My Dark Romeo: The Unputdownable Billionaire Romance

I t seemed fitting that a cookie-cutter mansion housed my cookie-obsessed bride.

With its fresh coat of white paint, black shutters, imperial columns, and bright-red door, the pre-War Colonial could grace the pages of Southern Living.

On the second-floor balcony, two rocking chairs swung from the force of whoever had occupied them seconds ago. That confirmed my suspicion.

Shortbread had waited for my impending arrival to claim my newest acquisition.

Her.

I’d toyed with the idea of giving her the entire weekend to say goodbye to her family and friends, mainly to relieve myself of her burdensome existence.

But it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.

Shep Townsend opened the door in his Sunday’s best. Of course, they’d just returned from church.

Nothing screamed devout Christian like getting caught with a stranger’s hand between your thighs.

“Is the ring acceptable?” He snatched the jewelry bag from my hands, ripping it open. “Because I won’t let you humiliate my daughter any further.”

I might have been a deplorable human for dragging his daughter kicking and screaming into marriage, but he was a first-class prick for allowing it.

And for originally fixing her up with Madison Licht, who was a bag of STDs draped in a Prom suit.

He popped the ring box open.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline, throat bobbing with a swallow. “This’ll do.”

Shouldering past him without acknowledging his words, I surveyed his foyer. My future wife was nowhere to be seen.

A smaller, scowling version of her—her little sister, I assumed—stood at the foot of the stairway, holding tight to the banisters, watching me like a woodland creature about to pounce on its prey.

I glanced at my Rolex. “Where’s Dallas?”

“Upstairs, resting.” Former Miss U.S.A. Natasha Townsend traipsed out of the kitchen in a respectable Gingham dress, appraising me with open hatred.

Thankfully, Dallas had inherited her mother’s face rather than her father’s.

“From what?”

The girl sure didn’t have a busy schedule.

She didn’t have any schedule.

“Stop goading her. You catch more bees with honey.” Shep placed a hand on my arm, ushering me to the drawing room. “Just yesterday, you disgraced her, killed her engagement, and strong-armed her into marriage. She needs time to process.”

It had never once occurred to me that Dallas Townsend was a three-dimensional character with needs, wants, and motivations.

From where I stood, she seemed like a gorgeous, spoiled, petulant child accustomed to getting her way.

One who nursed a somewhat unhealthy obsession with food.

I invited myself to sit at the head of the room in front of Dallas’s shocked family. “Tell her to come down right this second. We need to discuss schedules.”

Little Townsend surged forward. “Why don’t you go scre—”

“Go get your sister, Franklin.” Shep’s lips twisted downward. “And wash your mouth with a bar of soap right after.”

With a shake of her head, Franklin fled my periphery. Shep remained standing. So did his wife.

They both glowered at me.

I produced my leather business case and began spreading the paperwork my bride needed to sign on the table. “A cup of coffee would be nice. No sugar, no milk, no spit.”

Mrs. Townsend’s eyes flared. In the end, Southern hospitality beat her resentment.

She scurried into the kitchen. Probably speed-dialing Jesus with a request to give me an early and deadly heart attack.

Shep braced the back of a chair. “Did you do this to get back at Madison or because your father is making you wed?”

I wiped invisible lint from my suit, marking everywhere Dallas needed to sign with an x. “It was a two-birds-one-stone situation.”

He sat and laced his fingers on the table, tight-lipped. “My daughter is very special.”

Fighting an eye-roll, I muttered, “They all are.”

“No,” he insisted. “Dallas is nothing like what you’ve seen and known. I assure you.” If I had a penny for every time a proud father tried to sell me his daughter based on her merits…well, I’d still be a billionaire. “When you fall in love with her, make sure you don’t resent her for it.”

So. Delusion was something that ran in this family.

As luck would have it, I didn’t need Dallas’s DNA.

I glanced around me, bored. “I’ll try my best.”

“I mean it.” His jaw set. “I know you don’t feel this way right now, but my daughter is utterly irresistible. There wasn’t one man in this town and the next who didn’t offer for her. I hope that, when she captures your heart, she’ll have the right mind to break it. Just like you’re breaking hers.”

That really did it.

“She isn’t in love with Madison Licht.”

“How do you know?”

“While I’m no expert in relationships, I’m pretty sure it would’ve taken me more than thirty seconds of waltzing to convince her that shoving my fingers inside her was a good idea if she were madly in love.”

The man never failed to wince when I mentioned my sexual encounter with his daughter.

“She is definitely fond of him, though.”

“She’ll be fond of me, too,” I snapped.

I didn’t even want her to be fond of me. I simply hated the idea of losing to Licht.

Shep sat back. “That remains to be seen.”

My bride interrupted the bizarre conversation, stomping into the drawing room in a dark-green satin dressing gown. Her chestnut hair spilled down her shoulders all the way to her waist.

A rush of relief eroded my lungs. Dallas Townsend really was a beauty. Even more striking than I’d remembered. With long, curly lashes, lofty hazel eyes, and pillowy lips.

Oh, well.

I supposed it was only fair that, for the price I’d agreed to pay, I should truly and genuinely ruin her.

Intercourse was out of the question, but a few ideas sprung to mind. No doubt it would take me two minutes and a bag of Skittles to make them happen.

Shortbread regarded me with open disdain, still standing.

“My sweet,” I drawled. “How you must’ve missed me.”

“What do you want?”

Bruce and Madison dead.

And for you to undergo an entire personality transplant.

“We’re boarding a plane to Potomac in three hours.”

“Good riddance. Send von FancyPants my regards.” She stole my cupcake from the plate Natasha had dropped off for me, finishing it in two bites.

Dallas Townsend, ladies and gents.

She possessed half the manners and twice the beauty of any woman I’d ever met. Such a shame a personality that insufferable was attached to a face that stunning.

“You’re coming with me.”

“Oh.” She pursed her lips but didn’t argue.

“Go pack.”

She swiveled to her father, biting down on her lip. “Do I have to?”

He nodded.

She huffed.

Great. I was marrying a woman who was mentally twelve.

“Trust me, Dal, your mother and sister won’t forgive me, either.”

“But it’s improper for me to move in with him before marriage.”

I stacked our prenuptial papers, already bored with this. “Everyone knows I sampled the goods.”

“You sampled nothing.” She whipped her head to glare at me. “You barely touched me, and you and I both know it.”

Knowing it and admitting it were two different things.

Expecting honesty from me was as ridiculous as expecting loyalty from a prostitute.

“You have two hours to gather your things.” I forced direct eye contact, raising the stack of paper. “After which, you’ll sign this prenup. I’ll wait here.”

She shrugged.

I narrowed my eyes. From my limited knowledge about her, she didn’t take instructions well, especially from me.

It was on the tip of my tongue to warn her grave consequences would follow if she didn’t fulfill my orders.

Then I realized I no longer needed to seduce her. To coax her into my sphere.

She was already securely caught in my spiderweb. Thrashing and resisting, yet glued in place.

Next time she did something stupid, she’d pay.

There was no better lesson than experience.