One Night: Sensual Bargains: Nine Months to Redeem Him / A Deal with Benefits / After Hours with Her Ex. Jennie Lucas
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therapy isn’t an all-day kind of endeavor. We’d work together for an hour a day, maybe three at most. Not twelve...” I tilted my head. “What is your work?”
“I’m CEO of a global financial firm based in London. I’m currently on leave but a sizeable amount of work from my home office is still required. I’ll need you available to me day or night, whenever I want you. I need you to be available for my therapy without question and without notice.”
Dead silence followed, with only the crackling of the fire. Caesar the Sheepdog yawned.
I stared at Edward. “It’s a completely unreasonable demand.”
“Completely,” he agreed.
“It would make me your virtual slave for months, possibly, at your beck and call, with no life of my own.”
“Yes.”
Considering the mess I’d made of my life myself, maybe that wouldn’t be all bad. I looked at his leg, propped up on the stool. “Will you quit on me when it gets difficult?”
His shoulders stiffened. Putting his foot down on the floor, he used one hand to steady himself on the back of the chair, and slowly rose to his feet. He stood in front of me, and my head tilted back to look him in the eye. He was a foot taller. I felt how he towered over me, felt the power of his body like a broad shadow over my own.
“Will you?” he said softly.
I shook my head, looking away as I mumbled, “As long as you don’t flirt with me.”
“You have nothing to fear. My taste doesn’t run to idealistic, frightened young virgins.”
I whirled back to face him. “How did you—”
“I know women.” His eyes were mocking as he looked down at me. He bared his teeth in a smile that glinted in the firelight. “I’ve had my share. One-night stands, weekend affairs—that is more my line. Sex without complications. That is how I play.”
“Surely not since your accident—”
“I had a woman here last night.” He gave his one-shouldered shrug. “An acquaintance of mine, a French lingerie model came down from London—we shared a bottle of wine and then we... But Miss Maywood, you look bewildered. I guessed you were a virgin but I expected you’d at least have some experience. Should I explain how it works?”
My face was probably the color of a tomato. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. With your injury...”
“It’s not difficult,” he said huskily, looking down at me. “She sat on top of me. I didn’t even have to move from my chair. I could draw you a diagram, if you like.”
“N-no,” I breathed. He was so close. I could almost feel the heat from his skin, the power from his body. He was right, I didn’t have much experience but even I could see that this man was dangerous to women. Even idealistic young virgins like me.
Edward St. Cyr was the kind of man who would break your heart without much bothering about it. Casually cruel, like a cat toying with a mouse.
“So you agree to the terms?”
Hesitantly, I nodded. He took my hand. I nearly gasped as I felt the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his palm against mine. A current of electricity went through me. My lips parted.
“Good,” he said softly. We were so close, I smelled his breath, warm and sweet—like liquor. I saw his bloodshot eyes. And I realized, for the first time, that he was slightly drunk.
A half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey was on the table by his chair, beside a short glass. Dropping his hand, I snatched them up. “But if I’m going to stay and be on call for you every hour of the day, you’re going to commit as well. No more of this.”
His dark eyebrow raised. “It’s medicinal.”
I didn’t change my tone. “No drugs of any kind, except, if you’re very nice to me, coffee in the morning. And no more late nights with lingerie models.”
Edward smiled. “That’s fine.”
“Or anyone else!” I added sharply.
He scowled, folding his arms like a sulky boy. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “So that makes two of us.”
“But if you take away all my toys, Diana,” he looked me over, “what else will I have to play with?”
My cheeks burned at his deliberately insulting glance. “You’ll have hard work,” I said crisply, “and lots of it.”
Edward leaned back, his handsome face cold. “You still yearn for Jason Black.”
The cruelty of his words hit me like a blow. With an intake of breath, I looked towards the window at the deepening night. I saw my plain reflection in the glass, against the red-orange glow of the fire.
“Yes,” I whispered, and was proud my voice held steady.
“You lo-ove him,” he said mockingly.
My throat choked. Madison and Jason were probably making love right now, in their elegant suite at a five-star Parisian hotel. I said in a small voice, “I don’t want to love him anymore.”
“But you do.” He snorted, looking over me with contemptuous eyes. “You’ll probably forgive that stepsister of yours, too.”
“I love them.” I sounded ashamed. And I was. What kind of idiot loves people who don’t love her back? My teeth chattered. “People...can’t choose who they l-love.”
“My God. Just look at you.” Edward stared at me for a long moment. “Even now, you won’t say a word against them. What a woman.”
Silence fell. The wind howled outside, shaking the leaded glass in the thick gray stone.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he said quietly. “You can choose who you love. Very easily.”
“How?”
“By loving no one.”
At those breathtakingly cynical words, I looked at his powerful, injured body. The hard jaw, the icy blue eyes. Edward St. Cyr was the master of Penryth Hall, handsome and wealthy beyond imagining.
He was also damaged. And not just his body.
“You’ve had your heart broken too,” I whispered, searching his gaze. “Haven’t you?”
Edward looked me over in a way that caused my body to flash with heat. He took a step closer, and his muscular, powerful body towered over me in every direction.
“Perhaps that’s the real reason I wanted you here,” he murmured. “Perhaps we are kindred spirits, you and I. Perhaps we can—” he brushed back a tendril of my hair “—heal each other in every way....”
Edward pulled closer to me. I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin and shivered all over. My heart was beating frantically. He started to lower his head toward mine.
Then I saw the sardonic twist of his lips.
Putting my hands on his chest—on his hard, muscular, delicious chest, warm through his shirt—I said, “Stop it.”
“No?” Taking a step back, laughing, he mocked me with my earlier words. “Too soon?”
“You are a jerk,” I choked out.
He shrugged his one-shoulder shrug. “Can’t blame me for trying. You seem so naïve, like you’d believe any line a man told you.” He considered me. “Kind of amazing you’re still a virgin.”
Outrage filled me, and new humiliation. “You claim you’re desperate to be healed—”
“I never used the word desperate.”