Page 75 of Necessary Cruelty

I try to picture her in some cupcake-shaped wedding dress made with five times as much fabric as it needs. And she won’t just be in a dress she hates, but standing up in front of hundreds of people who will be studying every inch of her for something to criticize.

It would be excruciating.

She seems nervous just sitting in the damn car with me.

I wonder if she’s thinking about what it felt like to have my hands up her skirt while she was grinding on my dick.

I know I am.

And I bet she’s trying to figure out whether I’ll be sneaking into her room tonight, silent as a ghost but with the intent of something much more physical than spiritual.

Zaya hesitates as she gets out of the car, standing there with the door still open. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I give her a polite smile, even as I resist the urge to grab her arm and yank her across my lap.

“Sure thing.”

She needs to get that sweet ass inside the house so I can set the plans that have been percolating in my brain the entire way home into motion. We negotiated our terms, and I plan to follow them to the letter.

But that means I’m running out of time to get things set up before I burst like a half-corked, furiously shaken champagne bottle.

Confusion twists her features and she drums her fingers on the roof of my car. “Alright, then.”

I love keeping her confused, more than I love almost anything else. She wants me to tell her what to expect next, but I won’t do it. Sure, I could go in after her and finally relieve the tension that has been building between us for days.

The wait is making both of us edgy and overly full with pressure. We’re balloons blown up too far that are moments from popping.

“I’ll watch to make sure you get inside okay.”

She frowns, then seems to realize she’s still standing on the sidewalk staring at me. Her blush is the prettiest shade of burnished rose gold.

As she walks away, I lean back against the window behind me so she won’t see the barely contained laughter on my face.

I know the look of someone who is burning up when I see it.

Zaya seems to realize that her hesitation says more than words ever could and hurries up the grassy embankment to her house. The car door slams hard enough to shake the car on its axels as she whips away. I watch her stomp up the wooden steps to her porch and unlock the door. It’s not a surprise when she doesn’t look back.

She’s angry. But she has no idea how much I want to chase her into the house and fulfill sexual fantasies I didn’t even know I had before I met her. The anticipation is killing us both, but I refuse to give in until the fire burning me stokes even higher in her.

I’m done with the full frontal assaults. Those are precisely what she expects from me. The name of the game is seduction, and I plan to win it.

Zaya will be on her knees and begging me before we’re done.

Her face flashes in the small inset window after she locks the door, expression still confused and maybe even a little hurt.

I shouldn’t get so much pleasure out of keeping her off balance, but I really do.

Whistling, I feel practically giddy as I put the Maserati in gear and ease out into the street. I can only hope Zaya will spend the next few hours stewing in repressed sexual need and crazed desire.

I’ll be right there with her.

The wait is necessary. There are more than a few things on my to-do list and very little time to get them done. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I’m already connecting with the receptionist for a gorgeous little bed and breakfast a few hours up the coast. When I’m done with that, the next call will be to good old Uncle West to ask for a simple prenuptial agreement that will result in my father slowly dismembering me if I don’t get it signed.

Soon, there won’t be anything else standing in our way.

The future Mrs. Vin Cortland has no idea what’s coming for her.

---