Chapter 1

Emma drew the strings of her satchel taut and tied them together before slinging it over her shoulder. Wiping away the errant tear sliding down her cheek, she cast her eyes around her room with a heavy heart. With her father and brother in the barn, seeing to the animals, and her mother bustling about in the kitchen, Emma knew this would be her one chance to sneak away. Her one chance to ensure the magic that was currently sustaining her father would hold true.

Her arrival home the previous evening had been a bittersweet one. Her family had all been gathered before the fire, her father's complexion once again ruddy and virile with no evidence of the deathly pall that had gripped it when she'd left to seek out the only recourse they had left. She couldn't bring herself to turn those smiles into the looks of horror she knew would follow once she confessed the truth of what she'd done, so she'd remained silent, soaking in the love and happiness as best she could, all the while burdened with her ghastly secret.

Creeping into the living area, Emma was careful to not make a sound as she slipped the note she'd penned for her parents onto the mantle. Within its pages were the words she had not the courage to speak the night before. She knew her father would be devastated - him and her mother both - that he would rail in anger, declaring he'd rather die than see her become a vessel for the Dark One's unnatural spawn. Her mother would be torn, caught in a cruel game of choice between seeing her beloved husband succumb to the terrible disease he'd just been cured from and the unspeakable acts - of which Emma knew she would not be able to bring herself to envision - her daughter would have to endure at the hands of such a monster.

A monster.

Emma had to keep reminding herself of that fact. The Dark One was evil incarnate, a beast twisted by ancient darkness, incapable of displaying any humanity at all. Which begged the question… What did the Dark One want with a child? And not just any child. A child of his own making, sired by his own seed?

A shudder rippled over her skin and her mind slammed shut against the invading images produced in the wake of those thoughts. Images that made her skin prickle and a funny feeling swoop low in her belly, causing her to bring her hands to rest against her abdomen. How long would it take before she began to swell with his child? How many nights would she have to endure the feel of his hands, the touch of his lips, the thrust of his…

"Emma," her mother called out from the kitchens amid the clanging of pots. "Come give me a hand, would you?"

Suddenly flushed and breathless, Emma retreated back towards her room and gently closed the door to muffle her answer. "I'll be right there!"

Catching her breath, she made one last sweep of her room, ensuring she had all she needed before throwing open her window and climbing over the sill. Her heart clenched when she looked back over her shoulder once she made it to the cover of the trees outlining the edge of the forest. The wisping spiral of smoke climbing out of the chimney towards the sky, the bleat of the animals contently munching away in the pasture, the sweet smell of the grasses swaying in the late morning breeze, the final sights, sounds, and smells of home that would have to sustain her until such a time she could return.

Though, she knew the girl departing now would not be the same one to reunite with her family one day. Not once the Dark One was through with her.

It took many weary hours to make her way to the Dark One's castle. Fortress was more like it, with its high, imposing walls and ghoulish gargoyles sneering down at her. The entire structure warned any who might draw near to turn back while they still could, even as the fortified gate at the entry was raised in a manner of welcome. When Emma reached the tall, solid doors at the castle's entrance, they swung wide with a binding creak of its hinges before she even had a chance to knock.

Enchantment rippled over her skin as she crossed the threshold, the whole of the composition erected out of stone and wood vibrating with a deep magic she could feel quivering in the marrow of her bones. Where she had expected to be overcome with a sense of foreboding, it never came. Simple curiosity at the intrigue of the place flooded her, as did a feeling of… solace? Something akin to a balm for an ache she did not know she'd possessed soothed over her, releasing the tension in her shoulders and causing her to lower her guard.

"I was hoping it'd be you," the silky notes of the Dark One's lilt caressed their way toward her from where he was approaching.

