Page 32 of Ruthless Lord

The gnat looks horrified. “But Charlie, it’s bad luck?—”

“I have a feeling I know what this is about.”

The woman rises from the chair. Two more annoying girl-gnats flutter around her holding various hair-face-makeup-whatever objects. Charlie ignores them as she walks over to me, poised, gorgeous, perfect.

Holy fucking shit.

She’s in a pair of pink fuzzy slippers and a thin, silky slip. Her hair’s half done and up in some complicated braid. Her makeup was clearly just started.

And she looks incredible.

I’m flattened. Fuck, I’m bowled over. She’s not even in her dress yet and she already looks magnificent. The way the slip clings to her curves, to the swell of her breasts, to the soft turn of her hip, it’s heaven. My dick’s half hard at the memory of her body against mine. Of her moans in my ear.

For a second, I forget why I’m here.

Charlie crosses her arms, which pushes her breasts together, and purses her lips. She arches one lovely eyebrow. The whole pose fucks me up even worse. It’s like she knows what she does to me, and she doesn’t give a damn.

“Well, Stefano? I assume you’re here to discuss our paperwork?”

Right. That reminds me. I grip the prenup in one hand. Some anger comes rushing back, flushing into me like battle lust. Except it’s not battle lust, is it?

This is just regular lust.

Fucking kind of lust.

Like if there weren’t still gnats fluttering around, I’d bend my future wife over my knee—no, I’d get on my knees and eat her like a feast—no, no, I’d fuck her savage until that slip tears in half?—

God damn, my skull is pounding. What was I doing again?

“I don’t give a shit about your money,” I finally manage to say, my voice a low rumble.

Charlie looks surprised. “Then why are you here?”

I step toward her. The gnats disappear from my mind. There’s only my wife, looking like an angel. Looking so fuckable it’s obscene. Only the desire to make her mine remains.

“This is a way out,” I whisper, staring into her face, looking at her plump lips. Her mouth opens ever so slightly. I remember my big dick stretching those cheeks. God, I’m a broken man. “And when you marry me, there is nothing else.”

Her cheeks turn pink. What a beautiful girl. My blushing bride. Except she’s pissed. Which is probably not ideal two hours before a wedding.

“It’s just a prenup. Totally standard in my world.”

“Your little lawyer already told me that.”

“Then sign it.”

“And let you think you can walk away from me without consequences?” I cock my head, jaw tense. “You need skin in the game, Ms. Westbrook.”

“Like you do?” She doesn’t back down, and I like that about her. Instead, she surges forward, one finger jabbing me in the chest. “What’s going to stop you from fucking me over? That prenup is there to protect both of us. You know, since we’re strangers?”

I catch her wrist. “Not that strange to each other.”

She sucks in a breath. Dimly, I can tell the gnats are outraged. “Let go of me.”

“Tell you what.” I pull her closer, not really caring about the audience. My lips move forward, brushing the perfect curve of her neck, getting just the slightest bit of her skin on my tongue. “I want skin. You have plenty to offer.”

“Stefano,” she says, sounding terrified, angry, and a little bit aroused, all at once.

“I’ll sign your papers if you give me something in return.”