by Eve Langlais
“Because we wouldn’t want the world to know you’re actually an intelligent, accomplished woman.”
Danger. His words had a seductive brilliance to them that managed to wind themselves around her, warming her. She held strong against the allure. “I don’t need validation from outsiders to know my worth.”
“And what are you worth, baby?”
“As if you can pin a number on me.” She lifted her chin. “I’m priceless.”
“Exactly. And yet you expect me to walk away. What if I don’t want to?”
He kept insisting on making the marriage work, and she wouldn’t completely lie and say that she wasn’t tempted. Except she knew one thing: he wouldn’t survive a week. Her family would never allow it.
“It’s not about what you want.” It was the closest thing to the truth she could give him. In some respects, it wasn’t about her wants, either. “Now, if you’re done wasting time, can we get out of here?”
“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t handle me wet?” He winked as he rose from the shallow puddle of his bed, skin moist, tempting, lickable.
Hard... Her gaze strayed down, and he uttered a small rumble as he strode past her to the closet. Stripping off his shorts and giving her a peek of his taut ass before it disappeared into the walk-in.
“Give me a second to dress and pack a bag.”
She stood waiting less than patiently until he emerged with a satchel, wearing low-slung track pants, slip-on loafers, and nothing else.
“Where’s your shirt?” she asked.
“In the bag.”
“Shouldn’t you be wearing it?” He really should cover up so she didn’t keep staring.
“Given your haste in trying to get me away from here to your den of iniquity, I assume I won’t be wearing it long. No point in ruining a good shirt.”
“I want to leave so we can get to my crash pad and sleep.”
“Of course, you want to sleep.” He said it in a way that implied anything but and added finger quotes.
“We are. In separate beds.”
“Oh, good. Because you steal blankets.”
“I do not!” she huffed.
“Says the woman who would caterpillar into it every night, leaving me freezing.”
“There’s grounds for divorce right there,” she declared.
“Seems a little drastic. Why not just raise the thermostat so I’m not chilly? Or I could snuggle you for warmth.” He arched a brow.
“Stop it,” she snapped, stomping to his front door.
“Stop what?” said with the innocence of a brat with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
“I know what you’re doing. And it won’t work.”
“Are you sure of that?” he purred quickly by her ear, the vibration of the words on her lobe before he opened a door leading into an attached garage. He cast her a glance. “Shall we take the Benz?”
“Only if I drive.”
He reached inside the open door and returned with some keys. “Catch.”
Her fingers curled around the plastic fob. He’d soon regret that choice. As they left his property, she laughed as she took the curves at the highest speed the car could handle.
To her surprise, rather than looking pale, she glanced over to see the jerk smiling, the picture of poised relaxation.
Would he never cease to surprise her?
She couldn’t help but compare him to her current fiancé. A sop of a fellow, handsome enough in a blond, perfectly coiffed and yuppy kind of way. It was a marriage of convenience and power, the joining of two powerful families.
A way for her to branch out from under her family’s thumb.
If Simon misbehaved, accidents happened. Her papa and grandmother knew she wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. Not that she worried about that with Simon. Truthfully, he wasn’t all that bad. Boring, yes, blander than dry bran cereal, but he was kind to her, courteous, sending her cards and flowers at the oddest moments. Romantic gestures that seemed strange given he’d yet to even kiss her. Then again, they weren’t often alone together. The occasions they were proved to be for the press. Her babushka was the one who’d taught her how to focus the media’s eye on one thing to draw attention away from others.
The drive wasn’t a bad one, twenty minutes and she was pulling into the large, circular driveway that peaked at the front of a three-story house.
Her temporary husband stared at the place and said, “I can’t stay here. Let’s find a hotel instead.”
“And piss off my uncle, Vinny.” She snorted. “Not likely. Let’s go.” She exited the car, and he slowly followed, only to freeze at the doorway that opened when she placed her hand on the screen, which lit up as it scanned her prints.
“Trust me when I say I really shouldn’t stay,” he repeated.
“Are you scared of my uncle? I swear, he’s only half as bad as they claim.” Which depending on who was telling the stories, was pretty bad.
“I’m not worried about Vinny. It’s his dau—”
“Dean!” The squeal emerged from the top of the stairs, high-pitched and excited. And then her cousin Isabella was flying down the steps, her feet barely touching the floor, wearing a skimpy pair of shorts, a tiny tank top, and nothing under them.
It didn’t take seeing Neville’s expression to realize he was familiar with her cousin. Too familiar.
Isabella hit the bottom step and tossed herself at him, and he didn’t even have the courtesy to stagger when she hit him. Nor did he drop her, which might have had to do with the fact that Isabella anaconda-ed his ass with her arms and legs.
“Dean,” she squealed again. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“Hello, Isa, it’s nice to see you, too,” Neville replied to the squirming, happy bundle of dark curls and pretty features bouncing against him.
“Why are you here? You should have called me. I must look like a mess,” Isabella declared. Having seen Isabella all decked out, Natasha could state with confidence that she was stupidly gorgeous both ways.
