The Werewolf Prince and I (7 page)

“You’re…you’re like a
dream
come true to me.” I feel myself turning redder with every word.

“Do you mean that?” he demands.

He still doesn’t believe me.

“Yes.”

I say it so simply, so surely I guess he’s finally convinced. But he still shakes his head, murmuring, “You make me feel so…” The glare that follows surprises me.

“What did I do?”

“You confuse me, and I don’t like it,” he answers right away. “Enough with this nonsense. I’m attracted to you. It’s because of your scent, the alluring curves of your body, the feel of your skin – it’s the whole package.”

My jaw’s back on the floor and I don’t think it’s ever coming back up again.

“Can’t you feel how badly I want to fuck you?”

Umm, yes. I can. I definitely can. So much I can’t think straight now.

“So answer me,” he says in such a commanding tone I’m turned on even more. Oh boy. Does that make me a natural-born M or something?

“What can I do to convince you to be my wife?”

He’s really asking me that? He really wants me to be his wife?

Impatient at my inability to speak, Domenico Moretti adds forcefully, “Perhaps I have not been clear enough. As my wife, you will have my eternal allegiance, my protection, and my fidelity. Everything you need I will provide for. Everything and everyone you care about will be also under my care. In return, I only ask for your fidelity, your trust, and your loyalty. I need you to perform the duties expected from the wife of a future pack leader, but those I am confident you will learn in time.”

His words leave me reeling.

“I want to give you more time to think about this, but I can’t wait for you forever. Time is against me.” He pauses, as if finding the next words difficult to speak. “We are at
war,
Misty. My kind. Your kind, too, but your leaders don’t know it yet because in this war, your race is but a pawn. We can kill you so very easily.”

I shiver at the picture he paints.

“It is in
my
power to prevent that war but I will need your help for it. If you marry me, you will know the truth of my words for yourself. You will know that I haven’t lied. That it’s a war that can obliterate your entire race.”

Totally exciting stuff,
I can almost hear God laughingly say inside my mind.
Isn’t that what you wanted? And there’s nothing more exciting than war, is there?

This time the sensible and the right thing to do would be to say ‘yes’. My honor is at stake. I have to say ‘yes’.

But --- this is marriage. It’s a permanent one, if Domenico Moretti’s to be believed. If he stops and wins the war, I’ll still be married. I need to think about this carefully.

I pause at my thoughts, knowing I’m lying to myself. The truth is, I’m thinking this is my only chance in life to be
selfish.
Against all odds, Domenico Moretti needs me. The sensible thing would be to ask for his wealth. But I don’t want to be sensible. I don’t want to be practical by being wimpy. I want to be selfish for a change.

“If I refuse, you won’t sack me, will you?” His extremely offended look makes me gulp. “Sorry. I had to ask.”

“If you were a man, you would have been dead by now,” he says very nicely.

“I said I’m sorry,” I mumble, gulping again.

“Your condition,” he says instead. “What do I need to make you marry me?”

“I want you to do something outrageous,” I hear myself saying.

Mr. Moretti straightens, which startles a whimper out of me because it just pushes his erection closer to the junction between my thighs.

His nostrils flare in reaction. His fingers skim my back as it moves up to clasp my neck so he can pull me close.

Shick. I think I just had a mini-orgasm.

When he moves to kiss me, I remind him – both of us - breathlessly, “My condition.”

“
Fuck
.” He lets me go with a frustrated and hungry look in his eyes. “Say it then,” he growls when I’m still silent.

Here it goes
.

“I want you to make everyone think that I can make someone like you---” I bite my lip, suddenly struck by doubt. Am I really doing the sane and right thing here?

But Domenico Moretti is smiling at me.

“I get it,” he drawls. “You want people to think it’s a love match.”

He doesn’t know me that well, after all.

I say softly, “No. Not that. Love’s too easy to fake.”

That gets him frowning. When he opens his mouth to speak, I hastily cut him off, wanting to get everything off my chest before I lose my nerve. “I need you to make people believe that you’re so sexually infatuated with me---” I ignore how Mr. Moretti is choking.

Without looking at him, I mutter, “I want you to show that you want me so much all the people here will think you can’t get enough of me.”

Silence. It’s expected. If this is a scene out of an erotica novel – and I plead guilty to reading my fair share of it – things would have happened differently. For one thing, he’d be the one doing the propositioning and not yours truly.

If this is a work of fiction, all it would take is one glimpse of my plain self and Mr. Moretti would want to jump my bones so badly he’s going to chain me to his desk and make love to me over and over even before the first chapter ends. He’ll beg me to move in with him and marry him, too, though I’m not fussy with the sequence of events.

