Page 13 of Vows in Name Only
At least she entered into this arrangement with her eyes wide open, not blinded by sentiments such as love and loyalty. Cain harbored none for her; the only emotion he possessed when it came to her was hate. And though that stung—God, glimpsing the loathing in his eyes, hearing it drip from his voice had been scalding—maybe, it was for the best.
As of now, she hadn’t devised a way to escape her father’s plans. Which meant for the foreseeable future, she was trapped, unable to back out and unable to confess to Cain why she had to go through with this.
But given her completely inconvenient desire for Cain, his disdain for her might save her from herself, from her untrustworthy heart. She’d confused physical attraction with love before. But just one mocking caress down her cheek from Cain had stoked her lust hotter than sex with Donald. So if she didn’t guard herself against Cain...
She couldn’t do anything as foolish as allow herself to be vulnerable with him. Lowering her guard would be like opening the cage door to a prowling lion.
In other words, stupid as hell.
“Can I help you?” the statuesque brunette behind a large gleaming desk asked Devon as she approached.
Devon glanced at the closed double doors behind the desk. For a moment, panic seized her. Cain had requested her presence with a terse text message, but he hadn’t included why. What awaited her? The first step in his plan to begin making her existence a “living hell”?
Anxiety should be the only emotion quivering through her at the thought of his threat. Not anticipation. Damn sure not excitement.
Maybe she was as twisted as Cain believed her to be.
“Hello,” she said, smiling at the executive assistant whose nameplate proclaimed her to be Charlene Gregg. “Cain Farrell is expecting me. Devon Cole.”
Charlene nodded. “Yes, he told me to send you in as soon as you arrived. Just through those doors.”
“Thank you.” Devon offered her another smile, hoping it didn’t betray the nerves rattling inside her.
Inhaling a deep breath, she walked forward, chin tilted upward, shoulders squared. One of her mother’s favorite sayings had been “Faith it until you make it,” her twist on the old axiom. Well, Devon would have faith that she wouldn’t appear like a lamb heading into the slaughter until she actually didn’t feel like one.
No telling how long that would take.
Pulling open the door, she stepped into Cain’s inner sanctum. Stalling, she surveyed the spacious office. Glass comprised two of the four walls, and tasteful masculine furniture of wood and leather dotted a sitting area. Instead of the beautiful artwork that decorated the outer office, huge framed black-and-white photographs of historic Boston adorned the walls. Faneuil Hall. TheAppeal to the Great Spiritstatue in front of the Museum of Fine Arts. The Bunker Hill Monument. The Old North Church. The lighting, the imagery, the tone of the photos—they were all stunning. And seemed out of place in the office of a merciless billionaire.
Her gaze jerked toward Cain.
And immediately she regretted the impulse.
The stirring of curiosity flickered then died in her chest. His cold, narrowed stare extinguished it. Not even two minutes later, and she’d already broken a rule she’d set for herself. Guard against any emotion with Cain. And that included curiosity. Because it was the gateway drug that led to other emotions—interest, wonder, compassion, need...
Do better, she snapped at herself.
Then she deliberately conjured the memory of the heartache that had nearly ripped her in half after discovering Donald’s lies. She embraced that ache, let it soak into her skin, her bones. She’d hold on to it so she wouldn’t slip again.
“You summoned me here,” she said, injecting the calm nonchalance that had abandoned her the second she entered the downtown Boston skyscraper of Farrell International’s offices.
That was one lesson she’d come away with from their meeting at her home a week earlier.
Never show weakness in front of this man.
“Can I always expect this kind of pliancy during our marriage?” he mocked. “Submissiveness in a woman isn’t something I’m usually attracted to, but for you I could make an exception.”
“Making allowances for me already?” She shook her head, tsking, even as a voice inside her head yelled,What the hell are you doing? Don’t poke the beast!“You’re setting a bad precedent. And you know how women like me will take full advantage of that.”
He didn’t reply, but his intense scrutiny stroked over her, from the center part of her drawn-back hair, down the straight lines of her dress to her dark green stiletto heels. When she’d donned the green-and-white-striped shirt with the big bow tie at the neck and the emerald pencil skirt, the outfit had seemed both professional and flattering. Now, with that blue-gray gaze on her, she fought not to check if she’d left a button or two loose or if her skirt skimmed too tightly over her hips.
His eyes lifted to hers, and her words—“take full advantage of that”—seemed to resonate in the office. Suddenly, instead of referring to his permissiveness, it sounded as if she were offering him something else to exploit. Herself.
A dull throb of heat beat low in her belly, edging farther south. Settling deep between her legs. Her mind railed against the implication of her words, demanding she clear up her meaning. But her body, mainly the flesh between her legs, approved of this new plan of action.
She was in trouble.
“While I appreciate the sudden display of honesty, that’s not why I asked you here.” He picked up a tablet, tapped the screen a few times then rounded his desk, extending the device toward her.
