A contract of desire and deceit

Adrianna's POV

His mouth drags its way up my neck and his lips part at a spot right underneath my ear, finding the birthmark that hid there. My broken sob escapes me and I sink my teeth into my lip to stifle it. I feel his smile against my neck. He likes to do that, to drag it on till I can't take it anymore. To tease me I think I am going to explode. His fingers grip my thighs tighter as he thrusts into me again, pressing my back against the sand of the beach.

My eyes lose focus and tension coils deeper in my stomach. His thrusts continue, slowly, like we have all the time in the world. I feel my toes curl and my head falls back. The tension building in me reaches a breaking point and a scream escapes me as I climax. His thrusts become wilder, deeper, riding out the last of my release before he stills above me and shudders, failing against my breasts. I feel his breath hot against my neck in the spot where he had kissed.

"You're so beautiful." I hear him mutter, his fingers stroking my skin where my pulse hammered. My face heats up and I turn my head to look at him, my gaze locking with a pair of cold, lifeless grey eyes.

"Lance?" I whisper, a chill dispelling the haze of lust.

His smile is humorless. "You seem surprised." He drawls.

His long fingers tighten around my throat, cutting my breath. I grip his wrists in desperation, feeling my eyes begin to bulge. I claw, hit, and kick but he doesn't budge. I might as well be kicking a brick wall for all the damage I can do to him. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get past the dizziness caused by the asphyxiation.

"You put me in jail to die, yet you seem so reluctant to join me in hell." He observes, his voice deceptively soft.

When I open my eyes, I am sinking deep into the ocean. I try not to panic and to swim my way to the surface. A slender hand grabs me by my ankle in a crushing grip and pulls me down with a powerful tug....

I shoot awake to the sound of the cabbie's voice, barely stopping myself from screaming.

"Houston Investments..." he announces cheerfully, sparing me a glance through the rearview mirror. I lick my lips, trying to take steadying breaths.

"You alright, darling? You don't look so good." He says in a voice laced with worry. I shoot him a fake smile.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I say shakily. I need to stop falling asleep in cabs. I pay and tip generously, grabbing my purse and my MacBook and getting out to the sidewalk.

I started up at the huge building that houses Houston Investments, one of the ventures belonging to the Houston Group in LA. It is the typical skyscraper, with "HOUSTON" set up in bold letters right at the peak of the building.

I hug my MacBook tighter to my chest and walk towards the building, returning the greetings of staff members absent-mindedly. I check my watch and confirm that it's 7 a.m. I worked late and had to get up early today to finish up preparations for my presentation. Apart from being the daughter of Rhys Houston, the President of Houston Group, I'm also the team leader of the Investments Management Department. I step into the elevator and close my eyes.

It isn't the first time I have had semi-erotic dreams about Lance, but this didn't make it seem any less embarrassing. They always had the same format. They'd start sensual and end with him trying to kill me. Then I'd snap awake in my bed, burning with frustration and shame.

I suppose I should try getting laid.

I snicker. I can hardly find enough time to have dinner because of work.

The elevator slides open with a bell sound that forces me to open my eyes. I can't get enough time off my busy schedule for a Girls' night out.

I make my way to my office and shut the door behind me, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead. I need my presentation ready in less than two hours. I let my deep red hair down from its braid, combing through the soft waves gently. I close my eyes and the image of Lance's face buried in a cloud of my hair and my eyes open up immediately.

Maybe I should consider getting laid.

I run tinted lip balm over my lips as I go through the quarter's investment report. Kat, my assistant, eases the door open and pokes her head in. Nicknamed "pug" in the department, Kat is my sixty-three-year-old secretary cum assistant cum shoulder-to-cry-on cum guardian angel. She has a mother-hen energy about her, especially when it comes to me.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" she asks, placing my coffee on my desk. I take a sip of it.

"Yes," I say.

"Liar. My husband's golf clubs can fit in your eye bags."

I smile. "Ever the flatterer, aren't you?"

"I have some news on the winery. You know, the one you had your eyes on." She says, handing me a file.

I put my coffee down and flip through the file. Tourrier is a relatively new winery owned by an elderly widower. He had opened the winery in honor of his late wife and has a healthy fear of investors, thinking they would only take his business apart and sell it off to the highest bidder. He is interested in a vineyard but can't afford it. He also won't mind letting go of a great amount of shares to acquire it.