Gone was the leather overcoat and matching vest. His suspenders, left hanging at his sides, paired with the bareness of his feet and the openness of his sheer blouse, gave him a much more relaxed appearance than she'd ever thought could be attributed to him. Heat flared across her cheeks when she realized she'd been caught staring at his exposed chest, the richness of the hair displayed making her fingertips tingle in what she felt was a rather odd response, especially given the amused, cocked brow and smirk he was sending her way. She snapped her eyes down to her feet, her blush deepening at the croon of his words.

"Oh, don't stop on my account." His toes entered her frame of vision, his body pressing into her personal space as his fingers tucked themselves under her chin and prompted her eyes back up to his. "If you'd like to see more, all you have to do is ask. No need to stand on ceremony, given the agreement between us."

Emma gasped and wrenched herself away from him when she realized how close she'd allowed his lips to get to her own. She had no doubt he'd take liberties from her soon enough, no need to make it easy for him.

Tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, he let go a slightly exasperated breath before waving at her to follow him. "Come, then. I'll show you to your room so you can rest before dinner."

He must have sensed that she hadn't made a move to accompany him, stopping at the bottom of the grand staircase before turning back with an impatient look of expectation.

"Well?"

"M-My room?" Emma questioned, the confusion over his words evident in her tone and expression.

"Aye," he replied with a bit of a drawl, his brows raising as an amused huff left his lungs when he seemed to comprehend her bewilderment. "I see. You were perhaps expecting ravishment the moment you set foot over the threshold?"

The slide of his tongue over his lower lip before it became caught between his teeth, the pull on its tender flesh leaving it red as though stained by wine of the deepest crimson knocked Emma off kilter once more, suppressing her awareness of his return until he was once again nearly pressed against her.

"I assure you, love," he continued on, his voice weaving a trance over her as it fell an octave, the deep baritone reverberating in places within her it had no business finding. "All you have to do is say the word, and we can forego the repose and repast in favor of more… enjoyable activities."

Emma blinked her way out of the haze his presence was radiating over her. "You mean you're not going to… insist?"

His knuckles lightly brushed the apple of her cheek before the pads of his fingers trailed down her arm, a skittering of sparks igniting beneath his touch. "Make no mistake that I would like nothing more than to carry you over my shoulder to my chambers above, claim the rights I have to you under the deal you freely made, enjoying the wonder and gifts of your body until dawn."

"What's stopping you, then?" Emma asked. Surprising herself with how much the question sounded like a challenge.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but it was not reflected within those forget-me-not eyes of his. "I am many things, love. Scoundrel, pirate… Dark One." The last moniker was clipped out with a tone of disgust Emma had not been expecting. "But I am also a man with a code."

"Are you seriously telling me that now you want to be a gentleman?"

"I'm always a gentleman," he purred, stepping impossibly closer. "Which means when I finally do succeed in winning that coveted invitation into your bed and between your thighs... and I will win it," he stated with certainty. "It won't be because of any force or trickery on my part. It'll be because you want me."

"And if that day never comes?" Emma didn't want to be caught in another deal she did not fully understand. If he meant what he said about not forcing her, that her compliance in fulfilling her part of the deal was a necessity he would insist upon, what would that mean for her father?

As if he'd read her thoughts, he responded, "One day your father will die. No magic I possess will ever be able to stop that natural progression from happening." His face twisted with contemplation as a thought suddenly came to him, making him shrug and quip, "Unless he gets hold of my dagger and stabs me in the back with it, turning himself into the Dark One. I imagine he's angry enough to do just that given the horrors he's been imagining with you being completely at my mercy."

His raised brow seemed to anticipate a response from her. "I, uh… I'm sure he is," she replied tentatively. "I wouldn't really know though. I didn't… I didn't tell them about our deal. I, um… left a note."

His laugh unnerved her, not because it was in any way sinister or menacing, but because it was rich and full. Something else that enticed her to him when she should be holding her ground, staving his advances.

