Louise Fuller - Claiming His Wedding Night

Trying to keep what little remained of her dignity, she sat down and stared at him coldly.

His eyes gleamed. ‘Go on. Take it.’

Reluctantly she reached out and picked up the slip of paper. Staring down at it, she felt her face drain of colour. ‘This is the wrong amount.’ She looked back down, then, blinking, lifted her head in confusion. ‘This is double what I was expecting.’

His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘Think of it as an anniversary present.’

Carefully she put the paper down on the table. ‘That’s incredibly generous of you,’ she said hoarsely.

‘I’m glad you approve.’

His tone was pleasant, but something in his eyes made a shiver of apprehension run down her spine and she glanced nervously at the slip of paper again, half feaing she might have imagined it. But it was definitely real.

‘It really is very generous,’ she said stiffly. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t got the money. It means so much to me. Thank you.’ She breathed out. ‘How long will it take to clear?’ She knew she sounded gauche but she didn’t care. If Malachi wanted to gloat—let him.

‘Around two hours.’ He paused and looked past her at the dark clouds and the grey swelling sea outside, and she felt that shiver of apprehension spike painfully through her skin. ‘But before you start spending it I need to make a few things clear.’

She nodded. ‘Of course. Do you want me to sign a contract? I can do that now.’

He turned and slowly, very slowly, smiled at her.

‘That won’t be necessary. You see, that money didn’t come from King Industries. It came from me. From my personal bank account. And my terms are personal too.’

She swallowed—or tried to swallow at least—past the lump in her throat.

‘What do you mean “personal”?’ she croaked. Around her the air felt hot and leaden and the room was growing darker. ‘What do you mean?’ she repeated, and the lump felt sharp and jagged now.

His voice was soft, just as it had been when he’d promised to love and honour and cherish her for ever. But the lines of his face were knife sharp and harder than stone.

‘I’ve been very patient, sweetheart, but you owe me a honeymoon.’

‘I—I don’t understand.’

His gaze swept over her slowly.

‘Then let me explain. I want you to come away with me for a month. To be my mistress.’

His eyes locked on to hers, pinning her against the leather upholstery.

‘Do that and you can keep the money. Who knows? There might even be a little bonus in it for you as well.’

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