My Runaway Groom's Billionaire Cousin

At 6:30 PM, Blaire walked into Declan's study.

She was wearing an emerald green gown. She held a stack of papers in her hand.

Declan was at his desk, signing documents. He looked up. His eyes swept over the dress, lingering on the slit up her thigh.

"Nice dress," he said.

"I have a contract," Blaire said, slamming the papers on his mahogany desk.

He raised an eyebrow. "Another one?"

"A Marital Agreement," she said. "Since you insist on this charade. Clause one: No unnecessary physical contact in private. Clause two: No entering the bathroom while occupied. Clause three: All public appearances must be scheduled and approved by both parties forty-eight hours in advance. Clause four: Outside of these appearances and necessary cohabitation, our private lives will remain separate."

Declan picked up the papers. He read the first page.

He laughed. A dark, rich sound.

"Appearances?" he asked.

"Yes."

He stood up. He held the papers in both hands.

Then, he ripped them in half.

Blaire gasped. "What are you doing?"

He stacked the halves and ripped them again. Then he dropped the confetti into the wastebasket.

"I don't sign contracts I don't intend to keep," he said.

He walked around the desk. He backed her against the bookshelf.

"I am a dictator, Blaire. Not a democrat. You don't get to set terms."

"You can't just-"

"I can. I own the mortgage. I own the company. And on paper, I own you."

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her jaw.

"You want to hate me? Fine. Hate me. But don't try to manage me."

Suddenly, his phone rang on the desk.

He glanced at it. His expression darkened.

He pressed the speaker button.

"What," Declan barked.

"Declan?" A voice came through. Slurred. Weepy.

Jeffery.

Blaire's blood ran cold.

"I... I made a mistake, man," Jeffery sobbed. "Cathi... she's crazy. She's not who I thought she was. She just wanted the money."

Blaire covered her mouth.

"You're pathetic," Declan said coldly.

"Is Blaire there?" Jeffery asked. "Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I'm coming back. I can fix this."

Declan looked at Blaire. He saw the tears welling in her eyes. He saw the shaking.

His jaw tightened.

"You're not coming back," Declan said. His voice was ice. "You abandoned her. You humiliated her. If you step foot in New York, I will destroy you. Stay where you are, Jeffery. Rot there."

He hung up.

The room was silent.

"He wants to come back," Blaire whispered.

"He's a fool," Declan said. "Are you still in love with him?"

She looked up. "I hate him. I hate him for leaving. I hate him for making me feel like I wasn't enough."

Declan nodded. He seemed pleased by that.

He stepped closer. He cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away a stray tear.

"Good," he said. "Use that hate. Tonight, we are going to walk into that gala, and you are going to look so happy, so radiant, that Jeffery will see the photos and wish he was dead."

"Revenge?" she asked.

"Revenge," he agreed. "Let me make you the envy of the city, Blaire. Let me show them what they lost."

Blaire looked into his eyes. For the first time, she didn't see a shark. She saw an ally. A dangerous, violent ally.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Okay."

He offered his arm.

They walked to the elevator. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. She squeezed.

He looked down at her hand, then at her. He smiled. A real smile.

"That's it, Queen," he murmured. "Let's go to war."

The gala was a blur of flashes and fake smiles. But they won. They dominated the room.

They got back to the penthouse at midnight. They were both a little tipsy on champagne and adrenaline.

Blaire went into the bathroom to change.

She reached behind her to unzip the dress. It was stuck.

She tugged. Nothing. The fabric was caught in the teeth.

"Ugh," she groaned. She twisted, trying to get a better angle. She pulled harder.

Rip.

"Damn it!"

"Need help?"

Blaire jumped. Declan was leaning against the doorframe. His tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck.

"It's stuck," she admitted, her face heating up.

"Turn around."

She hesitated. Then she turned her back to him.

She felt his hands on her bare skin. His fingers were hot. He brushed her hair aside, exposing her neck.

"Hold still," he murmured.

He worked on the zipper. His knuckles grazed her spine, sending shivers down her legs. He was taking his time. Too much time.

"Declan," she breathed.

"Got it."

The zipper hissed down. The dress loosened, pooling around her waist.

She caught it before it fell completely. She looked in the mirror.

Declan was standing right behind her. He was looking at her reflection. His eyes were dark, hungry.

"You were dangerous tonight," he said. "The way you looked at those investors... you have teeth, Blaire."

"I learned from the best," she whispered.

He placed his hands on her waist. His thumbs rubbed against her skin.

"Did you?"

He leaned down and kissed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Her knees gave out. She gripped the edge of the marble sink to stay upright.

"Declan, we shouldn't..."

He spun her around. He lifted her effortlessly and sat her on the edge of the vanity. Her legs dangled open. He stepped between them instantly.

"Why not?" he challenged. "We're married. You hate Jeffery. I want you. What's the problem?"

"It's... complicated."

"It's simple."

He cupped her face. "I've wanted you for two years, Blaire. Since the moment I saw you at that merger meeting."

Her eyes widened. "Two years? But... I was with Jeffery."

"I know," he growled. "And I hated every second of it."

He kissed her.

This wasn't like the church. This was desperate. Raw.

She tasted the scotch on his tongue. She felt the desperation in his grip.

Her hands found his hair. She pulled him closer. The dress slid further down.

She forgot about the contract. She forgot about the business deal.

She just wanted to feel something other than pain. And Declan... Declan felt like fire.

"Say yes," he groaned against her lips. "Blaire, say yes."

She looked at him. She saw the need in his eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

He carried her to the bed.

He laid her down on the black sheets like she was something precious.

He stripped off his clothes with impatient, jerky movements. When he stood over her, naked and magnificent, Blaire felt a spike of fear.

He was big. Intimidating.

She pulled the sheet up to her chin.

Declan paused. He saw her fear.

He climbed onto the bed, crawling over her on his hands and knees. He didn't touch her yet. He just hovered, caging her in.

"Scared?" he whispered.

"A little," she admitted.

"I won't hurt you," he promised. "I'll never hurt you."

He kissed her again, slower this time. He teased her lips, his hands exploring her body, mapping every curve.

When his hand moved lower, she flinched.

He stopped. He pulled back, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Blaire?"

"I... I haven't..." She looked away, ashamed. "Jeffery and I... I wanted to wait. For the wedding."

Declan went still.

"You're a virgin?" he asked. His voice sounded strangled.

She nodded.

A look of pure, unadulterated triumph washed over his face. It was primal.

"He never touched you?" Declan asked, sounding like he couldn't believe his luck.

"No."

"Good," Declan growled. "Good."

He kissed her fiercely. "You're mine. Only mine."

He was gentle. Surprisingly, heartbreakingly gentle.

He prepared her slowly, whispering praise against her skin, telling her how beautiful she was, how perfect.

When he finally entered her, it hurt. She dug her nails into his shoulders.

"I know, baby, I know," he soothed, kissing away the tears that leaked from her eyes. "Breathe."

He waited until she relaxed. Then he began to move.

The pain faded, replaced by a pressure, a heat, a friction that made her toes curl.

"Declan," she gasped.

"Look at me," he commanded. "Watch me take you."

She opened her eyes. She watched him. The intensity in his face was beautiful.

They moved together, finding a rhythm. It was clumsy at first, then perfect.

When the climax hit her, it was like a white light exploding behind her eyelids. She screamed his name.

He followed her seconds later, collapsing on top of her, burying his face in her neck.

They lay there in the tangled sheets, panting, covered in sweat.

He rolled off, pulling her into his side. He kissed the top of her head.

"Mine," he whispered into the dark.

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, she didn't feel like arguing.