Perfect

To hide the truth from his probing gaze, Daniella stared down at her hands. Noting the stranglehold on her purse, she loosened her grip. She had to make him understand they couldn’t possibly bring a child into the world and then simply divorce.

To prove her own fortitude in the face of his unyielding strength, she edged forward, her thighs touching his desk. “What you’re suggesting is unconscionable. Why are you doing this?”

“Shouldn’t I get something out of this marriage?” he asked roughly.

His question surprised her. It meant he believed he had been shortchanged—that she had not held up her end of the marriage deal, which was untrue. She’d done her part. He was the one who’d changed the rules and expected her to fall in line with his plans.

“You expect me to have a baby with you and then walk away?” She couldn’t quell the note of hysteria in her voice.

“I’ve told you what I want.”

“And what about what I want? Can’t you find someone else to do this for you?” There were numerous women who would gladly give birth to a Johnson heir. During the brief time they dated, she’d seen how mothers and fathers practically tossed their daughters at his feet. Even after they married, the same behavior continued, though not as flagrantly. The parents at least took into account if she was standing beside him.

“I’m not going to keep arguing with you about the same thing. I won’t change. If all you want to do is argue, you can leave now.”

He sat down and returned his eyes to the screen, effectively dismissing her. For him, the conversation was over, because that’s how he operated. He’d laid out what he wanted and expected her to simply fall in line with his plans.

His gaze remained on the laptop. She stared at his profile, his hard, clean-shaven jaw and hair cut low on his head. He wore a Brioni suit in the darkest black with a navy blue tie and matching handkerchief sticking out the left pocket. Immaculate. Always.

He didn’t look at her, and his lack of interest pushed her over the edge. She wanted to unsettle him, the same as he’d done to her. Short of smashing one of the desk organizers over his head, she couldn’t think of any nonviolent way to disturb him except one.

She cast her eyes across his neatly arranged desk. Everything in its place. He was obsessive about it, a man of routine and discipline. Three pens were lined up across the top, perpendicular to the edge of the desk. One black. One blue. One red. A cylindrical container held his letter opener, highlighters, a pencil, and two more pens. A leather bound notepad sat in the middle of the desk.

She snatched up the blue pen from the desk and his eyes snapped to her. She had his attention now.

“What are you doing, Dani? Put that down.”

“Your answer is no and so is mine,” she said. She used the blue pen to knock the other two askew.

Cyrus jumped up from the chair. His flesh must be crawling now because she’d disrupted his orderly life. As he rounded the desk, she dropped the pen to the floor and grabbed the letter opener. She pulled it with such force the glass container tipped over and scattered pens and highlighters across the desk.

“Get back,” she said, holding the letter opener above her head as a weapon.

“Put that down. You’re not going to use it.” He sounded bored.

“Yes, I will.” Her voice trembled, but she tightened her grip on the chrome handle. “Get away from me,” she warned.

“Or what? You’ll stab me?” He spoke in a calm voice, completely unfazed by her dramatic display. He took a step and she took one back. “Violence is ugly on you, Dani. I like you so much better when you’re under me, gasping and purring from pleasure.”

Memories—unwelcome and sudden—flashed through her mind, triggering a delicious heat in her loins. How could he do this to her even when she was angry at him?

“Let me go, Cyrus. Please.” She’d said she wouldn’t beg, told herself so many times, but she couldn’t fight him anymore. She was tired and frantic and spending way too much money on something that should have ended long ago.

“Give me a child and I’ll let you go.”

He took another step forward and she took another one back.

She shook her head.

His hand whipped out and snagged her wrist. He held her firm without hurting her, but she knew he could. He was twice her size and she couldn’t match his strength.

She twisted her arm, but with another quick, deft motion, he snatched the weapon from her fingers and tossed it onto the desk. It clattered against the polished wood, and she gasped in dismay at how easily he’d disarmed her.

Cyrus yanked her closer until barely an inch of charged air remained between them. The subtle scent of $165-per-ounce cologne filled her nostrils. Spicy, with an undertone of citrus, it was his signature smell—a scent she’d once equated with passion. The fragrance lingered in his clothes, and there had been times when she’d worn his shirts around the house so she could savor the scent of him while he was away on business. Her own little secret.

His eyes held dark determination as he looked down at her from several inches above six feet. His other hand circled the back of her neck, applying a warm, firm pressure. Years had passed since he last touched her, and she shivered in his grip. His thumb rubbed the tender spot behind her ear, and heat flashed over her skin. She had to remind herself the purpose of his touch was not to awaken desire in her. He was angry.

He lowered his head and his breath skimmed her lips. Her skin tingled as they breathed the same air, and she thought for sure he was about to kiss her. Could she possibly resist him? Fear of her reaction overwhelmed her, and she trembled with anticipation, but the kiss never came.

“You can beg, you can fight, you can threaten me all you want,” he all but snarled, all civility gone. His lips were held so close together she only caught a glimpse of his teeth. “But I want a child, just like you promised. And you’re going to give it to me.” His jaw firmed and his eyes filled with angry resolve. “I’m not letting you go until you do.”