The Stand-in Wife's Deception

Maeve's immediate instinct was to shrink back, to apologize, to make herself as small and invisible as

ike trying to push against a block of solid granite. "I'm shaking because you left me sitting in the freezing damp while you played Batman in the shadows," she snapped, her voice

a millimeter across her skin, feeling the frantic, hummingbird flutter of her heartbeat, before he slowly withdrew his hand. "My apologies," he murmured, thoug

e hand to help her out. The freezing rain immediately lashed at the delicate, exposed silk of her gown. She pointedly ignored his offered hand, gathering the heavy, expensive skirts a

consisted of sharp, abstract metal sculptures that looked more like medieval weaponry than decoration. Vast expanses of concrete and bulletproof glass overlooked the turbulent sea, the waves crashing violently against the cliffs far be

ted by a massive black marble table. Waiting at the far end was an older man with predatory eyes and a sleek leather briefcase-Caspian's head counsel. There w

atory smile or even stand when she entered. He pushed a thick stack of heavy vellum paper across the dark marble, along with

t magnetic contrast to the freezing temperature of the room. She could feel the heavy, oppressive weight of his silver stare on the side of her face. She picked up

n arrogant slash crossing the 't' and a sharp, jagged underline. Maeve had spent hours locked in her bathroom, practicing it until her wri

. She was legally anchoring herself to the epicenter of the city's criminal syndicate. If the pen stuttered, if the angle of the 'V' was too narrow, Caspian would know. He was a man built on d

an rug flashed brightly behind her eyes-a brutal, graphic reminder of the stakes. If she failed, her parents would face federal indictment before the week was out, and

ffocating wave of grief threatened to choke her. Maeve, the quiet archivist, the girl who loved the smell of old

e shut with a sharp *clack*. He vanished from the room like a gh

the rhythmic sound of the rain lashing the reinforced windows. "To a mutually beneficial partnership," Caspian said, his vo

ge of Dom Pérignon that Vivienne had demanded in her contract rider-a petty, irritating powe

k the proffered flute, her mind already racing ahead, calculating her next move, planning the blind sp

d the bowl of the glass to warm the champagne-the pretentious, entirely incorrect way Vivienne always drank

ass, hovering inches from h

as his pale silver eyes slowly dropped, locking onto her fingers wrapped securely around the crystal stem. The kinetic

room. He took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his gaze lifting from her hands to burn direc