Seducing the Enemy Read online

  “Can’t you call me while you’re away?” Now he sounds downright worried.

  “No.”

  Even if I was allowed to bring my phone, I’m sure Jett will keep me too busy under his thumb—and in his bed—to even try.

  Outside, the headlights in my driveway flash off and on again. That’s my cue.

  “I have to go.”

  “Are you going to be all right? You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you?”

  I don’t lie to him, at least not any more than I already am. “I’ll talk to you next week. I love you.” That’s something I never say because sentiment annoys him, but I need to get the words out…just in case. “Bye.”

  Then I hang up. I don’t reach out to my fiancé. He won’t miss me; he doesn’t care. He’s probably spending his weekend with strippers and drugs. We both know I’m aware of his coping mechanisms. I’ll deal with that mess when I get back.

  Resolved, I power down my phone, leaving it on the table. Vance will come over while I’m gone. He’ll try to figure out where I went. He’ll see my phone right away and realize that attempting to contact me is pointless.

  I grab the burner phone Jett foisted on me and rise on shaking legs. Outside, I lock my front door, tuck my house key into the flowerpot on my porch, and make my way to the sleek black Mercedes sedan. It reminds me vaguely of a car my grandmother drove as a kid. But the warm fuzzy ends there.

  As I approach, a tall stranger unfolds from the driver’s seat and makes his way to me wordlessly, holding the back door open. I nod as I climb into the car. There’s a partition between the driver and me. I hear him slide into the idling vehicle, but I can’t see where he’s taking me. I have no idea what’s going on.

  I must be crazy.

  After a few turns, I lose track of where we’re going. North, I think. We’re on the highway now. The car is no longer starting and stopping with the traffic. So now this stranger behind the wheel is simply whisking me with no impediments toward my doom.

  I swallow and peer out the window, into the night. Nothing. I see nothing but fields. Nothing is familiar. Nothing to use as a landmark to tell people where to find me if I’m in danger. I don’t think Jett would hurt me.

  But I’ve been wrong about him before.

  I turn the phone he gave me over in my hands. It’s not too late. I could still call him and tell him I’ve changed my mind.

  But why? Vance needs his cash, and we have no new prospects.

  That’s not the only reason, the seditious part of my brain whispers.

  If I’m being completely honest, I’ve waited eight horrible years to set eyes—and anything else I could—on Jett Dean. If this is the only way I can have him, I’m willing to take my chances.

  But when I glance down at the device, digital numbers flash the time at me. Nine forty-seven. I’m two minutes late to text him. I don’t hurry to rectify my lapse. Instead, I set the device in my lap and wait.

  I’m going to surrender to him; that’s a given. And despite the fact I’m baiting the bull, I’m not going to make it easy.

  Suddenly, the phone in my hand vibrates.

  With a bracing breath, I answer. “Yes, Jett.”

  “You didn’t text.”

  “You made it clear that I would be at your beck and call once I was under your roof and in your bed. Until then, I’m still my own woman. Fuck off.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “You know there are consequences for your defiance?”

  Of course. I’m looking forward to it. “I’m in your car with your driver, on the way to your location so I can be your sex slave for the week. I’d say you’ve already won and that you shouldn’t bother sweating the small stuff.”

  “That’s not how I operate,” he grates out, teeth obviously clenched.

  He’s on edge. Where I want him.

  “It never has been.” But learning a little give-and-take would be good for Jett. And it might be fun for me.

  Or it would if I wasn’t risking everything to be with him.

  “Listen, princess—”

  “Good-bye.” I hang up. A smile curls my mouth because I know I’m playing with fire.

  And I hope very much I’m going to enjoy getting burned.

  The car exits the highway and veers right, traveling down a winding two-lane road that seemingly leads nowhere. I have to be patient. It’s not as if I can ask the driver anything, much less plead for information.

  At exactly ten, the sedan rolls to a smooth stop. The engine goes silent. The driver exits and shuts his door. I hear boots crunch the gravel outside. Then my door opens, and the driver holds out a broad hand.

