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  “It’s bourbon. Go ahead. Have a taste.”

  I took a sip and nearly choked on the burning liquid.

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. I’d amused him.

  “Not a bourbon girl,” he remarked. “It’s not for everyone. More champagne?”

  “Yes, please,” I said instantly. I should have been worried about overindulging, but just then I’d have done anything to soften the edges of the day.

  He sighed heavily. “Well, if you’re not dying to go to bed early, we should probably commit to a few rounds of dancing.”

  He stood, holding his hand out to me. I let him pull me to the dance floor and take me in his arms.

  My belly felt warm from the champagne, and his proximity. Being close to him, his hands on my back, mine on his broad, hard shoulders, made it much warmer.

  The shaking in my hands and the trembling in my lips had eased. Yay alcohol.

  His mouth was near my ear, his voice, oh that voice, was a deep rumble that resonated through my whole body when he spoke. “You might want to smile. These pictures will likely end up in the local paper and, if I know my mother, People.”

  I obeyed, eyes running over his tan throat, his thick, attractively stubbled jaw, his lips. I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He was very tall, I noted pleasantly.

  I didn’t even have to pretend to get lost in his stormy gray eyes. He was just as intent on mine, and he looked different suddenly. Hungry.

  My whole body felt heated. My knees went a little weaker, but his arms were holding me so securely that it didn’t even slow us down.

  I let him guide the dance, following his lead easily. Too easily. The strength and demand of his will issued an almost tangible command over my movements. He was clearly his father’s son; a man who was built to command, and I was sure that my body was a paltry conquest for him.

  Perhaps this wouldn’t be as miserable as I thought. We moved well together. Naturally.

  This was a sham marriage, but at least we wouldn’t have to fake the chemistry.

  “What should I call you?” I asked him. I’d heard family and friends calling him Banks throughout the day, and I knew he went by that, his middle name, more often than not.

  It took him a long time to answer, and I realized as I waited for him to speak that my question had somehow shattered the moment, whatever it had been. “Calder,” he said stiffly, his jaw setting stubbornly.

  Despite mentioning multiple rounds of dancing, Calder deserted me to his brothers after just one.

  The doom of my groom’s life was that he had too many male siblings. Too many other inheritors to his family’s vast fortune. From what I understood, they kept each other relatively honest, for spoiled rich kids. Poor little rich boy Calder had too many brothers and had to dance to his billionaire father’s tune if he wanted a slice of that thick cash pie.

  I was Calder’s act of good faith.

  My husband’s five brothers were in attendance. They ranged in age from fifteen to twenty-nine, and I danced with each one.

  All five were far more pleasant than my husband. Wasn’t that just my luck?

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  It was a solid hour before I dealt with Calder again. I was sitting back in my seat, and he took his beside me again without a word.

  I accepted another glass of champagne. He knocked back another drink then turned, speaking to the server, his voice so low I couldn’t catch the words.

  The server returned promptly with two tiny glasses filled with dark liquid.

  My husband handed me one, clinking them together when I accepted. “It’s port. Bottoms up,” he said, then polished his off, eyes unblinking on me.

  I blushed and looked away.

  With a trembling breath, I took a drink of the port. I nearly had to choke it down. It was strong and bitter compared to the champagne, and I felt the effects within moments after finishing the tiny glass.

  “It does not go well with champagne,” he noted, “you’ll have to try it again sometime when you’ve learned to drink properly.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded. If drinking port was part of this arrangement, then it went without saying that I would do it and just about anything else that was required of me. Worse than this was undoubtedly coming. I’d suck it up and deal with whatever I had to.

  I’d been working nonstop for years, and with the cost of living in New York, combined with my fair share of misfortunes, I’d never managed to do much more than keep myself afloat.

  After today, that was all going to change. I’d traded my body for wealth beyond my wildest dreams.

  It’s a small price to pay, I told myself, yet again.

  The wealthy of the world did what they liked. Their money made the world go round and solved all of their problems, while the little people took what life gave them, weathering whatever punches fate decided to lay on them with no anesthetic to soften the blows or means of protecting themselves. I knew that firsthand.

  I had a chance to switch from the latter to the former, and I was taking it with both hands and eyes wide open.

  Yes, I had sold myself. Yes, it was my choice. The price: my freedom. The benefit: I’d just been upgraded from lowly peasant to one of the elite of society.

  Now I was set for life. Untouchable.

  Except for my husband. He’d get to touch me however he liked.

  “What a joke, huh?” Calder said suddenly.

  “Pardon?” I asked, looking around for what he might be talking about.

  “All of this.” He waved his drink around at the room. I realized that he, like myself, was feeling the alcohol. “My father thinks that if I spend even a little bit of time with you I’ll grow to like you and then he’ll feel justified for this whole mess. He thinks I’ll get attached.” His words were crisp with a bite, his eyes square on me and contemptuous. “To someone like you. He’s delusional. As if I could ever care about a gold digger. Let me be crystal clear with you. I’ll never be reconciled with this marriage. I’m never going to care about you. I’ll perform when I have to, but never forget that while you chose this, I did not.”

