CHAPTER SIX: Mrs. Clifford

Catherine’s POV

How could someone be so beautiful? dark eyes glistened under very relaxed black brows. His medium length mid-brown hair tucked behind his ears, slightly parted at its corner. His hawk nose pointed to his thick lips, red, like it had color in it. full, they looked so skilled, like they had done a lot of kissing, perfect for fantasizing. His chiseled jaw hosted his perfectly carved stubble. I imagine running my fingers through. My teeth biting into my lower lip, lusting dangerously. His eyes had a fire, like it was on a hunt, I got the sense it was always that way.

My eyes did a full walk over his 6 foot 5 inches of biceps and calves cuddled by a lazy black polo shirt winged by a leather jacket; the kind only bad boys wore. A walking fantasy, a proper fantasy God, I moan inwardly. Catherine Kent! Stop lusting, his brother just died; your intended just died, behave yourself. My eyes fall to his long legs kissed by tight black jeans. Damn I wish I were the pants. I drool. Stop it Catherina! Dominic Kent’s deep voice pulls me back to decency and I tuck away my naughty .

We were now seated, a large tuft table divided us; I soak in his gaze, Damn! he exuded sexual dominance; just sitting there in his giant chair. I struggle to focus all the while picturing his tongue in my mouth and his hands….

“I figure it could be you” His low husk calls into my mind savagery.

Damn! I love his low husk. My eyes snap, Shit! Catherine. He wants to marry you.

I blink and my eyes hang. Is that even right? I should be married to his brother, if not the bloody accident. Would I be desperate or pathetic to agree? But Damn, he talks like a God, acts like a God, his energy is so consuming.

“A contract?” I blurt. He slides the folder Simon brought in earlier to me.

I am eager to divulge. I open it, feeling my nerves rile.

“Wait” He slams it shut, My eyes snap up at him.

I scan the black curls of hair on his forearm, exposed by his half length jacket. Damn I want to run my hands through them.

“Have you fucked my brother?” A slap back to reality.

“No” I squeak. How could he be so crass? So savage? my head, starting to draw images of sex, not with his brother but with him. Stop Cathrine, he’ll find you out. Dominic Kent raised you better.

I swallow. “I was to meet him for the first time…your grandfather arranged everything” I clasp my thighs under the table, It feels hot down there. Already Catherine? Already?.

“Good” His alluring lips draw inwards, I become undone. I manage to shake his hold off.

“Continue” He releases the folder and I let out a deep exhale. Alexander Clifford was messing with me without even trying. I was coming undone without even the slightest effort. It was unreal, not even in my fantasies was I this easy.

My eyes skim through; surprise, shock, irritation, confusion, take turns slapping my face. Was this some kind of joke? Did he actually draw this up? If he did, then he must have been half way through a bottle of rum.

“Are you serious?” I chortle sardonically, meeting his consuming gaze, formidable, impenetrable, I feel my eyes pinch. Shit! Catherine, are you going to cry? Don’t do it, don’t let him see you break. I take on my bottom lip again, summoning my inner diva again; she was the confident one, not Dominic Kent’s daughter.

“Is there a problem Miss. Kent” His bewitching gaze is fixed.

“A lot…of problems” I blurt, holding his formidable gaze.

“Please share” He returns sharply, cocking his head and anchoring both elbows on the table so his gaze is biting into my skin.

I swallow, and exhale, mustering absolute focus. “Number 1”

“Yes” He answers, his shoulders tense, his forehead wrinkles. He’s pissed. Well good, he certainly didn’t expect to draw up something this preposterous and expect no tackling. He surely didn’t think he was the sun from the sky.

“No expectations of companionship?” I shoot

His jaw tuts forward. “Yes” Arrogant bastard.

My eyes fall again. “No expectations of romance?” My voice exposing my surging irritation.

“Yes” He rasps again, his eyes are blank, blank as bullets. I forge ahead anyway, I will not cower Alexander Clifford. Drive as many holes with your devouring eyes as you must but I will not cower.

I charge, rapping without pause or breath, anger taking hold of me. “No expectations of passion…no expectations of loyalty…you could keep a concubine and I am not to complain” I chuckle sardonically.

“Yes Yes and Yes” He insists, arrogant fool.

“Can I take a concubine too?” I shoot, my stomach twirls with victory at the shock that wiped his face. Got ya, Mr. arrogant Alexander.

“Not in the Clifford Estate, you absolutely cannot…but I definitely will not consume my thoughts with what you do with your time” I retreat, he must be a demon, an arrogant demon walking amongst men, devoid of emotions or he’s only trying too hard to be.

