“What do you mean? This is bullshit!” Archer Aldrich stomped across the expansive floor of his plush office and stared through the window at the gridlocked traffic below—the new norm in Melbourne’s central business district.

His great-uncle Salvator had died in 2011. Fucking twelve years ago. And until Archer’s grandma passed away recently, he’d had no idea about the guy’s will. Fuck, he hadn’t even been eligible to inherit until now. Apparently those before him had failed to meet the stipulations, and he was the next—and last—in line.

“Maybe, but legally, I can’t do anything about it. The only way for you to receive your full entitlement is to find a wife…and the sooner, the financially more viable. The conditions state you need to marry before Valentine’s Day.”

What the fuck? How could his solicitor sound so matter-of-fact, so calm? How could he not think the whole thing was irrational? Ludicrous. Overly sickly saccharine. A total dreamer’s mentality. The fucking stats, the data, showed that one in two marriages ended in divorce.

So if not for some stupid will proviso, what drove people down the committed monogamy path? Why bother searching for a supposedly special needle in a stack of similar needles?

Made absolutely no sense. There were so many attractive, available women. Why settle for only one? “Come on. There has to be some way to break such a ridiculous, outdated requirement.”

“Unfortunately not. Believe me, I’ve investigated all options, and I can’t supersede the soulmate clause.”

Archer massaged his forehead with firm, inflexible fingers. What was with his great-uncle? The guy had become so obsessed with soulmates he’d even developed a serum to determine whether someone was a person’s fated life partner. Could he really be related to Salvator? Their beliefs were practically polar opposites.

Who fucking cared about finding ‘the one’? Why not enjoy every individual partner for their contribution to each unique experience. “So…what? I need to find a woman I like and marry her before the fourteenth of February? That’s only a few months away.” He huffed. “And if I don’t?”

“You receive a small consolatory amount, and the bulk of the money goes to the Jade and Violet Vampire Foundation to support health and wellbeing in the vampire community.”

Archer swore under his breath, frustrated as all fuck. “You have to be kidding me. Salvator didn’t even have any vampire genetics!”

“Would I joke about something like this?”

No, the guy wouldn’t. He had nothing to gain. But Archer did. A whole fucking huge stash of cash. The way Salvator had invested, it would set him up for the rest of his life. Hell, extend way beyond it.

He’d be a total fuckhead if he looked this unconventional gift horse in the mouth. “Fine. You’ll be the first to hear about my engagement.” Archer stabbed his index finger at the red ‘end call’ button, and threw his phone onto the desk.

Fuck, he didn’t even have a love interest, a regular date. Didn’t even believe in the institution of marriage. And the festive season had already started with no female prospects.

The countdown to Christmas had commenced, leaving just a measly few months to not only find an agreeable woman but also convince her to marry him.

No pressure. Yeah. He dropped into his office chair, his head in his hands. Like he fucking needed this extra stress… Like it wasn’t already a massive pain in the ass ensuring his company made a profit while ignoring the unexplainable attraction he had to his Norwegian business partner’s sexy sister…

Not conventionally sexy. Sort of sexy in a nerdy way. Not normally his type, but something about her got him going. Probably her hybrid vampire genetics. Probably the forbidden aspect. Probably the fact that he couldn’t have her, even though every one of her actions screamed for a Dominant’s direction. His direction.

Archer normally couldn’t resist a challenge, but in this instance, he had to. He couldn’t hook up with his friend’s sweet sister unless he aimed for more of a future. He couldn’t screw her over—not that he’d plan to, but shit happened—or his business partner buddy, to satisfy a short-term need.

His cock disagreed, desperate to sink into her wet heat. But he couldn’t take advantage. No fucking way. That would break the ‘bro’ business code, as well as his strong scrupulous stance.

He might have a history of changing women more often than he changed his underwear, but every relationship he entered into was one hundred percent consensual. No matter what people believed, he did have an honorable bone in his body.

Did he struggle to accept the restrictive circumstances? Ignore his Neanderthal needs? Fuck, yes. Ever since Temperance Elskelig had arrived in Melbourne on a working visa, he’d had an extremely hard time resisting the woman.

But he refused to cross the lustful line, despite how often his sinful side begged him to have her just once. If he did give in to his impulses, his whole life could come crashing down around him like persistent, pelting rockfall, burying him under an avalanche of regret. The roll-on effect destroying her, too.

