too? Why does this man have to be such an enigma? I still have no answers when Summer speaks up again.

  “Where are we headed? Back to Ibiza?”

  “Yes. We’ll be passing by the French Riviera today.”

  I whip my head toward the starboard side of the boat, and sure enough, there’s a shadow of land in the distance.

  “You mean . . . Saint-Tropez?” Summer asks, and I know exactly where this conversation is going.

  My little sister has had an obsession with Brigette Bardot since childhood when our mother let us watch And God Created Woman way too early in life. More accurately, I should say she left us and the movie to keep us busy for a while. This is why I tried to turn Summer on to books instead. Apparently, that wasn’t a good plan either.

  “Yes. We should be less than an hour away at this point. We should dock in Ibiza tomorrow morning.”

  “Can we stop?” Summer asks, and the excitement in her tone sounds almost childlike. “I’ve always wanted to see Saint-Tropez. Our mom refused to take us there when she was working in Cannes, even though we were so close. It’s on my bucket list.”

  I expect Forge to shut down her request without a second thought, but he doesn’t. He turns to look at me.

  “That’s up to your sister.”

  I study him, trying to determine if this is yet another test, but I find no answers on his rough-hewn face.

  “Indy, please . . . You know how bad I’ve always wanted to go there. Please.”

  I tear my gaze from him to glance at Summer and then back to Forge. “Don’t you have to get back?”

  “Not if my wife wants to stop in Saint-Tropez.”

  My inner muscles tense every damn time he says the word wife, and I can’t help but wonder what I’m going to owe him in return for this favor. Or rather . . . what I’ll be willing to do to thank him for making my sister smile so soon after her near-death ordeal. I already know I can’t say no to her, because I’ve been unable to before.

  “I would love to see Saint-Tropez,” I tell him.

  Forge nods and pushes back from the table. “I’ll inform the captain.”

  37

  Forge

  Saint-Tropez isn’t on the schedule I handed the crew this morning before I dove off the boat to try to forget the woman sleeping in my bed.

  I need to get back to Ibiza. My self-imposed timeline doesn’t include flexibility for unplanned excursions. So, why the fuck am I telling the captain to drop anchor off the coast of France, and to ready the tender to take the two women and Goliath to shore?

  Because I can’t fucking help myself with her.

  The lure of India Baptiste is more potent than anything I’ve ever felt. Every time she shifted in her seat at lunch, it took all my self-control not to rip her out of her chair, throw her over my shoulder, and take her downstairs to my cabin to fuck the hell out of her.

  She wants me. That’s not in doubt.

  She also probably hates me. But I can live with being hated as long as her tempting body bends to my will. And the way she looked at me in shock when I said yes? I liked it. I want to see that expression on her face again.

  “It’s just as beautiful as the pictures,” Summer says from the deck below as I turn to leave the bridge.

  “That doesn’t mean you should’ve asked for him to stop. Seriously, Summer. You can’t treat him like he’s a normal guy. He’s not,” India says, unaware I can hear them.

  Which makes me pause and wait to see what else they have to say. Do I give a damn that I’m eavesdropping? Not at all. I only wish I could see them as well.

  “Just because he’s gorgeous with a billion dollars doesn’t mean he’s not a normal guy.”

  Summer’s words parrot how India described me earlier when she was dancing around how to explain our hasty wedding to her sister. I found it very interesting that she kept the truth from Summer without me directing her to do so. I assumed my wife’s instincts were good, and her response reinforced that assumption.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” India says.

  “Then what the hell are you talking about? He’s not normal because you married him? Therefore, he’s officially the only guy in the world who could bag Elsa, the Frozen princess?”

  I don’t know who Elsa the frozen princess is, but I get Summer’s jibe. I could see India as an ice queen.

  “No, I just mean . . . don’t be so familiar with him.”

  I step closer to the railing and catch a glimpse of the two blond women below, one more gold and the other more platinum, as they move out from under the covered portion of the sundeck. I pull back just enough to stay out of sight without obscuring my view.

  Summer, the platinum head, turns to face India. “He’s family now, Indy. How the hell else would I be with him? Besides, you should be thanking me for trying to find out about his mistress. I mean, don’t you want to know which bitches are going to want your head for stealing their man?”

  Summer’s comment almost makes me smile. Every woman who has been part of my life has known full well that marriage was never part of the deal. Ever.

  Will some of them be surprised when it gets out? Absolutely. Do I give a fuck? Not a single one.

  I wait a beat for India to respond, but she doesn’t. I take a step forward but pause when Summer speaks again.

  “Wait a minute. Are you worried he’s going to go back to his mistresses? That he won’t be faithful?”

  India looks out toward the Saint-Tropez coastline as she crosses her arms. “I’ve been married for approximately five minutes, Summer. Can you not talk about my husband cheating on me already? We know they all do. Some are just better at hiding it, and a billion dollars gives you the ability to hide plenty.”

  Interesting . . .

  I hadn’t even considered the idea of fidelity because I’ve been too focused on acquiring the woman in question. Knowing she expects me to stray and hide it confirms one very important thing about her.

  She doesn’t trust me or any other man.

  Now, I have a new goal. Win her trust . . . and make her want me as badly as I want her.

  38

  India

  “Are you seriously sending him with us as a bodyguard?” I glance at Goliath, the large man with dreads who brought my bag back to my flat, who waits near the smaller boat in what I’ve learned is called
the toy compartment of the yacht, where the boat can literally drive right out of a hydraulic door in the hull.

  “Goliath is captaining your tender. Koba will be your security.”

  The blond man who fed me the night before exits the elevator in a suit, joining us on the webbed rubber mats.

  I glance from him to Forge. “This is really unnecessary. We don’t need a babysitter. I’m plenty capable of taking care of myself.”

  “You’re the wife of a billionaire,” Summer says, stealing my attention. “Welcome to the world of being a big fucking deal, sis.”

  I could punch her in the arm for the wink she shoots me.

  “If you want to get off this boat, then Koba goes with you. The only concession I’m willing to make is that he’ll give you some space, but he won’t be far. I suggest you get in the tender before I change my mind.”

  Seawater laps at the sides of the floating boat and turns the white interior walls an otherworldly blue as I choose how I want to respond.

  Before I can speak, Summer grabs my hand. “We’re going. We have no objections. He can help carry our bags when they get too heavy, because there’s no way I’m not shopping in freaking Saint-Tropez.”

  I squeeze my sister’s hand as she moves toward Goliath. “You don’t have any money, Summer. You don’t even have a purse or a cell phone.”

  My sister looks up at Forge. “Like he’s going to let you go anywhere without some fancy black card with no limit. Isn’t that right?”

  “Summer . . .”

  Forge’s gaze lands on me and he reaches into his pocket. Instead of pulling out a black card, the likes of which I’ve seen Bastien use, he pulls out a clear piece of plastic. There’s no name or numbers on it. Only a silver chip at one end.

  He holds it out to me. “For every item your sister buys, I expect you to buy something for yourself.”

  The order makes me want to refuse the card completely, but Summer snatches it from his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll make her.”

  Forge nods to Goliath and Koba before walking toward the elevator and stepping into the clear glass tube. He tucks his hands into his pockets, and his gaze stays fixed on me as it lifts him into the main cabins of the boat.