"As I was saying," he continued once his moment of mirth passed. "As long as you remain here, where I can attempt to woo you into satisfying our deal, your father will remain in good health, but will not be spared the curse of aging. Should you not provide me with the agreed upon price, then at the time of his passing you will be released from our deal, but will have missed out on all you could have experienced. The life paid in exchange for his will have been your own. Is that really what you want?"

Was it? Was she willing to waste her life behind these walls, separated from her family for decades only for the sake of her pride? For, if she were truly honest with herself, that's all that was holding her back. Pride at not being thought of as some common whore who would spread her legs for the first man to ever stir within her a sense of longing so viceral it manifested itself as a dampness between her thighs and an ache so deeply rooted in her core she had no way of soothing it without his particular expertise.

Fortunately, she was saved from having to answer when her stomach protested its neglect.

"Come," he asserted once more, taking her by the hand and prompting her forward. "It would not do for you to perish in my foyer from exhaustion and starvation before the fun can even begin."

"Fun?"

"Oh, aye," he said with a wink. "Wooing a fair maiden offers a specific type of fun I've not experienced in many years."

Emma swallowed down the flare of jealousy his words sparked, wondering who the last maiden was to make a similar deal as she. Had he fathered a child once before? Several perhaps? Was she to be another in a long line of conquests for a man who had grown bored of a life eternal?

Fortified by the outrage she felt at becoming another bauble he would grow weary of playing with once the deal was done, Emma began to quarry her obstinate pride in order to construct a wall that might preserve her dignity, no matter what flattery he might weaponize against her.

"Here we are, love," he crooned, opening a set of mahogany doors that revealed a lavish room.

Jerking her hand from his grip she marched past without giving him the satisfaction of her awed expression and muttered, "I am not your love. My name is Emma. Emma Swan."

If he was taken aback by the bite of her words, he did not show it. Instead he bowed low and gave her a rakish smile. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Swan." Looking up at her from beneath his lashes, the fringe of his hair falling haphazardly across his brow, his smile softened, and his words rang with a sincerity she hadn't yet heard from him. "KillianJones. At your service."

~/~

Emma stretched and rolled onto her side, punching at her pillow in yet another attempt to get comfortable. The Dark One… Killian had told her to rest and that he would send for her once dinner was ready, but Emma could find no peace in the luxuriant four post bed. Nor in the extravagant room in which her family's entire farm house could dwell. The expanse of it was too much, the openness as restrictive as she imagined any cell in his dungeon might be, and she had no doubt that a number of cells existed beneath his palatial estate.

The silence of the room was most likely meant to be calming, but Emma was too accustomed to the noises of a busy farm and her family. The loneliness of the quiet seeped into her while she lay there in the dark. Was it his intention to drive her to him out of a sheer need for companionship? Or perhaps the exquisite room, with its rich wooden furnishings and lush textiles was his first attempt at wooing her. Perhaps he thought the chamber would meet the needs of her comfort, fostering a feeling of gratitude towards his generosity?

Whatever his game, Emma would not swoon so easily at such tactics. He could parade all manner of grandeur before her, it did not change the fact he only saw her as a means to gain the prize he sought. A prize that still baffled her. The magic might require a life for a life, but what use was a child to a creature of such darkness?

Emma shuddered, not wishing to ponder the question any further and gave up on the idea of rest in favor of exploring her surroundings. She was just examining a fine gown of luscious jade silk, one of many such gowns hanging within the wardrobe, unable to resist holding it up to herself in the reflection of the full length mirror while considering how it would look on her should she wear it to dinner, when something slid beneath her door. Setting the dress aside, Emma retrieved the item, a letter, penned in an elegant script.

My Dearest Swan,

Would you honor me with the pleasure of your company in the dining hall? I had some delicacies prepared in celebration of your arrival, and abhor the thought of partaking in their delights all on my own.

The wall sconces will light your way should you choose to join me. I wait with hopeful anticipation of your arrival.

Yours,

Killian

P.S. Wear the green dress, love. It does wonders for your complexion and eyes… to say nothing of how I imagine it will look on your figure.

