The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

I liked that he referred to the arrangement as work. It felt clinical, detached.

Problem was, by the time we were done going over legal documents, it was the middle of the night, and I was curled on the couch next to him, yawning into a throw pillow. I was still in the same corseted dress I wore for work and looked like a medieval prostitute who was about to corrupt the king’s first son.

“Is this your secret weapon? Exhausting people into submission?” I purred into the pillow, fighting the unbearable weight of my eyelids.

I heard Devon putting the signed contracts back into his leather briefcase and zipping it shut.

“Among others.” His jaw ticked, and I thought I saw something cold and emotionless pass across his face.

I let my eyes rest for a few seconds.

“Hmm,” I replied, hugging the pillow I was resting against, curling around it like a cat. “I believe you’ve just met your match. I never bow to anyone.”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“And you?” I was already half-asleep when I asked it.

“No to a boyfriend. I’ve had a few girlfriends. None of them survived the six-month mark, though.”

“That’s whaddathought,” I slurred, letting out a soft snore. At this point, I was snoring into my own armpit, in an exhibition of bursting allure and delicate femininity.

“Sweden.” His low voice rolled like a dark cloud above my head. “Up you go.”

“You going to Sweden?” I was drooling over my throw now. The cold, sticky saliva gluing my cheek against it.

He chuckled. “Not Sweden, Sweven.”

“Oh.” A pause. I was still asleep, but still somehow talking to him. “What’s that?”

“A dream, a vision. Something that comes to you in your sleep. You’re a fantasy, Emmabelle. Too good to be true. Too bad to be experienced.”

“Whoopy me,” I groaned. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me to marry him. I was exhausted and sleep-deprived enough to consider it.

“Time to take a shower.”

“Tomorrow,” I garbled.

“It is tomorrow,” he argued. “And Google told me your ovulation window is only twelve to twenty-four hours. Get into the shower so we can fulfill our contract.”

Swiftly, and without making a sound, Devon picked me up honeymoon-style and carried me along my apartment. Finally, I thought, my eyes still closed. The bastard was taking me to my bed. We’d do it tomorrow, or the next day, or …

What the hell?

My eyes snapped open when I was met with icy needles of frozen water. Disoriented, I found myself lying on the floor of my shower. Both showerheads were spitting at me. I looked around frantically, spotting Devon standing on the other side of the glass door, his narrow hip leaning against the wall, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing mouthwatering, veiny forearms.

The devil’s smirk was smeared across his face.

I scrambled out of my already ruined dress, which became heavy with liquid, dumping it with a slap on the floor beside me.

“I’m going to kill you!” I clawed at the door like a wet feline, fully awake—and naked—now. I was about to pry it open and pounce on him. He moved over to the other side of the glass door, pulling the handle and keeping it shut.

“Kill me later. First, I need you clean and alert.”

“The only touching we’ll be doing when I get out of here is me stabbing you in the face.” I bared my teeth through the glass.

I didn’t remember him half as exasperating when we had casual sex. Did he have a shitty personality transplant or something?

“Angry sex is the best sex.” Devon brushed his thumb over his lower lip, throwing me over the edge of my sanity.

“I’ll freeze to death!” I was trying to bargain now.

“I’ll write you a lovely obituary.”

“You can’t be that heartless!” I banged on the glass door with my fist.

“Of course I can.” He smiled cordially, like a host in a Michelin-star restaurant. “Besides, diamonds are made under pressure.”

“Let go of the handle.”

“Wash first.”

“Or what?” I felt crazy with the need to retaliate for what he was doing to me. My mind began working overtime. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. No way.

“Or this will be the only way you’ll get wet tonight. And threats aside, we both know you’ve been dreaming about this since the night you threw me out all those years ago.”

His words made me glance down to his slacks. To the impressive tent that awaited my attention. My eyes snapped back up to him. “Sorry, pal. My time with you didn’t chart in the first twenty memorable fucks I’ve had.”

Devon grinned, little crinkles of happiness decorating his jewel-colored eyes. “Liar.”

He turned around and strolled out of the bathroom, all confidence and suaveness. I seized the opportunity and launched out of the shower, jumping in front of him, and blocking his way. I pushed him back toward the bathroom, my body soaking his tux with water.

“Not so fast, Duke of Cuntington. I believe it’s your tur—”

Before I could finish the sentence, he pushed me against the wall, and covered my mouth in a punishing, bruising kiss.