  I felt my temper flaring but didn’t respond. It was a hard thing to do, but if there was anything I needed to get used to in this arrangement it was holding my tongue.

  Shut your mouth and cash the check, I told myself.

  My husband seemed done with his tirade. We engaged in a minor stare down that was only halted when a heavy hand settled on both of our shoulders.

  “You need some air,” my father-in-law’s voice spoke from behind and above. “A stroll through the garden will help. Son, take your bride for a walk.”

  We both rose like puppets on strings.

  “Of course, Father,” Calder said tersely.

  He took my arm and led me out of the room. “Meanwhile a photographer will follow behind to capture candids of us,” he muttered, but only after we’d left his father’s earshot.

  I glanced at him. His father’s words had been an order, of course, not a suggestion, and I wondered what was going through his head. I’d done nothing but learn his habits and preferences for the last six months, but I wondered what leverage his father had over him, and how it could have led to him saying yes to a marriage that so clearly disagreed with him. It struck me just then that I really was married to an absolute stranger.

  It was beautiful out, the night lit with stars. I made myself look past my nerve-wracking day and take in the sight.

  He stopped suddenly, his hand at my elbow halting me with him. He pulled me around until we were facing each other, his tall form bowed over me.

  Standing that close to him was a strange assault on my senses. It was disconcerting. A shock to my system. His proximity had a keen, visceral effect on my body. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but it wasn’t unpleasant either. It was stimulating. His powerful frame radiated a heat and intensity that I felt down to my bones. I’d never experienced anything like
it. His hands held my hips firmly and the contact branded itself through me. I wondered how long I’d feel his hands there after he let go.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he drawled, his head angling and lowering.

  I raised my face and he sealed his mouth over mine.

  I was shocked at how soft his lips were.

  It took a belated second for my reaction to hit me, but when it did, it was surprising. I liked the taste of him, the feel of his mouth. I wanted more.

  I didn’t even realize I was moving as my hands buried themselves in his silky black hair, gripping him to me as his tongue stroked lushly against mine.

  One of his hands stayed at my hip, gripping me closer, and the other rubbed up and down my back, petting me like a cat.

  I heard a soft moan, and realized in some distant part of my brain that it was my own.

  His mouth didn’t stop, eating at mine as he tugged my body inexorably closer to his, until we were plastered together. I felt his hardness digging into me, and instinctively it made me tense up and shrink away.

  A low rumble vibrated in his chest a beat before he tore his mouth away.

  I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

  He cursed under his breath, his head falling back, eyes aimed up at the sky.

  I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just stood there, catching my breath.

  Eventually he spoke. “Let’s go back inside. I could use another drink.”

  So could I.

  “You may head to your quarters,” he said from his spot beside me at our table. It was sometime later, but my mind was still back on that kiss. It had been brief, but I felt it still. My lips were tingling. “I’ll join you soon.”

  My heart tried to pound its way out of my chest, but I hid it well.

  I looked at the woman mentioned, my expression deceptively bland. I’d taught my face to lie first and best.

  I hadn’t seen Asha since she’d overseen my preparations before the wedding. It had been nice to spend a few hours without having to set eyes on her face. Without being directly under her thumb. I’d tried my best to forget that she even existed. She was my handler, and she relished the duty as much as I despised it.

  “Of course,” I said pleasantly, rising.

  I followed Asha on unsteady legs to my quarters.

  Bits of lingerie were laid out on the large bed. It was all a filmy white lace that didn’t look like it would cover anything essential.

  The perfect wedding night ensemble for a bought and paid for virgin.

  “Put it on,” Asha ordered brusquely. “You know what to do. Do not make him wait.”

  I faced her. She was a petite, spare woman, with curly black hair that she perpetually tamed back into a severe chignon. Her features were harsh but even, her skin pale. Her eyes were big, dark, and mean.

  “Okay . . . You can go,” I told her blandly. “I don’t need you anymore.”

  She gave me quite the look for that bit of impertinence. “You think those vows changed anything? You think when he fucks you that you’ll have more power? You don’t know him at all. He’ll get bored with you in one night. You’re a pretty bauble that he’ll forget about the moment you’re out of his sight. You’re a possession to him. You’ll always be just as much of an employee to this family as I am. In fact, you’re more expendable. I outrank you. Never forget it.”

  I knew she wasn’t wrong. I knew it. That didn’t mean I didn’t hate it. I vowed, not for the first time, to gain at least enough favor with my husband to get her fired. “Do you want to lecture me, or do you want me to get ready for my husband? I’m not changing until you leave.” It had been a long day and I was not in the mood for her shit.

  She gave me one last murderous look and left.

  I knew I’d be paying for that bit of sass later. Asha always gave as good as she got with interest.

  It was worth it.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  I’d been told repeatedly that my new husband was good in bed. During my training, it had been repeated so often and with such unquestioning authority that I’d come to resent the knowledge, but by no means did I doubt it.

  Even amidst all of that certainty, though, I was too nervous to be optimistic enough to think that would mean that my wedding night could be good for me.

