Perching on the edge of the couch, Devil warily eyed the woman he was going to marry.  Something wasn’t right here.  No, Molly was much too calm to be considered normal. 

The Molly he knew didn’t do calm.  She got mad.  She cursed.  She threw things.  Occasionally, she threw those things at his head.

What she did not do – hell, what she’d never done - was sit sedately beside him with a serene look on her pretty face and her hands clasped in her lap while she waited for him to run the show.

Something was off. 

And he smelled a rat – a Gucci-strutting, Prada-toting rat.

“Sami,” he growled, clenching his jaw when she merely smiled faintly at him.  “It’s Sami.  She put you up to this.  She’s the one that put you up to all this,” he charged, wildly gesturing at her enticingly wrapped body.

Raising an eyebrow, Molly tilted her head.  “To what, exactly?” she asked, feigning innocence.  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Devil.”  She offered him a condescending smile.  “Would you like me to get you a medicinal scotch?  You look like you could use one.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Molly Ramsey,” he retorted, shaking his finger under her nose.  “You’re taking advice from a she-cat with claws.”

“I’ll certainly send your regards to Samantha,” Molly offered sweetly, blinking in innocence.  “But, the only advice she offered me was regarding the cleanest way to dispose of your body should I decide to kill you.”

“Then it was Vivian,” Devil muttered.  “I don’t know which one it was, but it won’t work.  You’re not gonna distract me with tight jeans that are molded to your ass and a low cut shirt that clings to every curve God gave you,” he huffed, even as his eyes lingered on the milky white cleavage her blouse revealed. 

“It’s incredibly rude to criticize your fiancé’s wardrobe choices, Devil.  I happen to like this shirt.”  Molly sniffed delicately, lifting her hands to adjust the material over her shoulders and making the fabric gap enticingly over the swell of her breasts.  “You don’t think it flatters me?” she asked, pulling her shoulders back and pushing her breasts toward him.

Devil’s mouth went dry.  There was too much skin – way too much skin on display for him to be able to think clearly.  The blouse was pretty enough, but the breasts made the ensemble pop.  He opened and closed his mouth twice before he found his tongue.  “Very pretty,” he mumbled, flushing as he forced his eyes away from the tempting flesh presented to him.  Running a hand over his sweating brow, he tried to remember what he’d been about to say before she’d taken another metaphorical swipe at his sanity.  “Now, put your secret weapons away, Mols.”

Rolling her bright eyes, Molly relaxed.  “They’re boobs, not bombs, Dev.”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” he muttered, keeping one eye on her chest as she settled back on the couch.  “I believe you mentioned something about terms, didn’t you?” he asked.

Hell, he could talk terms.  He was a born negotiator.  Considering he was about to navigate the biggest merger of his life, he knew he needed to be sharp.  That meant taking his eyes off her gorgeous breasts.  And getting the hell away from her before he did something insane like tackle her to the floor and rip off the pretty blouse to get his hands on what he really wanted.

Lunging toward the liquor cabinet on the opposite wall, he thought that scotch sounded pretty damn good right about now.  “You want something?” he asked over his shoulder as he reached for the bottle of Lagavulin.

“Club soda,” she replied evenly.

“Afraid I’m trying to get you drunk, Molly?” he asked with a faint smile as he prepared her drink.

“Nope, I just want every one of my brain cells firing while I broker this deal,” she replied lightly behind him.

Frowning as he turned and carried their drinks back to the low coffee table, he shook his head.  “You make this sound like a very sterile business transaction.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, raising her eyebrow as she took the soda from his hand.

Reclaiming his seat beside her, he sipped his scotch.  “Things didn’t feel cold last night.  In fact, I was pretty warm.  And you were positively scorching,” he goaded her, carefully watching her face for some kind of reaction.

“You got me,” she admitted with a shrug.  “You caught me at a weak moment, Devil.  There’s no point in denying it.  I was horny.  It’s been a while and you’re not altogether repulsive.  I’m sure I would have responded to any man in the room, given my alcoholic indulgence last night.  Don’t feel too special, Dev.  I’m pretty sure I would have jumped the pizza guy if he’d shown up.”

