For Pete's Sake: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage of Convenience Standalone Romance Novel (Tobin Tribe Book 1)

by Caitlyn Coakley

  CHAPTER 20

  STEPHANIE STRETCHED, keeping her eyes closed to savor the memories of their passion. If there had ever been a night that should have been allowed to go on forever, last night was it. If technique, energy, and orgasms were enough to conceive, Stephanie was positive she’d be pregnant with triplets already. Was it humanly possible for a woman to endure so much ecstasy without exploding? Apparently, it was because everything was still attached, if not exceedingly tender.

  And today was a new day. How deep was his bag of sexual tricks? Most men had trouble finding the obvious spot, but he had discovered places on her she’d had no idea were erogenous. The back of her knees and the inside of her elbow tingled with beard burn, but she didn’t care. The pleasure was worth the pain. What sensual experiences did Ethan have in store for her today?

  Stephanie rolled over to find out, but Ethan’s side of the bed was empty. And cold. Could it all have been a dream? As bad as her life had been, it wasn’t a TV show about to jump the shark. She hoped.

  She slumped back into bed. His scent mingled with her perfume, along with their sweat and the combined aroma of their desire and satisfaction, so not a dream.

  Then where was he? Had he already abandoned her? Was this wedding night going to be a repeat of the one and done she’d had with Smitty? That didn’t make sense. They still had to see the judge; they had to rescue Pete. After all this trouble, Ethan wouldn’t give up and strand her in Las Vegas, would he?

  Suddenly, Stephanie wasn’t so sure. Considering some of the stunts he’d pulled for media attention in the past, it wouldn’t surprise her. This could all be part of his plan to wear her down, to break her spirit, to convince her to give into his demands without a fight.

  Ethan had to know how humiliating it had been to find out about Smitty’s second family. His marriage to Megan wasn’t valid, but Smitty had obviously chosen Megan over her. She would never know why, and that would eat at her for the rest of her life.

  She sat up to survey the room. It was as empty as the bed. His clothes were gone, and so were hers. Not only was she stranded, she was naked. She punched his pillow. What a fool she’d been. Used and tossed away like last week’s take-out that had lingered too long in the back of the fridge.

  She clutched the pillow to her chest to suppress the scream bubbling up from her soul. Her vision blurred as she launched the pillow in no particular direction. His watch, wallet, and cell phone skittered off the nightstand, hitting the floor with a jangle.

  Sheesh, Steph, overreact much?

  Then she heard it. The shower. She allowed herself another slow, sensuous stretch and a smile. She had certainly worked up a sweat. A shower was exactly what she needed too. She tossed off her covers and padded off to the bathroom to join him.

  ETHAN SET THE BATHROOM surround sound system low to let her sleep. The poor woman had to be exhausted. He allowed himself a mental pat on the back. Apparently, making love was like riding a bike. A 3 MTT Turbine Superbike. Two hundred twenty-seven miles per hour? Puh-leeze. He’d gotten her across the finish line at least twice that fast. Okay, so that was total hyperbole, but hey, he was a lawyer. It was practically a job requirement.

  Amazing what a few orgasms did for a guy’s attitude, especially after more than seven years of self-imposed celibacy. That made him feel like joining in the chorus as it flowed from the speakers in the ceiling. The tune was oddly appropriate. Iron Maiden had always been one of his favorites. “There’s a thin line between love and hate...la la la...something something...I don’t remember.”

  Ethan had once been paid for his singing—to stop—but he didn’t care. He let the words flow, a purging of sorts. Was there a thin line between the two emotions? He didn’t hate Stephanie, but he didn’t love her either. He couldn’t love anyone.

  He massaged shampoo into his scalp to the beat, pressing hard as if he could scrub out the memories assaulting him in the light of a new day. He couldn’t afford to go there again, he reminded himself. Couldn’t fall for another woman who offered the smallest scrap of love.