Wrong.

So fucking wrong and supremely selfish.

Although he wanted her on a primal level, acknowledged it, he couldn’t lead her on or pretend he could offer her forever, when he had never even shown a propensity for staying the night after a hookup. Had never had a long-term relationship…unless a couple of weeks met the criteria.

Yeah…no.

A knock sounded on his office door. “Archer? Are you available?”

Not usually, but for Temperance, the woman in question…? Her sweet, melodic voice penetrated the timber and touched a spot deep within him, right in the vicinity of his usually impenetrable heart.

His principles ensured his conquests clearly understood his intentions, but until her, no one had ever broken the lust barrier.

Did she have ESP? Had she tuned in to his complicated thoughts? Everyone knew that those with vampire genetics often had special powers.

“Come in.” If only he could.

Enough.

Time to dial back the debauchery and switch into professional boss mode.

Temperance eased the door open and stepped inside, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her luscious lips. She avoided eye contact, as usual, her long, wavy bronze hair framing her beautiful face.

If she didn’t know it already, she qualified as the quintessential submissive, another endearing trait he couldn’t ignore. It spoke right to his inner Dom.

His cock agreed, saluting her stunning presence. And thankfully, although painfully, it remained confined in his suddenly too-tight pants. Having her so close, in his space, his lust-o-meter practically redlined. He wanted to forget protocol, forget sensibility, stride over to the temptress and slam his mouth onto hers.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d masturbated before bed, imagining her bound and gagged and on display for his pleasure…and hers, because a huge part of him getting off relied on pleasing his partner. No, not purely pleasing—taking her right to the outer extremes of ecstasy.

“Sir, I have the reports you requested.” Her use of Sir, combined with her Scandinavian accent sent a surge of desire directly to his dick. She stumbled across the room and deposited said reports on his desk. Averted eyes, shaky hands, soft voice. Sexy as fuck.

Sir. How he wanted her to address him in that way outside of work. In the back of his car, on his couch, on his kitchen bench, in his bedroom, in the spa—over and over and over.

Stop it.

He had to rein in his thinking before he lost all sense of decorum and acted on his overpowering urges. “You could have emailed them.” His voice came out choppy, abrupt, strangled.

“I’ve done that, too. With your meeting this afternoon, I thought you might want a hard copy to review prior, to make notes on and highlight any relevant sections.”

How could someone be so fucking smart, innocent and sexy all in one irresistible package? He forced himself to stay behind his desk and gripped tight to the last vestiges of his usually ironclad control. “Thank you.”

She glanced at him—the first time their eyes had met since she’d entered the room and, fuck, did they pack a powerful punch—her forehead furrowed as though shocked. Had he gone too hardass, alpha boss-hole in the past, in an attempt to keep her beyond arm’s length? Been too gruff, brash, hardcore Dom?

Shit, yeah. He’d done whatever he could so she, and her brother, had not even the tiniest hint of his attraction to her.

She shifted from foot to foot and studied her now-empty hands as though they were the most interesting things she’d ever observed. “Um, do you need anything else?”

Aside from her straddling his lap and him kissing her senseless? Driving his dick deep between her gorgeous legs and fucking her until she screamed his name?

“Not at the moment. Thanks.” His curt, dismissive ‘me-master, you-servant’ tone had her racing to exit his office like she couldn’t wait to escape.

Had he scared her? Been too intimidating? Most likely. People had given him that feedback many times over the years, plus added a few other choice words. But he didn’t want her to think of him as aloof or arrogant, or to instill fear in the sweet little sub. He craved her respect. A massive difference.

Archer pushed out of his office chair, headed to the coffee-pod machine in his mini bar and took his freshly made macchiato to the window. Cars still sat bumper-to-bumper, but some movement had returned.

What a fucking day. First the weird-ass will criteria, then the Temperance temptation. He needed to stop fixating on her and her unavailability and focus on finding a fake wife—at least until he met the full terms of his inheritance. Someone he liked who’d agree to a short-term, paid arrangement, preferably with perks.

Yeah, okay, it sounded crass and cheap, but not with the right person. Ideally he’d choose someone who, like him, had their own agenda, which included having fun as part of the deal.