“Gee, thanks,” he muttered, disappointed that she was still acting as cool as a cucumber.  And the thought of her jumping any guy other than him was enough to make him murderous. 

“You’re welcome,” she returned politely.  “At any rate, last night was an error in my usually sound judgment.  It won’t happen again.”

“Even though you now realize that I’m a red-blooded heterosexual man with all the normal needs and urges any male has?” he teased, determined to find a way to break her facade.

“Especially since I now know that you’re a red-blooded heterosexual man with all the normal needs and urges,” Molly clarified.  “Now, can we move onto more important matters?  Given the fact that you’re working on a tight timetable, I think it’s important to solidify what you expect our short term arrangement to be,” she informed him as she slipped a notepad from the bag at her feet.

Frowning, he stared at the legal-size tablet and pen she held in her hand.  “What are you doing?” he asked curiously when her thumb jabbed the end of the pen and she held it poised above the paper.

“Taking notes.  I don’t want to misinterpret anything, and you’ll need something to give the attorney when he draws up the contract between us.  I’m not going to sign a prenuptial agreement between us blind, Devil.  I’m not stupid.”

He never realized until now how truly distasteful those two words were.  Prenuptial.  Agreement.

It was like a damn permission slip for divorce.

Again, the realization that Molly was going to walk down the matrimonial aisle to him with one eye on the exit caused his gut to clench.  That wasn’t what he wanted.  He wanted her excited and happy.  He wanted her to be consumed with the wedding mania that seemed to grip most brides.

“You know, you might like being married to me so much that you don’t want a divorce,” he offered slowly.  “Having a prenup might not be necessary at all.  You don’t think I’d deliberately keep you trapped in a marriage where you weren’t satisfied, do you, Mols?”

Molly laughed.  Not one of those delicate ladylike laughs that the women he’d escorted around Atlanta had used with him for the last year.  Oh, no, this was a deep, belly laugh -- the kind that reddened her face and caused her breasts to bounce temptingly against her chest. 

He would have enjoyed watching her laugh like that if it hadn’t been for the small inconvenience of knowing that she was laughing at him, not with him.    “It’s not that funny,” he griped, tightening his fingers around the tumbler of scotch he held.

“Oh, trust me, it is,” Molly giggled, wiping her eyes.  “To answer your question, though, yes, Devil.  I think you would do whatever it took to get what you want.  You keep forgetting that I know you.  When you want something, things like boundaries and limits sort of fall by the side of the road.  A prenuptial agreement is entirely necessary.  Sort of like food and water, I can’t live without it.  No contract, no me, Dev.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, well aware that losing some battles might be necessary if he was going to win the war.  “You might note, however, that I’m a little more experienced in the wheeling and dealing department, sweetheart.  You sure you want to take me on here?”

“I came prepared to play hardball,” Molly warned him, her shoulders straightening in defiance.   “I’m not a pushover and I won’t be steamrolled.  You need me, Devil, not the other way around.  Based on that, it stands to reason that you will be the party granting concessions here, not me.”

Well, Devil thought with amusement, the girl came to play.  Her determined gaze never once wavered from his face as she waited for him to speak.  Inclining his head slightly, he yielded gracefully.  “You do seem to have me there,” he offered magnanimously.  “I do need you.”

“I still find that debatable,” Molly grumbled under her breath.  “If you ask me…”

“I didn’t,” Devil interjected pleasantly.

“…you could still find someone much more appropriate.  Given your solid heterosexual nature, I feel the need to revert to my original argument one more time.  We could look at the pack of groupies that you’ve accumulated in the past year and find a couple of candidates that would qualify.   Are you sure…”

“I’m marrying you, Molly,” Devil insisted firmly.  “Only you.”

“Fine,” Molly returned with a sigh.  “I simply wanted to offer you one last chance…”

“Don’t need it.  Don’t want it.  Not taking it,” Devil stated forcefully, taking another gulp of the expensive scotch in his glass.  “Ready to move on yet?”

Molly gave him a long look.  He merely smiled back at her, unwilling to give her so much as an inch.  She was the woman he wanted.  Too bad he’d decided to be noble last night or she’d already be convinced of it. 

