by Kati Wilde
“Not at all, if I can help it,” he says gruffly, then his chest rises and falls on a deep, ragged breath. “So I’ll do this. But we aren’t going to have sex. We’ll still save that for our wedding night. I’ll just…open you up. Then I’ll take care of you until you’re feeling all right again.”
I’ll take care of you. A torrent of love washes through me, flooding my eyes with the force of the emotion. “Okay. Tomorrow night, then.”
“Why not tonight and get it over with? Otherwise you’ll spend all day tomorrow worrying about it.”
“I’ll try not to. And today has already been…overwhelming.” First when we signed the contract. Then hurting all day after discovering the proposal was a gimmick. Then seeing my parents. “But we had a victory at the Wyndhams’. So now you should go out and celebrate with your friends. I’ll return to my Christmas party and celebrate a fantastic year with my employees. And we’ll each end today on a happy note.”
Instead of a crying disaster.
“And because cherry popping isn’t on your calendar for tonight,” he says in the dry tone he uses when he’s teasing me.
I grin, delighted by that gentle ribbing. Because I do live by my calendar. “Maybe I’ll tell Jessica to include it on my schedule. ‘After the party, please add in ten minutes for my deflowering.’”
“Ten minutes? Fuck that. I’ll send her the message. And it’ll be something like, ‘Schedule in the whole goddamn night, because I intend to eat Audrey’s pussy until she’s all soft and wet and dizzy from coming so many times, and then gently open up her tight virgin cunt with my big cock.”
My inner muscles clench with sheer need. “You’re making it sound sexy,” I say breathlessly.
“I’ll make tomorrow sexy for you, too,” he says in a low growl. “Now you get back over in your seat and lift up your skirt, because talking about eating your pussy is making me hungry.”
I moan softly. “And you’re making me wet.”
“Then you get over there and show me.”
I’ll show him. But that reminds me—“I was supposed to watch you jack off on the ride back.”
“You should have added that to your calendar to make it official before I changed it to a pussy licking. Do you have another pair of panties in that Caleb’s-making-me-wet kit?”
“I do.” And I already need them. Heart pounding, I slide off his lap and back to my seat, turning on the overhead light as I go. So the first thing he sees is me slowly following his orders, rucking up my skirt to my waist, spreading my legs…then showing him how wet my panties already are, with my fingertips teasing my clit through the damp fabric.
He groans softly and follows me, kneeling between my thighs. “That’s so fucking hot, baby. Now we’ve got about ten minutes before you drop me off at Murphy’s, and I intend to end this night on a real happy note by making you come all over my mouth. And that way I’ll be tasting your pussy juices all the time you’re away from me.”
“I’m sure the liquor will wash them away,” I laugh, then gasp as he pushes my legs up and hooks my knees over his shoulders. His eyes narrow dangerously as his strong fingers curl beneath the waistband of my panties, and he begins to slowly drag them down my thighs.
“Nothing in this world could wash away your sweetness from my tongue, Audrey.” His dark gaze holds mine as he bends his head, his warm breath whispering over my slick flesh. “And by the time I’m done, you’ll be feeling my mouth on your pussy all goddamn night.”
Anticipation renders me almost breathless, yet I have to tell him—“That’s not on my calendar, either.”
But when he’s done laughing, Caleb’s mouth changes all my plans.
11
Caleb
No amount of liquor could wash away Audrey’s taste, but as the crew at Murphy’s buys round after round for me, the alcohol makes a valiant effort to turn me into a genius. The first time is when I think back to Audrey saying I should celebrate my victory against the Wyndhams. But even as I’m raising my glass to do just that, my brain kicks in and I realize I can’t. Because every win against the Wyndhams is another step closer to the end of our marriage.
Letting the Wyndhams know they hadn’t gotten away with what they did to my mother and telling them why I was taking everything from them still feels damn good. But the rest of it… Shit. How can I celebrate? I don’t want this lawsuit over quickly. I want it to last to the end of my life.
