Page 19 of Marry Lies
My lips twitch as I walk over to her, taking her glass from her and setting it inside of the sink. Procuring a fresh martini glass, I can feel her eyes on me as I walk over to the bar near the back door and measure out the gin, tipping it into the shaker. After I’m done, I portion out the olive juice, finally adding a splash of vermouth and a metal toothpick with three olives.
She takes it from me as soon as I set it down, and her eyes roll back as she moans.
“Fuck,” she groans. “That’s really good.”
I ignore the way my cock stiffens at the sight of her throat swallowing the salty liquid, remembering her warm hands on me in the taxi, remembering how they reached into my pants for—
Fuck.
Leaning against the island, I shake the arousing thoughts away, watching as she takes a second sip of the martini. Pinning me with a calculating stare, she sits up straighter and clears her throat.
“I find it interesting that, one week ago, you were vehemently opposed to the prospect of marrying me. And now, when it benefits you, you’re all for it.”
“You’re right,” I tell her. She furrows her brows when I continue. “Also, as I recall, we werebothvehemently opposed to the idea of marriage.”
She considers me for a few minutes as her fingers play with the condensation on her martini glass.
“You’re right. Except, I was willing to talk it out like an adult.”
Fuck.
I don’t know what I expected when Luna told me Estelle was sitting in my kitchen. However, when I think back to the first time we met, it doesn’t surprise me that she’s calling me out on my bullshit.
“If you agree to marriage, I promise to make it up to you.”
“And how will you make it up to me?” she asks, her voice a soft purr.
God.
My mind spins with all kinds of ideas—ideas that I have no right to consider. Things like pushing her up against this counter and making her come so hard that she forgets her own name.
Finishing off what we never got to that night in Paris.
Kneeling before her and worshiping her dripping cunt.
Watchingher play with herself before I make her scream my name—
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“You need my father’s money, right?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I guess. But I’ve gone twenty-eight years without money. I can make do without it.”
I see an opening and I grab it, the scheming wheels turning in my head. She doesn’t want my empty words. She wants assurance that I will make this arrangement worth her while. And, she hardly knows me. If nothing else, I am fantastic at the art of seduction.
“Let me rephrase that. You need money to start your own clothing line.” I watch the way her hands grip the stem of her glass a little tighter at my words.
“I—yes. That’s always been my dream,” she adds, looking wistful.
Smirking, I nod once. “And a million dollars would help you?”
She nods. “Yes. Without a doubt.”
I’ve got her right where I need her.
The instant the thought enters my mind, I push it out. I sound just like my father. And I know that when it comes to my father, he doesn’t do anything for free.
But I’ll have to worry about what my father wants from herafterEstelle agrees to marry me.
