Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(21)

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Tough shit. Because I’ve got a game, and I’m gonna play it and win, which means I need a million in cash from you right now. Then I’ll get out of your way, and you can go about your business.”

I shake my head slowly. “That’s not going to work for me, India.”





19





India





“What do you mean, that won’t work for you?” My voice shoots up an octave, even though I promised myself I’d be assertive and calm and professional in order to secure what I want before getting the hell out of his presence, and I’m already losing the battle.

“We also neglected to discuss another very important point in our relationship.” Forge uncrosses his legs and leans forward, matching my posture with both elbows on the desk. “Because I very much want to bother you, especially when you walk into my office with your attitude on high and that dress taunting me.”

I look down at the green T-shirt dress I’m wearing with its ruched sides that help camouflage all my imperfections.

“Come here,” he says, and I meet his serious gray stare.

“What? Why?”

Forge pushes away from the desk, spreads his legs, and points to the spot between them. “You want your million dollars? Come stand right here.”

It’s a trap. I already know it.

I plant my feet on the floor and grip the arms of the chair. “That’s not how this works. This isn’t a negotiation. This is you giving me what you owe me.”

The creases around his eyes deepen like he’s amused. “Everything in life is a negotiation.”

My lips pinch together. I don’t want to give in, because at least with this massive wooden desk between us, I have an illusion of safety and distance. Proximity, I’ve learned, is my downfall when it comes to this enigmatic man I married.

“No.”

He shrugs. “Fine. Good luck sitting a game with no stake.”

“You’re determined to make me hate you, aren’t you?”

Something unreadable flashes across his features as he lifts his chin higher, like a goddamned pasha on a throne, waiting for the newest member of his harem to be introduced.

No, like a pirate king awaiting the presentation of the wenches he claims as his own booty.

No, Indy. Stop. No thinking about booty. The memories of how hard I came with his finger in my previously virgin ass rise to the surface, and my thighs tense of their own volition.

“Stubborn woman. You don’t know how to bend, do you?” Forge’s deep voice, normally rough, smooths into silk and wraps around me like a rope, tugging on my subconscious to bring me closer to doing his bidding.

“You don’t want me to bend,” I say. “You want a mindless doll that’ll do whatever you say.”

A light that’s equally predatory and excited brightens Forge’s gray eyes. “If I wanted blind obedience, I could have any number of women here within fifteen minutes who wouldn’t question my orders.”

I bare my teeth. “You agreed to no sharing.”

His lips curve up with a knowing smile. “I did, indeed. And I don’t want another woman. You lied to me when you claimed to be a lousy lay. I want to fuck you again, India, and I’m willing to make a deal so we both get what we want.”

I shoot out of my chair. “I’m not a whore.”

“We’ve already covered that. Now, come here if you want to leave this island—at all—in the next thirty days.”

Rage propels me around the desk. “You can’t fucking keep me here against my will. I—”

Whatever I was about to say is cut off when Forge’s hands wrap around my hips and yank me off-balance to land over his knees.

“Hey!” I screech, but his palm lands on my ass with a stinging strike.

“You’ve got an attitude that makes my dick as hard as a rock.”

“Go fuck yourself—”

Another swat lands on my other cheek, and the burn sends heat and wetness blooming between my legs.

I should hate his high-handed behavior. I should want to murder him, but my body doesn’t care about should. It only knows how damn good it feels. My hips arch against my will, and I lift, seeking the next strike from his hand.

“Fuck, you tempt me, India.”

Another strike lands, and then another. I can’t help but rock against him, seeking the contact on my clit that it’ll take to get me off. Forge’s wide hand strokes over the fabric of my dress, caressing where he spanked, and all my nerve endings light up.

I want to beg him to keep going, push up my dress, and get me off, but my stubbornness keeps me silent.

“This ass . . .” Forge cups my burning cheek and squeezes. “It belongs to me. You sit at a table and play a game, you do it knowing that you come home to me when you’re done. Do you understand?”

I push against his thighs again, and instead of keeping me deliciously trapped, he helps me rise to my feet beside him.

He’s still a fucking caveman.

“If you’re going to work a girl up, the least you can do is finish her off.”

He shakes his head. “No. I want you thinking about exactly what you want from me, even if you won’t admit it.”