"The land is priced at two million right now, but it's set to skyrocket in price. It's owned by some French aristocrat who's having an auction for it with a closed bid."

"Don't you need an invitation to participate in that sort of thing?" I ask, skeptical.

"I spent the last hour lobbying to get the aristocrat's whereabouts." She says pleasantly.

"That sounds creepy, you know," I say. She scowls at me.

"He's the heir to a French marquisat. He'll be visiting an opera tonight at six. I got you tickets for the seat beside him." Kat continues mischievously. "If that little black dress you got last year doesn't get you an invitation to bid, nothing will."

I stare at the ticket to the opera, tempted. I haven't had a night out in ages and the play is one I really like but have only been able to stream online. I stuff the ticket in my purse.

I squirm nervously in my seat, feeling like such a fraud. I never do this, making a conscious effort to look good for a potential business meeting. It goes against everything I have held as important for myself. I believe my work should be more attractive than whatever dress I'm wearing and that my ability should impress people, not my neckline.

I put on makeup. I squeezed myself into a dress I could barely breathe in. I wore a padded bra.

I regret the padded bra.

The performance is about to start and the lights dim. I pick nervously at my program. I promised myself that I would enjoy this as I got dressed, no matter the outcome. I twirl my hair nervously.

Would he ditch the play?

I sense him before I hear him get into his seat beside me. I can feel him in the pit of my stomach, that familiar sensation I had only felt with one man. Longing and fear mixed in me, tearing me apart. I want to look up and see for myself if I am just being ridiculous or if all the dreams have finally gotten to me. I also want to run away so I can forget those murderous eyes.

A cloud of woodsy, masculine cologne envelopes me and I look at the man who has taken a seat beside me. It is too dark to see his features but that doesn't stop my heart from sinking.

"Good evening, Adrianna." I heard him drawl.

Lance.

Adrianna's POV

Instinctively, I pick my purse up and attempt to stand. His hand on my knee stops me cold.

"Sit." He commands curtly. "Don't cause a scene."

I shove his hand off my knee, ignoring the wave of dizziness that hits me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Your assistant damn near stalked me to get my location." He says conversationally. "You mean to tell me you didn't expect to see me?"

No. Because you're not a French Marquis.

"So go on and tell me." He says. "Why did you seek me out with..." I feel his gaze roam over me and my cheeks heat up. The dress was a mistake. "...all your most desirable assets on full display?"

"You... you're ..." I stutter. I didn't know he was out of jail already. How has he managed to convince everyone that he's the heir to a Marquisat?

Lance had had all his assets seized and his house sold off. Even if he got out of jail, he should be broke, not possessing an aristocratic title.

"Out of jail, sweet? That's pretty obvious, isn't it?" He says, his face close to mine. His eyes search my face in the dim light. "Disappointed?" he asks softly. "Should I have stayed behind bars a bit longer? Five, ten years, maybe?"

I stare at him, registering the new coldness of his manner. His voice is deep and sultry but possesses a clipped arrogance that wasn't there five years ago.

"I'm right." He says.

"No." I managed to say.

"No?" His fingers trace my jaw from my ear to my chin. My blush spreads to my neck. "If I didn't know how good of a liar you were, I'd be tempted to believe that."

"You want to bid for the vineyard, don't you?" He continues, his fingers trailing a path down my neck. My focus zeroes in on his fingers against my bare skin, making my thoughts sluggish. I feel heat pooling in my belly and I resist the urge to press my thighs closer together.

"What... how did you...?"

"You're still so breathtakingly naïve." He mutters. "What makes you think your secretary would have had a snowflake's chance in hell of finding out my itinerary if I didn't want her to find me?"

His fingers dip even lower, brushing the top of my breasts. I feel my nipples harden and I bite back a gasp, brushing his fingers off me. He sighs and turns away.

"This is getting boring." He says, his voice reflecting this sentiment. "You will receive a formal invitation via email. Bid ten million."

With that, he stands, leaving me glued to the chair, my heart pounding.

"Wait! Lance!"

I have done a lot of ill-advised things and running after Lance is probably one of those things. I should be going home. Abandoning the winery project. Cutting off every connection to Lance.

