Page 7 of It Takes a Thief
“Would you rather be paid in jewels? Property?”
How about sex?
I give my head a hard shake. “Stop,” I order, raising my hand. And I’m not sure if I’m talking to her or myself. I need to get my shit together here.
I focus fully on her. “First, you’re a job.” I don’t mean to sound so cold, and her pretty face falls then hardens.
“Thank you for reminding me,” she snaps.
“You know what I mean. Your parents want me to keep you safe, and that’s what I intend to do. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. And second, you apparently already have a fiancé.”
“Jeffrey isn’t my fiancé, thank goodness.”
“Then what is he?”
“He’s nobody.” She waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Most of the time, I think he’s more interested in courting my parents than me.”
“Well, I have zero interest in marriage,” I gruffly inform her.
“It doesn’t matter because we’re not really getting married. You’d be myfakefiancé for a certain amount of time. Eventually, we’d go our separate ways.”
“And you’d be right back to square one.”
“No, because it would help buy me time.”
I pull back, eyes narrowing. “Oh, so while we’re engaged, you plan to go out and meet other men?” I can’t help my jealous tone. And I’m not sure which of us it surprises more. But the idea of her calling me her fiancé then fucking around behind my back isn’t something I’d ever agree to. Not in a million years.
“I’ll give you an obscene amount of money,” she promises.
A muscle twitches in my cheek, but I shake my head no. Eight or ten years ago, I would’ve jumped at her offer. Back when I was struggling to make ends meet and fighting underground for the big pot of prize money at the end of the rainbow. But now? Now I do what I want, and my decisions aren’t based on or motivated by money. I’ve got plenty stashed away to keep me comfortable for the rest of my days.
I shake my head then smirk when a pretty little curse flies out of Her Royal Highness’s delicate mouth.Fuck. Hearing her swear makes me hard. I’m not sure why it’s such a turn on, but a flood of desire washes over me.
“You have a girlfriend.” Not a question, a statement.
“No, I don’t,” I respond easily.
Her brow furrows. “So, you’re saying you don’t find me attractive.”
“Never said that.” The truth is I find her far too appealing—dangerously so—and I’d like nothing more than to roll her onto her back and slide my hands under her dress.
“Dammit, then what’s the problem?” she cries. It’s the first time I’ve seen her long hair down, and the breeze catches it, whipping it up around her face. She looks fucking magnificent, all fiery, and exuding an irresistible incandescence. “I offer money, jewels, property, whatever you want, and you turn me down.”
I sit back, amused by her outburst. “Are you having a temper tantrum, Princess? Trying to convince me you really are a brat?”
In response, her arms cross and she huffs out a breath. “Don’t you dare goad me. If you won’t agree, then maybe I can find someone else who will.”
A clear threat. I don’t fucking appreciate threats.
“You’re drama,” I say simply. “I don’t do drama in any way, shape or form. It’s one of my rules.”
“Rules?” She quirks a brow. “What’re you talking about?”
“I have three very specific rules when it comes to women.”
She tilts her head, giving me her full attention. Getting involved with Merritt Fontaine would smash all three of my rules to smithereens. Hence why I need to keep her at arm’s—and dick’s—length.
“Well? What are they?”