Emma glanced back at the gown on the bed. How did he…? Her eyes then flicked over to the standing mirror. She'd heard about mirror magic from her mother. Was he watching her? Snatching the coverlet off the bed, Emma threw it over the mirror, closing off the potential access. Hands on her hips, she considered the gown before her. While she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of acquiescing to his somewhat demanding request, she couldn't help but wonder what his response would be if she refused.

He didn't seem the type to take a rebuff lightly.

Still, Emma had her pride, and she wouldn't dress for the man's approval. She would, however, change into the other dress she'd brought; one that was not riddled with wrinkles and smelled of a day's travel. Her mother had raised her with some semblance of manners, after all.

No sooner had she shed the traveling gown, when it and her alternate vanished, leaving the gowns he'd provided in the massive wardrobe - including the jade one he'd requested she wear - as her only recourse. Emma balled her fists and cursed the man under her breath, half tempted to arrive for dinner in nothing more than her shift out of sheer defiance, only to recognize he would probably find the look preferable to that of the sensually cut gowns.

Adorned in green silk, Emma followed the flicker of the sconces until she arrived at the candle lit dining room. A long, ornately carved table stretched over ornamental carpets, a wall of windows flanking one side, revealing the inky blackness of the forest with tiny pinpricks of light visible over the treetops where she could just make out the stars. Oddities were on display throughout the cavernous room, upon bookshelves and pedestals, many quivering with an oppressive aura that chilled Emma's insides.

No sooner had she begun to inspect the curiosities than her host appeared in a swirl of red, adorned in the leather trousers and sheer blouse of smoke she'd come to associate with him, with the addition of a high collared black vest.

Bowing low, he took her hand and applied a kiss to its back before straightening. "I am glad to see you acquiesced to my request." His eyes raked over her, a slow and methodical study that had Emma fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze, "on both the invitation to dine with me and the dress."

Emma glared at him, a sardonic smile pulling at her lips. "Not that I had much choice on either account."

Killian feigned offense as he held out his arm for her to take so he might escort her to the table. "I would not have starved you, love. If you'd chosen to remain in your room I would have sent up a nice broth and crust of bread. As for your ensemble," he dropped her arm and turned in towards her, pressing in close as he was wont to do, "you could have shown up wearing nothing at all. I assure you, I wouldn't have minded in the least. Though, you do cut quite the figure in that dress."

She absolutely should not wish to preen in response to those words or the wink that followed. Instead, she shifted her focus to the table and the bounty that was set upon it, her mouth watering at the sight and smells of such delicacies she'd only ever heard about. Once again her stomach rolled with hunger, and Emma found herself quite eager to tuck in to the meal before her rather than the unappealing idea of broth and bread.

Looking about, she spied only one chair, carved to match the rich details of the table, clearly meant to seat the head of the household, who was currently lowering himself onto the cushion. Perhaps, since he was so accustomed to dining alone, he had forgotten to procure a second chair for her?

"Your seat is right here, love," he stated, patting the top of his leg with a challenging arch to his brow and a seductive quirk of his lips.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If you wish to dine with me, then you shall do so upon my lap."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, meeting the intensity of his stare while she warred with herself. Loathe as she was to walk away from the tempting tidbits crafted and arranged for her pleasure, Emma wasn't about to debase herself in such a manner. Broth and bread would have to do after all.

The swish of her skirt from the spin she'd employed in order to exit the dining room had barely silenced when the rough velvet of his voice called out, "Have you ever had chocolate, love?"

Emma halted her retreat. Chocolate? She'd had the decadent treat only once in her life. A flouncy dressed woman had offered it to her the day of her brother's birth. A token of celebration, she'd bleated in a haughty tone. When questioned by her parents where she'd gotten the indulgence, Emma had been met with a stern lecture from her father. The strange woman with the shepherd's crook was not to be trusted. She could practically hear his assertion that the same manner of caution be applied to this moment, where instead of a ruffled trimmed, crook wielding high-born lady it was a leather clad, hook flourishing scoundrel offering up the extravagance.

