Prologue
The end of Fate’s Demand
With a chaste kiss, one that left my own essence on my lips, Rett pushed the chair back to the table and returned to his seat.
My hands shook as I reached for my glass of wine. The red liquid quivered as I brought the glass to my lips. After consuming a generous portion, I stared beyond the candles to the man now casually dining upon his meal. A forkful of shrimp and an oyster on a cracker—it was as if we hadn’t just…My head shook as I found my voice. “Let me get this straight. Ross made you a deal regarding me?”
“No.”
“No?”
Rett dabbed the napkin at the corner of his lips, the same lips that had just brought me to ecstasy—twice.
“After both an in-depth conversation with your friend and my own diligent research, I contacted Mr. Underwood again and offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse.”
My head shook. “You can’t make deals regarding people. It doesn’t work like that.”
Amusement again danced in his dark orbs. “My dear, the deal is done.”
“Why do you think I’d go along with this?”
Lowering his fork to the plate before him, Rett sat taller and took a breath. “You are a marked woman.”
I had to wonder if he was referring to what we’d just done.
Everett Ramses went on. “Your brother wants you dead.”
I sat straighter. “Kyle died in the accident with our parents. He’s been gone for over four years.”
“No, my dear, Kyle O’Brien is very much alive. He’s bided his time and now believes he can claim New Orleans. However, to achieve his goal, he must overcome two obstacles.”
“Two?”
“Me,” Rett said, leaning back in his throne-like chair and reaching for the arms, “and you.”
“What do I have to do with any of this?”
“Kyle, your adoptive brother, is claiming that his stake to the city rests on the notion that he is the child Jezebel North gave up. You see, he’s proclaiming that he is the true heir of Isaiah Boudreau.”
The reality of Rett’s words settled around me in a fog.
“My brother is alive and wants me dead?”
“He knows you’re here, in New Orleans.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you will stay with me. I will protect you, and once you’re legally Emma Ramses, you will be untouchable.”
I stood, no longer able to sit still. Cool air flowed under my skirt, a reminder I was nude beneath.
“This is ludicrous. I should just go back to Pittsburgh.”
“No,” Rett said definitively. “I have had you under protection there since I first learned.”
“There were people watching me?”
“That is done. Your home is in New Orleans.”
My hands went out, coming back to slap my thighs. “And do what, Rett? My life is in Pittsburgh.”
“Your education and dream is to be a writer. There is no better place in the world than here, but most importantly, you will be my wife.” When I didn’t respond, he went on, “I have men waiting to escort us away from this restaurant.”
“Away, to where?” I asked.
“To my home. It’s very safe.”
My gaze darted to the door and back. “And if I say no? If I just leave?”
Rett gestured toward the door. “You won’t, but as you are my future wife, I prefer not to hold you captive against your will.” He shrugged. “I will, but I’d prefer you cooperate.”
I tugged at my lip with my teeth as I contemplated all that had been said. “What will happen if I leave?”
“If you walk through that door alone, you will be vulnerable, not only to Kyle but also to his men. You may succeed in making it to the courtyard or possibly the sidewalk beyond; however, I can unequivocally say that…one more step would mean certain death.”
Emma
Rett gestured toward the door through which I’d just threatened to leave. “You won’t,” he said, “but as you are my future wife, I prefer not to hold you captive against your will.” He shrugged. “I will, but I’d prefer you cooperate.”
The sound of Rett’s deep voice rattled through my mind. His dark stare met mine even as my eyes closed. My pulse raced with the memories of what he’d done, what I’d allowed him to do to me. Lingering in a place between pleasure and pain, my core remained twisted with the understanding that in a matter of a few hours or less, I’d put aside all I’d known—all that I had heard with my own ears and seen with my own eyes—for the words, no, for the demand of a man who somehow scattered both my body and mind.
It was too much. I couldn’t concentrate.
Much like driving on a dark night through a downpour, searching for an unknown street sign with the radio turned up, the driver reached for the volume and turned down the familiar song. It didn’t lessen the falling rain, bring sunlight to the night sky, or make the sign more visible; it simply reduced the stimuli.
That was what I sought as Everett Ramses’s demand lingered in the air, mixing with the concoction of the delicious aromas from the seafood smorgasbord, the remaining alcohol circulating through my bloodstream, and the dampness he’d facilitated between my thighs.
“Why should I believe you?” I asked.
“Because you know I’m right.”
His response was simple and while ridiculous, there was a part of me, deep inside, that wondered if he could be right—was right.
Rett stood, pushing back the throne-like chair from where he’d made his decrees. My breathing hitched as with each stride he came closer. There was no need to rush; he knew his audience was captive, not as captive as I would be, but still, my high heels were rooted to the floor as I gripped the chair before me. The seams of his white shirt pulled with his deep breaths. His handsome face showed no signs of emotion.
The enticing cloud surrounding him added to the overwhelming assault on my mind. Wine, seafood, and rich, spicy cologne filled my senses as he pulled out my chair and encouraged me to sit.
“You see,” he said as I sat and he stayed behind me. His slick timbre sliced through the air. “You know that what I’ve said is true.”
Before I could speak, his large hands skirted up my arms.
They were the only part of him that I could see, yet I felt him behind me, his presence dominating my thoughts, settling the chaos as I concentrated only on him. Closing my eyes, I let his deep rumblings infiltrate my mind, setting off reactions within me; much like the silver ball within an old-fashioned pinball machine, they ricocheted from here to there.
The warmth of his touch moved higher.
“Think about it, Emma. The times you wondered if by chance you left your door unlocked. The sounds you heard in the middle of the night. The times you walked along a dark sidewalk, your senses on high alert as you looked left and then right, wondering if you were being watched. And the instances when you wondered if things were out of place, knowing they shouldn’t be but having a feeling, one you couldn’t shake.”
Despite his warm touch, my skin cooled. With each of his phrases, I recalled an instance or maybe more. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized where his hands had landed, what they were doing, until the pressure on my neck became uncomfortable.