Chapter 5

"Perhaps," he agreed, and for a brief moment she thought she saw something gentler, more introspective beneath the boisterous bluster. "But excessive is rather my calling card, as I'm sure you've guessed."

Why settle for dull simplicity when one can revel in the biggest spectacles?"

There was a pregnant pause there, as if he was looking for the right words to convey something more than just showmanship. When he continued, his voice became softer and richer, almost intimate.

"Look, I appreciate that a larger-than-life, media-drenched mock wedding isn't your ideal scenario. Being under such constant limelight and scrutiny would be...abrasive for anyone, let alone a more private soul."

Isabelle felt her breath catch as he made the perceptive assessment... as if he had managed to pinprick straight through to some hidden kernel of vulnerability she hadn't even consciously acknowledged herself. She drew the phone away slightly, eyeing it with newfound uneasiness.

How was this supposedly self-possessed man able to unmake her with such disarming precision?

Damien's tone softened even further, as if he sensed her surprised unease: a low, hypnotic rumble that felt both grounding and frightening.

"However, I can speak from experience when I declare that these big public orgies serve a purpose other than my personal hedonistic desires. The more audaciously we can adorn our fiction with costly vestments, the more genuine it becomes to the masses - and the more protected our true selves stay beneath that crimson curtain."

A tremulous breath brushed across the receiver, causing wonderful pinprick sensations all over her exposed nape. "Just some food for thought, my lovely wife. Perhaps it will alleviate your... reservations."

The tension between them was as taut as a baroque violin string, thrumming with exquisite intensity. Damien's voice changed again, returning to that sinfully smooth baritone that scraped wonderfully against her nerve endings like revelry and depravity in vocal form.

"For the time being, let your sharp intellect focus on the vitally critical duty of picking an adequate trousseau for your 'bride'. By the end of the week, I anticipate having a plethora of enticing possibilities in front of me. After all, I'll need enough of...research materials to ensure your bridal attire completely undoes me during that fateful walk down the aisle."

Isabelle's throat burned to ash, her mouth terribly dry from the luscious horror in his speech.

 She could definitely envision that dark emerald stare wandering her visible form with undisguised lustful intent, judging and eliminating each possibility judged insufficiently appealing to his discerning tastes. An haughty archangel mercilessly judges her every mortal endeavor to court his favor.

She clenched her thighs convulsively once again at the image's pure sensory strength, silently condemning the reaction he managed to elicit in her without ever setting eyes on her in person.

When she eventually discovered her voice, it was low and scratchy around the edges. "I suppose I can endeavor to... accommodate your sensibilities in that area."

A heady pause, then - "I eagerly await your efforts, Mrs. Blackwood."

The connection was terminated with a definite click, as if he intended to leave her unraveling and befuddled by simple animal attraction alone. Isabelle couldn't stop the frantic quiver that slipped her lips in response to that tempting rumbling of silken danger. Her thighs squeezed in renewed desire, her core aching in wordless, ardent agony at the sheer liquid intensity of his libidinous promise.

Get. A. Grip

She mercilessly castigated herself, her knuckles becoming white from the severity of her grip on the phone. This unraveling, shameless desire was neither ethical nor permissible under any conditions! Damien Blackwood was a towering financial genius, a hedonistic ruler, and an unrivaled corporate raptor.

However, to her, he eventually represented the single most important means to an infinitely bigger professional purpose.

That was all he could ever be. Not some wildly virile siren enticing her into dangerous territory of carnal stupidity. She would be enslaved to no man, and particularly not to her own treacherous, vulgar desires.

Isabelle took a long, steady breath as she stepped out onto her penthouse apartment's expansive marble balcony. The cool evening breeze caressed her hair as she glanced at the beautiful Manhattan skyline.

So much had changed so fast. Just a few days ago, she was a highly motivated, fiercely independent investment broker set to close her biggest deal ever. Now she was in an extremely strange arranged marriage with Damien Blackwood, a man of great power, riches, and an unsettlingly penetrating presence.

She shuddered slightly, recalling how his deep voice seemed to reach right through the phone and set her nerves on fire with forbidden need.

The unmistakable sounds of him pleasuring himself while making such tempting promises nearly tore her apart.

Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the mounting wave of confusing yearning. She couldn't allow herself to be undone by mere words and insinuations, no matter how seductively presented. This was simply a corporate deal to ensure the critical Saxon merger.

And yet...a tiny, deceitful part of her couldn't quite suppress the reckless excitement at the possibility of becoming the sole fixation of such an immensely masculine guy, even if only for a short time. Damien evidently found great satisfaction in the art of conquest, whether it was corporate acquisitions or personal seductions.

What if she let those walls down only for a moment? Would he detect her vulnerability and rush in for the kill like the apex predator he was?

Isabel shook her head forcefully, pushing aside the distracting ideas. Idle fancies were a dangerous indulgence that she could not afford. Focusing on the unusual chores at hand, she turned and returned inside to change for the evening's plans.

A few hours later, she was seated in Damien's spacious penthouse suite study, her heart pounding with trepidation. The space was warm and intimately lighted, with rich leathers and polished wood conveying an impression of old-world male sophistication.

Damien sat across from her, his tall form looking deceptively relaxed in a high-back leather chair. Even in repose, he exuded a dynamic, coiled force, like a tiger poised to attack at any moment.

Anna sat between them, her aides' precise professionalism providing a grounding link to reality in the midst of the heightened atmosphere. She was conducting business as usual, her stylus poised over her tablet and a list of items to evaluate.

"Now then," Damien said, his dulcet tones piercing through the heavy quiet like a perfectly honed razor. "In order for the public to buy into the legitimacy of our sham marriage..."