“Funny coincidence, I actually live in the next town over. Got a place on the cliffs.”
“Nice. Why didn’t you tell me you’d moved into the area?” She playfully slapped his arm, and Natasha tucked her hands behind her back before she knocked her cousin out.
“I wasn’t sure if I should. As you said, it’s been a while.” Neville set Isabella down on her feet, not that it stopped her from beaming at him, and cocking a hip that only drew attention to the satin shorts and thin top clinging to her breasts. Someone give the girl a sweater. Judging by her protruding nips, she was cold.
“So, how come you’re here? Did Tasha bring you?” Isabella asked, using a family nickname.
“Actually, she did. There’s been a slight mishap at my place, and she was kind enough to offer me a place to sleep for the night.”
“Tasha did?” Isabella gaped at her, and she could see all the different scenarios running through her cousin’s head.
“It’s just for one night,” she grumbled.
“Or more if he needs,” Isabella immediately offered. “What happened to your house?”
“Assassins.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if it were an everyday thing. It only served to round Isabella’s eyes and heighten her interest.
“How utterly dangerous,” she cooed. “Do you think they’ll follow you here?”
“Possibly.”
Before Isabella could run off and wake her uncle, Natasha interceded. “He’s exaggerating. It’s not that bad. His pool house caught fire, and his place smells smoky.”
“There’s also a bullet hole in my waterbed,” he confided. “Apparently, my wife didn’t approve of my choice.”
“Wife? Who?” Isabella squeaked.
He’d better not. He’d—
He smiled and said, “Your cousin.”
Natasha wanted to kill him. Her family didn’t know about her shameful secret. She’d hoped to handle it quietly and had only told her uncle because he
had the best lawyer to handle it.
“You’re married?” Isabella squeaked. “To her?” She couldn’t have sounded more horrified if she tried. Isabella’s eyes rounded.
“Yes, although we have gotten off to a rocky start. A bit of a misunderstanding. But now that we’re together again, I’m hoping to reconcile,” he blabbed.
“Never,” Natasha huffed.
“I swear, I didn’t know,” Isabella lifted her hands and backed away from him.
“No need to apologize. We’re getting divorced,” she snapped. “The wedding was an accident.”
“Maybe, and yet it still counts,” he taunted.
“Don’t make her mad,” exclaimed Isabella, who had a healthy respect for cousin Natasha, who’d once shaved her bald for calling her a rude name.
“Why not? She’s got the prettiest eyes when she’s pissed,” Neville declared while ducking as Natasha swung for him.
“I should have shot you!” she yelled. “It’s not too late.” She pulled a gun, but before she could aim, he knocked it from her hand, and it hit the floor with a clatter.
“I think I should leave now.” Isabella backed away from them as if they carried the plague.
“Not yet, you aren’t,” Natasha growled. “How do you know Neville?” she asked, snapping her fingers when Isabella didn’t immediately reply.
“Who’s Neville?”
“Dean. His real name is Neville. How do you know him?”
“It was a long time ago. Years. In college.”
“We were both students. We met at a frat party,” he added. “We were so wasted that first night.”
Isabella shot him a glare before she fluttered her hands. “It was a long time ago. It meant nothing.”
“Explain…nothing.” Her tone was flat. Meanwhile, jealousy raged inside.
Her cousin turned a pasty shade of cement. “We dated for a little while.”
“Dated?” Neville purred. “We did a lot more than just hold hands at the movies. You brought me home to meet your father for Christmas.”
“You were an actual couple?” The jealousy did more than bubble, it had Natasha digging her nails into her palms. A good thing he’d knocked the gun away, or she might have shot her cousin.
“We hooked up for what? Six, seven months?” he declared. “In the end, we just weren’t the right fit.”
“Not even close.” Isabella rolled on the balls of her feet. “And it happened ages ago.”
“You looked awfully happy to see him,” Natasha remarked in a flat tone.
Isabella swallowed and squeaked. “I think I should go now.”
“Yes, you should. Run along, Isa.” She enunciated the shortened name and nothing else, yet her cousin bolted back up those stairs as if a pack of hyenas chased her.
Neville chided her. “Did you have to scare her like that?”
She narrowed her gaze on him. Why was he trying to protect her? Did he still have feelings for Isa? “Not my fault she’s skittish. I wouldn’t have had to say anything at all if you’d kept your mouth shut.”
“I’m not the one ashamed of the fact that we got married.”
“For the last time, it was supposed to be fake,” she growled, stomping away from him and heading for the kitchen. She could use something to eat.
He kept pace. “Why the complicated charade, though? That’s the part I can’t figure out. Use me to get close to Lawrence, I get that. But you didn’t need to pretend we were getting married. You bought a dress. Made it to the end of the ceremony before making your move.”
She wasn’t about to admit that hadn’t originally been part of the plan. However, the ritual started, and Dean had looked at her so lovingly, she’d not been able to resist playing along in the fantasy for a moment before she shattered it.
“I wasn’t sure what would bring your friend Lawrence out of hiding. I did think about kidnapping you and holding you as a hostage for an exchange. But that might have caused problems with the Pride. The lion king is fond of you.”