Because I’m in love with her. That realization slams into me even as Patrick’s shoving another glass into my hand. I am madly in love with Audrey Clarke.
That’s why I never want to leave her. And never want her to leave me.
I drink a hell of a lot after that, trying to figure out how I’ll persuade Audrey not to dissolve the marriage after the terms of the contract are fulfilled. Because I’ve got her locked down until our wedding night, sure. Then until I receive my inheritance. But after that? Maybe I can get her so addicted to my cock that she’ll never give me up. I’ll keep her so happy in bed—and out of it—that she won’t ever pull the trigger on those divorce proceedings.
But the real genius idea pops into my head around three a.m., just before I pass out facedown on my bed. A fucking brilliant plan. One that guarantees she’ll never leave.
I’ll just make her fall in love with me.
Maybe I’m not the smartest asshole who ever lived, but that plan still seems like a damn good one as I’m dragging myself into work the next morning. Of course, in the cold, sober—and real fucking hungover—light of day, figuring out how to execute that plan isn’t as easy as thinking it up.
And given the way my chest feels like my heart’s being ripped out whenever I imagine the marriage ending, it doesn’t even seem like a plan now, but simply a basic need. One as essential as water and food and shelter, and just as critical for survival.
I need Audrey Clarke to fall in love with me.
But fuck if I know how to make her do that. Because I don’t even know when I fell for her. The word love never entered my head until last night. But looking back, the emotion got into me long before that. Maybe first sparking at that cocktail party when she grinned and clinked her glass against mine, then made me laugh with her toast to spite. And flaring a little brighter as I held her close while we danced—though I nearly fucked it all up a few minutes later by thinking the worst shit about her. So my fate was probably sealed in that dark room, while I sat beside her and realized I’d be willing to stay in there forever with her if she needed me to.
Since then, simply being with Audrey has made me real fucking happy. So I’ve been falling in love from the start.
I can’t think of any reason she might have fallen for me yet. But there has to be some way to make it happen. To make attraction and liking become so much more. It’s easy to see why Audrey made my heart tip over into love—it was everything about her. Every damn thing.
Aside from my dick, though, what the hell do I have worth giving to a woman like her?
Not much. So maybe I’m a fool to think she’ll ever love me. But the last time I was drunk and came up with a plan, it was a marriage proposal—and I never thought she’d go for that. But she did. So maybe I’ll get lucky in this, too.
How to do it is a harder question. Obviously I’ll need to be a better man. Though what “better” means is a real damn mystery, because she doesn’t give a shit about the usual stuff like how much money I have or what I do for a living. Personality-wise, I’m a vulgar asshole at my worst, and miles away from Prince Charming at my best.
My best will never be worthy of her heart. But somehow I’ll just be…better. Then maybe she’ll need me like I need her. And maybe I’ll never have to figure out how to live without her.
I know damn well I’ll never be able to.
But figuring out how to make her fall in love can wait at least another day. Because what I need isn’t as important as what Audrey needs from me—and I promised I’d make tonight sexy for her. So she sure as
hell doesn’t need an exhausted, brooding asshole jabbing his cock into her while she’s nervous and afraid.
Since she’s working today, too, Audrey’s driver is bringing her to Patrick’s party instead of me picking her up. After my shift’s over, I crash out on my bed and try to catch up on a few minutes of shut-eye before she arrives—then, like an asshole, I sleep through my alarm and two incoming messages. One from Audrey saying she’s on her way. The other saying she’s at the party…almost two and a half hours ago.
Fuck. I haul my ass out of bed and into the shower, then force myself to slow down and shave—because I didn’t bother this morning, and my face is going to spend a long time between her legs tonight. I don’t want two days’ worth of stubble ripping up her inner thighs. I pull on a T-shirt and jeans, then in the last second remember the gift her assistants got for me. The box sits on the breakfast bar where I dropped it last night, wrapped in shiny paper and topped with a festive bow.
