Rule's Seduction (The House of Rule 4)

A merciless glint flashed in his eyes before he took the step that brought him into her personal space once again. He stood almost indolently, but the dangerous sizzle that poured from his eyes negated the façade of polished urbanity. There was no question—in that moment, he was uncultured, undomesticated, untamed. His words when he spoke were brutal—irrefutable as they blistered around her with unyielding authority. “Two days ago this was about your brothers. Today—and for the rest of your life—it will be about you.”

For the rest of her life? Live her entire life with a man who’d used her as a pawn? A man who only wanted her because her last name was Rule? Erin had never thought of herself as predictable. But evidently she was, because as soon as his words sank in, she did the most predictable, basic thing she could do—she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

****

Caught off guard, Max made a grab for his wife before she could hit the floor. He was immediately concerned for her and pissed at himself for scaring her—who the hell knew she was prone to fainting? With one arm under her legs and the other cradling her back, he moved to the lounge area and sank down in his seat. Wanting no eyes on her but his, he quickly wrapped the trailing sheet around her torso. Firmly, this time.

He called for his flight attendant and as soon as the man brought what he’d requested and left again, Max attempted to rouse Erin from her faint.

He pressed the damp compress to her forehead while calling her name. Her color was coming back—he wasn’t too concerned for her physical health, nonetheless, he wanted her awake and lucid, just to be sure. As for her mental health? He felt a fleeting measure of regret at the pain he’d glimpsed in her eyes, before her backbone had stiffened and she’d gone on the offensive, having come to the not unreasonable, and correct, conclusion about his motives. At the same time, he couldn’t help but admire her quick-fire mind, her resilience, her defiance. Yes, his brand new wife had spirit, and the tantalizing prospect of subduing her—just enough—was, even now, sending a hot rush of anticipation through his blood.

He ran the compress around her cheeks, down her throat and continued to call her name. Just as he was about to shake her, she let out a small, distressed feminine moan and then her lids fluttered open. Dark brown confused eyes captured his and when her look transformed into one of open panic, a blaze of concern grabbed him by the throat, so strong that it astounded him.

He cleared his throat and began reassuring her. “You’re all right, love, no need for worry.”

She stared back at him as if he were her only lifeline . . . and like he was the devil incarnate, as well. Such conflicting emotions had undoubtedly precipitated her earlier faint, and damn if he would let that happen again.

He jostled her to a more upright position and held a bottle of water to her lips. “Have a drink, it will make you feel better.”

The panic in her eyes mostly receded, replaced by a look of supreme distrust. She cleared her throat, a suspicious frown on her face. “You certainly like to ply me with drinks, don’t you?”

He supposed he deserved that, but he didn’t care for it, nonetheless, and his mouth flattened in response. “I’m not entirely to blame—but this is water, as you very well know.”

He gave her the bottle and she took a long sip before placing it on the table to her left. He was aware of the fine trembling of her fingers and didn’t care for it. What the hell had he expected? That she’d learn her fate and then throw herself into his arms with pure abandon? Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t for her to sink down into a dead faint. He wanted her as she’d been the previous two evenings—strong and capable—albeit under his full control.

As she clutched the sheet to her chest, she made a move to remove herself from his lap but before she could manage it, he tightened his hold.

Her muscles stiffened in rejection of his touch, which irritated the shit out of him. Meticulously removing her eyes from his, as if he were beneath her, she glanced around the interior of the plane. “Let me up.”

Let her up? “No.”

Her gaze snapped back to his with the hint of fire he’d come to recognize over the last two days. “Would you like me to begin screaming?” she snapped.

Was that a threat that was supposed to make him tow the line? If it was, then she had a lot to learn. “Not particularly.”

Her lips tightened. “Well, then I would advise that you take your hands away.”