Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(29)

What the hell are you scheming about now?





28





India





Instead of guiding me to my hotel room to pack my bag and then taking me to the helipad, Superman and Spiderman lead me out of the back entrance of the casino as Spiderman returns his phone to his pocket.

“What’s going on?” I ask as the door opens to reveal a black SUV. “Why aren’t we taking the helicopter?” All my uneasy feelings rise to the surface as I stare at the unknown vehicle.

“We had a slight mechanical issue with the helicopter during refueling,” Spiderman says. “The mechanic can’t check it for several hours. Mr. Forge made other arrangements to get you home.”

The mention of my husband calms my nerves a little. Regardless of whether I trust him, I don’t believe he would put me in danger.

“How are we getting home?” I ask as Superman opens the door for me.

“Mr. Forge has a boat at the marina here. It won’t be as quick as the chopper flight, but you’ll be home as fast as possible.”

I slide into the middle seat of the SUV, mulling over the last-minute complications, and I can’t help but wonder if Bastien or Belevich are involved.

“Was the chopper tampered with?” I ask as Batman exits the casino, my bag in hand.

“No, ma’am. There’s no sign of anything like that,” Superman replies. “We could fly, but Mr. Forge’s instructions were not to take any chances with your safety.”

Warmth curls in my chest at his statement. “I hope you told Mr. Forge that I’m coming back with a big fat bag of money too.”

Superman smiles. “I’ll let you tell him that, ma’am.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go.”





A few hours later, someone touches my arm.

“You’re home,” a deep voice whispers, interrupting my dream.

And it was a good dream too. One where a pirate boarded my ship, carried me off, and claimed me as his. I want to get back to it.

“Tired. Let me sleep.”

“All right, Ace. You sleep.”





29





Forge





I lift my wife into my arms and carry her off the boat and up to the house. She’s completely out, and curls against me like there’s no question that I’ll carry her where she needs to go and get her there safely.

“You’re falling in love with my daughter.”

I can’t stop thinking about the Russian’s claim. I’ve never been in love. Never had an interest in it. But now, I can’t help but wonder if what I’m feeling about India is more than possessiveness and protectiveness.

It doesn’t matter.

But the Russian . . . he seemed to think it did.

Regardless, now isn’t the time to worry about it.

When we reach the house, Bates holds up a duffel bag. “What would you like me to do with this one, sir?”

“What’s in it?”

“Your wife’s winnings.”

A smile curves my lips. “Put it on my desk. I’ll lock it in the safe for her.”

“Yes, sir.” He turns to leave and then pauses. “Debrief in the morning, sir?”

I look down at the sleeping woman in my arms. “Yes. Everything else can wait.”

He gives me another nod and moves toward my office.

I enter the bedroom and lay Indy down on her side of the bed. It’s the one she’s claimed, and regardless of the fact that it was my preferred side, I let her keep it.

That doesn’t mean I’m in love with her.

Indy flops to her side, struggling against the fabric of the dress.

Considering how it clings to her body like a second skin, I can imagine why she’d want to be free. The zipper starts at the top of her back, and I slide it down until the material loosens. Carefully, I roll the dress down her body, only to realize she wore nothing beneath it.

When I free her legs, she’s completely and beautifully naked. More than anything, I want to flip her onto her back and bury myself between her legs, fucking us both into oblivion, where I no longer have the brainpower to consider her father’s words.

But I don’t.

I reach for the covers to tuck her in and back away slowly.





30





India





Light streams in from open curtains, waking me from the final and most delicious dream I’ve had all night.

My entire body tenses with panic for a moment when I remember I fell asleep on a boat, but nothing’s rocking anymore.

Warmth radiates from a massive heat source beside me. A heavy arm hangs over my side, and morning wood presses against my ass.

I glance over my shoulder and bite down on my lip when I see the mess of dark hair shielding Forge’s face. Then I remember the game in Mallorca. I brought home a little under $2.5 million. Not bad for a night’s work.

I shift, not sure if I want to press against him or pull away, and Forge’s erection nestles into the crack of my ass. My naked ass.

How . . . ? The hand against my stomach stiffens and pulls me closer.

I give in to the devil riding my shoulder and rock backward, pressing harder against him.