“Don’t. Don’t speak to me like I’m your dog, or your woman, or your wife, or your anything.”
“Oh…” He chuckled. “But you will be.”
“Excuse me?”
“My wife, that is.”
I blinked. Did I hear him correctly?
“Yes. You did,” he responded.
“I never agreed to that.”
“You agreed to give me redemption and freedom from my hellish existence.”
“Marriage is out of the question.” And it had nothing to do with what I’d agreed to. In fact, I was seriously beginning to doubt his argument for having sex, too.
“You think you have a choice in the matter?”
“Yes.” I always had a choice.
“Wrong. You will fuck me tonight. Then you will marry me, love me, and end my curse.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re seriously commanding me to do those things?”
“What the hell do you think?”
I think you’re insane.
“I don’t give a fucking hell what you think. You’ll do as you are told, Miss Turner, because that was always our deal.”
I was about to retort when a poignant question entered my head: Why all this fuss masked in a flurry of threats and bullying? Because shocking me was one of his classic moves. The bastard is planning something.
Tugging on his silver cufflink, King glared from across the table. “You dare question my integrity? We have a deal, and I never welsh.”
“But we’re not talking about just any deal, are we?” An uneasy something built inside my stomach. King was manipulating me like a rat in a maze. That was how he operated—always in control, even when he made you feel like you were driving. But you never were.
Okay. Perhaps I needed to retreat and rethink the terms of our arrangement. I agreed to end his curse, but the “how” was open for interpretation, especially given that I needed to feel some sort of affection for the man in order to do it.
I took a deep breath and willed myself not to be swayed by his raw, backbreaking sensuality. “King, I’m sorry, but I’m not doing this tonight.” I stood and placed my napkin on the table.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growled in a menacing tone that rattled my rib cage.
“I’m not falling for another of your mind games. If we’re going to break your curse, it’s going to be on my terms. Mine.”
He slowly rose from the table, a predatory look in his silvery eyes. “I don’t think so.”
I shook my head at him. “You can’t bully me into feeling something for you. If you want this to work, you’re going to have to accept it.”
I turned toward the door, feeling goddamned proud of myself. I’d stood up to the ancient, powerful king without becoming tongue-tied. I said exactly what I’d meant to say and—
I felt a pull on my arm, and my body flew through the air, landing with a crash onto the table. Our champagne glasses tumbled to the floor, as did the candle and silverware.
He pinned me by the neck, face down. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Mia? Huh? A man who gives a shit what you think or want?”
I grunted in agony as he pushed my arm behind my back and ground my neck into the table. “Get off, King!”
“Sir?” the waiter asked, obviously wondering what the noise was all about.
“Leave!” King barked. “Or I will kill you.”
“Help!” I screamed.
“Uhhh…Call if you need anything, sir.” The waiter disappeared into the kitchen.
Sonofabitch wasn’t even going to lift a finger for me?
“Don’t go! Help,” I screamed again.
“I’ll help you, you fucking bitch.” King pressed my neck harder into the table with one hand and began shoving my dress up with the other.
I felt the hem pass my hips, exposing my black lace thong. I’d put it on tonight, anticipating I’d have the nerve to follow through.
“Don’t, King.”
“Shut the fuck up. I should have done this the night we met.” He shoved down my panties, and I couldn’t believe he was doing this. The evil fucking bastard would never find salvation from his curse, but perhaps he’d never wanted it. A man who truly wanted love would never do this. Never.
“Don’t, King. Or I swear, I’ll—”
“What? Curse me again, you bitch? You cannot hurt me now because you are nothing,” he roared.
I flung myself up from the bed, covered in sweat, panting and crying. Oh my God. Oh my God. I clutched the pink pajama fabric covering my chest, my head swiveling from side to side. I wasn’t in any restaurant, nor was I being violated—thank God. I was lying on a bed in King’s palatial estate in Crete.
“Nice dream, Miss Turner.”
I yelped.
In the corner, King comfortably sat in a leather armchair. He wore faded jeans and a white linen shirt partially unbuttoned and exposing the tan chiseled planes of his pectorals. A wicked smile occupied his full lips.
I felt my face turn rage-red. “You…you…”
“Don’t blame me.” He held up his palms as if surrendering. “That was all your twisted little brain. I merely observed.” He leaned back, smothering a smile. “However, I must admit, you have a dirty, dirty mind.”
If I could kill him with my bare eyes, I would. God, I hate you.
He laughed, his chest and shoulders shaking as his head tilted toward the sky, before he returned his unapologetic gaze to my furious eyes. “Then we have our work cut out for us, don’t we, Miss Turner?” He stood and strolled casually toward the door of the master suite and then stopped right before twisting the handle. “I’ll see you downstairs to discuss the real terms of our new deal. And so we are clear,” he narrowed those stunning, pale gray eyes, “sex, even your scandalous version—as tempting as it may be—won’t be part of it. I know how disappointing that must be, but I’m sure you’ll get over it.” He flashed a wicked, cocky grin and left.