And holy shit. My ugly sweater is really fucking ugly. A knitted portrait of my face features giant googly eyes and a wide goofy grin. Short strands of brown yarn stick straight out to form the hair. It’s all topped off by a collar made of tiny, dancing unicorns in elf costumes, as if I’m wearing a psychedelic pearl necklace.
Jeremy and Jessica don’t half-ass a damn thing. I drag it on because I’m sure that Audrey’s going to love it.
I can hear the noise from the party as soon as I leave my apartment over the garage. I don’t have to go far. Just down the stairs and up the walk to Patrick’s front door. Every person that Patrick knows seems to be crammed inside—which means it’s also pretty much everyone I know, too.
Audrey’s not in the living room. Relief hits me straight in the chest when I spot Jeremy in the dining room talking with Logan Crenshaw, who’s one of the crew that regularly gets together at Murphy’s. The plan was that Audrey’s assistants would arrive with her and make sure all my friends got their wedding invitations. It looks like they stayed.
I head in that direction. Logan spots me first and busts out a laugh when he gets an eyeful of my sweater. “Holy shit,” he manages to get out between guffaws. “The best part is, that’s exactly how you looked around two o’clock last night.”
Yeah, it probably was. “Laugh it up while you can. You’ll be getting your turn soon.”
His gaze immediately softens and seeks out the girl he’s been living with almost a year now. “It can’t be soon enough.”
A few weeks ago, I might have scoffed at that. I can’t now. Instead I just pray like fuck that I get at least a year with Audrey.
I turn to Jeremy, who’s wearing a grin as wide as the one on my chest. “Thanks for this,” I tell him dryly. “Remind me to pay you back some day.”
He laughs. “It’ll be worth it. Especially after the boss gets a look.”
I hope so. “Where’s she at?”
“In the kitchen, last I saw. Let me check with Jess.” He switches his red Solo cup to his left hand and quickly texts with his right. “Just a heads-up—she’s been in a weird mood ever since this morning.”
Shit. I knew we should have popped her cherry last night so she wouldn’t spend all day worrying. “Nervous?”
“You think Audrey Motherfuckin’ Clarke gets nervous?” Jeremy shoots me a glance that says I must be kidding before shaking his head. “No. Just kind of quiet and distracted ever since she got the call from Bradford. Usually she’d be elated, because she loves winning. But”—his phone buzzes and he reads the screen—“Yeah, she’s still in the kitchen.”
And I’ll head there as soon as he explains what that was about. “What call from Bradford?”
His eyebrows arch upward. “She didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head.
“Shit.” He grimaces. “Maybe she wanted to surprise you. So forget I said anything.”
Not a chance. I narrow my eyes and silently wait.
He looks at my expression and then throws a glance at Logan, as if seeking help from that direction, but the other man’s been my friend too long to offer any.
Finally Jeremy relents. “Bradford got a call from the Wyndhams’ lawyer. You guys must have scared the shit out of them last night, because they’re going to drop the will contest.”
Logan breaks into a grin and claps me on the shoulder. “That means you get the inheritance free and clear, yeah? That’s damn good news.”
“You’d think so,” Jeremy says wryly. “But he looks about as thrilled as my boss did.”
Not thrilled. More like I’m about to puke. Because that will contest is the reason for our marriage contract, for our wedding—for everything.
“And she’s in the kitchen?” I say stupidly, because I know she is, but my brain doesn’t seem to be working.
“Yeah,” Jeremy says and points out the direction, as if this isn’t his first visit here and I haven’t been in this house a million times.
But, shit. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone the right way without his help. Because I don’t even remember taking the steps that bring me to the kitchen. Instead I’m in a daze and desperately holding on to a single thought: that Audrey brought Jeremy and Jessica along to hand out wedding invitations. If she didn’t still plan on marrying me, she wouldn’t have bothered.
The haze in my head clears the instant I see her—pale blonde hair up in a sleek ponytail, her lips a lush velvet red, her head thrown back in a laugh. Not in a weird mood at all, as far as I can tell. Instead she’s in a small group that includes Jessica, Karen, and Patrick, and appears to be having a good time.
