Everything But Perfect (7 page)

At first, he felt her body tense,
but she relaxed and actually accepted the kiss, for what it was worth.

He wasn’t cold-blooded, or
cold-hearted, and he did feel for her, even if she undermined his every wish
and desire tonight. The kiss was a truce. Satisfied, he eased back.

“We can either go back to the
party as a happy couple, or we stay out here until I make you happy,” he said,
winking at her face.

She closed her eyes, so he kissed
them open.

“You just don’t get it, do you?”
he asked, a catch in his throat.

“Get what?” she muttered.

“I control things. Money,
power…even people. No matter what you do or say, no matter how much you fight
me on this, come next Wednesday night, you will be mine.”

Her face paled right in front of
him. “In your dreams, asshole. No man will ever control me, and next Wednesday
is on paper only. You will never have me, as you’re suggesting.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, and that was a promise, not
a fact.”

“Well, I’m promising you there
won’t be much of a struggle from you, once I make you mine. I can assure you.” He
then closed the minute gap between them, pressing her nearly exposed breasts
against his chest, his thighs held against hers.

The more he looked at her,
dressed in such a daring gown, the more any resolve to staying immune to her
charms was dwindling into pixie dust.

“Why are you doing this to me?”
she whispered, eyes wide.

“I’m not doing anything to you—yet.
I am merely informing you I get what I want, when wanted. I’m outright telling
you how it is going to be.”

When she did not comment, he
added, “And what I want is your shares.”

Sara then knocked on the closed
door. “Cheyanne, are you all right?”

Mitch stepped back, glared at his
future wife, but allowed her sister inside the gazebo. “Cheyanne is fine.
Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Fine,” she mumbled,
avoiding eye contract with both him and Sara.

“Oh, my! What an exit. First,
congratulations are in order. I will have words with the both of you later on,
as to why no one told me about this, but there is a group of people quite eager
to talk. Come. Mother’s waiting. We want to hear all about your torrid love
affair, and how you kept it from the family.” Sara stood her ground, waiting
for both to follow.

“Could you please give us a sec?”
Mitch suggested.

“Why?” Sara probed.

He smiled and winked at the
prying sibling, then glancing down.

“Oh! Of course,” she said
laughingly, “Do come when you’re ready, Mitch.”

Mitch could not help but chuckle
at the sexual innuendo, receiving a punch to his arm from Sara, and Cheyanne’s
loud gasp to slip into his brain.

Well, dammit! He was trying
desperately not to come while the succulent
Little Rose
was in his arms
and her sweetness still on his tongue.

“Ass!” she snapped. “Keep it in
the pants, because you sure as hell won’t be using it on me.”

“Bitch,” he said half-heartedly.

The woman in his arms flinched,
reacting within seconds. “I may be a bitch, but it’s much better than being an
ass.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,
sweetheart,” he said, chuckling loudly as she bolted out of the gazebo behind
her sister’s wake.

Chapter Eight

The bastard! Now he has Sara on
his side? Moreover, if he dares call me sweetheart one more time…
Cheyanne walked inside, bombarded
by questions, Mitch right on her heels. The natives were restless.
How did
you meet? Who introduced you two? How long has this relationship been going on?

The questions would not stop.

Mitch bent near her ear just as
she reached for a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Leave the champagne
alone, dear.”

“Why?” she mumbled at his face.

“We would not want you getting
drunk, and then saying something I’ll regret.”

“I’m regretting every second of
my life. Champagne will only improve the situation.”

He reached for her glass and
removed it from her fingers, setting it on the tray. “There. Perhaps now you will
listen to me.”

“I would rather listen to a
spitting viper, than waste the energy trying to figure you out.”

“Are you going to be like this
all night long?”

“Are you going to disappear into
a tar pit?”

“No.”

She gave him an easy smile,
others moving close to them. “Then yes, I’m going to be like this,” she said
under her breath.

He crushed her fingers in his
strong grip. It wasn’t as though he did not trust her to bolt…tongue in cheek. He
was simply doing his best to make their relationship look legit, even if she
was doing everything she could to make him falter at this goal.

“Next time someone asks how we
met, keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” he warned.

Her eyes widened. “What? Now
you’re going to control that about me, as well?”

“If I have to, my dear,” he said.

“Stop calling me that,” she
grumbled.

“What? Dear?”

“Yes.”

“What would you prefer?”

“I’d prefer it if you would call
me nothing at all.”

His brow arched; a tilt to the
corner of his mouth. “Now what fun would that be?”

“No fun at all. That’s the
point.”

