Seducing the Enemy (Forbidden Confessions 4)

“I’m waiting,” he growls behind me.

I chose to be here. I took a chance.

There’s no escape. And once I comply, there’s no going back.

Sucking in a steadying breath, I reach for my clothes and toss them into the hamper, then I tuck my shoes into the box, putting the ring inside between them.

“Close them both,” he insists.

He’s mind-fucking me before he ever fucks me at all. He’s making me give up my one barrier between us, to willingly tuck it out of my reach before he commences with debauching me.

It’s agonizing. It’s awful. It’s dirty. And I love the way Jett’s mind works.

I do exactly what he says, closing the hamper and settling the lid on the shoebox. Then I turn to him expectantly. “Done.”

He gives my effort a cursory glance, then nods and grabs my hand again. “Do you understand?”

The significance of his gesture? Yes. What’s to come? Not exactly. We’ll have sex, I’m sure. Beyond that…I have no idea what he’ll demand for his forty million dollars. But since the price is so steep, I’m sure he won’t make anything about this week easy.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very good. Upstairs with you.”

He leads me up a slightly curved staircase with an ornate wrought-iron railing. At the top, we reach the landing. His hand at the small of my back guides me to the end of the hall without a word.

My breath catches when I take in the room.

A massive bed dominates the space, topped with soft white cotton and gray velvet. Pillows of all shapes, sizes, and textures are propped against a mirrored headboard and take up half the mattress. Above, a chandelier that’s a balance between light-refracting crystals and elemental iron hangs. It’s anchored to a ceiling covered in mirrors, too. There are a pair of nightstands flanking the bed and a plush white chair in the corner. A shaggy gray throw rug warms up the milkwashed planks of the floor. There’s a cheerful hearth opposite the bed. Open French doors overlook the backyard, blowing gauzy sheers in with the summery breeze.

It’s all warm and sensual and so perfect for a romantic seduction.

Except the thick black leather restraints dangling from each corner of the bed.

I can’t help it. When I see them, I gasp.

Beside me, Jett smiles and points to an open door tucked into a corner. “Use the restroom.”

“I don’t need to go.” The protest slips out automatically. I’m not trying to be argumentative.

His face tightens as he closes in. “Go now. You won’t have another chance to use it for a while.”

Because I’ll be restrained to his bed. Right.

With a nervous bob of my head, I hustle across the floor and duck inside, turning to shut the door behind me. As I do, I see Jett watching me with an unwavering stare until the second the door clicks shut between us.

Dear God, what am I doing?

I flip on the overhead lights and blink. I look flushed and aroused, pupils dilated, cheeks rosy. What will happen when he actually kisses me? Touches me? Fucks me?

I swallow. I can’t come apart yet. I need to hold myself together until I understand what he’s really after.

Then, I’ll have to make another life-altering decision.

After I peek at my lipstick, I take care of business, flushing the toilet and washing my hands. Then I fluff my hair again and sigh. I’m nervous and I’m wasting time. I just need to face Jett. I need to give him whatever he wants and let the chips fall.

Otherwise, I’ll be marrying Michael Crawley in three weeks. And I’ll never see Jett again.

Bracing myself, I pull the door open and step into the bedroom for what I’m sure will either be the best or the worst night of my life.

Chapter Three

Jett

When Whitney finally pads out of the bathroom and into the room I brightly lit, I clench my fists for two reasons. First, it stops me from tapping my thigh impatiently. Second, if I don’t, I fear I’ll grab her, kiss her, throw her on the bed…and forget about every plan I have.

Breathe. Stay calm, logical, and measured.

When I see the stare she cuts my way and the uncertainty in her hazel eyes, it’s hard not to comfort her. It’s almost impossible to feel nothing.

I have to try. Unemotional was the way she treated me last time I saw her—in court. I do nothing except give her my power if I reveal everything in an unguarded moment.

“Are you ready?”

She shrugs. “As I’ll ever be.”

Maybe, but she looks nervous. That should please me. After all, I need the upper hand if I’m going to win my way. But there’s that part of me that remembers the innocent girl I once kissed breathless, who so softly and sweetly offered me her innocence. That girl didn’t seem capable of giving me a knife in the back, just her heart. The me then would have punched the me now for my plans.