Modern Romance June 2019 Books 5-8. Andie Brock
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I will take control of her fortune, if only to knock your fingers off it. You are no longer needed, Luli.”
“I know that. Why do you think I’m doing this?” It came out with the fervent anger she had sublimated for years, emotions flaring so hot, her eyes burned.
“What do you want then?”
The things she wanted were so far out of reach, she had stopped thinking about them long ago. Love, security, a place where she belonged...those were luxuries. She had to focus on what she needed—a means to support herself.
“I want to move to one of the modeling capitals. New York, preferably.”
“You want to be a model?” He said it with such disparagement, she let her weight shift onto her back foot.
“You don’t think I’m pretty enough?” Panic edged in from all sides. This was all she had!
“Why haven’t you done it already? Singapore has a thriving fashion district.”
“Of Asian models. My look doesn’t fit this market. It’s not a profession where you walk in a door and get a job anyway. You have to build up to it, provide headshots and find an agent.”
He waved at the laptop. “You have options. Why haven’t you made inroads?” He sounded incredulous.
“Your grandmother couldn’t run her business without me. Not the way she liked to run it.” Her conscience grew heavy with the familial obligation she had alluded to a few minutes ago. “And she would never have forgiven me. She was furious with your mother for leaving without her permission.”
The sudden flash in his eyes told her that particular topic was off-limits.
She resisted the urge to tangle her hands together and wring them.
“I’ve been struggling these last few years, aware that she needed me, but also aware that the two advantages I possess—youth and looks—won’t be available to me forever. If I’m going to exploit them, it has to be now.”
“Don’t overlook that cunning brain of yours.”
“Much as I would prefer to be valued for my intellect, who will hire someone without accreditation or even a home and a computer of her own? The work I do for your grandmother isn’t transferable to anyone except you. And my use to you has a very short shelf life. I know that.”
She sighed, trying to keep hold of her composure as she continued.
“Her passing has forced me to secure my future as quickly and expediently as possible. Models with the right look can work anywhere. They’re paid well and agencies help with the travel and residency paperwork.”
“You just pointed out that no one walks into that career.”
“It depends who escorts me, doesn’t it?” She was way out on her wobbly limb now, grip slipping and the whole tree swaying in hurricane-force wind.
His brows went up. She’d watched those raptor wings lift like that several times, expressing his astonishment at the audacious mouse in his sharp-taloned foot, chittering no matter how hard he squeezed her.
He smiled faintly. “I wondered when we were going to get to an offer like that.”
The tip of his finger grazed her temple in a caress that tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
Any further words she might have found became tangled in her throat because his fingertip continued that nascent caress into the hollow beneath her ear, then stroked the soft flesh beneath her jawbone, tilting up her chin before she had realized she was obeying his silent command.
“Pleasant as that inducement promises to be...” His voice grated sensually across her nerve endings. “I won’t be persuaded to let you handle my grandmother’s money. Or me.”
He dropped his touch, sending a chill through her whole body.
* * *
Dragging his gaze off the temptation of her plump, shiny, parted lips took every ounce of Gabriel’s well-honed discipline. He controlled all that he did because he controlled himself. Giving in to impulse, especially the sexual kind, was juvenile.
But the flare of yearning and disappointment in his eyes was almost his undoing.
“I wasn’t...um...trying to offer s-sex for—”
“The stutter is a nice touch. Most men go crazy for the helpless damsel act. Good on you for trying it.” It was her first show of vulnerability amid a nerves-of-steel performance. He wasn’t buying it, though. “I’m impervious.”
Mostly. His hands itched to drag her against his chest, not only because he wanted to do things to her—carnal, wicked things—but because the tremble in her lashes tugged at something in him. Against his better judgment, he felt an urge to shelter her. Reassure her.
She didn’t argue or stammer out more protestations. There might have been a glimmer of injury behind her eyes, but it was gone so quickly, he knew it was only a strategy that was briefly considered before she discarded it. Within seconds, she returned to her true, iron-butterfly persona.
“Sex is firmly off the table?” Her tone gave him the sense he was missing something.
“I never force sex and I never pay for it. I am, however, open to enjoying it anywhere, including on tables.”
“I’m willing to offer other acts that might be of value to you, then. Marriage, for instance.”
“You want me to marry you? I honestly didn’t think you could astound me further. Not my first offer. Thank you, but no.” He rejected her firmly even as a voice in the back of his brain reminded that he would have to begin thinking of marriage. Was he going to leave his fortune to those idiot cousins of his father’s?
He brushed that aside, needing all his concentration to deal with this surprisingly daring and skillful con woman. Especially when she seemed genuinely taken aback by his words.
“I don’t want to marry you. You’re far too young,” she said, as if the idea was ridiculous.
“I stand corrected,” he drawled. “I am further astounded.”
“I would make an excellent trophy wife. I’m open to considering marriage to a man of advanced years at your direction, provided I’m granted residency in a major center like New York or London.”
“You want to marry someone twice your age?”
“Three at least.” She frowned. “I’m only twenty-two.”
“Now you’re trying too hard.” He couldn’t help it. He laughed openly.
“Marrying an older man worked out well for your grandmother. She was widowed at thirty.”
“They say emulation is the sincerest form of flattery.” He folded his arms. “But I am not a pimp. Old men may find their trophy wives without my assistance.” The idea of lecherous, gnarled hands claiming those curves revolted him to the point of violent rage.
She looked to the window. There might have been a sheen on her eyes and a pout in her lips as she ran out of gambits, but he felt no triumph. He was captivated by the sheer perfection in her exquisite profile, graceful as a cameo carved into ivory.
She was so remote and untouchable in that moment, his abdomen clenched with craving for something he couldn’t articulate.
“Very well.” She moved to the laptop and glanced at him. “I’ll undo everything I’ve done if I have your word it will square my debt with your grandmother and I’ll be free to go. No police.”
He heard the defeat in her tone and experienced loss, even though he had won. He wasn’t ready for this game to end, but he made himself nod agreement.
She touched the tip of her finger to the sensor.
“Just