Home > Devil's Redemption (Devil's Pawn Duet #2)(4)

Devil's Redemption (Devil's Pawn Duet #2)(4)
Author: Natasha Knight

“And as Head of Household, so is yours. You’ll take control of the inheritance.”

“Correct. Upon the child’s birth, I will take control. It should coincide nicely with Carlton’s fiftieth.”

“You’re a terrible human being, do you know that?”

His eyes narrow and there’s a menacing tilt to his head. “You don’t know the things he’s done.”

“You mean the things you accuse him of. They’re only things you would do, Jericho St. James.” I push the blanket off feeling stronger and get to my feet. I step closer, getting to within an inch of him. “Things only a monster like you is capable of.”

A darkness descends over his features, a grin making something wicked out of his mouth. He walks me backward until I hit the wall. “Shall I tell you more, Isabelle?”

“I wouldn’t believe a word you say so save your breath.”

“Shall I tell you exactly how he decided your destiny before you even became aware of his existence?”

His words confuse me but before I can answer, he takes my arms, slips them behind my back and grips both wrists with one hand.

“No. I’ll spare you that. I’ll tell you something else instead.” His eyes flicker to my mouth, lower to the exposed part of my chest. “You are my wife. You carry my child. You belong to me, Isabelle St. James.”

Isabelle York. Isabelle Bishop. Isabelle St. James. I’ve come a long way in three years.

I open my mouth to protest, to curse him to hell because he won’t hurt me. Not now. Not while I’m carrying his child. But before I can, I hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of his zipper. I swallow, glancing down then back up at him.

The wicked set of his mouth is different now. Dirty. His gaze darkly erotic.

“And what’s more, wife, you want to belong to me,” he says, releasing my wrists and gripping my hips to lift me off the ground. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his middle as he balances me between himself and the wall. I feel his fingers at the crotch of my panties, pushing them aside. And as much as I hate it, I’m aroused.

“I don’t,” I tell him even as I feel him at my entrance, even as my body prepares to welcome him. “I don’t.” My arms are around his shoulders, hands gripping handfuls of hair and tugging. Hurting.

“You’re a liar too, wife,” he says as he thrusts inside me.

I grunt, taking the full length of him, my passage too tight, the intrusion too fast.

“Kiss me,” he says, thrusting again, hands cupping my ass.

“You want a kiss?” I ask, taking another hard thrust, my clit rubbing against him, my body doing exactly what he said. Wanting him. Wanting to belong to him.

“A bloody kiss. I’ll give you that,” he says. “Do your worst.”

I sink my teeth into his lower lip and taste the copper of blood. His thrusts come faster and I’m not sure it’s his moan or my own as I suck on his lip and bleed him.

When I come, I cling tight to him, arms on his shoulders, legs locked around his hips. He bounces me on his cock, spearing me again and again, growing thicker. I pant my release, his name on my lips, my body throbbing, vision blurring, nipples tight and too sensitive against my shirt, every sensation heightened. When he comes, I hear my name on his breath, feel the press of his chest against mine as he pins me to the wall and stills. Our eyes are locked, lip bloody, each of us hating the other. Me with a secret vow to destroy him. To take from him all he plans to take from me. I do have some power over him.

Sex.

He wants me as much as I want him. I will use that to bring Jericho St. James to his knees.

 

 

3

 

 

Jericho

 

 

The jet to Austria leaves in just over an hour but it gives me enough time to drop in on the Bishops. Even though our properties back up to one another, it’s a fifteen-minute drive around to their front entrance. The gate opens as we pull up. Carlton must be expecting me.

“Want me to come in with you, boss?” Dex asks when we pull up to the double front doors.

“No. I’ll just be a minute.”

He nods.

I take in the state of the place. The Bishop house was once grand. I have the blueprints at home. Know the nooks and crannies. I wonder if Carlton Bishop has ever bothered to study them. If he knows the weak points of the wall between our properties.

The gardens are unkempt. Leaves need to be swept, bushes trimmed. The roses that have crept over the wall need to be cut back, dead flowers cleared. I know financially Bishop is hurting. He may have the house and the properties, but he isn’t liquid. He needs to sell off some of his land. The apartment in Paris he’d purchased for his wife. He needs cash.

I step out of the Rolls Royce once it comes to a stop, adjust my jacket, and look up at the façade of the stone mansion. It’s built much like ours with its French chateau design, large windows, ornate wooden shutters. If you don’t look too closely, you won’t notice how the paint is peeling here or there, how a shutter is hanging just off center.

The door opens before I reach it but it’s not who I’m expecting. Not a butler or housekeeper. Not even Carlton Bishop. No. It’s his cousin, Julia.

She stops with her hand on the doorknob. No smile on her face today. She’s wearing a pair of running pants and sports bra that leaves her stomach exposed. She’s toned and tanned like she works on it.

“Ms. Bishop,” I say as I step up the stone stairs toward the door.

“Mr. St. James,” she says, her gaze moving over my shoulders and chest, then back up to my eyes. “I was just about to go on a run when I saw you drive up,” she says.

I get the feeling she wasn’t about to go on a run at all. That her being here, being the one to open the door, is a calculated move.

She steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. I do. Her breasts brush against my arm. I want to say it’s because the entry isn’t wide enough to accommodate us both, but something tells me even that is calculated.

She closes the door and a silence descends over the large house. From here I can see the stairs curving to the floor above, the living room, and dining room. It’s so quiet I wonder if there’s anyone else in the house.

I turn to her. She’s about the same height as Isabelle and when she looks up at me with the pale blue eyes of most of the Bishops, I notice she’s wearing full makeup to go for her run. Heavy eyeliner, lipstick, perfume, the works.

She smiles but stands just a little closer than would be appropriate. I don’t move as she raises her arms, stomach muscles flexing. She pulls her long blonde hair into a ponytail at the top of her head. She works it into an elastic with long, polished fingernails combing through it, then drags her hand slowly over the length of it to set it over her shoulder.

“Carlton isn’t here,” she says and I understand something. I think I do, at least.

“No?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sure I can help you with whatever you need. Come into my office. Would you like coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

She smiles, turns, and walks ahead of me down the hall shaking her curvy ass the whole way. It’s something to look at in her tight running pants. I’m sure that’s by design. I wonder how close she and Isabelle are. How much Isabelle knows about Julia. And I make a mental note to learn more myself.

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