“We go way back,” he admitted. Their mothers used to hang out a few times a month at a protected park where rambunctious boys could run and tumble.
“Which left me with marriage. After all, what kind of best friend doesn’t show up to a wedding?”
“Would you have really killed him over jilting your cousin?”
“I once killed a guy for taking the last cherry-filled donut at the store when I had a craving.” And it had been worth every powdered-sugared, sweet, gelatinous bite.
“I guess I should be honored then that you haven’t killed me.”
“You should be.”
“Since it means you like me.”
“I do not. Did you not hear me before when I said I didn’t want to start a war with your king?”
“Please. As if you’d leave any evidence linking you or your family to my demise.”
“I’d probably plant the blame on someone else,” she admitted, like those damned Russian bears who thought they could home in on their business.
“It’s okay to admit you like me,” he confided with a wink. “I’m just that kind of guy.”
“The kind that makes me want to commit unspeakable acts of violence, you mean?” she said, opening the refrigerator and seeing a wrapped container with meat inside. To her surprise, he joined her in the fridge, pulling out the fixings for a sandwich.
If she ignored the jam.
Except when he slathered it on one sandwich then offered the knife, she had to ask, “Why would you put raspberries on a roast beef sandwich?”
“Sweet and salty, baby. Give it a try.” He held out his idea of a sandwich masterpiece, and she hesitated before taking a bite.
Her eyes widened as she chewed. “That’s actually not bad.”
“Please, we both know it is delicious. I got the idea after making leftover Thanksgiving sandwiches with cranberries. It’s all about complementing flavors,” he claimed before devouring his sandwich. He said not a word as she slathered jam on hers and then chowed down, too.
As they sat in companionable if chewing silence, she couldn’t help peeking at Neville. This man was the same one she’d met months ago, and not at the same time. This version proved more open, more sarcastic and outrageous.
More…himself.
It shouldn’t have made him more attractive, and yet, it did. He brimmed with vitality and arrogance. She didn’t doubt for a minute he’d meant it when he said that he’d rather stay married. He was stubborn and confident. A pity he wasn’t a full-blooded tiger. Knowing what her family was capable of, there was no point in even trying.
“You are so lucky to have an Uncle Vinny,” he declared after he’d downed his glass of milk.”
“Because of the movie?”
“No, because I hear he throws the best Halloween parties.”
“He does. Full-sized candy bars and pop. Bobbing for apples. The haunted maze he has built in the front yard is epic.”
“Did you grow up around here?” he asked.
“No, but my papa brought me often to visit. Said it was important that I have a connection to Mama’s family.”
“Your mother died when you were young.”
She pushed at her plate. “Yes.” She didn’t like to talk about it.
“Want to hear something messed up?”
“What?” she asked.
“When I was doing my digging on your family, I discovered that my dad dated your mother.”
She blinked. “Are we related?”
He grinned. “Not that anyone is admitting.”
“Bastard.”
“If it helps, my parents were married a year before they had me. But on that same note, I never did have any genetic tests done, so we could be brother and sister.”
“Really revising my plan to kill you.”
“Your bloodthirsty nature makes me wonder if they had you watching The Godfather from the cradle. You really take your role as mob princess quite seriously.”
&n
bsp; “Stop calling me that.”
“No princess. No baby. No wife. I’m running out of things to call you.”
“How about Natasha?”
“After all we’ve been through? I deserve something more intimate than that.”
“You’re going to earn my foot up your ass if you keep irritating me.”
“You were the one who insisted I stick with you. I was perfectly happy to stay at home in my bed. Speaking of which, where am I sleeping?”
There were plenty of empty rooms. Rooms with a bed he could use, out of sight.
“You’ll stay with me.” She had a king-size. Surely, it would provide enough space.
“Afraid I’ll sneak off in the middle of the night?”
More like she worried someone might sneak in, and she wasn’t just thinking about the assassins.
She grabbed a glass of milk that she’d warmed in the microwave and led the way. He said nothing as he entered the suite her uncle had loaned her. She kept her back to him as she chugged the warm beverage. It always soothed her nerves—even as a child.
When she crawled into bed, it was to find him already lying on the covers on the other side.
More than enough space for the two of them.
So why did she end up splayed across his very naked chest late the next morning?
Chapter Six
The moment Natasha became aware of her position, she stiffened. As she squirmed, Dean stiffened too, albeit for a different reason.
“Morning, baby,” he drawled.
“Mauling me in my sleep?” she declared, but rather than slink away, she remained lying atop him.
“Nice try, princess. But you were the one to climb on top of me and make little noises of protest if I so much as shifted a muscle to get comfortable.”
“You’re built like a rock,” she mumbled, only to stammer. “And are thick like one, too. I mean…”
“No need to explain. I am very much aware of how thick and solid I am.”
The innuendo had her groaning.
“Make that sound again,” he grumbled.
She ducked her face against him, and her warm breath tickled the skin over his ribs. “We need to get up.”
“I already am.” He was deliberate in his word choice.