The Contract (The Contract 1)

“Yes.” Then she grinned—the most mischievous expression crossing her face.

“What?”

“If you call me sweetheart, do I get to call you something, ah, special, too?”

“I’m not one for nicknames. What did you have in mind?”

“Something simple.”

I could live with that. “Like?”

“Dick,” she stated with a straight face.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a short form of your name, and it, ah, suits you, on so many levels.”

I gave her a sharp look. I was sure she knew the nickname was attached to me in the industry and was trying to poke fun. “No. Pick something else.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that. Dick is off the table, though.”

Her lips quirked.

I rolled my eyes. “Give it up, Katharine.”

“Fine. Dick works so well, but I’ll try.”

I ignored her obvious humor. “No—enough.” I stepped in front of her, meeting her amused gaze. “Now, shall we practice?”

“Practice?”

I picked up the remote and hit play, changing the music until a low, gentle melody hummed through the speakers. “Dance with me. Get used to how it feels to be close to me.” I held out my hand, saying the one word I never used with her until the past few days. “Please.”

She let me drag her to her feet and awkwardly she moved closer. With a sigh, I wound my arm around her waist, tugged her close, and breathed in the scent of her hair wafting up into the air. We began moving, and I was surprised how natural it felt. Far smaller than the women I was used to, she barely met my shoulders; her head fit under my chin. She seemed slight and fragile in my arms, yet she molded against my body well. After a few minutes, she lost the stiffness in her shoulders, letting me lead her around the room effortlessly. She was unexpectedly graceful as she moved, given how often I had watched her trip on her own feet.

A voice spoke in my head, whispering maybe what she needed all along was someone to hold her up, rather than tear her down.

That brought me up short, and I jerked back, staring down at her. She blinked up at me, filled with trepidation, and I realized she was expecting some sort of nasty remark. Instead, I cupped her cheek, and her eyes grew wider.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“Why?”

“Practice.”

Her breathy “oh,” hit my mouth as my lips touched hers. They were surprisingly soft and pliant, melding to mine with ease. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation; in fact, I felt a trail of warmth run down my spine at the contact. I released her lips, only to drop my head and kiss her again, this time a fast brushing of my mouth on hers.

I stepped back, releasing my hold on her. The air around us was thick, and I smirked. “See, not so bad. It won’t kill you to kiss me.”

“Nor you,” she retorted, a tremor in her voice.

I barked out a laugh. “I guess not. Whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“Right.”

I grabbed the remote, turning off the music. “Well done, Katharine. We’ve done enough bonding for the evening. Tomorrow is a big day, so I think we both need to get some rest.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“You did a good job today. Thank you.”

I turned on my heel and left her gaping after me.KATHARINE

I HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING AGAIN, so I tiptoed down the hall, pushing open Richard’s door. Tonight, he was on his stomach, one arm wrapped around his pillow, the other one hanging off the edge of his massive bed. He was still snoring—his low, raspy hum I needed to hear.

I studied his face in the dim light. I traced my lips with my finger, still shocked at the fact he had kissed me, held me in his arms, and we danced. I knew it was all part of his grand scheme, but there were moments, glimpses, of a different man than I was used to seeing. The flash of a smile, a twinkle in his eye, even a kind word—they had all caught me off-guard tonight. I wished he allowed that part of himself out more, but he kept his emotions—the positive ones—locked away. I had already figured that out. I knew if I said anything, he would lock himself down even more. So, I remained silent—at least for now. I had to admit though, kissing him hadn’t been bad at all. Considering the venom his mouth could produce, his lips were warm, soft, and full, and his touch gentle.

He groaned and rolled over, taking the blankets with him, his long, lean torso now exposed. I swallowed, partially in guilt for staring at him, partially in wonder. He was a beautiful man—at least on the outside. He muttered something incoherent, and I moved back, leaving the door ajar, scuttling back to my own room.

He might have been a little more pleasant at times this evening, but I doubted he would react well to me staring at him while he slept.