Chapter 4

Isabelle's chest was heaving with a powerful combination of wrath, unsettling need, and rising resistance. How could this arrogant, pretentious Alpha male make such inflammatory assumptions? She opened her mouth, preparing to lance him, when an unmistakable noise on his end gave her pause.

The sound of fabric being torn was distinct.

Her eyes fluttered shut despite herself, excitement sheening her skin as slick pictured him throwing off that tantalizing robe and standing gloriously naked before her. Her knees trembled as she saw the vivid, scorchingly sensual image.

When he spoke again, it was in a graveled growl that smoldered straight through her bones.

"Right about now, you may wish to conjure up an enticing visual for yourself of exactly where my other hand is currently occupied."

The audible rustle and masculine grunt that reached her sent a molten rush of shock searing through her core. Oh, sweet heaven...he couldn't possibly mean?

"Because make no mistake, my deliciously defiant wife - thoughts of you are all that currently fuel my...gratification."

Isabelle's breath escaped in a ragged rush at his brazen implication. She squeezed her thighs together convulsively at the utterly decadent idea of this outrageously virile billionaire...pleasuring himself to visions of her in the throes of passion.

Damien's groan resonated like sin itself, fraying what little remained of her restraint into tattered shreds. 

"I do so look forward to the day when these imaginings become our tantalizing reality," he growled in a voice rendered husky with escalating need. "The sweet paradise of being sheathed to the hilt in your lush, quivering--"

"Enough!" The strangled cry burst from Isabelle's lips, born of sheer self-preservation. Because if she allowed him to continue expressing his explicit goal for another second, she may self-combust from pure, wanton explosive need.

Her entire body seemed severed, with frazzled nerves alight in anguished longing. How could he have completely shredded her self-control without even touching her? She had always been the embodiment of uncompromising, frigid constraint.

There was a long wait before Damien's voice, that inhumanly exquisite, panty-melting voice, returned with aggravating nonchalance.

"Very well, my deliciously rigid wife. We will continue this delicious battle of wills another time.

Isabelle felt a shiver run down her spine as his tone carried a hint of a lingering promise, dark and enticing. It was as if he had seen through her carefully constructed barriers and glimpsed the brief spark of desire that she had quickly suppressed.

"First, let's address the practical matters concerning our obligatory marital ceremonies," he said in a business-like tone, and she felt a mix of relief and irrational disappointment at the shift in his voice.

She forced herself to compose, gripping the phone with clammy fingers. "Yes, of course. I'm all ears."

"Presenting ourselves as devoted newlyweds is essential for convincing the conservative group at Saxon," Damien explained in a matter-of-fact manner.

"As such, we'll need to curate a regimen of public appearances, charitable galas, paparazzi ambushes - the usual circus that constitutes high society in this city."

Isabelle was frowning. "If you think for one second I'll parade myself about like some besotted, vacant-eyed trophy wife --"

"Calm yourself, my sharp-tongued diamond," he said with a laugh. "I guarantee you that there is nothing so demeaning. This will be a staged marital charade between two fully realized lovers. Of course, supporting roles will be required.

"Supporting roles?" she repeated cautiously. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Surely you don't want our whirlwind relationship and hasty nuptials to be publicized as a loveless convenience proposal? Isabelle, the public loves a fable, no matter how thin the veil."

She could hear the wicked curl of his smile as he expounded. "We shall need to recruit members of our respective friend groups and family circles to fill supporting roles. A maid of honor to swoon over your bridal bliss, a roguish best man to clink glasses and lament my having been tamed at last by love itself."

Isabelle struggled to tamp down her rising tide of unease at where this lurid scenario seemed headed. Enlisted members of her carefully curated inner circle being brought into the humiliating heart of this sham? Her stomach turned at the thought of her few remaining friends being exposed to this mortifying charade of wanton lies and frantic overcompensation.

Damien appeared to sense her growing panic, and his tone softened slightly. "Peace, Isabelle. These will be transitory roles, with players properly selected and subject to rigorous non-disclosure agreements. Disposable stage performers to fill the periphery; nothing more."

That was a minuscule comfort, she admitted grudgingly. It's best to limit this tangled web to as few innocents as possible. Still...

"And what about the actual...ceremony?" she asked cautiously. "Surely that could be a simple civil event away from prying lenses?"

"You wounded me," he said mockingly. "Where is your sense of showmanship, my love?" Of course, we'll need to sell this illusion with an elaborate, star-studded gala ceremony fit for two immensely influential persons combining their considerable sociocultural orbits. 

No covert elopement will do."

He chuckled again, the sound tingling pleasantly up her spine. "Imagine you draped in endless haute couture lace, and me dashing and imposing in ceremonial Brioni." We will exchange precisely rehearsed vows of conquest over our blissfully unified business empires, rather than flamboyant vows of adoration.

She couldn't hold back a snort of hesitant laughter at the absolutely ludicrous image he so richly described. It was all ludicrously overblown, as his tastes appeared to run wild. However, this entire charade was surely typical of a man like Damien Blackwood, who appeared to devour life in obscenely exaggerated doses.

Still, something inside her cringed at the prospect of such a deeply personal life event as a wedding, even if it was a forgery, being reduced to a flashy commodity to be auctioned and eaten by the public. As if the inherent sacredness and undeniable beauty of a marriage relationship were irrelevant.

"This all seems so...excessive," she remarked gently, surprised by the sorrowful undertone in her remarks.

Damien breathed deeply, and she suddenly realized she had accidentally undercut his arrogance.