Chapter 5

Penelope Monroe

I had decided to hold my second meeting with a prospective bride in an environment I knew he'd like. This time, I was playing my own psychological tricks on him. I had studied my client meticulously, and now, I was giving him exactly what he wanted.

Because no matter how much I tried to deny it, something was happening between us, something I couldn't afford to let spiral out of control. I needed to find him someone, fast. I needed to end this torturous back and forth before I did something really stupid.

"So, where's the handsome devil?" My junior associate, Tara, asked with a giggle. She was like a younger sister to me, and I had brought her along today for one sole reason to keep things strictly business.

"Don't call him that. He's just a client," I muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

"Yeah, but this is literally a business luncheon. Why are we doing this here?" she asked, waving a hand at the fancy venue, clearly unimpressed.

"Because," I smirked, leaning back, "what did I teach you? Know your client. He eats this exclusivity nonsense up luxury, prestige, the whole deal. He's going to feel more comfortable in an environment that reflects that. So, I found him a woman just like him. He can't complain. Logically, he has to like her."

Tara raised a skeptical brow. "And what if he doesn't emotionally like her?"

"Doesn't matter," I shrugged. "He doesn't operate on emotions. He views things logically. And logically, she's perfect for him. I'm just using his own tricks against him. Though I wish he gave Serena a chance. In the perfect world, they would end up together. But I guess Serena seems like a nice person, he isn't one for sure."

Tara giggled, shaking her head. "Wow. I've never seen you like this. He sort of brings this side out of you."

I stiffened. "What do you mean?" The words came out a little too quickly, too defensively.

She popped a strawberry into her mouth, speaking casually, like she wasn't dropping some profound revelation. "I don't know. You're usually so... perfect. But around him? You're mischievous, even a little evil."

I scoffed. "That's true. He makes me a bad person."

Tara shrugged. "No, not bad. Just... more yourself."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she wasn't even paying attention anymore, too focused on her cake.

Why is everyone in my life so useless?

"Tara, this has to happen," I said, dropping the teasing. "I need him to marry Serena Livingstone. It would solve ALL my problems."

She frowned, "Even if he actually doesn't like her?"

"Ethan Rutherford is incapable of liking anybody but himself. What kind of man rejects a woman like Serena?" I roll my eyes. "He is my problem, I mean.The second he gets married, my problems disappear." I huffed, hoping she'd drop it.

Tara just shrugged, but she did not look convinced. I knew that she hated how little I confided in her but in my defence, she was too young to be a part of my problems.

I was already a little embarrassed for pushing Serena as a marriage prospect on Ethan.

I know if he knew the reason behind my persuasion, he would judge me for chasing money, for doing something that, on the surface, looked selfish, greedy. I had spent my whole life being the responsible, morally sound, goody-two-shoes. This? It went against everything people thought I stood for.

But I was desperate.

And to be fair, Ethan just wanted a wife. Serena was a good woman. This wasn't some grand betrayal, it was practical.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Tara suddenly perked up, a grin stretching across her face. "Your problem just walked in."

I turned, just as Ethan Rutherford strode into the room.

And as always, my stomach did something annoying.

Tall. Imposing. Sharp in his tailored black suit. The way he moved, the effortless confidence, it was infuriatingly attractive. His dark eyes scanned the restaurant, and when they landed on me, something flickered in them. Interest. Curiosity. Hunger.

I forced myself to push those thoughts aside.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rutherford," I said, standing. "This is my junior associate, Tara—"

"I'm like her little sister. Grew up next door. She even used to babysit me," Tara chimed in excitedly.

I glared at her.

Ethan smirked, shaking Tara's hand, his demeanour surprisingly relaxed. "Oh really? How old are you, Tara?"

"Seventeen!" she beamed, rocking on the balls of her feet.

His smirk softened into something almost, dare I say it genuine. "Seventeen and already working in this field? That's impressive. Not many people your age have this kind of drive."

Tara blushed, clearly flattered. "Well, I had a good mentor." She shot me a teasing look. "Though she's a little scary sometimes."

Ethan chuckled. Actually chuckled. A deep, warm sound that sent an irritating flutter through my stomach.

"She is scary, isn't she?" he mused, his gaze flicking toward me, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "I'd say you're brave for working under her, but judging by how easily you're teasing her, I think you can handle yourself just fine."

Tara giggled, looking downright smug. "I can, actually. And honestly? She's a softie underneath all the scary."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "I'm standing right here, you know."

Ethan tilted his head, considering me. "A softie, huh?"

I shot Tara a look that promised retribution, but she was too pleased with herself to care.

