“But I don’t think we should let this bad blood keep us from a mutually beneficial arrangement. You need a husband to appease the board, and I can be that husband, just for appearances’ sake. We won’t have to live as man and wife, and I won’t ever involve myself in your business. It will be like we aren’t even married, and then the board will have lost that particular bit of leverage over you.”
“We won’t have to live as man and wife…except you want a baby,” Molly pointed out. Irritation and hurt still laced her words. “So you’ll get to marry me and fuck me…and I am supposed to be grateful for it? For your charity?”
God, when she put it that way, it did sound terrible. “This isn’t charity, darling, this is a mutually beneficial business arrangement. You need a husband. I want a family.”
“And why do you want a family so badly, anyway?” she demanded, arms still crossed and eyebrow raised.
I didn’t have a ready answer to that, not because I couldn’t name all the reasons why I wanted one, but because it just seemed so…apparent. So obvious.
Who didn’t want a family?
Molly. That’s who.
I gestured to the curtain, where a chink in the fabric revealed a whirling tableau of dancing, drinking and sex. “Is this really all you want your life to be? Meaningless fucking and too much wine? You don’t ever think about your future—about settling down and being content? You don’t ever want to experience the kind of pure, unconditional love that comes with a family?”
She didn’t respond. But she was listening. I could see it in the alert way she followed my movements, the way her lips pressed together at my words.
I decided it was time to be even more honest. I had been thinking about this arrangement for a solid week now, and I had grown used to its unusual proportions and conditions. But I also appreciated that this was a lot for her to take in at once.
I stepped closer to her, expecting her to step back. But she didn’t; she stayed where she was, even when I got so close that I could feel my shoes brushing against her skirt.
“I look at Thomas and at Charlotte, I see the life they have, and I want that, Molly. I don’t want to be the playboy any more. I don’t want to fuck forgettable women and drink too much and let my years pass me by. I’m thirty-five, and I’m too old to ignore how empty I feel. I want more.”
The pulse jumped in her throat as her eyes flicked to mine. There was something there, something in those blue depths that reached out to me. A sympathy or an empathy or something—she knew how I felt. And maybe she felt the same way.
“And I know now,” I continued quietly, “that I don’t deserve to have the love of a woman. Not like Julian and Thomas have with their women. But maybe, just maybe, I can be a good father. Maybe I can have the rest, even if I can’t have the marital bliss.”
Her eyes closed for a moment, her dark red lashes resting against her cheek, and God, I wanted to touch her again. I wanted her to tell me that I was wrong, that I did deserve to have the love of a woman and that I could somehow work to deserve hers again.
I wanted it more than anything.
But instead, she opened her eyes and shook her head. “No, Silas. I will not be your womb for hire.”
Disappointment crashed heavy and cold into my stomach. I bit my lip and her gaze followed the motion. I was still hard, and the only thing I wanted more than her saying yes to my unconventional proposal was her saying yes to me lifting her skirts and devouring her pussy until she couldn’t stand anymore.
I didn’t pressure women into anything—proposals, sex, dancing, card games, anything—mostly because I’d never had to, but also because that wasn’t me. I liked being easygoing. I liked avoiding conflict. I had told myself on the way here that if she said no, I would simply have to bear it up and leave. That I would honor her wishes.
But now that I was here, staring at the long arch of her throat and the blood-colored hair running over one shoulder, at those blue eyes so sad and strong and tired, I couldn’t give up on her. I couldn’t let her go that easily. Even if I didn’t love her anymore, I had to face the fact that I wanted her. I had to face all the crass, caveman-like images wanting her conjured. I wanted her to be my mate, and the idea of another man claiming her instead made me see crimson splotches of rage.
I had to face it: no matter how wrong it was, I couldn’t give up on marrying her. Not yet.
“Am I allowed to try to change your mind?” I said, leaning in so that my lips were near her ear.
She shivered, goose bumps prickling along her shoulders and arms, and I smiled grimly to myself. She wanted me still. After everything.
“Answer me, darling. Am I allowed to persuade you to marry me?”
My lips were at the shell of her ear now, and I nipped at her earlobe, drawing my teeth along the soft skin there before replacing them with my tongue.
She let out a half sigh, half moan.
“Maybe,” she breathed, as I let my mouth wander down her neck, licking and savoring and sucking, her skin sweet and clean with the slightest hint of salt. It tasted better than I remembered, which made me think about the other things I had tasted and wanted to taste again. “Maybe,” she repeated and then gave a little gasp as I gently bit her throat.
Good.
“Give me a safe word, Molly.”
“W-what?” she stammered, and I loved that my mouth on her skin made her incoherent. Maybe I had a shot at winning her hand after all.