But it’s not. I’m sure those things take place occasionally in real life, too, but let’s just say that it’s my luck to get that one billionaire in the world who also happens to be a cold-blooded werewolf. Also has a high sex drive but still.

Domenico Moretti singled me out because he needs me for practical reasons and not just because I’m the only one who can give him a hard-on. I can’t reasonably expect to keep Domenico Moretti interested with me forever, and I don’t.

But I
am
tired of being boring, of being plain, of being wimpy. I want everyone to look at me with new eyes.

I lift my chin, adding recklessly, “I want all this in writing, and I need you to show proof of your, err---” Gah! Why are the words so hard to say?

“My sexual infatuation?” Mr. Moretti says innocently, but his green eyes are gleaming.

“Yes. I need proof of, err,
that
, every day.” I try to sound nonchalant, but it’s obvious I fail dismally when his eyes just gleam more brightly.

Now please tell me you think it’s a wonderful joke and we can all just forget my temporary moment of insanity.
I steal a look at his profile, but his face is expressionless for once.

“Interesting,” he says finally.

That’s it?

“Are you still feeling dizzy?”

His question throws me off, and I stammer, “I’m fine.”

Domenico stuns me even more when he gently lifts me off his lap and assists me to my feet. He checks his watch, murmuring, “It’s late now. I’ll have Matteo send you home. You’ve given me food for thought. I must think about it tonight.”

He nods dismissively. “Until tomorrow.”

In minutes, I’m walked out of his office, escorted by his secretary all the way to the lobby, and bundled into his limousine past gawking eyes of the other employees. I’m so stunned I only manage one quick, panicky look at the 19th floor windows of Moretti Inc. before the chauffeur slams the door shut.

What did I do? Has he changed his mind? Worse – have I turned him off?

On and on the questions circle around my mind, but I’m unable to answer them. I suppose my life is back to being safe and boring. God has answered my prayers –
again.

Oh, God. Why do you listen to me at the worst possible moments?

I bite my lip, knowing I’m being unfair. I am such a fracking whiner it’s embarrassing.

I didn’t even get to call him Domenico. The thought depresses me even more, and I bend my head down, covering my mouth so that Mr. Moretti’s driver doesn’t hear me crying.

Domenico waited
patiently, the shadows serving as his cloak once more.
It was but a matter of time until Misty would come out of her house for a rare jog. From the report, he had learned that she used jogging to clear her mind, and he himself had given her a lot to think about.

He had to admit that Misty had given him a lot to think about, too. Her condition had surprised him. He had already foreseen her dismissal of his wealth – which was impressive albeit impractical – but he had still expected a request that was material in nature. Scholarship for her siblings, a donation to her favorite charity – he had expected everything but what Misty asked in the end.

Make out with her in public? Every day? Was his chosen bride an exhibitionist at heart?

It was an exquisite thought.

Domenico’s smile glinted in the darkness when he remembered the look of shock and confusion on her face when he so unexpectedly sent her home. But he could not help it. In the regretfully short time he had spent alone with Misty, two things had become irrefutably clear.

First, she was a joy to play with.

Second, he actually had fun playing with her.

Fun was a word he had deliberately made himself forget, yet somehow she had gotten under his skin without him knowing it, made Domenico have fun even though he had sworn so many years ago never to experience that traitorous aspect of life ever again.

Fun.

He supposed he could live with it again – especially if it meant he would be able to play with her constantly. Domenico knew it was cruel of him to tease her unmercifully. He was aware of how absurdly abundant Misty’s insecurities were but he couldn’t help it. He would make it up to her, Domenico told himself. But for now ---

He allowed himself another smile.

She was a delight to toy with, and surely she would be more so when they finally had the chance to play the same games in bed. Or anywhere else he would feel the urge to undress Misty’s lovely body, drown himself in her shy but addictive kisses, fondle her wondrously generous breasts, and sink his cock in her heat.

He savored the thought, getting hard just by imagining the moans and whimpers that would come out of her lovely mouth as she pleaded more from his cock. He wondered how it would be to have his cock inside that mouth. He imagined Misty’s tiny pink tongue swirling around the head with an inexperience that would be a sensual torture in itself. Then he would sink his fingers in her hair, pulling her head closer so she would learn to take more of him in---

Shit.

Domenico changed, using the lightning-quick transformation to kill his erection. Now was no time to let his cock rule his brain, not when danger lurked so close.

Chapter Four

Red-eyed and sniffing, I mumble my thanks to Domenico Moretti’s chauffeur as I step out of the limousine. The twins are at the sidewalk, curiosity written all over their faces.