  Every woman he had ever loved had left him, including Katherine, the woman responsible for half of his DNA. Every woman except his sister. His loyalty, ultimately, was to Megan. Stephanie would leave him, too. It was part of the deal; she was his business partner.

  And he simply couldn’t let it become more.

  He had to walk a tightrope that stretched from now until the day Megan got Pete back. Walk that precarious line between protecting his heart and romancing Stephanie just enough to make her want to stay with him to keep Pete safe. Because tumbling on jagged rocks below would surely end him.

  He felt the pressure change as she opened the shower door to join him. He quickly turned, plastering on what he hoped was the sincere smile he used on juries. “Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?” He pulled her into his arms. How could she mesh into him so easily? Even without those deliciously wicked shoes, her head nestled perfectly under his chin. Not too tall at all.

  She rested her hands on his hips as she snuggled in. “I haven’t slept that soundly in months. Amazing what a little—exercise—will do for you.”

  Her lips tickled his shoulder. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” He pulled back to cradle her head in his hands, peppering soft kisses over her nose, her cheeks, her closed eyelids before claiming her lips with a tenderness he didn’t know existed in him.

  A tiny voice in the depths of his brain screamed at him, begging him to back off. Pleading with him to pull back, to protect himself. But the voice withered as the blood in Ethan’s brain evacuated in a rush to fuel his desire.

  The white-hot lust that had consumed him last night wasn’t present this morning. In its place, a deep, slow, mellow burn glowed in him.

  He poured a generous dollop of shower gel into his hands and worked it into a lather. “Do you prefer Picasso or Monet?”

  Her brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  His soapy fingers jerked across her stomach. “Picasso: sharp angles, surrealistic designs, a bit... odd.” He continued to zigzag to her hips and across her back.

  Her eyes met his. Ah, she was intrigued.

  “And Monet?” she asked.

  “Claude was more fluid, his landscapes more realistic, softer, more subtle.” He slowed his strokes, working his fingers across her back as if strumming a harp.

  “Mmmm...Monet.”

  “I figured you’d go that way.” He finger-painted his way down her body, brushing across her chest, swirling around her breasts, down to those tantalizing hips that bore his marks. His marks. He had marked this woman. His woman. She belonged to him. At least for now. He caressed the bruises. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  She stretched slowly, raising her arms above her head before draping them over his shoulders. “It hurt so good, don’t apologize.”

  His heart swelled. “I knew you’d be able to keep up with me. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  Her eyes told him she didn’t believe him. Didn’t actions speak louder than words? Yeah, they did. He was going to have to show her.

  He led her to the marble bench at one end of the shower and helped her sit.

  She shrieked, “It’s cold.”

  “It won’t be for long,” he said as he knelt in front of her. He reached for the shower gel and loaded up his hands with the silky liquid. The humid air bloomed into a fragrant mist as he massaged her thighs, the bubbles hovering around them until they burst.

  Her eyes closed. “Mmmm...that’s so good.”

  “And it’s going to get better,” he promised as he moved lower. His enormous hands encircled her entire calf, first one, then the other, kneading and massaging his way to her foot.

  She gasped as he lifted one foot from the shower floor.

  “The feet are sensitive. I think you’re going to like this.” He applied a firm but gentle pressure. “Right here, inside, and below your big toe is a pressure point
, and this one here on the ball. Together, they increase blood flow to some interesting parts of the body.”

  “Skip the science lesson, Bill Nye, and get to the other foot, please.”

  “Ah, your snark is strong this morning. As you wish, your majesty.”

  He turned his attention to her other foot, then back up her calves and thighs to tease the hair around her bud. He pulled the curls out straight, letting them slip through his fingers as she had done to him last night.

  She blushed. “I didn’t have a chance to... I mean if I’d known...”

  His fingers circled closer to her center. “No, it’s perfect. I want to know I’m with a woman, not a little girl. Please don’t wax it. It’s more beautiful red hair to fuel me.”

  He stood, pulling her with him, and nestled himself between her folds. “It’s working already.”

