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Authors: Jenika Snow

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BOOK: On His Terms
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She
felt her expression harden. Oh, she had a lot of things she could have said, a
lot of things she had said in her mind and to Cora only. But they were things
she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell
Rian
Hartford,
not unless she wanted to lose her job. “You’re my employer, and therefore I see
an intelligent man that knows how to run a business. I see a man that took over
his father’s company at a young age, made it even wealthier.” She was playing
safe, because she had no damn idea where he was going with all of this. He
didn’t speak for a moment, and when he finally did he seemed angry, or at least
the look on his face made her think he was.

“I
didn’t ask for the sugarcoated explanation of what anyone could read in my bio.
I want you to tell me what you
see
when you look at me.
Off the record, without repercussions.”
He started drumming his fingers on the table. Whether that was from nervousness
or annoyance, she still hadn’t figured it out.

He
seriously wanted her to call him out on the bullshit she thought about him? It
seemed like a trick, and she didn’t speak for a second, and finally he exhaled
roughly.

“Just
speak.” He was most definitely angry now.

She
sat up straighter, gritted her teeth, and narrowed her eyes. She so didn’t need
to be talked to like this by some egotistical asshole that thought the world
revolved around him.

He
grinned, like did a full blown smile that had his straight white teeth showing,
and totally changed the way he looked.
“Exactly, Sorcha.”

Oh. Shit.
She had totally said those words
out loud. Her face heated, her palms started to sweat, and she contemplated
bolting like a coward. Because wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do?

Chapter
Four

 

Rian
watched her like a hawk about to
swoop down and capture her in his talons. “I’m not going to fire you, Sorcha.
In fact, knowing what you really think is very refreshing.” He grabbed the
bottle of champagne, took the two flutes that sat on the tray beside that, and
filled them halfway. He then grabbed the orange juice, and made mimosas before
handing her one. Alcohol was the last thing she wanted, but the hair of the dog
and all that.

“You’ll
feel better.” He tipped his glass back, drank some, and watched her over the
rim of the flute.

She
took a long sip, and she did admit that after it was all said and done she felt
marginally better as well.

“I
am a cocky bastard, Sorcha, and can be cruel and unyielding when the time calls
for it.”

She
downed the rest of her mimosa. “We’ve eaten, had some drinks, so if you could
please tell me why I’m here…” She swallowed, hating that she felt nervous like
this. It was an uncomfortable sensation that made her feel not like herself.
Whenever she was around
Rian
Hartford she felt weak,
on display, and when he stared at her so calculatingly it was like there was no
secret that she could keep from him. But she didn’t tell him how she felt,
didn’t show how unsteady he truly made her. Sorcha put up a wall of
indifference and discontent, because when it came to a man like him there was
nothing that was left out in the open.

He
was authentic in his emotions, in his feelings and how he acted. He displayed
his innermost basic urges that made a human what they were. And although they
made him a bastard, a hard and unrelenting man, there was a part of her that
could appreciate that side of him.

“Timothy,”
Rian
said in a raised, yet steady voice. A second
later the cook entered the office again, cleared the dishes and food off the
table, and then left them alone. “You’re anxious now to hear what I have to
say, but I have a feeling you won’t feel the same way once you know my
intentions.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, just stood and grabbed a manila
envelope off of his desk. He faced her again, and then set the envelope on the
table in front of her.

“What’s
this?” she asked, but reached for the envelope and pulled the papers out of it
before he responded.

“A proposition, Sorcha.”

She
glanced up at him and watched as he moved back to his seat and sat down.

She
looked back down at the paperwork, scanned the first page, and felt her heart
drop to her stomach.
“A proposition.”
She stated it to
herself. “This is a contract.” She stared at him again, offended, slightly
appalled, but most of all curiously aroused as a few of the words in the
contract jumped out at her.

“It
is.” He leaned forward, clasped his hands on the table in front of him, and
looked her dead in the eye. “My image tends to get tarnished because some of my
past sexual partners go to the media, thinking they are somehow hurting me.”

She
swallowed, and knew what he was talking about. Sorcha had seen the news, read
the tabloids about some of the women he had screwed, a few of them coming
forward because they had been scorned. Every woman wanted to be with
Rian
Hartford. They wanted to know what it was like to have
him over them, thrusting into them, and showing them that the dominance he had
was also what he used in the bedroom. Sorcha included. She wasn’t into BDSM,
but didn’t know if that was what he was implying with this contract. But what
she did want to try, what she’d even thought about on a few occasions, was how
powerful he truly was behind the exterior he presented. But what always turned
her off was the fact
Rian
was an asshole, a big-time
douche-bag at times, and because of that she had put all desires she had to the
back of her mind. She wasn’t immune to his charms, to the way he looked, or the
fact he screamed sex appeal. But she was smart and refused to be another one of
his office slutty romances.

“But
I want you, Sorcha.” He stared at her so deeply that she tightened her hold on
the papers.

Could
he hear her heart beating, see it in her neck? She felt like her heart would
burst right through her chest. “You want me?” Had she said that out
loud,
or just thought it?

It
took him a moment to answer. “Yes. I want you really fucking badly, in fact.”

Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.

She
had never heard him swear.
Rian
was always so in
control that cursing almost seemed like a waste of time for him, or at least
that was what she had assumed given the way he acted and held himself. Looking
over the contract, she took note of the key points. It was only two pages, but
God, it seemed like there was so much more to it than that.

