Rule's Seduction (The House of Rule 4)

With a need for her raging in his bloodstream, her other attributes came to mind. Her voice was soothing—not too high-pitched or screechy. She was keenly intelligent, that much was obvious from only one evening spent in her company. He wouldn’t get bored with her easily. If he’d had the opportunity to hand pick his captive out of a thousand women, he’d undoubtedly have chosen her. Even now, he was itching to get home, to get her to himself, where she’d stay until he decided to let her go—that was, if he decided to let her go. Yeah, she was damn near perfect—possibly a tad stubborn—he’d have to work on that. She would very obviously need to learn from whom she took her orders. Him.

But that wouldn’t happen until he had her squarely away from this place. Firmly within the sanctuary of the place he called home—at least he called Argentina home sixty percent of the time. And to accomplish that feat, he needed to stay on top of his game. All day. Again, he reminded himself that he had a role to play this day. He would be the ultimate gentleman, polite, respectful, charming and complimentary at every turn. He’d clamp down on the fervor and impatience that his personality usually reflected. Was he being calculating? Were his actions premeditated? Fuck, yeah. It was the only way he’d be able to sweet talk her little ass onto his plane of her own free will, so sadly, it had to be done. He’d have her on his private plane before midnight—that was his goal—and even now, his pilot knew that he’d have to be on standby beginning around eight or so that evening.

The only real question left was exactly how he would manage to get her to do his bidding. Being on his best behavior all day wouldn’t do the trick entirely. Not a chance.

But he wasn’t too worried. He’d given her five orgasms the night before and sex was something that bonded women quickly. Or so he’d heard—he’d never intentionally tried to bond with a woman.

Confidence in his abilities settling in his gut and feeling no particular need to rush, he wrapped his arms around the pillow she’d been using and with the allure of her scent invading his brain, he closed his eyes and promptly fell back to sleep.

****

It was around five in the evening, after the best night and morning of sex she’d ever had, that Erin began suspecting that she was being bamboozled. But by six o’clock, she was on her third martini and having such a good time that she didn’t think she cared; she decided to just go with the flow. After all, what could one more evening in his company hurt?

And of course she was having a good time. Max—Maximo, to give him his full name—Santiago was lavish with his flattery, bold with his propositions, and so damn sexy that she’d allowed him to talk her into rescheduling her flight back to St. Louis until the next day. He wanted to spend the entire day with her—he’d practically begged to spend the day with her—and damn her, she’d been unable to resist.

By seven o’clock she was beginning to think she was in love. Of course, she knew it was the alcohol—well, the alcohol and the amazing sex—but whatever, the feelings he produced sent her heart rate into a tailspin and her brain on a walkabout.

She was definitely in lust. Big time. She was for sure infatuated. And why wouldn’t she be?

The man was a freaking god. Seriously.

As she took a semi-sloppy sip of her cocktail, she continued to study him as she let her conscience off the hook and her silly imagination run wild. Seriously—who would ever know if she bought a subscription to Brides magazine?

****

Chapter Three

Max watched the sleeping woman lying across the bed in his private jet. The door to the bedroom stood ajar and he could clearly see her from where he sat in the main cabin. For about the hundredth time since they’d achieved cruising altitude, he felt a fierce spiral of gut-twisting satisfaction blaze through his veins.

He’d accomplished his goal. She was his. His wife.

Erin Rule of the prestigious Rule family belonged to him. She was now Erin Santiago Villarreal and she forever and always would be. Forever. It was possible that he hadn’t acknowledged the forever fact completely, but the temptation to keep her was there, buried behind a solid wall of victory. An indelible kernel of emotion deep in his psyche that pulsed every few minutes: he was never letting her go.

He felt a bit sorry for her—poor little girl. The entire day, she’d never known what hit her. At least he didn’t have to feel guilty, though. The girl had made her own decisions. She’d willingly walked into the twenty-four hour wedding chapel and married him.