Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 Carol Marinelli (ebook reader computer txt) 📖

Sons’ accounts with the Connolly family’s shipping concern appeared, Balthazar could have made his move. But he had remembered that night, the sheer heat of Kendra in his hand, and had waited.

He had not merely allowed Tommy his rope. He had spooled it out himself so there could be no doubt whatsoever when Tommy hung himself with it.

Balthazar told himself it was triumph, not disappointment, that pounded in him as Kendra came to stand just there on the other side of his desk.

Because he should have known that night three years ago that she was like the rest of her family, whether he’d known who she was or not. That he’d been fooled for even a moment gnawed at him.

There was no such thing as innocence. Not in his world and certainly not in her morally bankrupt family. For his part, Balthazar had been raised a Skalas, which was akin to walking forth with a golden target on his back. He had never had a single friend—or woman, or colleague—who had not betrayed him, or could be prevailed upon to betray him, for the right price.

A lesson he had learned young.

His own brother would cheerfully stab him in the back if it benefited him. Balthazar had no doubt about that. It was why he and Constantine had split things up neatly between them. Better not to offer each other the temptation, they’d decided.

The threat of mutually assured destruction kept them friendly enough, no matter what the tabloids said. They were the only thing they had, after all.

Something that was certainly not true of Kendra Connolly.

“What exactly are you offering me?” he asked her, trying to keep his tone even when inside, he raged.

She was close enough now that he could read her expression. Or try. He could have sworn what he saw there was something like misery. Or apprehension.

Or, a cynical voice inside him chimed in, she’s merely good at what she does.

Too good.

Because he was certain, for a moment, that he could detect a faint tremor in her lips. Before she firmed them into a straight line and he became equally certain he’d imagined it.

“Name your price,” she invited him.

“I am more interested in what it is you think I want.” He eyed her as he would any conquest, business or personal. Assessing profit and loss. Looking for weaknesses to exploit to his benefit. “What can you imagine you have to offer that I do not already have?”

She spread out her hands again, though this time it read as less of a surrender.

“Me,” she said.

Balthazar watched that pulse in her neck react. If he didn’t know better, he would think that she was desperate when he felt certain that she was not. That this, like that night three years ago, was nothing but more deception.

“I think you overestimate your charms,” he said with cruel deliberation. “Do you really imagine you are worth more than two million dollars?”

She blanched at that, but stood her ground. “Of course.”

“I do not wish to insult you,” he murmured. Though that was a lie. “But I would not pay a single dollar for something I could get for free. In abundance. And do.”

“And here I thought you preferred to keep mistresses,” she shot back at him, to his great surprise. “Hardly free, is it?”

“You should be less opaque.” Balthazar shrugged. “One night to clear your brother’s debt? That is not so appealing. But a mistress? Mine for as long as I am interested? That is a different proposition altogether. Though far more...strenuous.”

Her lips were pressed tight together. If he was not mistaken, her hands had started to curl into fists before she dropped them to her sides.

“Marvelous,” she said with a certain brightness he could see was false. As she, herself, was false, no matter his body’s response. “Is that what you want?”

“Normally I am the one who makes this offer.” He smirked. “It is not pressed upon me by a woman desperate to clear the name of a brother she would be better off disowning.”

“Families are complicated.”

“I thought my family was complicated. I am forever reading fables the media has created to explain things between my brother or myself. Or tales of my late father.” He studied her, then affected a measure of outraged astonishment. “But I will confess, when I granted you this appointment, I never expected this.”

Her chin lifted higher. “What did you expect?”

“Excuses.” He eyed her until she flushed. “What a martyr you are, Kendra.”

Her eyes, that intriguing shade of amber that sometimes looked like gold, glittered. “I would never call myself a martyr.”

“Oh, no? And yet here you are. Sacrificing yourself.” He laughed when all she did was glare at him. “You do not understand how this works, do you? You’re supposed to at least act as if you’re motivated by uncontrollable lust, whatever your true motivations.”

“Tell me what you need,” Kendra implored him, her voice tight. “There’s no need to play all these games, is there?”

“But perhaps what I want from you is the game.”

She looked away then, her throat working. “Very well then.”

“But how will we come to terms?” Balthazar mused, and stopped pretending he wasn’t fully enjoying himself. “There are so many considerations. You will not need my financial support, clearly, as you will be paying off a debt. I will require full access, of course, but that is easy enough. I have any number of properties that will suit.”

“Access,” she echoed. “Full access.”

He laughed. “What is it you think a mistress does?”

She cleared her throat, still looking away. “To be honest, I thought it was a silly, archaic word to describe a rich man’s relationships.”

“You can call it a relationship if you like. In truth, it is a business arrangement. I find it is better to spell out any and all expectations in advance, the better to avoid unpleasant misunderstandings.” He shrugged again, expansively. “I want what I want. When I want it.”

To her credit, she turned back and met his gaze. “By which, you