  With a nod, I take it. He assists me to my feet, then gestures me toward the house.

  But it’s not a house, really. It’s a massive white French Country estate in the middle of nowhere with a breathtaking fountain, perfectly trimmed evergreens, and ornate wrought-iron front doors.

  I turn to the driver. “What is this place?”

  “Ya ne govoryu po-angliyski,” he says with a shrug of his wide shoulders.

  He’s speaking Russian, I think. Not that I know the language, but I can only imagine he’s telling me he doesn’t speak English. Leave it to Jett to think of everything. Even if I’d managed to sucker this guy into talking, we’d run straight into a language barrier.

  His ploy should probably scare me more, but he’s always paid attention to detail, so I’m hardly surprised.

  Just slightly terrified.

  “I understand.” I lay a soft hand on his forearm.

  He nods and pulls away, casting a nervous glance back to the house.

  Does he suspect Jett is watching?

  He probably is.

  I don’t bother the driver again. This is between Jett and me.

  My journey to the front door seems to last a thousand steps. Not because it’s long, but because I take it slow. I want to make him wait. And suffer.

  Like I did.

  Finally, I push the grand front door open. The white marble floor gleams by the light of an elegant chandelier hanging from the barrel ceiling above. On an exquisite hall table to my right rests a glass of red wine, clearly for me. I pick it up and walk another few steps. I find a white wicker hamper with the lid open. An empty acrylic shoe storage box sits beside it.

  He wants me to undress for him. Kneel for him. Suck his cock. Spread my legs. Surrender.

  I sip my wine. He can wait.

  His stare is all over me. I can feel it. Somewhere, somehow, he’s watching. And he’s impatient.

  Ignoring the receptacles for my clothes, I wander through the house. It’s devoid of humanity now, but it has life. I feel the echoes of happiness here. I can almost hear laughter. Once, someone lived a charmed existence under this roof. But not the current occupant. Not at this moment. Jett’s brooding seethes through the silence.

  He wants me naked—now.

  There must be something wrong with me. I’m impatient to give in to him.

  “Hi, Jett,” I call, my voice echoing across the tile.

  No reply.

  But I’m not fooled. He’s here. He simply won’t speak to me until I’ve stripped myself bare for him. I know that instinctively.

  I continue scoping the downstairs, winding past a staircase on the left, then into a beautiful white kitchen with hand-painted tile, a rough-hewn island, and dark rustic beams overhead. Through an arch, I find myself in a cozy family room with a massive stone hearth and simple furnishings, dressed up with colorful accents and an unassuming chandelier. I sink onto a footstool and look out the wall of glass to the backyard beyond.

  The swimming pool shimmers. The sound of cicadas singing lulls me. The twinkling summer stars lure me outside.

  Not even sure where I’m going or why, I walk out, leaving the door open as a clue for Jett. Not that he needs it; I still feel his eyes on me. But I want this last moment of freedom.

  I know he’ll snatch it quickly and trap me under h
im for the next seven days. That’s a given. Stalling is both foolish and reckless, but I can’t stop. If this is all the rebellion he’ll allow me while we’re together, I’m taking it. I want him to understand I’m not without my devices.

  By the pool, the breeze picks up and whips through my hair. I set my wine aside and pluck the elastic band from around my wrist, using it to wind my long hair on top of my head. Then I tread to the side of the crystal-blue water and start shedding my clothes—shoes, dress, bra, underwear. In a blink, it’s all gone, and I’m bare.

  I still don’t know where Jett is, but his stare has intensified. There’s no escape.

  I drag in a deep breath and walk into the warm water. It envelops me like a soothing blanket. Shutting my eyes, I sigh.

  “Are you incapable of following instructions?”

  I start at the sound of Jett’s voice. Suddenly, he’s standing at the edge of the pool, mere feet away. How did he sneak up on me so quickly?

  Never mind that. Will he give me another stitch to wear for the next seven days?

  Turning, I cock my head at him to see he’s still wearing the same designer suit. “Not at all.”

