Page 12 of Vows in Name Only
“Good girl,” he purred, rubbing his thumb over that slightly fuller top lip. He pressed gently, testing the texture, the give. Her gasp bathed his skin, and before he could check it, he bowed his head over hers, their foreheads almost touching. “There it is. I want to see that fire you hide behind a purity we both know doesn’t suit you.”
She slid her arms between them, flattening her hands on his chest and shoving him away. He shifted backward, and the bitter twist of her lips telegraphed what they both knew—she’d slipped away only because he’d allowed it.
“You don’t know me,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
On another person, the gesture would’ve struck him as self-protective. But this wasn’t another person; it was Devon Cole, and as he’d learned, she was a master at portraying herself to be something she wasn’t.
“Ten minutes in my company doesn’t make you an expert on who I am. And don’t flatter yourself. You might think you’re this wonderful catch that I have to plot and scheme to trap, but you’re not the only one sacrificing. Contrary to what you believe, this isn’t all about you.”
“Prove it,” he said. “Call your father in here and put an end to this.” When she didn’t answer, didn’t move toward the door, his lips curved into a mocking, cynical twist. “So much for your pretty speech. Righteous indignation doesn’t become you, sweetheart.”
Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Cain, listen. I—”
“No,” he interrupted. Unbidden and without his conscious permission, his gaze raked down her body again. His blood pounded in his veins, his cock. She was untrustworthy, a liar, and he detested that his body could betray him. Could make him weak for her. The fear of that weakness coated his voice in ice as he met her wide eyes. “You listen. Because I want it crystal clear what you’re in for if you and your father go ahead with blackmailing me. Like I told your father, you’ll get my name, but here’s what you won’t have from me. Peace. Happiness. Fidelity. I refuse to curb my lifestyle for you. Your father might receive the perceived benefits of me as a son-in-law, but you’ll be the one to pay the price. Day in and day out. Consider that, Devon. And decide if it’s worth it. I promise you. It isn’t.”
He pivoted and strode from the room, unable to spend another moment staring into those bottomless eyes. Eyes that had darkened with an emotion he refused to attribute to her. Remorse.
No, she wasn’t capable of that.
And he wouldn’t fall for her act again. She’d duped him once, had made him believe. Had played him.
She wouldn’t receive a second chance.
Six
Devon stepped from the elevator onto the executive floor of Farrell International. Except for soft murmurings and the muted click-clack of fingers flying over keyboards, a silence not unlike a church permeated the expansive area. Her heels sank into the plush dark blue carpet, and on either side of her, artwork that wouldn’t have been out of place in a museum graced the dark wood walls. Wide, circular desks manned by professionally dressed men and women dotted the floor, guarding closed double doors that bore gold nameplates.
Power. Wealth. Before arriving here today, she hadn’t known they possessed a smell. Lemon verbena and fresh cedar. And something more elusive, indefinable.
It was that something that clung to Cain.
She’d inhaled it when he’d pressed against her in her father’s living room. When he’d surrounded her. Touched her. Let her feel the imprint of his thumb on her mouth. After he’d left, she’d swept her tongue over her lip, his caress a phantom weight on her flesh. And even though his hand had long left her, she tasted him. That same scent. Dark. Sensual.
Exciting.
Lord. She barely stopped herself from spreading her fingers over her stomach. What did it say about her that when he’d crowded her, glared at her with those wolf eyes—hell,threatened her—she hadn’t felt fear? No, it hadn’t been that emotion pumping through her blood, tingling her nipples into taut tips, swirling low in her belly...wetting the flesh between her legs.
It’d been lust.
Pure and simple.
Well, if anything that greedy and clawing could be pure.
She’d experienced desire before; she was a twenty-six-year-old woman, and she’d been with a few men. Even enjoyed sex. The connection, the intimacy, the physical bonding—she wasn’t ashamed to admit she took pleasure in the act. Especially when love was involved. But it was love that had her steeped in the middle of a year-long sexual drought.
Donald Harrison had been an associate quickly moving up the ranks of her father’s firm. When he’d approached her at a business event, she’d been flattered and attracted to him. Why not? With his dark blond hair, deep brown eyes and athletic build, he’d drawn many appreciative glances from women and men alike. But his interest had been solely focused on her. He’d showered her in compliments, gifts and affection. Her father hadn’t been thrilled about her relationship with a “mere associate,” but Devon hadn’t cared. She’d loved Donald. Could see them sharing a future together.
Which had made her discovery so shattering. He’d been using her only to climb the corporate ladder in her father’s company.
It’d been a year since her father had slid that file across the dining room table. He’d chosen breakfast to break the news to her. One task to get out of the way over coffee before his day started. He’d nonchalantly eaten a perfectly cooked omelet while she’d read about Donald’s fiancée, the house they’d just bought in Charlestown, even a picture of the engagement ring. And while her heart had been crushed, her father had lectured her about not being astute enough to recognize a “chaser” when she encountered one. About being too naive to recognize a man who desired her wealth and connections rather than her.
The irony didn’t elude her.
Then, she’d been the one used for upward mobility.
Now, she was doing the using. Not willingly. But in the end, it didn’t matter.
Not to her father. And certainly not to Cain Farrell.