  Her blush deepened, spreading down her neck. Damn, that was sexy. So, ball-breaker Stephanie Kerrigan had a shy side. Was her bravado all an act too? Did she put her own mask every morning before heading out to face the world? To shield herself from past hurts?

  He struggled with the last drop of blood left in his brain to remember the deal, and a sweet, vulnerable Stephanie was not the image he needed in his head right now. He had to remember she’d probably left the hospital cradled lovingly in her mother’s arms wearing a onesie made of silver spoons. Her life had been the stuff of Disney movies, and this was the latest installment. Lady and the Tramp might come close. Or Beauty and the Beast

  What movie defined him? As if he’d ever had the luxury of that; his life hadn’t been anything like a Disney flick. Had any movie? American Gigolo was the most likely candidate, but there was no way he was going to fall for this unhappy wife. Widow. Wife.

  Damn, this was getting complicated.

  The only happy ending to this little play would happen in the bedroom. Or the shower. It was time to earn his salary. To pay Pete’s ransom.

  It could be worse; Stephanie could be old and... No. Don’t go there, dude. Because going there would kill the mood, and he couldn’t afford that. Like any good workman, he needed his tools in prime working condition. And it was time to get back to work.

  He removed the showerhead from its bracket, set it to a gentle flow, and rinsed the suds from her back, then her breasts, creeping toward the beautiful glowing triangle below her navel. With a quick flick of his thumb, he increased the pressure, stimulating her clit with pulsing warm water.

  “Mmm, right there,” she practically purred. “A few more seconds...” Her voice trailed off as her eyes closed.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry. This is only the opening scene.” He dropped the showerhead. In one swift, smooth move, he captured her hands, pinning them above her head to the shower wall.

  CHAPTER 21

  HIS HUGE HANDS ENCIRCLED her wrists. His body flattened hers against the wet surface. She was trapped. But instead of anger or fear, a different sensation coursed through her. Make that sensations. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, setting a rhythm that would make any rock drummer ashamed of his meager skills. Again, she felt petite and dainty, and, in a strange way, protected by the immense man dominating her.

  Dominating. She shouldn’t like that idea, but she did. If only for an hour or two, she could be a woman. Not a grieving daughter, not a betrayed wife, not an embattled CEO struggling to hold on to her company, but a wanton woman free to indulge herself in whatever felt good.

  And this felt great.

  He expanded into her engorged nub. If size was his only asset—no compensating there—she would have been over the moon, but he was so much more. He was a maestro, orchestrating a symphony of responses, emotions, and sensations until the moon was an insignificant speck in her rear-view mirror.

  With his free hand, he grasped himself, drawing slow, lazy shapes against her clit.

  “A bit to the right, please.” Was that her voice echoing off the walls? Begging, pleading for his touch?

  His deep, wicked laugh drowned out her whimper. “Not yet, babe. You’ll do what I say. For now, you belong to me.”

  Belong. Had she ever belonged anywhere, to anyone? The snubs, the whispers, the outright insults all faded. She’d found the only acceptance she needed. If only for the next few weeks.

  “I’m going to wash your hair,” he whispered in her ear. His gruff voice collided with the gentle nature of his statement. From dominant to subservient in a heartbeat.

  “I’ll let you,” she managed to say before he captured her mouth with a brutal kiss. A kiss that laid claim to not only her lips but her entire being.

  He shifted to wedge her more firmly between him and the wall. “That wasn’t a request, babe, it was a statement of what will happen. I gave you several chances to say no last night, and you didn’t take any of them. Until I hear you say no, I’m in charge. Do you want to say no?”

  His eyes held her in a strange sort of tractor beam. Something about them intrigued her and unsettled her at the same time. What was it? In turn, they had been hard and demanding, then soft and pleading, but were now more of a kaleidoscope, willing her to answer.

  Her chin rose a fraction, a tinge of defiance mixed with challenge. No sense letting him win so easily. “I don’t know how to answer you. If I say no, am I actually saying no, or am I saying no, I don’t want to say no. If this is the way you cross-examine a witness, it’s no wonder you’re so successful.”