“I suppose moving on is the only option I’m left with here,” she finally acknowledged quietly.  “Please remember in the months to come that I did give you one last chance to choose one of your tarts, Devil.”

“Molly, I don’t have any tarts,” Devil groaned, running a hand down her face.  Hell, at least when he’d been assumed to be gay, she hadn’t acted like walking down the aisle was synonymous with the long, green mile.  He knew without asking that she was back to her former stance of seeing him as nothing but a horny bastard that used and discarded women for his own pleasure.  The disbelieving glare she shot him only further confirmed what he already knew.

“Devil, if you want me to sign my name on any contract or walk my happy ass down any aisle in Atlanta or the surrounding area, you will not lie to me again.  Consider it a deal breaker if you must, but don’t you dare tell me another lie.”  Molly’s voice seethed with barely suppressed rage.

“You know, I think we tried having this discussion once before, and it ended with me being gay,” Devil reminisced, watching as her cheeks reddened.  “Let’s try it again.  I dated several ladies this year.”

“Yes, seventeen of them at last count,” Molly supplied readily.  “When you reach twenty bouquets at the florist, the twenty-first is free.  I hope you get a similar deal with the jeweler you use.  It really would be economical for you.  Of course, since you’re as rich as Croesus, I guess it doesn’t matter.  I’m sure your accountants figure a way to write those expenses right on off.”

“Are you done yet, smartass?” Devil asked irritably.  “I don’t write off gifts.  And that’s all they were.  Not fees for services rendered.  Gifts.”

“Oh, yes.” Molly nodded helpfully, ignoring the twinge of doubt she suddenly felt.  “Gifts.  Women never get confused when a man gifts them with jewelry.”

Shifting uncomfortably as her barb found its mark, Devil had the grace to look away.  “I don’t guess I ever looked at it that way.  I was merely offering those ladies a small thank you for their company.  And that’s all they were, Mols.   A willing dinner companion with which to pass the time.”

“Yeah.” Molly smirked as she rolled her eyes.  “Cleopatra was a real conversationalist.”

“Cleopatra, as you call her, had aspirations of becoming more than what she was.  And for the record, all she was – all any of them were – was a pleasant diversion.”

The look of sheer disbelief in Molly’s eyes had him suddenly wanting to scream.

“They were!  I didn’t sleep with a single one of them,” Devil added defensively. “I couldn’t.”

“Little Willy won’t wake?” Molly asked with feigned sympathy.  “No wonder Cleopatra was so agitated all the time.  The poor woman was as sexually frustrated as a bitch in heat with no stud around to take care of the job.  They do make pills for that, Devil.  You want me to make a note to look in to that for you?” she questioned drolly.

 Seeing Molly’s interested gaze drop to his crotch, he moved a hand over his groin.  “My dick is not little, and you felt it wake up yourself last night!”

“So touchy,” Molly clucked, holding up her hands as his eyes glittered ominously.  “I’m only trying to help.  I don’t care who you’ve slept with, Devil.  It isn’t my business.  Suit yourself.”

Oh, he thought angrily, he’d like to suit himself up and sink into her.  Maybe once he’d made desperate love to her a few dozen times, she’d realize that, sexually speaking, he had spent the last year being as frustrated as his intended bride.  Tamping down on his agitation, he inhaled deeply and tried to calm the beast pacing inside him.

Right now, he had a deal to lock down.

“Molly, I’ll say this one more time.  I’ve lived like a monk for about thirteen months.  Haven’t been intimate.  Believe me or don’t, that’s your choice, but ask yourself one question.  When, in the history of knowing me, have you ever caught me in a lie?”  He let his question hang in the air and watched her fidget nervously in her seat, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.  “Yeah,” he said a full minute later, “That’s kind of what I thought.  Now, if you’re done casting dispersions on my upstanding character…”

“I wouldn’t get carried away with the nobility crap, Devil,” Molly muttered unhappily.  “Pious really doesn’t work on you.”

He tried hard not to smile at the petulant tone of her voice.  “You’re confusing piety with righteousness, Mols, but that’s neither here nor there.  I think you wanted to talk terms.  Tell me, Molly.  What’s your first stipulation?”