But who in his regular social circle met that criterion? He had a sip of his coffee. Rich, full-bodied, aromatic. Fucking perfect. His mind searched through candidates…

It had to be someone who wouldn’t want more. Would accept the need-to-be-wed-by-Valentine’s-Day terms, preferably stay married for at least a few weeks and play along, knowing he’d remunerate them. The woman would receive a healthy sum of money to successfully set up her own life. He wouldn’t offer anything less.

She’d be handsomely compensated for a scant few months of her time. He sifted through his back catalog of feasible female contacts. Who could he trust to not only agree to the terms but also ensure the curious cat didn’t flee from the flimsy bag?

An extensive history of women paraded through his head. No, no, no, no, no. He grabbed his mobile phone off the desk and scrolled through his long list of friends-with-benefits. Maybe he’d missed someone?

Nope.

Archer couldn’t imagine spending longer than a few nights in one hit, let alone several months with any of them. Hence why they’d been relegated to past flings or occasional hook-ups, and he was still single.

Man, he was fucked. So fucked. Not one woman stood out in his mind, except the one he couldn’t have.

Temperance.

Normally he loved the chance to overcome adversity, loved to tackle and conquer whatever he, or others, believed he couldn’t do. It developed strength of character and positive forward movement.

However, the Temperance situation was a fuck-ton more complicated.

He blew out a frustrated breath, dropped his phone back on the desk and ran his fingers through his hair.

His mobile buzzed, his business partner’s face filling the screen. Bror, Temperance’s brother. What fucked-up timing? Had the guy sensed something? Was he another hybrid with special powers? One way to find out for sure.

He answered the video call on the fourth ring. “Hey, mate, what can I do you for?”

“I have a favor to ask.” The guy had an unblinking stare that would scare the fuck out of most people, but not Archer. He’d known Bror for years. They’d met at a business conference in America and had kept in touch, their close friendship morphing into a collective enterprise.

It hadn’t taken long for Archer to determine the difference between when the guy wanted to discuss something serious or was truly pissed off.

“Go ahead.” Hopefully he’d read him accurately and the guy’s request wouldn’t make his day any more difficult.

“Temperance needs a husband.”

What? And he was asking him because? “Why?” Archer focused on keeping his expression curious yet neutral.

“To get fast-tracked approval for a permanent visa. Do you know someone…suitable?”

What the fuck did suitable mean? A good guy, a hybrid, a full Jade or Violet? Didn’t make a difference. Not to him. “No.” No fucking way. He wouldn’t let any of the single guys he knew touch her, whether they had vampire genetics or not. He couldn’t stand any other male pawing her, full fucking stop.

“Are you sure?”

He stared at his mate’s practically pleading face on his mobile phone screen, not quite believing what he’d heard. “Does she know you’re doing this?”

“Not exactly. She has repeatedly said how much she’s enjoyed her stay, and it would be great for business having a reliable vampire community rep in Australia. She already has several contacts and could make more.

“Unfortunately, given my input in the business, we can’t sponsor her. So in order to get her visa approved ASAP, she needs to get married. Then, if the guy doesn’t work out, she can find a more appropriate, longer-term husband.”

So, anyone half-decent would do for the interim as long as they helped her get permanent residency, but for a serious relationship, did the guy need to have vampire genetics? Did her brother’s assessment of what sort of man constituted marriage material reflect her thoughts and beliefs, too?

Would she not consider a full-human guy, if she found him attractive and they connected mentally and emotionally, as well as on a practical level? Would the cultural differences be too much of a deterrent?

“Even though you don’t currently know anyone, now that you’re aware of the situation and the broad-reaching positive ramifications for all of us, I’d really appreciate it if you’d keep your eyes peeled for possibilities.”

This guy was un-fucking-believable. Yeah, he may have a point about it benefiting their business, but he was playing his sister like a pawn. Fuck that. No way could he betray her, put her in a compromising position, unless she understood the full terms and consented.

Hang on… Why get so worked up? It didn’t matter who she chose as a long-term partner. Maybe he could help her in the short term. The perfect guy, and all his positive attributes, appeared in his brain.

Someone who didn’t want forever but would treat her right. Fill her in on any important details, provide respect, and factor in her opinions, keep her abreast of decisions. Make the whole experience fucking unforgettable. Make it mutually satisfying.

“Sure.” Maybe the universe had heard his pleas…