"She totally is," Tara continued, oblivious to my rising irritation. "She likes to act all tough, but the moment someone is in trouble or needs help, she's the first person there. She's super protective, even though she pretends she doesn't care."

Ethan's smirk deepened, "Is that so?"

I rolled my eyes, grabbing Tara's arm and steering her away. "Okay, we're done here. You have cake to eat, remember?"

Tara grinned, whispering Good luck before scurrying off.

"You're early," I noted.

"I know." His gaze locked onto mine. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Ethan led me through the lavish corridors of the estate, past the grand hall where the luncheon was taking place. The hum of conversation and clinking of glasses faded as we stepped into a more secluded part of the mansion.

He pushed open a set of heavy wooden doors, revealing a hidden terrace that overlooked a sprawling garden. The air was thick, laced with the scent of jasmine and the distant salt of the ocean. Lanterns flickered along the stone pillars, casting long shadows that seemed to reach toward us.

I swallowed, eyes darting around, my pulse quickening. The stillness of the terrace felt almost suffocating, and being alone with him in this secluded space felt like a dangerous game.

"I can't marry this girl," he said bluntly, his voice low, rough.

I groaned, frustrated. "No. She's a good match for you. I did a lot of work on this. Just meet her once."

"Yes, actually, she is," he admitted, his eyes locking with mine. "But I've slept with her."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"Once. A long time ago. I don't ever go back."

I huffed, trying to hide the tension building in me. "Was it a relationship?"

"Nope. Just once."

"Then why not try again?"

"Because," he said simply, leaning back, "I have rules."

I let out a humourless laugh. "You and your rules."

His gaze never left me, studying, measuring. "What's so funny?"

I shook my head, still chuckling, trying not to laugh. "I just can't picture you and... hook-ups."

He tilted his head, an animalistic glint flashing in his eyes. "Why not?"

I smirked, feeling the heat rising in my chest. "You're all business, business. I figured you'd only have sex for procreation."

His eyes darkened in an instant, and before I could react, he closed the distance between us, his chest colliding with mine. My back hit the wall, and I sucked in a breath, feeling his heat radiate through me.

"That's funny," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly growl.

My pulse thundered in my ears, my body betraying my thoughts.

He leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to my ear. "I didn't peg you as the kind of woman who would wear a lacy red bra either but there you were," he whispered, each word a tease, a promise.

A jolt shot through me. My body tensed, heart racing. His gaze, slow and deliberate, dropped to my chest, the air between us thick with something unspoken.

Then he moved.

He pressed into me, his broad chest a solid wall. His hands were on me before I could breathe, fingers skimming over my arms, settling on my waist with a possessive grip that sent a shiver down my spine.

"You're breathing so hard," he murmured, his lips nearly grazing my ear. "Do I make you nervous?"

I couldn't find my voice. Couldn't think.

His fingers slid lower, finding the curve of my hips, pulling me closer, his body a molten heat against mine. I felt the sharp clench in my core, my knees wobbling, a hunger building inside me.

"You're so tense," he whispered, voice thick with amusement, as his hands traced my back, pressing me into his body. I felt every hard inch of him, and it sent a rush of heat through my veins.

He tilted his head, lips barely grazing my jawline as his breath whispered across my skin. "In a situation like this, do you know what usually happens? This is how hook-ups unfold. I'm guessing you've forgotten."

"I've had hook-ups," I muttered, my words slurring as I tried to recall the handful number of times I had been with someone. But my mind was clouded, lost in the heat of the moment.

His hands shifted again, dangerously close to my ass, fingertips brushing just enough to leave me aching, desperate for more. My breath caught, my pulse hammering violently in my ears.

"You can tell me to stop," he murmured, the words like velvet dipped in honey, but the challenge was clear.

I swallowed, barely able to hold myself together. "I—"

"But you won't," he interrupted, his grip tightening ever so slightly, sending sparks racing through me. "Will you?"

I shook my head, the smallest movement, but it was enough.

He chuckled, the sound dark and sinful, sending a tremor through my body. "Not so business, business now, are you, Ms. Monroe?"

Then, just as quickly as he had invaded my space, he stepped back, leaving me breathless and trembling.

Cold air rushed between us, and I gasped, struggling to find my bearings. My legs felt weak, every nerve alive, humming from the burn of his touch.

He smirked, adjusting his cufflinks with casual ease, like he hadn't just unravelled me.

"Consider that your lesson for today," he said, his tone dripping with wicked amusement. "You might play your little games and jokes with me, but I always win."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me breathless, frustrated, and completely wrecked.