  It wasn’t good. Not even a little bit.

  He came into the dark room and started undressing without a word. He was holding a drink, the dark liquid sloshed out of it as he set the tumbler less than gently onto the nightstand.

  I’d put on the beautiful lingerie that’d been lain out for me and gotten into bed, beneath the covers, hoping he wouldn’t turn on any lights. More to hide my vulnerable expression even than my body.

  I got half my wish. He turned on the light in the attached bathroom, but not in the room. It was still too much. I could make out his face in the dim light, so that meant he could see mine.

  One mercy, though. He barely spared a glance at my face.

  He undressed with swift, angry movements. I fixed my eyes on the canopy above the bed.

  He pulled back the covers and paused for a long time, never saying a word. I could feel his eyes on my body.

  I was trembling, and I knew that he had to see it. My fingers and lips always trembled the most. I bit my lips and clenched my fists.

  “So I suppose we’re doing this,” he said coldly.

  “I suppose so,” I replied, infusing all the calm I could shove into the words. “They would probably know if we didn’t.”

  I stole a glance at his face. His heavily lashed, stormy eyes flashed at me with all kinds of hostility. “Of course they will,” he drawled. “Didn’t they tell you? They’re planning to check the sheets in the morning, and if that weren’t enough, they’re sending a doctor to examine you, to make sure I’ve properly fucked you.”

  I hadn’t known that. They’d examined me beforehand—you didn’t pay millions for something like that on word alone—but I hadn’t known about the checkup after.

  “I’ve never had to fuck on command before,” he added bitterly.

  “Me neither,” I replied.

  “I would hope not. I hear my father paid a small fortune for a virgin bride.”

  I swallowed hard, my face turning red. This was even more humiliating than I’d envisioned. His antipathy, or at least this level of it, was unexpected. My voice was measured and composed as I replied, “He did.”

  “Well, let’s see if you’re worth it,” he said, something ugly growing in his voice.

  I tried to keep my breaths even and measured, but a few ragged puffs escaped in spite of me.

  “Spread your legs,” he ordered gruffly.

  Awkwardly, I did it. He cursed. My lips trembled. I dug my nails into my palms harder. The lingerie that had been laid out was an intricate white lace teddy that just happened to be missing a crotch. He wouldn’t even have to undress me to consummate our union. How terribly convenient was that?

  “My God, they didn’t miss a trick, did they?” His question was incredulous and rhetorical, and there was an unmistakable bite to it.

  They were the team that had transformed me into the perfect fake wife, and no, they hadn’t missed a trick.

  “They did not,” I agreed.

  Without another word he climbed on top of me, his elbows braced on either side of me, his hips slipping between my thighs.

  My eyes fixed on his throat as he lined his hardness up against my softness.

  “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice harsh. “It’s not too late to back out. You can still walk away without a scratch.”

  I nodded.

  It wasn’t enough.

  “I want to hear you say it,” he gritted out, his breath hot on my face. “Tell me that you are absolutely sure that this is what you want.”

  “I’m absolutely sure that this is what I want,” I replied, enunciating every syllable clearly. I was proud that my voice held bare
ly a quiver.

  I was so dry and tense, he had to spit on his hand and rub it on himself to ease inside. He looked so angry and put upon while he did this that I shut my eyes and kept them that way. I bit my lip until it bled as he made his way in. It hurt much more than I’d imagined, a sort of pointed, raw pain that just felt wrong.

  He reached the barrier inside of me, jarring against it. He didn’t stop, not at all. He didn’t so much as pause as he hit the barrier he’d paid so dearly for. Swearing roughly, he tore straight through it. The pain was sharp and sudden, a mean pinch deep inside.

  Without hesitation, he drove in to the root. It was too much to take. Too hard, too big, too deep. I was stretched to the limit. Beyond it. I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my lip as I worked through my discomfort.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gritted through his teeth. “I’m not going to last a minute.”

  Then he started fucking, pounding into me with relentless, focused precision.

  At least he was right. He didn’t last a minute. He cursed as he started to come. I opened my eyes and our startled, raw, vulnerable gazes clashed.

  I wished then that I could’ve known him just a bit better before the wedding. Not that any amount of superficial pain would make me regret the whole arrangement, but I just wished we could have warmed up a bit more first. Enough that I could’ve perhaps felt comfortable enough to ask him—not to stop, of course—but perhaps to slow down.

  It was mortifying to even think about, but I’d hoped he would in some way seduce me first. I hated myself for looking at it so emotionally, for even thinking something so pathetic, but I couldn’t push the thought away.

  Even at the height of the discomfort though, I didn’t consider actually asking for anything like that. That added humiliation would have been far worse to me than the pain. Pain came and went in life. Shame lasted.

  One blessing was that it was mercifully quick. He’d been right. He didn’t last a minute. About thirty seconds (I counted) after he fit himself inside me and begun to move with thick, heavy thrusts, he started coming, jerking in and out roughly, his breath hitting my ear with soft, energetic little puffs that quickly devolved into low, rough curses.