I growled out a breath toward the closed door. Sonofabitch. As if not sleeping with him was some great loss. And how the hell could I help what I dreamed? Clearly my brain was letting off steam, my dream a metaphor for how I felt ruinously cornered by the situation.
I sighed, knowing that feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to solve a thing.
Just stay focused, Mia. Keep your eyes on the prize. Getting my brother back was all that mattered, and my new ruthless outlook on life—compliments of living in King’s world for a few months—would help me do that.
Don’t forget who you’re dealing with: the goddamned devil. A devil who knew how to push every single one of my buttons, and had.
But you’re not that same girl anymore.
No. I wasn’t.
And this time, I was playing for my own prize.
CHAPTER TWO
I showered quickly and threw on a pair of jeans and a plain tee. The weather outside was tepid with a slight mugginess to it (I supposed typical for late fall in Crete), but with my curly blonde hair in desperate need of a trim, I was in permanent anti-frizz ponytail mode. At least I’d been getting a little sleep, despite the nightmares, and my blue eyes were finally rid of their bloodshot edges.
I headed downstairs from King’s extravagant open-aired suite, thinking how much I’d miss the place once this was all over. I had to hand it to him: King had excellent taste—balcony overlooking the turquoise and sapphire-blue ocean, steaming sunken pool in the center of the room, murals of Greek goddesses, and neoclassic pillars. The entire estate was “Grecian spa meets the Four Seasons,” complete with private beach, tennis court, helicopter pad, twenty-foot-high fountains, and lush fruit trees. A palace fit for a modern-day king from old money—very, very old money—who didn’t think twice about spending it.
Still, I wondered why King had built the place. Stefanos Spiros, the head of the Spiros family who’d been King’s loyal servants for generations, once hinted the house had been built for me. I didn’t believe that. I me
an, I’d only met King a few months prior, and this home had been built a few years ago.
Regardless, goose bumps broke out over my skin every time I thought about that conversation. Stefanos had called me King’s “queen.” So archaic. The real rub, however, was that from the first moment I’d met King, he claimed me as his personal property. Even went as far as placing his stamp—a “K” tattoo—on my left wrist. Later, I’d learned he could control and track me with it, which seriously pissed me off. I wasn’t his. I never would be. And a tattoo wouldn’t change that.
Neither will a house, I thought, because I’m not for sale.
I entered the large open living room with white modern furniture and panoramic windows overlooking the ocean. King stood with his broad back to me, staring out across the waves, a glass of champagne in one hand and unlit cigar in the other. “You are correct in your assumption, Miss Turner.”
“Can we go back to ‘Mia’? I think we’re a little past the formal stage at this point.”
He nodded, but did not turn to face me. “As you wish.”
“Which assumption?” I asked.
“It is true; I had everything constructed in anticipation of your arrival, hoping you might want to call it home.”
I sat on the white couch and folded my hands neatly in my lap, mulling that over. There was no use in pretending his statement didn’t affect me, because King could hear my thoughts. There were no secrets. In fact, because he’d crawled around inside my head and body on several occasions, he knew more about me than I did.
“So how did you know I was coming?” I asked.
He stood perfectly still and spoke quietly, as if reliving the memories in his head. “I felt you growing closer with each day, just as I felt the Artifact’s presence.”
I quickly shut down any thoughts or emotions blooming inside my chest that might urge me to believe I meant something to him. I didn’t. To him, I was a means to an end and nothing more.
“All right,” I said. “So I’m here now, in the home you built for me—”
“For us,” he corrected and turned to face me. I wished he hadn’t, because I found it extremely difficult to stay focused when he looked at me. Fact was, the man did things to me—to my body. Even now, completely in control of my emotions, I felt the sensual heat pooling between my legs and deep inside, like some messed up Pavlovian response. Only, my brain and heart were not on board.
Idiot body.
But that was the conundrum about King I couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t like I ran around swooning for hot men, completely discounting their flaws. In fact, I’d always gone for the nice guys whom some might overlook because they weren’t considered handsome by traditional standards. I always, always felt attraction for the insides first.
With King, however, something pulled me in. It was a feeling that radiated from some unknown place, drawing me closer while my rational mind kicked and screamed, telling me to stay away. After I learned about his curse, I began to believe that the conflicting emotions might make sense. He was once a man, a good man, and that part of him was still in there somewhere. Anyway, I wanted to believe that the physical attraction I felt was for the man—the real man—he once was. Of course, I’d never know. That person was gone or, at least, changed forever by this curse.
“I’m sorry you had the home built for ‘us,’” I said. “Because there is no ‘us.’ There’s just me and you, and one of us will soon be over.” I know that pointing out his life would soon end sounded cruel, but King was made from the very fabric of cruel. He understood it and thrived on it.
“Yes.” He grinned. “You are correct, and I look forward to the day my existence will end and you will have back your beloved brother. In the meantime, there is much to be done.”