Mitch’s hand clenched tighter to
hers.

“You’re hurting me—again.”

“Sweetheart, I haven’t even begun
to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice.

Cheyanne yanked her hand out of
his faster than he could react. Ten seconds later, he had her by the elbow.

“Dammit! Let go of me.”

“As soon as you stop making a
scene.”

Her smile grew. “Darling, I have
barely begun making a scene. You should see me when I’m drunk.” With that, she
succeeded in walking away from him unscathed, reaching for a glass of champagne
from a passing tray.

Hours later, they were inside the
library, alone. The guests had finally left, her parents were in bed, and Sara
and Henry just made their way up the staircase.

****

Tonight, quite possibly, had been
the longest day of his life.

Mitch dropped onto the couch
cushions, exhausted. God help him, even he had limits and she’d pushed her way close
to those borders.

He yanked off his tie, tossed it
on the couch, and then leaned back. A drink already in hand, he downed it
without breathing. He needed at least four more, but one would have to suffice,
for now.

“Positive I did not put something
in that?” she inquired, eyeing him from the opposite couch.

With hate-filled eyes, he said,
“Right now, sweetheart, I could care less if you filled the glass with arsenic.”

Never before had a woman inflamed
him as much, and in so few hours, as she had. He stood, poured another scotch,
downing it swiftly.

“So the great one finally fell
off his high horse,” she muttered rudely.

He turned and glared. “Shut the
hell up.”

“Shut the—?” She paused,
seemingly flabbergasted. “How about you make me shut up?”

Mitch’s brows arched high, his
throat tightening. “Make you?”

“Yes, I dare you. Make me shut
up.”

Her smug attitude dwindled into
pixie dust the instant he stepped forward.

“Either you do as you are told,
or I will close that sassy mouth for you,” he warned.

Foolish and likely drunk, she quickly
goaded him into the point of no return. “Do try your best.” She then crossed
her legs, and her gown parted enough to give him an ample view of her incredible
skin. Mitch groaned. His last straw broken, he threw his empty glass across the
room, the crystal hitting the wall.

“I’ve fucking had it with you!
Your wicked mouth, your refusal to see what is right in front of your face. If
I wasn’t such a gentleman…,” he growled out, taking a deep breath to calm down.
“Sweetheart, you have pushed me into wanting to beat the living daylights out
of you, and I have never condoned violence against any female in all my life,
deserving or not.”

At least she didn’t dare comment
on this, perhaps knowing better.

“I’m tired of taking the blame
for you hating me. I did not ask for this strange situation, and I certainly
don’t deserve your constant viperish tongue. You, my dear, are stuck in
quicksand, and I am the only one in sight holding a rope long enough to get you
out of it. Obviously, you have a brain. Try using it for a change.”

A raging bull with a thorn in his
side, he was not about to let her get away with her continuous childish
behavior much longer. What she needed was a spanking over the knee—his!

Mitch groaned again. Just the
thought of being able to slap her sexy bottom had him getting hard, at the
worst possible moment in recorded history. Her little game and bad attitude had
gone too far this time.

“I—I,” she stammered, watching
his every move. Thankfully, self-preservation kept her mum.

“Get out of my sight before I do
something I will truly regret. Now!” he suddenly yelled.

****

Cheyanne could not leave the room
fast enough. Gathering deep breaths, she wisely sat down on her bed before she
fainted. Never before had a man told her he wished to beat her. She was
torn…beaten down by two overpowering men. One she hated with every fiber of her
soul, the other was selling her off to the highest bidder.

She hugged her knees to her
chest, already disposed of the silk gown in exchange for comfortable pajamas.

Yes, she was drowning in
quicksand, and yes, he was holding a rope, but it grated her to acknowledge he
was the only man who would lower himself to save her father’s company from
ruin.

She climbed under the sheets, but
did not fall asleep until almost four in the morning, her mind racing by what
Mitch had said to her.

Unfortunately, she forgot to
reset her alarm and it went off at seven, just in time for breakfast.

Groggy, convinced sleep was outdated;
at the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices. Extra chairs being removed,
floral arrangements carried into the parlor; Sara and Henry were pitching in
with cleanup, and to do as little work as possible, Cheyanne darted into the
kitchen, hoping to avoid family.

She snuck inside, shut the door,
and came face to face with her greatest enemy now.

“Sleep well, darling?” he teased.

Cheyanne tired her best to ignore
him, walking over to the side table laden with pastries. Was it too much to
have a moment’s peace without running into a man she was learning to detest?
The mansion could hide a herd of elephants…but could not misplace one very
aggravating man?