  Did his chest swell in proud response to her words?

  “Welcome to life with a lawyer,” he said. “I don’t like to lose. Let me rephrase. Your hair needs washing. Do you agree?”

  “Let me go.” Her soft words left no room for misunderstanding.

  A flash of disappointment dimmed his gaze as he relaxed his grasp and dropped his hands to his side. Something tickled at the back of her brain but was lost in the haze of desire.

  She took her time lowering her arms before reaching for the shampoo. Holding the bottle in her hand, she looked up at him with a sly smile before extending her arms to offer it to him. “I totally agree.”

  He took the bottle from her, poured a generous puddle into his cupped hand, and set to work on her head. Strong, sure fingers massaged the suds into her scalp, convincing what little tension that still lived there to flee. Each gentle dig of his fingertips shot lightning bolts of desire through her. Was there another sensuous pressure point there?

  She reached up, gathering suds from her own hair to massage them into his scalp. “We’re both going to smell like coconuts today,” she murmured.

  He rinsed the lather from her hair. “I don’t care.”

  After quickly rinsing himself, he turned off the water. The sudden loss of heat sent another wave of goosebumps covering her body. But this time, the tingle felt more like the closing act than the prelude.

  “I’m cold,” she complained.

  His smile bordered on a leer as his eyes took a slow, leisurely tour of her naked body. “Again with the cold. You won’t be cold for long. Trust me, baby.” He stepped out of the shower, turned, and offered her his hand.

  She hesitated. Trust him? No, that couldn’t happen. Although she’d had sex with him without protection—the ultimate in trust—it couldn’t go any further than that. She’d been too trusting with Smitty. If she wasn’t careful, she would make the same mistake with Ethan. That could not happen.

  Even though no one would ever find out about this wedding—she refused to call it a marriage—the memories would surface every time she looked at her baby. Everyone knew Smitty had played her. That he’d bruised her ego and undermined her confidence. If this little charade backfired, turned into the rebound relationship from hell, she might fall into a hole every bit as deep as the one Smitty reposed in. A hole she might never be able to claw her way out of.

  She could manage as long as Ethan didn’t go soft on her—she stifled a giggle at the unintentional pun. No, Ethan had to stay hard for more than the obvious reason. Wooing her in the bedro
om was fine, but the rest of the time, as long as he was his usual, arrogant, asshole self, they could complete this business transaction then go their separate ways without an emotional investment.

  For the next few weeks, and the next few weeks only, they would be husband and wife, until the court was satisfied Megan could take care of Pete. Stephanie simply couldn’t allow herself to trust him.

  That didn’t mean she was about to say no to another orgasm or two.

  With each proposal accepted, was she allowing herself to be pulled deeper into his orbit, surrendering to his gravitational pull? What was that slogan? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? She ran her hand over her stomach. Hopefully, she would be taking a piece of Vegas home with her, but for now, why not enjoy the erotic adventures Ethan offered? As long as what they did behind closed doors never became public, what was the problem? She reached out, took his hand, and followed him back to bed.

  CHAPTER 22

  A MAN COULD GET USED to having a beautiful woman to make love with, wake up next to, and make love with again. And damned fast. That was dangerous, Ethan reminded himself as he removed the plastic bags and laid the clothes they’d worn yesterday onto the bed he’d made. He stripped out of the thick hotel robe and folded it neatly before placing it next to his suit.

  Stephanie stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a matching robe, her still-damp hair tamed into a French braid. “You do realize there is a staff that will come in to make the bed, right?”

  He shrugged. “Force of habit, I guess. I’m a total neat freak.”

  She made a face he couldn’t quite understand. He didn’t have to understand her, only get her pregnant. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, the concierge dropped off the dry cleaning I left outside last night after you fell asleep. She’s knocked this stay out of the park. Maybe I should splurge a little the next time I travel.”