And an even better time when she spots me. Her beautiful face lights up.
Relief fills my chest. I weave through the crush of people until I’m at her side, and drop a soft kiss to her lips. “Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay. Patrick said you probably fell asleep.” Her pale eyes are sparkling, and an impish little grin curves her lips. “I heard something about a stag party last night.”
“Oh yeah?” I raise a brow and look to Patrick, who’s trying to appear innocent.
Then Audrey’s gaze skips down to my sweater and her eyes widen before she covers her mouth with her hand, giggling wildly.
“The eyes!” she only manages before dissolving into laughter again.
Patrick shoves a plastic cup full of beer into my hand before tapping his own against it. “Congratulations—you win for ugliest. Your face alone would have done it, but those eye-titties are going to haunt my nightmares for years to come. They’re fucking horrifying.”
Eye-titties? I glance down. And, yep. Right over my nipples.
I glance at Jessica, who’s been silent this whole time. Her shoulders are shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. Without a word, I make a V of my first two fingers, tap my jiggly nipple-eyes and then point them at her in a I’m watching you gesture. Which makes her sputter and snort, but I’m sure as hell never going to underestimate Audrey’s Little Helpers again. They know their shit. Because if their goal is to make their boss happy, I’d say they succeeded.
Audrey wipes her eyes, still breathless from laughing. “Oh god. I wanted to win. But I’m outclassed.”
Yeah, there’s no way she could have ever won ‘ugliest’ anything. Her sweater is… Fuck, I don’t know what it is. Some kind of argyle monstrosity that escaped from the 1970s, maybe. Yet she makes the thing look great simply by wearing it.
“Patrick should win,” I say, because his version of an ugly sweater is leaving his shirt unbuttoned and exposing his chest hair. “You’ve probably got a couple squirrels hibernating in that shit.”
“Alas,” he mourns, scrubbing his fingers through the auburn thicket over his heart. “The host can’t win.”
“When we’re the hosts, Patrick, we’ll make sure you get a prize,” Audrey laughs and slips her hand into mine. “I was just telling Karen that she and Patrick should come over to our place for dinner after the honeymoon. I already volunteered you as cook.”
After t
he honeymoon. Thank fuck. “That sounds good, yeah. And, Christ—wait ’til you see this house.”
“I’ve seen it,” Patrick replies smugly before glancing at Audrey. “About eight years ago, right?”
She nods. “That’s right.”
Patrick looks to me again. “While you were playing Sleeping Beauty, we had a little six-degrees-of-separation moment going on here. Because she already knew Logan.”
“He designed all my custom furniture,” Audrey says.
“And I helped build and install it. So I sure as hell didn’t forget a waterfall house that could have made Frank Lloyd Wright weep envious tears. Ah, shit. And here’s this fucker”—Patrick snags his arm around the shoulders of the man who joins us—“Audrey, this is my little brother, Mike. He’s going to try to ask you all kinds of shit about your business and use it for his classes, but you don’t have to pay any attention to him.”
Jessica raises her hand in a little wave. “You can come and be friends with me, Mike. I know everything.”
“It’s true, she does,” Audrey says with a laugh. “Are you teaching classes or taking them?”
“Taking them. And I’ll accept that offer,” Mike adds to Jessica before turning to Audrey again. “But let’s be clear here—the person who really needs a little business advice is this man.”
He points to me and Audrey’s smile widens, her brows arching.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He ever tell you how he’s restoring those old cars in my brother’s garage? Buys them, fixes them up, sells them.”
“He did.”
“Did he mention that he never expenses any of that shit off his taxes? Not the parts he buys, not his rent, nothing?”
Both Audrey and Jessica make noises like they were stabbed.
Ah, shit. Dull heat climbs my cheeks and I awkwardly rub the back of my neck. “I’m not good at any of that crap. I just like working on the cars.”
“Oh, Caleb.” Her gaze full of amusement, Audrey pats my hand. “You’re so innocent. But I will guide you on a journey to maximize your profits as you conduct your business.”