Page 40 of Cruel Heir

“We’re at an impasse, then.” Once again, there’s a flicker ofsomething almost like disappointment on his face, something that could be regret.

The main course is duck breast with a cherry sauce, paired with garlic potatoes and roasted vegetables. “Maybe you should be planning the next dinner party,” I tease before I can stop myself, taking a bite of the exquisitely flavored meal.

“You did an excellent job with the last one.” Once again, he sounds utterly sincere, and it makes me want to scream. I feel like I’m going insane, like I’m hating a man who genuinely wants to try to make this marriage work.How can I think that, when he forced me into it?When he wants my family gone?I can feel the two parts of myself separating more than ever, and it makes me feel more than a little crazy.

The worst part is that I’m no longer even sure that he’s doing so on purpose. A part of me thinks that he’s not—that he really is trying to find a way to make this work between us.

When we’ve finished the main course, Andre stands, gesturing towards the door. “I have a little more planned for the evening,” he says, looking at me in a way that almost seems to have a flicker of nervousness in it—as if hewantsme to like what he has planned next. “Come with me?”

It sounds like a question, not an order. It makes me wonder if I could say no.

But I don’t. I follow him as he leads me from the dining room to the smaller living room, and I see that someone has already lit a fire in the fireplace. There’s dessert laid out on the coffee table—tiramisu, it looks like—and a bottle of port with a small glass.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer tea or something else, hot chocolate maybe. Let me know, and I’ll call for it.”

I look at him, surprised. “Tea sounds lovely. Something with vanilla flavors, maybe?”

“Of course.” Andre goes to call the kitchen, and I sit down, feeling faintly overwhelmed. If anyone else had done all of this, I would have been charmed by it. I still very nearly am. I don’t understand what it is that he wants to accomplish—what he thinks will change.

Surely he doesn’t think he can win me over with one night?

But the problem is that it isn’t only one night. It’s a myriad of small things, beginning with the desire he made me feel, compounding with the moments when I’ve wondered if he felt something more for me than just lust and a desire to exact vengeance through me. The flowers, the notes, the gifts—the moments when I’ve seen something in his face or heard a slight change in his voice that makes me think I might not be seeing the complete picture.

Andre returns, coming to sit next to me. He pours himself a glass of port, leaning back against the soft sofa, looking over at me. “We haven’t done this before,” he observes, taking a sip. “I thought it might be nice. An evening together.” There’s something almost like hesitation in his voice, and I can’t read his expression. I know I shouldn’t care. But a small part of me does.

“I’ve come in here quite a bit.” I look at the fire, tucking my feet underneath myself. I hear the door open as a maid walks in, carrying a tray with a teapot on it, a small china cup, and cream and honey. “It’s a nice place to read at night. I enjoy the fire. I’ve always liked this time of year.”

“It’s nicer here.” Andre picks up one of the small china plates with a piece of tiramisu on it, taking a bite. “It’s frigid in Chicago. The wind cuts right through you—sometimes, there’s snow all the way into May. You might change your mind then.”

“Do you want to go back?” I feel a spark of fear, wondering if he plans to take me there. I know my father has contacts there, too; it wouldn’t keep him from getting to me—but it feels impossibly far away. An ocean from here.

“Maybe eventually. My family is there, but I’m not especially close to them. My sister is married; she’s in Boston now. Outside of it, actually—last I heard, her new husband lives in some old mansion in Rhode Island.” Andre makes a face. “Not to my taste.”

“I don’t think it would be to mine, either.”

He smiles, setting down his plate and taking another sip of his port. “Something else we agree on, then.”

The intimacy of it rattles me—and even more so when he sets hisglass down, leaning in to gently press his hand to my cheek as his mouth finds its way to mine. The kiss is soft, almost tender, and my hand starts to shake, almost spilling my tea before he gently takes it out of my hand and sets it aside on the table.

His mouth slants over mine, his tongue caressing my lower lip, and my mouth opens for him, letting him slip inside. His hand is on my thigh, sliding upwards, but it just rests there for a moment, not going further. The lust, the urgency, the devouring anger that I usually feel from him isn’t there. It’s as if he wants to keep the bubble of intimacy that the night has shrouded us in from bursting, and I find that despite myself, I want that too.

“You look beautiful in this.” He takes the silky skirt of my dress between two fingers, rubbing it back and forth. “It was hard to keep my hands off of you all through dinner.”

“You did an admirable job.”

Andre chuckles, kissing me again. “I did, didn’t I?”

I’m flirting with him.The thought passes through my mind, pushing at the edges of my consciousness as if to warn me away from what’s happening, but I feel as if I can’t stop. Andre has always been able to arouse me, but being touched gently feels altogether different, and I want more of it. His touches are featherlight as he caresses my thigh, my cheek, kissing me with a lingering tenderness that makes me ache. I want him, and I can’t stop myself from wanting him—but I also want more ofthis.

His hand goes to my waist, and I lean into the kiss, deepening it despite myself. I hear him groan in response and feel his hand on my waist tighten, urgency filling his touch. For a moment, I think he’s going to lay me back on the couch, but instead, he suddenly stands, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.

“What are you—” I start to say, but he just smirks lightly, leading me towards the fireplace.

“This might be a bit cheesy,” Andre says, leaning in to kiss me again. “But I’ve always wanted to do this.”

I’m so startled that I don’t resist when he urges me down onto the rug in front of the fireplace. He lays me back, starting to undo thebuttons of his shirt with one hand as he kisses me, his fingers winding through my silky hair as he sucks my lower lip between his.This is a game,I think to myself as he discards his shirt, his hands pushing aside the fabric of my skirt as his fingers slide up my inner thigh.This is a trick. A trap. A way to make me let down my guard.

But I’m no longer so sure. It feels genuine. His desire feels genuine. The way he kisses me feels real, the way his hands explore me, eager and gentle all at once. He slides my panties down my thighs, discarding them to one side as he trails kisses down my throat, and I can feel how wet I am already. My mind might be questioning everything, but my body has long stopped wondering.

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