“I
don’t understand any of this.” Of course she could read, got the basics of it
all, but her mind felt like mush, and she felt disconnected from everything.
When she had felt like something was off, she certainly had never entertained
this idea.

“I
am making the proposition that you be mine for the length of one week,” he said
calmly, with conviction and almost a touch of excitement in his voice. “During
that time you will be mine, Sorcha Case. You will live in my home, eat my food,
and be by my side during any functions that I have to attend in a formal and
informal sense.” The silence stretched between them after he spoke, but Sorcha
couldn’t find it in her to speak, let alone think about what he was actually
saying. “You will be mine in any way I see fit, Sorcha, sexually,
intellectually, and socially.” He leaned forward an inch.
“In
any.
Way. I. See. Fit.” He let those words hang between them, and then
slowly leaned back, placed his arm over the back of the chair again, and took
on the same position as he had when she first entered his office. “And in
return you will be paid a substantial amount of money since the time spent with
me will have you away from your job.”

She
glanced down at the bottom of the last page, and swallowed her shock. A
five-figure amount stared back at her, and the initial things that went through
her mind were that she could pay all of her bills. But she shook her head, not
knowing what to say to this exactly. The contract was very widespread, blanket
even. What
Rian
had just told her was exactly what
was written in front of her. No details, no explanation of anything. “I’m not a
prostitute.” Her anger rose, and her self-preservation took a front seat.

“I
never once claimed you were, and that isn’t what I want from you, not only at
least.” He wasn’t showing any emotion, and that angered her even more.

She
stood, tossed the contract on the table, and went to leave. Fuck him, and fuck
this job.

“I
didn’t take you for the drama kind of woman, Sorcha.”

She
looked over her shoulder at him, felt her face heat because he was so fucking
calm, and turned to face him again. “I’m not doing drama,
Mr. Hartford
. In fact, I am doing the opposite of what I really
want to do, which is reach across this table and slap your face.”

The
corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, and she curled her nails into her
palms hard enough that she wouldn’t be surprised if she broke skin. “Why not
just ask one of the many women you’ve slept with to do this? Lord knows you
wouldn’t have to pay them a thing to be in your bed.” God, she felt sick, like
trashy and worthless because this man was trying to have her sign a contract
where she would be selling her body for a specific amount of time.

“Sit
down, Sorcha, and let me explain.” He hadn’t moved from his position, but she
actually found herself gripping the back of the chair and moving around it to
sit down. If nothing else she wanted to hear why he would even think she’d be
up for something like this, and why he wanted
her
out of all people. “I could have many women in my bed, and
certainly wouldn’t have to pay them anything that wasn’t for their meal and a
few glasses of wine. But that’s not what I want. What I want
is
you.”

“But why?”
She was so fucking confused. She
was far from the model type female, and those had been the women she had seen
Rian
Hartford with in the news and tabloids.

“Let’s
put aside the fact that you could use the money, right?” he asked, and she
shrugged, feeling herself like this puppet on a string, and he was the one
controlling the damn thing. “I know of your money problems, but that isn’t why
I chose you. You’re not a charity case, though I’m sure the thought has crossed
your mind.”

She
didn’t respond, because although that tiny sliver of a thought had gone though
her head, her biggest one was that she wasn’t a whore that could be bought. “My
body isn’t for sale, and that is what I would be doing if I signed this piece
of shit.” She tossed the contract more towards his way, and this dark mask
covered his face.

“Did
I ever call you a whore?” he said deeply, menacingly almost. Without giving her
a chance to respond he started speaking again. “If I wanted a woman that would
lie back and spread her legs for me for a few hundred dollars I’d have no
trouble finding one. In fact I could find one that would do it for free,
Sorcha.”

“Then what?
Just get on with it, because
frankly I should have been long gone, not listening to this bullshit.” Fuck her
hangover, and fuck him and his pompous ass that thought money could buy him
whatever he wanted.

“That’s
why I wanted you.”

She
knitted her brows. “What?” He totally didn’t answer the question on why he
wanted her specifically, and instead was being cryptic again.

“I
picked you because you don’t put up with my bullshit. You do, but I can see in
your face, and the way you hold yourself that the majority of the time that you
want to slap me, curse at me, and quit.”

Yes,
that was all true, but still it didn’t make any sense on why a man like him, so
dominating in every aspect of his life, wanted a woman that was clearly not a
submissive in all things. She had never rolled over for a guy, and sure as hell
wasn’t about to start now. Sorcha was the one to lean in now, and the table was
smaller, intimate even, and so her face was pretty close to his. “I’m not just
going to give you what you want, subject myself to your nasty sexual fetishes,
and be your little slut for the next seven days. I may need money, but I don’t
need to earn it that way.”

Before
she could move he stood, and that put her right in line of view with his
massive erection. She widened her eyes at the sight, but couldn’t even move as
shock filled her. His dick strained against the material of his jeans, and she
swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. He was … huge.

“It
turns me on that you talk back, that you don’t put up with my bullshit, and
it’s because of those reasons, and my own selfish desires, that make me want to
have you, Sorcha.” He placed his hands flat on the table, bent at the waist,
and put his face close to hers. “A part of you hates me, and rightfully so, but
there is also another part of you that didn’t reject my offer outright.” He
looked right in her eyes, and she got lost in the icy blue depths. “That other
part is intrigued, aroused even by the thought of signing yourself away to me.
Isn’t that right?” He was taunting her, mocking her and her feelings, but he
didn’t know her at all, not in the six months that she had been at his beck and
call.

BOOK: On His Terms
12.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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