This was what I really wanted to hear: what he expected from me in this new deal of ours. As in my dream, to end his curse we needed the Artifact, and then I had to provide “the antidote” by finding something inside him to love. Not a simple thing. Thankfully, there were many kinds of love.
“You may assume,” King said, replying to my thoughts, “that the breed of affection required to break my curse is not the sort one might feel for a puppy.”
I laughed. “Well, thank goodness for that. Because puppies are irresistible.” He frowned and was about to speak, but I held out my hand. “Just a joke. I get it. Problem is, I can’t force myself to fall in love. So what I really need to know is your plan. What is it you need me to do?”
He nodded solemnly. “There is no plan.”
Right. King always had a plan.
“Not this time, Mia. I have no scheme, no magic, no devices to force this on you.”
“Seriously? You’ve got nothing?”
He shrugged.
“You’re counting on me to just…swoon and fall in love with you?”
He nodded.
“Then we’re screwed.” Because without the aid of some of King’s otherworldly gifts, I wasn’t going to be falling for him.
He lifted one brow. “You really know how to hurt a man.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
“We could have sex and go from there.”
My jaw dropped. “But you said—”
“That was a joke, Mia.”
“Oh.”
He scratched his chin. “What I propose is something far simpler.”
It was my turn to raise a brow.
“I will take you away, just you and I alone for the next six days. You may ask me anything you like, we can spend time together without interruptions, and you will get to know the real me.”
My body broke out in a cold sweat. “You mean…a vacation?” Was he mad?
“Think of it as an extended date.”
My breasts and core began to heat, fluttering and pulsing from just thinking about being alone with him. I could only imagine the overwhelming urges I’d have to resist if I actually went away with him. It was not a good idea. He had too much control over my body.
I shook my head no. “We should stay here and just…” I didn’t know what we’d do. “You’ve seriously got nothing? No love potions or anything?”
He shook his head no and crossed his arms. “The love must be genuine, or it will not work.”
“I’m not going away with you. I don’t trust you.” I didn’t trust myself, either.
“You will have to try,” he said starkly.
“Trust takes time.”
“There is no ‘time.’ We have one week.”
Oh no. This didn’t sound good. “Whyyy?”
King looked away, grinding his jaw. I thought how strange it was that a ghost would do that. Then again, everything King did felt real and just as alive as any man. “I have made a deal with the 10 Club.”
What the hell? “You made a deal with those soulless assholes?”
“Yes. Did I not just say that?”
“What deal, King?” I spat.
“I agreed to surrender my possessions.”
I sprang from my seat, ready to throttle the man. “I’m one of your possessions! Why would you do that?”
For the record, I didn’t agree I belonged to him, but what I thought didn’t matter. According to the 10 Club, a depraved, elite social network of sorts for billionaires who used each other to acquire things that couldn’t be purchased through any normal means—power, sex slaves, and other strange objects—I was his property.
“I anticipated you might react that way, Miss Turner, but let me explain: your disturbing dream was not so inaccurate.”
Mia. It’s Mia. Why is that so hard for you?
He ignored my thought and continued, “I do plan to marry you. This week, in fact. I’d hoped you’d warm to the idea after a few days alone with me.”
I had to ask, “Why?”
“I wish to legally transfer my possessions to you while I still live. The 10 Club will get nothing when I sign everything over, because I will own nothing.”
The 10 Club alr
eady had rules about ownership after one’s departure from this world. Basically, the significant other got everything. What he had done, however, was barter his possessions in exchange for something he wanted now. Of course, he intended to use a loophole to avoid giving them anything. That was sneaky. Why wasn’t I surprised?
“Why not transfer everything to my name without getting married?” I asked.
He looked at me as if I were daft.
“What?” I asked. It was a legitimate question.
“Miss Turner, I may be a ghost, but I assure you, my billions in assets are not.”
“Meaning?”
“Even if I’ll no longer be here to enjoy it, I am not about to give away half my wealth to taxes. Transfer of assets between spouses circumvents this issue.”
Taxes. I thought that over for a moment. I supposed it made sense, but something still didn’t feel right.
“What about me?” I asked. “You’ll still ‘own’ me when you sign over your big-nothing to the Club. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”
“I plan to remove my claim on you. You will become my wife instead—no longer my property, but my partner.”
It was quite the grand gesture, but he had to be working another angle.
“I am not,” he said, “working another angle. My wish is to see you safe and well looked after once I am gone. Marriage is merely the vehicle to accomplish this.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Married. You’re serious.”
“Of course.”
“And you think that once the 10 Club finds out what you’ve done, they won’t come and take what they want anyway, including my life?” These bastards did what they wanted, when they wanted, except when dealing with each other, in which case they still did what they wanted, but were simply a bit more careful. Anarchists in suits. With yachts and Mercedes. And planes. Maybe a few small countries, too.
“I will ensure there are other measures in place to stop them,” he said calmly.
None of this made sense, which meant the man was definitely up to something. If I had any chance of making my way through this, I had to lay out my cards and get him to agree to things that were valuable to me. “No deal.”