A gratified moan sounded from the end of the table, drawing Emma's attention. Killian licked the remnants of melted chocolate from his fingers before reaching for another square of the dark confection.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you?"

What a loaded question. Emma knew he meant more than the piece of chocolate he was currently taunting her with. The aim of his temptations were far more carnal in nature.

Killian stood and sauntered over to her, the chocolate softening from the heat of his finger and thumb. "Here, love. Have a small taste of what I'm offering before you go."

Presenting the indulgence to the seam of her lips, he arched his brow and awaited her response, daring her to take the offering. Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma opened her mouth before she could admonish herself for playing right into his hands. Placing the luscious square of softened chocolate on her tongue, his thumb lingered, briefly caught on her closing lips forcing her to suck off some of the richness before he slipped it and his finger into his own mouth to lap up the rest. Emma's eyes fluttered shut from the provocative sight as much as the sultry feel of the chocolate liquifying in the heat of her mouth. The bitterness tinged with notes of vanilla and toasted nuts flooded her senses as the sinful sweet slid down her throat, leaving her with a craving for more.

When she opened her eyes, she found the Dark One standing before her, his eyes dilated with a thin ring the color of midnight surrounding his pupils. Silently, he held out his hand, beckoning her to join him at the table. With the decadent aroma still infused in her sinuses, Emma placed her hand in his and followed him to the lone chair where she slipped onto his lap without further protest.

"Perhaps we should begin with something a tad more substantial for your sustenance," he suggested in a low, husky murmur. His hooked arm was wrapped around her waist, steadying her as he reached forward and plucked a shell off a tray glistening with frost, magically keeping the contents chilled. Once again, he held up the provision, insisting she eat it from his hand.

"What is it?"

"An oyster," he answered. "An exquisite speciality I acquired from a nearby maritime kingdom."

Unsure of how to proceed, Emma stammered, "How, um… how do I…"

"Allow me to demonstrate." He brought the shell up to his lips, slurping the opaque flesh from within into his mouth and swallowing it down with an evident bob of his Adam's apple. Retrieving another from the tray, he held it up for her. "Now you."

Emma mimicked his actions. It had a brininess she'd anticipated, but the citrus was unexpected. Did one serve it with lemon? Her face pinched in disgust when she bit down on it, earning her a chuckle she could feel rumbling in the chest she was perched against.

"Don't chew," he instructed with a rasp on his breath. "You're meant to swallow it, Swan."

That last bit of advice definitely had a suggestive undertone to it, but Emma did not have the necessary knowledge or experience to decipher its full meaning. Swallowing the oyster down, she shivered at the feel of its descent, unsure whether she cared for that particular bit of seafood. No matter, though. The table was laden with a plethora of provisions, each one extended to her from her host's hand.

After she'd had her fill, cosily reclined against his solid form and polishing off the wine he'd refilled in her goblet numerous times, Killian's voice reminded her that, other than the chocolate and oyster from earlier, he had yet to enjoy any of the delights before them.

"If you would, do me the favor of repaying in kind?"

Killian's questioning eyes stayed trained on Emma's face, his words a clear request and not a command. Perhaps it was the sated feeling in her belly, or the wine pleasantly coursing through her veins that made her so bold as to set down her glass and grab a spear of asparagus, sprinkled with shavings of a hard cheese she'd forgotten the name of, and tease the seam of his lips with the tip of its stalk. His brow quirked amusedly as he opened his mouth, sinking his teeth into the tender shoot and biting off a morsel. When he came back to polish off the rest, Emma yanked it back and popped it into her own mouth, smirking at him as she chewed.

"Quite the greedy little minx, aren't you?" he growled, eyes hooded by his sinking brows.