She poured a cup of coffee, sat
at the table, and pretended interest in the newspaper. Perhaps she could
pretend he wasn’t here.

He stepped over to the table and
stood next to her. Her eyes raised slowly, her breath coming out in rapid
exhalation. He would not give her an inch.

“May I sit down?”

Even more handsome in the
morning, she could barely focus her attention on anything other than his
muscular chest.

“Why bother asking me? You seem
to do whatever you like.”

“I’m asking, because I don’t want
a repeat of last night.”

“You started it,” she said.

“And I am going to finish it, if
you want me to.”

“I don’t give a damn what you do,
Mitch. I just want to eat my breakfast in peace. Is that too much to ask from
you?”

“No, it’s not, but then we’d have
something in common.”

Her curiosity peaked. “Such as?”

“We both want a truce.”

Cheyanne shoved her chair away
from the table, hoping to stand.

Mitch stopped this progress, his
foot set on the rung, holding her in place. “Where are you running off to now?”
he inquired.

“I am not running…”

His grin widened. “My mistake. I
could have sworn you were about to bolt out of the room.”

“What the hell do you want?” she
snapped. “Wasn’t tormenting me last night enough for you?”

“What I want is a decent
breakfast, a cup of coffee, and at least five minutes with the two of us not trying
to kill each other.”

She eyed his empty plate. “You
already had breakfast, and as far as us killing each other…if you’d just let me
out of this room, that won’t happen.”

He let go of her chair, she
wasn’t prepared for it, and she toppled over. Seated on her ass, Mitch held out
his hand to help her up. Cheyanne slapped it away. Thin lines creased his
forehead, his jaw twitching. Still, she refused to back down, or use his help.
She righted her chair, raised her eyes, and found mocha orbs boring holes into
her.

“What is your problem now?” she
asked waspishly. She’d seen a tyrant last night, and she did not have the
energy to face one now. Not on three hours of sleep.

“How did you like the gift?” he
suddenly said.

“What gift?”

“The box I sent to you.”

“Oh, that box was from you?” When
he nodded, she said. “Didn’t open it, and don’t want to. Just take it back.”
She had assumed it from her father, certainly not Mitch.

He grabbed her by the elbow,
practically dragged her from the kitchen, shoved her forward, toward the stairs
and said, “Let’s go!”

“What are you doing? Where are we
going? And stop trying to boss me around.” She had enough of his manhandling
last night.

“We are going up to your room.
You’re going to open up a bloody damn present sent to you, and you are going to
shut up about it.”

She stumbled as he pushed. Once
inside her room, he continued shoving her. There was no mistaking the anger
radiating out of him. “I can walk. I don’t need you doing it for me, nor do I
appreciate it.”

He ignored this request, and instead
yelled, “Open the fucking box, Cheyanne!”

Cheyanne moved in slow motion
toward the wrapped present. She did not want to open it, not while he looked
ready to kill. Still, she picked it up, set it on her bed, gave him a watery
smile, and bowing down to the pressure did as she was told.

“I tried civil,” he began, as her
fingers trembled undoing the bow. “I lowered my convictions to being uncivil.
I’ve tried threats, and I’ve tried generosity, but dammit Cheyanne, you are
pushing all the wrong buttons today.”

Her attention moved to him. “And by
saying this, you expect me to cooperate?”

“No. I don’t expect anything from
you—yet.”

“Good, because my expectations of
you are dwindling by the second.”

“Open the goddamn box!”

Cheyanne jumped. She turned,
removed the wrapping, lifted the lid, and found her worst nightmare laid out on
a bed a delicate tissue paper.

A wedding gown?

Tears fell quickly. On the gown
was a ring box. Her trembling fingers picked it up and opened it. Inside was
the biggest diamond she had ever seen.

She turned to him, undaunted
about her emotional destruction witnessed at eight in the morning. “Please, can
you leave me alone…just for a moment?”

“Why?” He stepped forward, making
her flinch.

“I just need a few seconds,” she
said, swiping at the tears.

“I’m not leaving you. I’m afraid…”
He paused. “Hell, if I’m going to be an ass, I might as well make certain you
think I am, so I’m going to stand here and watch you put on that ring…then I’ll
leave.”

Cheyanne’s tears fell harder. She
tried to put on the ring but her fingers would not cooperate, therefore Mitch
came closer and did it for her.

The coldness of the metal felt
like ice wrapping around her heart, its steely grip tightening until she could not
focus. Somehow, some way this one gesture had her heart skipping too many
beats, making her lightheaded. She swallowed hard to keep from passing out.