His for a Price

“I suppose I had that coming,” she agreed in a soft voice, and that made him look up and focus on her, those dark eyes narrowing immediately.

He’s just a man, she reminded herself as that look seared into her. He can’t read a single thing in you unless you let him. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what you dream about.

And if she redirected his attention, he never would.

She walked into the kitchen as if she was unaware of that faint frown between his eyes and settled herself gingerly at the counter with him. Not across from him as she would have done before, but on the stool next to his, the way she would have done if he was someone else. Right next to his, and it was hard—almost too hard—to keep her head in this game instead of losing her cool.

He was so big, so solid. Sleek and fierce and this close to him, she felt him—all that dark, restless power, all his stark ruthlessness—like an electric hum beneath her own skin.

“Still,” she continued in the same soft voice once she was seated, ignoring all the rest, “I thought you’d appreciate that I’ve attempted to dress more to your taste.”

He trained his simmering dark gaze on her, and she felt simultaneously very small and very exposed. Instead of striking out, she let it show. Men liked softness and small, helpless things. They liked to feel large and mighty. She’d watched this same scene play out a hundred times.

He is the same as all the rest, she chanted to herself, like that could make it so.

“By that I assume you mean that I should applaud the fact you’re actually wearing something attractive?” Nicodemus asked silkily. “Rather than displaying your wares to any and all who venture near or wrapping yourself in the sartorial equivalent of a cocoon? What a gift, indeed.”

It actually hurt to gulp back the sharp retort that appeared on her tongue, but Mattie did it. Men were all about pride and fury. And they were all brought low by lust. Nicodemus was no different, despite the fact his barbs struck harder. Deeper than anyone else’s ever had.

“Nicodemus,” she said, as calmly as she could. “Maybe we can stop all of this. Maybe we can just...talk.”

“Talk.” He shook his head as if amazed. Then he shut his laptop with a quiet slap that made her think of ferocity restrained. “You want to talk. All these years later.”

She shrugged and let her sweater slide down one shoulder as she did. “I want to start over.”

His gaze moved over the exposed curve of her shoulder, then he aimed it at the ceiling and made a sound that was somewhere between exasperation and laughter. He crossed his arms over his broad chest—happily covered in a soft shirt now, though with too many buttons left undone for her peace of mind—and regarded her with that darkly honeyed gleam in his eyes that promised nothing but trouble.

“Let me guess what this is. You think that you can charm me into dropping my guard with you, because your usual games and stunts aren’t working.” He sighed. “And I’ve never seen your charm except from a distance, and always aimed toward others, so who knows? This might be an excellent plan.”

Mattie ordered herself to breathe. To think before she spoke. To stay calm—because God knew she’d spent ten years completely out of control around this man, and what had that ever gotten her? Married against her will and trapped on an island in the middle of nowhere, that was what.

Adapt or die, she snapped at herself. Right now.

“I want to get to know you,” she said, and she even smiled. It was easy if she simply pretended, as he’d suggested. Though Mattie doubted he’d intended that she should pretend he was someone else. Someone far less...him.

His gaze was far too shrewd. “Whatever for, I wonder?”

She turned toward him and extended her hands out in front of her, making sure she almost touched him—but didn’t. It was a gesture of supplication. Of something like surrender.

“Because there’s no one here but you and me, Nicodemus, and as you’ve pointed out several times, you know me already. I think it’s time I stop fighting this and return the favor, don’t you?”

He shifted in his stool so that he was more standing than sitting, and facing her completely. He was so tall. Dark and beautiful, and she had to do this. She had to wield the only weapon she had or he’d tear her wide open, sift through her hidden places and see everything. She had to put them back on common ground—any common ground at all—or she’d lose herself. For good.

And she couldn’t risk him finding out the truth.

“What do you want, Mattie?” he asked softly.

You on a platter, she thought, but did not say. She would get there. She could wreck him, too. She was sure of it. Chemistry went both ways, surely.