  “So you’re merely choosing not to.”

  My smile is nothing short of mocking. “Something like that.”

  “You understand I’m going to make you regret that?”

  Excitement flips in my belly. “I’m sure you’ll try.”

  Jett doesn’t merely smile at my snarky reply; he actually laughs like there’s a joke—and it’s on me. “Out of the water.”

  “Or?”

  “I’ll make you suffer.”

  Thrill rushes through me. It dips low. I feel my sex swell and my womb clench.

  He won’t actually hurt me. I know him well enough to know that. I’ve heard the whispers about who and what he is in bed.

  “I already am. I’m giving up my work, my life, and my fiancé for a week. And I’m stuck with you.”

  He rubs his palms together like they burn. “I’m going to count to five. If I have to come in after you, I’ll end our arrangement. You can go home. I’ll take my forty million and disappear. Your call.”

  Damn it. I pushed him. I don’t think too hard, but he clearly wants some show of obedience. He wants proof I’m still choosing to be here. And he wants to know this week won’t be a constant tug-of-war. I can’t promise that. But I also can’t risk calling his bluff.

  With a sigh, I wade back to the steps and slowly ascend. My shoulders break the surface of the pool, then my breasts, my hips, my thighs. Water clings and drips as I meet his gaze and make my way across the deck to him, one swaying step at a time.

  Possessive hunger blazes in his dark eyes. He wants me. Just to fuck…or for something more? I can’t tell, but it’s obvious he craves every inch of skin he sees. He’s not even trying to hide it.

  Less than two feet from him, I bow my head. Mostly because I can’t stand the triumph on his face…but I’ve also heard the expectations he has of his lovers. I’ve wondered so many times if the whispers are true.

  “There were three parts of my command,” he points out.

  You will strip. And you will kneel. Then you will wait for me.

  I shiver. “I remember.”

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.”

  I can almost feel his smile. “You’re finally naked. Part two now, please.”

  My head rebels against this, but something far lower flutters with thrill. What does that say about me?

  “If I don’t?” I ask.

  “I won’t keep fighting you. And I refuse to spend the next seven days threatening you, Whitney. You agreed to my terms and you got in my car. If you can’t comply with these exceedingly simple commands, I’ll turn around and leave. I doubt our paths will cross again.”

  He’s right. I haven’t seen Jett Dean, except in tabloid rags, since that summer all the promise between us burned away in a fiery blaze of betrayal.

  I nibble my bottom lip.

  Tick-tock. In my head, I hear time ticking away. I said yes in the bar because my only other choice is far less palatable.

  Now I just have to find the courage to surrender to the man I’ve considered both my first love and my enemy since sixteen.

  I swallow, steel myself, then kneel at his feet. The hard concrete beneath my knees presses unforgivingly into my skin. I’m still dripping, and the hot wind blows. Nothing about this is comfortable. But I don’t move as Jett scrutinizes me. I feel every second of his stare.

  He grabs my left hand. “Take it off.”

  My engagement ring.

  I nod. It’s always been a bit tight. At times, I would have sworn the diamond-encrusted band wrapped around my finger was somehow strangling me.

  “What will you do with it?”

  “Keep it with your clothing for the next seven days. At the end of that time, if you want to return to him, slip it back on.” He shrugs. “I won’t stop you.”

  I don’t entirely believe he’ll let me off that easily. Or is that wishful thinking? “Then why not let me wear it? Wouldn’t the reminder that you’re temporarily screwing my fiancé out of his bride-to-be give you a thrill?”

  “No.” His black eyes flash as he snatches my clothes from the table and into his grip. “I said naked. I meant naked. That means everything goes.”

  I’ve asked myself a hundred times why Jett wants me for the next week. Certainly, if he was going to bail Vance out, the arrangement could have been done through lawyers, brokers, and bankers. Instead, he came to me with this indecent proposal. From the moment I read his note, I could only think of two possible reasons why he would contact me directly. First, he could be eager to humiliate me. I’ve known all along that he’d likely want to repay me for the ignominy he suffered that summer. I’m sure he’s even thought a time or two that I’m partially to blame. The second—and much slimmer—possibility is that he’s never forgotten me and he now wants all the pleasure stolen from him that summer.