Yet I'm running to catch up with him before he can get in his car. He freezes as he hears me, turning. His black hair is slightly wind-tousled, contrasting with the cool elegance of the black tailored suit he wore and the black loafers. His grey eyes are cold and focused. He looks harder than he had five years ago and it's something I can't quite place my fingers on. In the corner of my eye, I can see his bodyguard advancing discretely and I stop. Lance waves him away.

"Miss Houston."

"Are you serious about the bidding? You'll let me bid for the vineyard?"

His head tilts to the side, remaining silent.

"How do I know you're not trying to use this to get back at me?" I continue. "Why should I trust the words of someone who can so easily let me win a closed bid?"

He chuckles. A deep, smooth laugh that made his shoulders shake slightly. He walks slowly, covering the space between us. I force myself to stand my ground and not step back. Not to show him any weakness.

"How unimaginative would I be if I simply made you lose a bid? I want to destroy your family, yes, but I find I'm the "all or nothing" type. This bid is merely a reintroduction for us." His gaze holds mine captive. "When I truly begin ruining your lives, you won't have to ask."

As I sit in the cab, I close my eyes, hugging my cost close to my body. Unbidden, memories I have spent years trying to suppress flood my head.

(Five years ago)

When I first met Lance, I was a college student on the summer break. I was interning at Houston Investments as his interim secretary because his secretary had taken maternity leave. I knew everyone expected me to be a train wreck at work because I was "the boss's daughter" so I put in more effort. I tried to juggle school essays and deadlines as well as manage his hectic schedule.

I tried to ignore his looks-I didn't want to be like the other co-workers who talked about how hot he was in the restroom while reapplying lipstick. I didn't want him to see me as unprofessional. I failed.

Lance wasn't the kind to be ignored. Not with his jet-black hair and grey eyes. Not with his chiseled jawline and aristocratic nose. Not with his tall, lithe body. Not with his voice, deep and seductive. Not with the perfect way he filled out his tailored suits. It wasn't just his looks, either. He was the type that could fill a room we own his presence alone. He had an air of self-confidence that made him instantly likable. He had a way of speaking to business partners so they both admired and felt comfortable around him.

He was Daddy's protégé and mentee. Daddy called him Houston's "Time Machine" because of his uncanny ability to recognize the potential of a project and the future market value of a business. Even if I wanted anything with Lance, I was sure Daddy would never approve of it.

To me, Lance was like the moon. Beautiful to look at, but unattainable.

And looking was okay for me. I looked for two months. I stared at him even reading him his schedule. I noticed when he got himself a new tie or what his favorite clothing brand was. I resisted the urge to get him a shirt or a pair of cufflinks each time I browsed the mall because I was so sure he wouldn't appreciate getting clothes from his boss's daughter and that everyone would think I was trying to use my family and money to get closer to him.

I knew what cologne he wore, its scent was clean and evasive. I could only catch a whiff of it when he leaned in behind me to show me something on my computer or when we worked late together and had to catch the same elevator ride.

We never spoke about anything but work. I didn't know any of his actual preferences. I wanted to know what movies he liked, and what music he listened to when he would put on his air pods at lunchtime and lean back in his chair.

(Present day)

I lock the door to my apartment behind me and look around. The whole place screams neglect. My potted plants are dying, and dust is gathering on my shelves and tabletops. I say a prayer of thanks that I have very little stuff. Just a bit of furniture and decorative paintings that mean nothing to me. The kitchen is well-equipped, but the pantry is empty.

My phone rings and I get it out of my purse, tapping the "answer" button without bothering to check the ID.

"It's Daddy." I hear Genevieve, my sister say. "He had another heart attack."

Adrianna's POV

(Five years ago)

"We're having a group of entrepreneurs over at the office today at two," Lance said one morning as we rode in the elevator together. There were about three other people in the elevator with us so we were forced to stay with our shoulders pressed together.

"Entrepreneurs?" I echoed.

"The founders of Canyon." He said. "You know, the underwear brand?"

I felt a blush heat my face. I wasn't prudish or anything, it just felt a bit too Intimate talking about underwear with Lance. Lance had zeroed in on Canyon stock prices as having great potential to skyrocket in a year or two. It had taken less than a week to reel them in.

"Sweetheart, I know this is too much to ask, given the amount of work I've piled up for you," He said sheepishly. "but I'd appreciate it if you could keep the minutes of the meeting for me."