Emma replied with a saucy shrug of her shoulders, shifting in his lap so she could reach for another bite of something to tease him with. Her movements had his hand squeezing her knee where it rested, a groan reverberating from his chest. Fearing she may have hurt him in some way, she turned back to face him. Her breath caught at the expression upon his face, the desire swimming in his forget-me-not eyes, and the ardor she felt swelling beneath her backside.

A gasp rushed past her lips, parting them and drawing his eyes as his own lips parted, sticking in the corners before he ran his tongue over them. Her heart began to hammer wildly, her breathing a bit shallower, and before she knew it her hand was grasping onto his shoulder when his mouth surged forward to devour her own.

A heady rush clouded her mind. All she could seem to focus on was the taste of his tongue as it swiped against hers, the press of his supple lips, his hand gliding up her leg until it rested on her hip, and the pant of his breath mingling with the gasps of her own. Her skin flared to life when his attention moved to the column of her throat, his head dipping down so his teeth could graze over her collarbone. With a flick of his wrist, the table cleared and Emma was suddenly hoisted into his arms before being deposited atop its surface.

His large hand splayed across her back, allowing her to recline against it when she fell onto her elbows. His hook set a path towards the bodice of the green dress, the sound of torn fabric filling her ears moments before she felt the damp heat of his mouth latch onto her breast. Emma's head fell back, the weight of her body braced on one forearm as she brought a hand up to cup the back of his head, carding her fingers through the riotous strands.

Now balanced on his hooked arm draped across her back, Emma felt a ripple cross her flesh as his rough, calloused hand snaked its way beneath her skirts, prompting her knees further apart so he could occupy the space between. More wrenching of silk and his mouth migrated to the neglected skin of her other breast, his teeth and tongue merciless in their intent to coax her nipples into painfully hardened peaks. Distracted as she was from the equisite torture, she had not anticipated his hand's aspiration until it reached the wet apex of her thighs. Jolted by the contact, she canted her hips which only seemed to give him better access to his desired goal.

A goal to fully enlighten her as to what true pleasure was.

With the moisture he'd gathered from her most intimate of places, he began massaging a spot that had all manner of sounds emanating from her while still clutching him to her breast. The embers of desire that had been smoldering through their tantalizing meal ignited into an inferno skittering over her skin, leaving a flush of radiating heat in its wake. Emma sat up sharply, letting go of her hold on Killian's hair and anchoring herself to his biceps when he slipped a finger inside her, the feeling altogether too much, yet she nearly begged him for more.

"That's it, love. See how good I can make you feel?" he murmured into her skin, a second finger sinking into her, working its magic in tandem with the first. "And this is only the beginning, Swan."

True to his word, the pleasure she'd begun to feel intensified when his fingers curled within. The pace he set in their withdrawal and return, coupled with the pressure the heel of his hand was applying to the sensitive nub between her legs, had her increasing her grip on his arms as she threw her head back, a silent scream caught in her throat as a burst of euphoria began to roll through her body.

"That's it. That's it, love," Killian encouraged, sucking a brand into the tender flesh of her breast while his hand mercilessly kept pace, drawing out her ecstacy to the point she almost lost all comprehension of what it was he was groaning into her flesh. "Bloody hell, I can't wait to be inside you. To feel these tight walls of yours around my cock. Milking me dry I as I fill you."

Vaguely aware his hook had removed itself from her torn bodice, Emma heard rustling as he used the appendage to begin loosening the laces of his trousers. His mouth grazed up her chest, blazing a trail back across her collarbone and up her throat. The hot vapor of his breath glanced off her cheek and rippled over her ear, pulling a moan from her even as she convulsed from the vestiges of her release and the shock of cool metal against her leg where he was working her skirts higher.

"Tell me, love," he whispered into her ear. "When did you last bleed? Will tonight be merely practice for us, or is your womb already ripe and ready for me?"

