Chapter 1

"You can quit your job after we're married. Just stay home, take care of me, and give me a healthy son within a year. No daughters—they're too expensive to raise!"

The words dripped with arrogance.

The man who spoke them sat across from Evelyn Whitmore, her blind date for the evening. Nearly forty, balding, with a gut that strained against his cheap suit.

Her stepmother, Victoria Blackwood, had arranged this disaster, terrified Evelyn might actually marry someone respectable.

The man had wrinkled his nose at Evelyn’s heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick, but his gaze lingered on her slender frame. She could practically see the lewd thoughts forming behind his beady eyes.

"How tall are you?" he demanded.

Evelyn swirled her coffee absently. "One sixty-eight."

His grin widened. "Perfect. I’m almost one-eighty—ideal height difference. You’ll have to stand on your toes to kiss me, but don’t worry. I’ll bend you over just fine."

Men who claimed to be "almost one-eighty" were lucky if they hit one seventy-two.

Evelyn rolled her heavily shadowed eyes. "If a woman has to tiptoe to kiss you, you’re not as tall as you think."

His face darkened. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Just then, the café door swung open. A man strode in—tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet authority.

Evelyn’s gaze locked onto him. A reckless idea sparked.

She stood, sauntered over, and flashed him a grin. "Hey, handsome. Mind helping me prove a point?"

Before he could react, she grabbed his tie, yanked him down, and pressed her lips to his.

She pulled back, smirking at her stunned blind date. "See? This is the height difference that requires tiptoes."

The man turned purple. "You—you shameless little—!" He jabbed a finger at her. "I’ll make sure everyone knows what a slut you are! Good luck finding anyone willing to marry you after this!"

Perfect. If word got out, Victoria would have a hell of a time forcing her into another setup.

Evelyn scoffed, kicked his chair for good measure, then tossed a careless wave at the stranger. "Thanks for the assist. See you never."

She turned to leave—but an icy grip clamped around her wrist.

"You kiss me without permission," a deep voice rumbled, "and think you can just walk away?"

A shiver raced down her spine. She looked up—and froze.

The man was devastating. Sharp cheekbones, piercing dark eyes, a mouth that promised both sin and punishment.

Oh no.

In her hurry to humiliate her date, she’d picked the most dangerous man in the room.

Evelyn lifted her chin. "What do you want?"

Before he could answer, his assistant—Lucas Sinclair—stepped forward, phone in hand. "Sir, bad news. Isabella’s flight was diverted. She won’t make it tonight."

The man’s jaw tightened.

Evelyn tugged at her trapped wrist. "Let. Go."

Instead, his grip tightened. A slow, chilling smile curved his lips. "Fate just delivered me a replacement."

Lucas blanched. "Sir, you can’t possibly mean—"

"I do." Nathaniel Grayson’s gaze never left Evelyn’s. "She’ll do."

Evelyn’s stomach dropped. "Do what?"

His thumb brushed her pulse point. "Take responsibility for that kiss."

She laughed, incredulous. "You’re joking. I lost my first kiss today, and you want me to pay for it?"

"First kiss?" His brow arched.

"Twenty years of pristine restraint," she shot back, "wasted on you."

Nathaniel’s expression darkened. "Take her."

Before she could protest, two men in black suits ushered her into a waiting car.

Twenty minutes later, Evelyn stood in the grand ballroom of Silver Moon Estate, heart pounding.

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"Is that Nathaniel’s fiancée?"

"She looks... unconventional."

The host beamed. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nathaniel Grayson’s engagement ceremony!"

Evelyn’s breath hitched.

She’d expected a slap, maybe an arrest.

Not this.