“So if you don’t need all the things a wife can provide, why even bother?…what’s my purpose in this marriage?”

“Oh you haven’t read the crucial part?” My eyes follow his to the lower part of the document. His voice invades my shattering thoughts. “The Clifton lineage has dwindled down to me and as such I must take action….produce more Clifton heirs…that’s your purpose”

Slowly, I let up my eyes. “Procreation…that’s it?” I tackle him, not mildly anymore.

“Yes Angel, I will not offer you companionship, I will not offer romance, I will not offer passion…Love does not exist here. It will never exist here. I want heirs, you birth me heirs…that’s it”

My chest rise with heavy breaths, feeling my rage reaching, reaching to tear out of me and devour him. I feel it is so close. My fingers clawing at the table. “And why on God’s Oxygen earth would I agree to something so selfishly designed… so wickedly crafted…incredibly insulting, it’s total nonsense”

“Compose yourself, Miss. Catherine” He slams a hand on the table.

I return the favor. “You compose yourself Mr. Clifford. What do you think me to be? A desperate lay about? A miserable cast aside? your brother’s left over?” Her sardonic chuckle again, her eyes burning, her voice charging loudly.

“If you do not accept, Simon will get you on a plane this instant and you head back home immediately, forget you ever met me…forget the day you laid eyes on this demon, forget the total nonsense contract…”

My eyes tore at his, fingers digging into the table, anger plugging my veins. How dare he? How dare he flash some stupid pathetic proposal before me? Procreation?! I exclaim inwardly. How could I be summarized to just that? No promise of pleasure, explorations of wild fantasy, a stoic print of trash written to assassinate my fantasies. Murderer! Alexander Clifford. The one who wants to murder my burning fantasies, my aching desires, my inner fire, rotten murderer you are!

“Miss. Catherine, do you accept?” His voice invades my ramping thoughts.

I dig my heels into the ground, my lips pursuing back words that held fury that could light him up where he sat. Rotten murderer!

Why consider this Catherine? Why linger in his presence? Get up and shove his stupid document in his face and head home to Wales this instant, my inner goddess charges. I am riled and then I remember Dominic Kent; my inner goddess stalls, Dominic would waste no time marrying me off to the next available rich suitor, maybe it could be Adolpho. Always available Adolpho. Of Course it would be Adolpho. It was Adolpho until Dominic Kent met and did business with Arthur Clifford. Father would set me up with him, no chemistry Adolpho, as quickly as possible, at least to deflect the saddening news of the death of my intended. He wouldn’t want anyone thinking of me as a cursed apple.

I let out a dragged breath. I had a choice to make, it was either the rotten murderer or Adolpho. With the rotten murderer at least I had hope of fantasies being satisfied, to its full extent, a faint, nearly invisible hope but hope nonetheless; with Adolpho, zero hope, he was never able to excite a single bone in all of my body, despite his persistence.

He stands, towering over me, his dark eyes, peeling into me, his low husk caves in. “There is at least a million women who would moan at the offer of being Mrs. Clifford so don’t act like you are doing me any favors” He rasps

Moaning; my head spins, I bite my lip again, his eyes narrow, a bit of anger in them. I can't really tell why. My head drifts from the crux of the matter, my eyes taking his lustrous lips, manifesting thoughts of his mouth on my body, exploring me, taking me, devouring me; just like I read in all my nasty romance novels, just like I had it written in my forbidden book. I picture Alexander Clifford birthing all my dangerous desires. Make me moan Alexander Clifford, please make me. Why didn't you add that to the contract demon? A contract to make me moan for the rest of my life.

“Miss Catherine” He yelled, I jerk, pausing my mind savagery.

I withdraw my lip from my teeth, taking a deep breath and then I swallow, getting my thoughts together. I scroll his impatient eyes.

“Is there an option of divorce?”

“Like any other normal marriage, of course… but we must make a year or I’d lose the Clifford Empire and it would all have been for nothing”

I close the folder and meet his eyes, his bewitching eyes, dark, deep-set enchanting eyes and it was done, my mind was made up, desperate or pathetic, I had made my choice.

“I accept” I say, straight and clear. His glare lost his face, shadowed with relief. Now he didn't have to go scouting for a wife. I had just offered myself on a platter. Fear took me immediately. What are you doing Catherine? Choosing a husband on the spot? Exactly what Dominic Kent would be proud of, after all I am my father’s daughter.