Page 62 of Wicked Pursuit

He grasped my hand, but instead of shaking it, he tugged it up to his mouth and planted a gentle kiss between my knuckles. His lips caressed my skin, every bit as soft as I’d imagined, but it was the light brush of his lip ring that made me shiver.

This was bad. This was really bad. I had absolutely no chance of keeping my wits about me with this guy.

I wanted to run from the room instead of facing him, but I fell back on a lifetime of training.Be polite. Do as you’re told. Don’t make a fuss.

“So we meet again. Drink?” I tried to sound relaxed.

“Whatever you’re having.”

I was still freaking out, but my hands were steady. I went through the ritual of making the drinks: the measured gin, ice and a shaker, a perfect pour into a chilled glass, olives perched daintily on the rim. It gave me a moment to compose myself, to feel back in control.

He watched my every move. “A martini? I would’ve pegged you for a champagne girl.”

His eyes scanned my hair to my makeup to my gown, seeing me for the first time in the bright lighting. It was decidedly not a compliment.

“Champagne gives me a headache.” I smiled prettily through gritted teeth as I passed him one of the glasses.

He narrowed his eyes. “Drop the act.”

“What act?” I took a drink to stop from swearing at him again.

“Trying to pretend you’re a docile kitten when you were ready to shoot me an hour ago. It makes me want to wrap my fist in your hair and make a mess of that lipstick like I should’ve done earlier.”

Do it.

I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about messing it up with kisses. I was equally sure that getting on my knees right here in the Kennedy Room wasn’t exactly what Daddy had in mind, but if this guy had snapped his fingers in that instant, I might’ve done it.

And I hated him for it.

I lifted the toothpick from the rim of my glass and slid an olive off with my teeth, watching him watching me.

A challenge glimmered in his eyes.

I raised my chin.

“I thought this meeting was with your father,” he said with a smirk that would’ve made Lestat blush. “You’re the one he sends to do his dirty work?”

Motherfucker. He didn’t even need to emphasize the worddirtyfor the innuendo to roll off his tongue. He knew exactly why I was there.

“If you’d prefer to marry him, I’d be happy to retrieve him for you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Seduce him, Juliet. Don’t be a bitch to him.

Even his laughter sounded predatory, low and rumbling, somewhere between a warning and an invitation. “Based on your little performance in the boathouse, marriage isn’t what you want.” I opened my mouth to deny it, desperate for that not to get back to my father, but he cut me off. “Don’t bullshit me, Juliet. Why are you doing this?”

I blinked. “Because my father told me to.”

He stalked closer, placing a hand on each side of the bar next to my shoulders, effectively trapping me there. “Do you always do as you’re told?”

My heart thundered at his closeness. This wasn’t polite or proper, but instead of wanting to push him away, I wanted to pull him closer, to feel the hard planes I knew were hidden beneath his perfectly tailored tux.

I managed to keep my voice steady and aloof. “Not always. As you witnessed earlier.” I pressed my lips together, frustrated he’d seen me so vulnerable. “But most of the time.”

He leaned closer, almost letting our bodies touch. “What about when you belong to another man? Will you still be obedient to your father then?”

I had to pause. Some naive part of my brain had assumed my father’s interests would always align with my future husband’s, so it wasn’t something I’d ever considered before.

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