Page 56 of Resist

"The Chastity Cheat Sheet": If you must scratch the itch, do itincognito.

"The Anti-Cupid Clause": Leave the chocolate and roses at the store. If it makes the heart grow fonder, it makes the arrangement go yonder.

"The Emotional Fort Knox": Keep your history and sob stories to yourself. Check the emotional baggage at the door.

"Escape Hatch Safeword": When things get too real, sound the alarm!

CHAPTER 19

Sterling

“Got a minute?”I pop my head around the door of Corabelle’s office. The coast is clear, she doesn’t have Georgia or someone else chatting at her desk.

I’ve always been a fan of strong women. And Corabelle radiates strength. She sits, long legs crossed behind her desk, shoulders relaxed, long, bright red fingernails drumming on the desk as a busy dial tone fills the room. I’m already fighting a hard-on.

She nods and gestures at the seat facing her like she’s not surprised to see me at nine-oh-five on a Monday morning. We stare at each other while the phone rings, and I can’t help but notice the darkness under her eyes that she’s attempted to cover with make-up.

Despite my personal agenda, the pang in my heart is genuine. At the end of the day, she’s lost her mother long ago, and she just lost her father. She’s an orphan, and her whole life is about to be turned upside down if she doesn’t marry someone to fulfill the outdated requirements of her father.

She’s been dealt a shitty hand.

But for all I know, she’s been helping cover Daddy Blackwell’s transgressions this whole time. I honestly don’t know who I’m marrying. While my gut tells me she wouldn’t have anything to do with hurting other women, I’m not sure what level of manipulation, narcissism, and coercive control her father subjected her to, either.

She could even be a victim as well. A deep shudder travels the length of my body. Fuck, I hope not.

The ring box feels heavy in my jacket pocket, pressed against my chest. I know it’s fake, that she’s doing this whole wedding thing because she has to, but I also know that a wedding is something most people think about for a long time before they take the leap. She’s probably imagined her wedding day as often as I have, maybe even more.

After a few more beeps of the dial tone, she huffs out air, and smacks the speakerphone button to shut up the droning. “I’ll call back later. Sterling, what can I do for you?”

She’s all poise, professional, and seemingly unaware that what she can do for me is open her legs. I want to get on the floor between her knees, shove her dress up over her hips, and suck her soul out through her clit with my tongue.

Fuck.

The erection in my pants grows harder, more painful, and I try to remind my dick of the list of Corabelle’s stupid rules she sent me in a fucking text message last night, starting with number one. No hanky panky.

Then I try to remind it that this isn’t about her, it’s about her asshole, criminal father. But it doesn’t listen. It wants her, which makes guilt churn in my stomach. I wish I could control the attraction I feel for her given everything else at play, but I can’t. I want her.

“I wanted to discuss the rules you sent to me yesterday. You know, in a text. Instead of a phone call, or a face to face discussion.”

Her impassive face doesn’t move, but she gestures at me to continue. “You mean tenets.”

I groan. “Fine, the tenets you sent me last night. We live in separate houses, have separate bank accounts, and both frequent a sex club. I think a lot of this list is moot.” I push the piece of paper I printed out at home last night across the table to her.

She raises her eyes. “You made notes.”

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