Page 13 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)

Lyra

The Contract

W hoever put sitting on Carver Roland’s bed and waiting for him like his personal slave on my bingo card for this year had another thing comin’.

No one made me their bitch. I knew how to work the men I’d encountered, making sure I always had the upper hand. But there was no upper hand with Carver—all hands were his.

Above, below… inside, like his tongue on—

My thighs clenched together as I stared at the bag I’d dumped and spread all over the bed. I’d been waiting for ten minutes now, and he still hadn’t shown up. I’d even listened to the occasional shoutin’ and hollerin’ through the windows, but even that quieted.

So where the fuck—

The bedroom door swung open, and Carver’s tall frame and powerful build filled the space. He’d removed his shirt, the fabric now hanging from the top edge of his jeans.

My throat turned dry as he stepped in and let the door click shut softly behind him. His eyes started at my feet, then slowly, inch by inch, he ate me up like he had this morning in the kitchen. I crossed my arms and waited.

“Done now?”

He ignored me and walked up to the windows, tossing the curtain to the side as he jiggled on the latch.

“You didn’t try to run?”

I scoffed in reply.

He stepped back, then scanned the bed, a glimmer now showing in those eyes I used to dream about.

Now I just wanted to claw at them.

“This what you bought with my card?” He tsked and raised one of the bras I’d purchased as my jaw stiffened. “You expect me to be pissed about you buyin’ this?”

I crossed my arms harder and jerked my attention away from him, glaring at the desk, which also seemed tampered with since I’d left the room this morning. He continued, “Or was it jealousy you sought?”

My teeth clenched, and my gaze flitted to the ceiling. “As strategic as ever, I see. The glass was a nice touch.” He raised his hand, which my eyes stupidly jumped to. He smirked. “Also found your cute little note, Ly. Love the threatening undertones.”

“It was clearly a threat, asshole.”

“Ah, she speaks.” He circled around to face me, pulling his shirt from his jeans and tossing it over his shoulder. Carver placed his arms on either side of me, caging me in as he prowled forward.

“What do you want?” I spat and leaned back, my elbows digging into the bed.

He crooked a finger, latching onto several strands of hair. “For one, I want you to dye your hair back.”

My eyes narrowed on him. “You don’t control what the hell I do.”

“And two,” he continued, acting as if I’d said nothing as he pushed back and walked up to his desk. A few seconds later, he was pulling the chair out. “Sit.”

“No.”

He clicked a pen. “I wasn’t askin’.”

“Maybe you should.”

He let out a sigh and tapped the pen vigorously on the wooden desk. “You don’t deserve—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I deserve.” My fingertips bit into the blanket. “What I deserve is to know what the fuck I’m doin’ here. Why make me stay when I could leave and make this easier for the both of us?”

Carver assessed me—not my body, but my face. “Fine.” He dropped the pen on the papers and leaned back on the desk, crossing his ankles. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Take your proposition and shove it right up your ass.”

“It involves money.”

My back straightened. “I’m listening.” He folded his arms over his defined pecs, and I traced the lines of tattoos that dotted his upper body. He shifted when he noticed, swapping one arm over the other. After a few long beats of silence, I circled my hand in the air. “This is when you—”

“Marry me.”

“No. I—wait, what?”

“You heard me, Ly.”

I turned and started rapidly bagging up the lingerie sprawled over his bed. This is not happening, this is not—

“Stop.”

I froze with several garments in my tight fist. Red fizzled from my vision long enough for me to see his eyes flick to my knee, and that’s when anger sprawled like the Devil himself was inhabiting my body. I quickly gathered more pieces and threw them at him, then darted for the door.

My heart was pounding as I tried to turn the handle, then realized he must’ve locked it because it wasn’t fucking moving. Instead of messing with the lock, I gave up and slid my back down the length of the door, folding in on myself.

“Done yet?”

I lifted my head, wishing I’d bought something heavy so I could throw it at his head—a paperweight, or a horseshoe. That would have given me more luck, perhaps. “Did that pot finally get to your head? Why the hell would you think I’d marry you?”

“I’ll pay.”

I breathed out long and hard as my arms fell limply over my bent knees. “Continue.”

“It’s simple. You agree to marry me, and in return, I’ll pay you. Once the arrangement is over, that is.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Why on earth”—I glanced past my spread fingers at him, seeing a flash of the Carver I used to know, and sighed—“How long?”

A quick smirk tilted his lips. He lifted the pen and tapped it on the stack of papers. “It’s all right here.”

“What’s in it for you?”

His eyes turned to fine slits. “You’re not the only one who could use the money.”

I didn’t shift my attention from him. “And how much?”

His jaw ticked. “Ten thousand.”

I laughed and stood back up, wiping my palms down my shorts. “More.”

“Twelve—”

“Twenty,” I countered. “And a new car.”

He flipped through the stack of papers before scribbling something on one of them. As he turned back around, he kicked the chair out a little more. “Done.”

Shit.

The moment I finished signing every paper he had in the stack, Carver stormed out of the room with all the papers in one hand and his phone in the other.

He’d barely given me time to read through it as I signed, but I tried to ignore the names of his parents written at the top and focused on the money.

And damn if I didn’t need a cigarette or two.

I waited a few minutes, listening through the door before running over to the window beside the bed. Undoing the latch at the top and the two along the sides, I opened it up and peered down over the ledge.

Taking up my cigarettes from my bag, I went back to the window and sat on the ledge, then hopped down a few feet to the porch. Have to love wrap-arounds. It was eerily quiet outside, and as I took a few more steps, I realized all the trucks were gone.

Even Jamie’s.

The only one left was the one I’d assumed was Carver’s—all black, like his soul. Faint sounds of his voice carried through the muggy air as I lit up my cig and leaned against the outer wall right beside the window.

I knew running wouldn’t get me far. Not when he was sitting right there on the other side of the front porch, in clear view of my car that would probably break down if I had to gun it down the dirt road. Besides, I needed the money. If I had to become his wife to get it, that was fine.

All fine.

The cicadas chirped loudly nearby as I took another deep drag, burning through half the cigarette.

Carver Roland had forced me to come on his tongue, called me trash, and made me kneel before him surrounded by glass as he fisted his cock through his sweatpants.

My mama taught me all about ditchin’ morals in lieu of money.

I’d grown up watchin’ how money trumped all.

It was the means to an end you could control.

After what had happened between Car and me years before, that statement rang truer than anything else.

Taking his money before running would have made everything much easier, so now that I had another chance, I’d be dumb not to take it.

In hindsight, I’d done worse to survive. I’d weathered harsher storms, even ignored my own sanity. And I always came out mostly unscathed in the end.

I took another long pull before I realized I was taking in nothing but the fibers at the end of the cig and promptly tossed it in the flower beds over the railing.

Thirty days. That’s all it was.

Thirty days with Carver Roland as my husband.