With Lance, words like "sweetheart" or "darling" were not endearments but mere placeholders for names. Or being nice. Knowing that didn't stop my heart from skipping a beat. My fingers squeezed the file in my arms and I had to pinch my arm so I wouldn't give myself away.

"It's alright," I said, avoiding his eyes. "I'll do it."

Cameron, one of the co-founders of Canyon, seemed to think I was fair game during the meeting. It had begun with just inappropriate stares. Staring down the neckline of my blouse, staring at my legs in my stockings.

I had wanted-desperately wanted-to believe I had been imagining the whole thing. The last thing I wanted was for people to think I was some obnoxious little girl who relied on her father's connections and believed everyone wanted her.

Lance had excused himself so he could take a phone call outside and Cameron got bolder with his absence. He had asked if I had ever modeled and wondered if I would consider modeling for him. I tried to decline as politely and shortly as possible so I wouldn't be considered rude or worse, flirty. I tried to make a signal to Grant, his co-founder, to get him to tell his partner off. I got an indifferent look from him. His partner's behavior didn't bother him one bit.

He had placed a hand on my thigh, his pinky finger sliding beneath my skirt. "Sure about that? He had whispered close to my ear. "I could make you a star. With an ass like that, you'd look heavenly in a thong."

That was all it took to make me snap. I shot to my feet, sending my clenched fist crashing into his face with so much force he nearly fell clean off the chair.

I froze, shocked at my actions. I had never punched anyone before. The door to the office swung open and Lance walked in. His eyes swept through the scene. Cameron's bloodied nose, Grant's look of shock, and me standing over him, my eyes wide with shock. A wry look of understanding crossed his features.

"It would seem that the deal is off, then." He said calmly, turning to Cameron. "Our security team will escort you out of the building."

He turned to me. "Forgive me, Adrianna. You can take the day off."

He turned back to Cameron, his eyes turning cold and murderous. "You remember falling down the stairs, don't you?"

Cameron sputtered, cupping his bloody nose. His eyes bulged out of their sockets. "That..." he pointed at me like I was the spawn of Satan. "bitch! She hit me!"

Lance's eyes flashed. "Careful with your language." He advised, his voice lethal. "I might hit you, and my hands aren't quite as soft as hers."

Cameron was smart enough to shut up.

"If anyone, even your mother's damn cat, finds out about what happened here, I will make sure you end up bankrupt and living in your mother's basement again." He paused. "That is, of course, if you don't mysteriously go missing. I'm sure you catch my drift?"

The elevator slid to a close with the both of us in it, standing beside each other.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at me. I nodded.

"That was cool, your reaction." He said after a pause. "I think you broke his nose."

I bit back a smile, trying to ignore the way my face heated at his praise. He suddenly frowned, taking my fist in his palm and examining it. My knuckles were scraped and a bit bruised.

"We need to get that cleaned." He said, the calluses of his thumb grazing my knuckles. He looked at me, his eyes falling on a spot right below my left ear. I knew what he was staring at. There was a tiny birthmark under my ear.

His eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second. It was so quick I thought I had imagined it. When his eyes met mine, they were heated and unfocused. I felt my pulse quicken under his gaze and my breath seemed to come harder. The elevator suddenly felt smaller than before.

The elevator doors slid open with a "ding", snapping us both out of it. I pulled my hand away and walked out of the elevator.

I rang the bell to Lance's house, a cottage in a gated community. It had a rustic, almost otherworldly charm with the stone walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. I resisted the urge to look through the window-it seemed intrusive and was covered by nude blinds, anyway. I signed, running my palms over my skirt. It was shorter than the shirts I usually wear, stopping just above my knee. I wondered if he would notice. I debated whether it would seem like I was coming on too strong with the buttons I had undone. Maybe I shouldn't have given in and tried the perfume I'd gotten impulsively.

"Lance, darling, you just have to let me get that Birkin. Just this..."

The door swung open, revealing a beautiful woman. She was slim and tall, with jet-black hair running down her shoulder like a waterfall. Her hourglass figure was clad in an almost see-through peignoir.

Her face was devastatingly beautiful, with grey eyes, a soft mouth, and a nose that was straight and pert.

Her heart-shaped face tilted to the side. "Who are you?"