His fingers slipped from her, and Emma whimpered, her eyes fluttering open as her mind desperately sought to derive meaning from the words he'd just spoken. It wasn't until her eyes caught sight of his exposed member, already hard in his hand and coated with the dampness he'd procured from her that she acknowledged his intent. Realization slammed into her and she began to push him away.

"Stop. Please."

His reaction was immediate. Stepping back so she could scramble away, he reluctantly tucked himself back into his trousers while she positioned herself with the table between them, using it as a barrier of separation as she covered her bare chest with her arms.

"Something I said?"

The cool, detached tone in his question slapped her across the face, and Emma couldn't stop the anger rising within her. Outrage, fueled every bit as much by her own humiliation at having given in so easily, as it was the calculated means by which he'd nearly succeeded in achieving his goal.

"You would just take me on a table like a… like a…"

"Like a what, love?"

"Like a common doxy in a tavern!"

"I confess I haven't spent time in a tavern in quite a while, but I don't remember the patrons going at it on the tables," he quipped with a rakish swagger. "Most proprietors would frown at that, I'd wager. That's what the rooms upstairs are for."

"So, you wouldn't even give me the decency of the same treatment as a slattern? You expect me to give myself to you, bear your child without regard to my comfort or reputation?"

Was a quick tryst on the table all she was really worth to him? Of course, it was. All they had between them was an agreement, a business transaction she had foolishly entered into without fully comprehending the terms.

A fact he was quick to remind her of.

"You're the one who agreed to giving me your first born in exchange for your father's life, Swan. I did not force you to make this deal."

"I know that," she snapped at him, tears burning in her eyes. "But I'd planned to be married before giving a man such liberties, and most assuredly expected to become a wife before becoming a mother."

"Come now, love," he scoffed. "We both know you had no intentions of meeting the terms of the deal that way. In fact," he took a step forward, his hook grazing over the top of the immaculate table while his eyes never wavered from hers, "you had no intentions of meeting the terms at all."

Nonplussed, Emma opened and closed her mouth a number of times. "How did you-"

"You are something of an open book, love," he stated, his demeanor softening momentarily before the stoniness returned to his visage. "And even if you had entered into our agreement with honest intentions, how do you think a prospective husband would react upon learning his progeny was destined to be raised by another man?"

Emma raised challenging brows at him, her voice ratcheting up in volume. "You think you're doing me a favor by demanding the child be your own?"

"Aren't I?" He shrugged, taking another step forward and toying with the end of his hook. "What sort of attachment do you think you'll feel towards any babe sired by me, a man you hold no affection or fealty towards? How much pain am I saving you by keeping things strictly business?"

"Strictly business?" The hollow feeling she'd felt after pulling away from him returned at his confirmation that she meant nothing more to him than what their deal demanded. But… "You said you planned to woo me."

Killian barked out a harsh laugh. "Aye, love. I plan to woo your body, not your heart. I've no need of your affections, those you can save for whatever fool husband you choose to bind yourself to once our business is concluded."

His words were paired with callous gesticulations, but neither his tone nor his mannerisms convincingly carried the cruel sentiments they were meant to. She'd always had a knack for parsing out falsehoods in other's words, and something about his weren't ringing true. He must have sensed her perceptiveness, her hesitation in accepting his words at face value. Narrowing his eyes, he brushed his thumb over his bottom lip and stalked towards her.

"Now. Shall we get back to it? We were just getting to the good part."

Not willing to trust what her instincts were telling her, that he was more than this cold, unfeeling, heartless monster he seemed to want to make her believe he was, Emma held up one hand while keeping herself covered with the other, and shook her head at him. He paused his approach, a deep sigh escaping his lungs while his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth.

"Fine," he clipped. "You'll excuse me then if I do not stay for dessert." Before he could disappear in another swirl of smoke, he quipped, "I find myself in need of a cold and bracing dip in the bath."

Once alone, Emma found her dress had been repaired. The memory of how it had become torn in the first place blazed across her cheeks as she quickly left the dining room with an ache in her chest and throbbing between her thighs.