The Mayfield Inheritance

eet, and a bathroom clad in white Calacatta marble. After a long, blistering shower that finally washed away the scent of the rain and the lingering, ghostly touch of Tyler's betrayal, Emma f

oxicating woodsy scent of his skin. "Do you want him to see you crying in your studio, or do you want him to see you at the head of his father's table, wearing diamonds that cost more than his entire car collection?" The image burned in Emma's mind. She saw Tyler's smug face when he'd looked at her in the bedroom. She saw Sarah's smirk. "Give me the pen," Emma said, her voice steady. She signed her name with a flourish-Emma West. Tomorrow, that name would be gone. Simon took the folder, his fingers brushing hers as he closed it. The contact was brief, but it sent a tingle up her arm. "Good. Now, there is one more thing. For this to work, for the Sterlings to believe it, we cannot look like a business arrangement. We must look... captivated by one another." "Captivated?" Emma echoed, her heart starting to drum a frantic beat. "Public displays of affection. Lingering looks. The world needs to believe that I, Simon Mayfield, was brought to my knees by a girl with hair like a summer sunset." He reached out, his hand cupping her jaw. His thumb traced the line of her lower lip, a slow, deliberate movement that made her breath catch in her throat. "Can you play the part of a woman in love, Emma?" Emma looked up at him, her pulse thrumming in her neck. The way he looked at her wasn't like Tyler. Tyler looked at her like a possession. Simon looked at her like she was a mystery he intended to solve. "I'm an artist," she whispered. "I know how to create a masterpiece out of nothing." "Good," Simon murmured. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his gaze dropping to her mouth. For a heartbeat, Emma thought he was going to kiss her then and there-not for a contract, not for Tyler, but because he wanted to. But he pulled back at the last second, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Get some sleep, Emma. Tomorrow, your new life begins." He turned and left the room, leaving Emma standing in the middle of the vast suite, her skin still tingling where he had touched her. The next morning was a blur. A private judge, a sleek black dress Simon had delivered to her door, and a ring-a diamond the size of a postage stamp that felt heavy and foreign on her finger. When the judge pronounced them husband and wife, Simon didn't kiss her. He simply took h