Excerpt of The Marriage Contract by Katee Robert

She was so wrapped up in her misery, she didn’t realize she
was
no longer
alone until a rough male voice cut through her spiraling
thoughts. “Want a
smoke?”

Callie opened her eyes to a man offering her an opened pack
of
cigarettes.
He was attractive in a brutish sort of way, his jaw square,
cheekbones to
kill for, and shoulders filling out his expensive suit in a
way
that didn’t
look the least bit comfortable.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Now’s as good a time to start as any.” He shook one out
and
handed it to
her, and then lit the one dangling between his lips. “I
hear
we’re going to
be married.”

This was Teague O’Malley? She tensed, but he seemed content
to
stand in
this dark alley with her and share his cigarettes. Now that
she
knew what
to look for, she recognized the same coloring that his
father
and older
brother had—sun-darkened skin and near-black hair. His dark
eyes weren’t as
cold as Seamus’s, but that didn’t comfort her in the least.
All
it meant
was that he was a better liar than his father was. “What do
you
think about
that?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter what either of us
thinks, does it?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

She wanted to know why he’d followed her out here—if there
was
something
he’d wanted to say that couldn’t be said in front of both
their
combined
families—but he seemed content to enjoy his cigarette in
silence. Maybe
he’d needed the respite as much as she had?

All too soon, it’d be time to step back into the chaos and
let
the events
neither of them could stop begin, but right now they were
just
two
strangers, sharing a moment of silence.

Can we really be strangers if we’re already engaged?

She pushed the thought away, determined to enjoy this
stolen
moment in time
before reality set back in. By the time she finished her
cigarette, her
hands had almost stopped shaking. She crushed the remaining
bit
under the
toe of her sky-high heels and turned for the door.

Only to find her way blocked by Teague.

He was taller up close, well over six feet, and broader as
well. The man
looked like a bruiser, which was fitting because it was
exactly
what he
was. He stared down at her with beautiful dark eyes, and
her
demand that he
get out of her way died in her throat. While she was
debating
her options,
he reached up, quick as a snake, and snagged the silk scarf
around her
neck. She made a grab at it, but it was too late.

Teague took a step closer, and then another, backing her
against the wall,
his eyes narrowing at her neck. “Show me.”

“Leave me alone.” Was that her voice, weak and wavering?
She
took a
shuddering breath, all her hard won calm disappearing. “Get
out
of my way.”

He kept going as if he hadn’t heard her, stopping less than
an
arm’s reach
away. God, he seemed big this close up—bigger than Brendan,
bigger than her
brother had been. He cupped her chin, his grip painless but
completely
unmovable, and tilted her head back to bare her neck. “Who
hurt
you?” There
was a promise of violence in every line of his body.

“No one.”

“Now, I may not be the smartest man in the world, Callista,
but
I know what
the imprint of a man’s hands on a woman’s neck looks like.”
His
thumb
moved, tracing the line of Brendan’s fingers that she could
still feel
digging into her skin. Teague’s touch didn’t hurt, though.
It
felt…almost
good.

She swallowed, the move pressing her throat more firmly
against
his thumb.
“It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right. Because I’m going to kill the bastard.” He
kept
stroking her
skin, his touch doing strange things to parts of her body
that
weren’t
anywhere near her neck. “Tell me his name.”

She wouldn’t, even if the man who’d hurt her wasn’t already
dead. Even in
their messed-up world, murder was a last resort—something
to be
avoided at
all costs—not something you did for a woman you barely
knew.
“No.”

“Your father hasn’t been keeping what’s his safe.” Another
stroke, this one
closer to her jawline. “That’s his mistake—one I won’t be
making as well.
His name, Callista.”

She’d never considered herself one to crack under pressure,
but
this man
put his hands on her and spoke in that quiet, confident way
that promised
violence to anyone who touched her, and she was dangerously
close to losing
control. Which kind of control was up for grabs, so she
went
with the least
likely to reveal her secret.

She kissed him, her heels giving her enough height that she
barely had to
go up on her toes. Her lips brushed his and for one
interminable second she
was sure neither of them took a breath.

That was all it took.

He let go of her throat to cup the back of her head, and
then
she was in
the middle of the single most devastating kiss of her life.
His
tongue
stroked hers, claiming her mouth—her body—as his own. His
hands
stayed in
place even as he continued the assault on her mouth, his
touch
headier than
the nicotine. She arched against him, tilting her head to
allow
him better
access, and he growled in approval.

Whatever she’d expected from this kiss, it certainly hadn’t
been desire.
Though desire was too tame a word. She’d felt desire
before,
and this
wasn’t it. This was…need. All-consuming need that devoured
everything in
its path, leaving only destruction in its wake.