  Still, I don’t hesitate another moment. I simply slide the rock off my finger. “Does that please you”—I hold it out to him—“Sir?”

  In the middle of pocketing the jewelry with a scowl, Jett freezes. “Yes. You’ve heard the gossip, I take it.”

  “I have.” I want to ask if it’s true, but I don’t.

  He rests his palm on my crown and threads his fingers through my hair before closing them under the elastic band holding my loose bun in place, tugging until I meet his gaze. “Everything goes, Whitney.”

  “It’s just a ponytail holder,” I argue.

  “It’s in my way.”

  As if his words settle the matter, he plucks the round elastic band from my hair deftly but inexorably. The skeins come tumbling down past my shoulders, clinging to my back, and curling in at my waist.

  As he pockets my elastic band, heat flares in his inky eyes. “Wait here. Don’t move.”

  Command rings in his voice. I don’t dare cross him, even when he pivots around, turning his back on me utterly, and stalks back inside the house once more.

  My knees ache, and the wind grazes my damp nipples again. Still, I don’t move, partly because I fear he’ll leave if I do…and partly because I’m desperate to know what he’ll do if I don’t.

  So I’m alone with the night and my thoughts. With my regrets and worries.

  He’s going to realize the truth quickly. Then what will you say? What defense can you possibly muster?

  The voice in my head is right, but I don’t have any answers except the obvious. Jett Dean will know very quickly that I never got over him.

  On the one hand, I want the truth between us because I’m dying to know if the knowledge will make a difference. On the other hand, once he realizes…I’ll be so vulnerable it’s terrifying.

  It only takes him a minute to reappear. My clothes are gone, but he’s slung a fluffy white robe over one thick arm.

  His eyes are full of approval. “Excellent. I half expect
ed to find you’d disobeyed me and retreated to some other corner of the house.”

  “No.”

  He holds out his hand to me. I hate the way I tremble as I take it and he helps me to my feet. “Smart. Hold your arms out at your sides.”

  I do, and he slides the robe around me, then belts it at my waist. “Until nine o’clock next Saturday night, you will not wear anything I don’t provide. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Jett sends me a quelling stare. “You know what I am. Respond properly.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He pockets my elastic band, then tucks my hand in his. “Come with me.”

  I don’t say a word as I trail behind him and into the house. He locks the French doors behind us and leads me through the interior, all the way back to the grand foyer. The hamper and the clear shoebox are still sitting, open and waiting. I see he’s tossed the garments I came in on the hall table. My engagement ring sparkles in the shadows beside the heap of my clothes. Then he releases my hand, gestures to the receptacles, and steps back.

  I have to be the one to tuck my clothes away. It’s symbolic. I’m shedding all my outward skin for him and coming to him naked, both literally and figuratively. That’s doubly true of my engagement ring.

  “I’m waiting,” he growls behind me.

  I chose to be here. I took a chance.

  There’s no escape. And once I comply, there’s no going back.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, I reach for my clothes and toss them into the hamper, then I tuck my shoes into the box, putting the ring inside between them.

  “Close them both,” he insists.

  He’s mind-fucking me before he ever fucks me at all. He’s making me give up my one barrier between us, to willingly tuck it out of my reach before he commences with debauching me.

  It’s agonizing. It’s awful. It’s dirty. And I love the way Jett’s mind works.

  I do exactly what he says, closing the hamper and settling the lid on the shoebox. Then I turn to him expectantly. “Done.”

  He gives my effort a cursory glance, then nods and grabs my hand again. “Do you understand?”

  The significance of his gesture? Yes. What’s to come? Not exactly. We’ll have sex, I’m sure. Beyond that…I have no idea what he’ll demand for his forty million dollars. But since the price is so steep, I’m sure he won’t make anything about this week easy.