Maisey Yates - Married for Amari's Heir

He waited. Waited until her heart was thundering so hard she was certain he could hear it. Waited until she was certain she would be ill. Waited until she couldn’t hold the question back any longer.

“What?” she asked, her throat dry.

“That it was just as I said. I made you beg for it.” Then he walked through the door, and let it close firmly behind him.

Charity just sat there in the center of the bed, tugging her legs up to her chest. She looked down at the white bedspread and saw a smear of blood and the full horror hit her.

A tear slid down her cheek, a sob shaking her body.

Dear God, what had she done? What had he made her into?

She’d never been a “good girl.” Never been honorable or honest. How could you be when the first skill you learned was tricking strangers into thinking you needed money so you could bring it back to your father? How could you ever be good when you’d been straddling the lines between right and wrong from the beginning?

But there were lines she had never crossed. She had never used her body like this.

And now...

The room is paid for...

No. She wouldn’t stay here. She couldn’t. And she wouldn’t let that damned lingerie touch her skin ever again.

Another tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away, anger fueling her now. She could fall apart later, but for now, she needed to handle this.

She had made a mistake. A terrible mistake. She had revealed herself to him. Her real self, not just her facade. You didn’t show yourself to a mark, ever.

He was still a mark. That was all. And she would never make such a mistake again.

She picked up the phone that was by the bedside and dialed the front desk. “Yes,” she said when the woman on the other end answered. “I’m in Mr. Amari’s room. I need a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Medium. Some sneakers. Size eight. And a bra. Thirty-six B. Just charge it to the room.”

She hung up and sat back down on the bed. She wasn’t touching that dress, those shoes, or the lingerie again.

The sweats were a fair trade.

It was the last thing she would ever take from Rocco Amari. The very last thing.

After this, she would forget about him. About this hotel room. Where she had lost her pride and her virginity all at the same time.

From this moment on, Rocco Amari was dead to her. She would leave this experience here, over and done.

She’d used her body to escape, so she would damn well see that it was an escape. No more cons. No more helping her father out with one last thing.

She would leave here, and go into her new life, with a fresh start.

After this, she would not speak of him. She would not think of him. She would take nothing from him ever again.

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