“Besides...” What if they ended up like Penelope and Zach? What if the pretend became real and a happy life followed? Stranger things had happened. “What if we defied odds and made it? What if we stayed married, had great sex and you continued defending my honor at public gatherings?”
“What are you saying?” His expression was tortured, his jaw set.
“It’s working. That’s what I’m saying.” There had been plenty of prognosticating about this marriage—from the bloggers, from the public and from her family. She’d even caught herself wishing for a crystal ball so that she could see what lay ahead. But no one, no matter how vehemently they stated their opinion knew what the future would bring. Emmett and Stef were in charge of that.
She knew her husband on another level than “her brother’s friend.” Stef and Emmett might not have been outwardly friendly over the years, but their bond was deeper than surface. If it wasn’t, there was no way she would’ve felt comfortable sharing a bed—sharing a life—with him. Not even for show.
And if she descended into the dark, private depths of her soul, she’d admit to feeling a ripple of wanting more. Since her “I do” at the wedding, she’d done more than pretend to have more. She’d embraced it. Now that it was shaping up to have potential, and if Emmett didn’t want to leave any more than she did, why not explore what they had?
“You can’t know it’s going to work. Not after a handful of days.” He turned away and scrubbed his jaw. Stef couldn’t tell if he was more tormented by the idea that they could last, or by the idea that they wouldn’t.
Sure, it was scary, but if they faced it together it somehow seemed doable. Scarily doable.
“Plenty of couples implode after decades of being together. You think they knew any better than we do?” She pulled his hand from his face and smiled at up him. “You don’t have my gut. I trust my gut.”
She trailed a finger over his neck and into the open placket of his shirt. He palmed her back, lust replacing some of the pain in his eyes. Stef had the stray thought that she would do almost anything to keep the pain out of his eyes. Including moving this conversation into the bedroom, where they were always on the same page.
She continued trickling her finger over the buttons on his shirt, stopping short of grabbing his belt buckle and demanding he carry her to bed for some naughty, too-fun-for-words sex.
Turned out she didn’t have to.
He bent and scooped her into his arms.
“Champagne can wait,” he rumbled as he carried her to the stairs. “I have plans for you and these boots.”
Nineteen
When Emmett had gifted the Sparkle & Shine gala tickets to Stefanie for Christmas, he’d been a million percent sure she wouldn’t ask him to attend as her plus-one.
And he’d been a million percent sure that the man who came with her would be someone who knew how to smile for the camera. A clean-cut, refined guy in a suit who would appear affable to any onlookers.
So. Not. Him.
He knotted the strangling bow tie at his neck, his tension rising.
He was aware that he had a responsibility to her and to her family not to take advantage of Stefanie in any way, shape or form. But he was also staunchly aware that the attraction they had for each other wasn’t going to evaporate into the ether. They’d been ignoring it before, and even if they signed annulment papers today, there was no denying the hot snap of awareness every time she stepped into his personal space.
He hadn’t been able to escape the words Stefanie had said about their marriage before he took her to bed that night.
It’s working. That’s what I’m saying.
It was working. As long as no one started confusing great sex for something more. Something...deeper.
She wasn’t beholden to him. If she wanted to resume her normal life, he wouldn’t stand in her way. However, he was beholden to her. Both Stefanie and the Fergusons as a whole.
Emmett was duty bound to the Fergusons and had sworn years ago to protect them at all costs. That was what family was supposed to do—a lesson he’d learned from the Fergusons since his own father had done a piss-poor job of setting an example.
Van Keaton had taught him that when the going got tough you looked out for number one. Forget that your brokenhearted six-year-old son was as unmoored as a ship lost at sea. Forget that you had a responsibility to let family and friends know how to contact you rather than hide behind closed curtains in a shabby apartment in a bad part of town.
His parents’ extended families had been distant and scattered, so they fell by the wayside after Emmett’s mother died. Not helping was that his grandparents on his mother’s side never approved of his mother marrying Van. He was bad news, they’d said. Selfish, they’d argued. By the time Emmett had grown up enough to recognize that they were right, his grandfather had passed and his grandmother was in an Alzheimer’s disease facility and didn’t know her own name, let alone his.
“Whoa, baby.” Stefanie entered the living room via the stairs, a vision in a sparkling gold gown. The color made her fair skin shimmer, and her hair fell over her shoulders in matching golden curls. “You look hot.”
“Took the words out of my mouth.”
Emmett had seen Stefanie in a lot of dresses at a lot of fancy parties, but she’d never been more beautiful than she was in this moment.
Because he was her date? Because she was in his house?
Because she’s yours, his brain argued.
He stuffed that thought to the back of his head, where it belonged.
She swept over to him and he folded her into his arms. It was as natural as breathing. She fitted there.
“Sadly, my boots don’t match this dress.” She poked the toe of a strappy gold sandal from beneath the long skirt.
“Not complaining.” He eyed her gold-painted toenails. “Though I have a newfound appreciation for your boots.”
That’d been some sex for the books. Stefanie in knee-high black leather boots straddling him. Riding him. Her pert breasts had bounced to the rhythm she set while a sheen of sweat coated her skin as she worked them both into a frenzy.
“Dammit.” He adjusted the bulge behind his fly and blew out a tormented breath. His wife beamed. “Stop looking so satisfied with yourself.”
But he liked when she was satisfied with herself. She should be. And not for making him come—that was simple mechanics. The part that was all Stefanie was the way she’d caused his head to detach from his neck and float into the atmosphere. And when he’d finally come back down to earth, he’d been greeted by her draped over his chest, her fingers playing with his chest hair, her sultry sighs of pleasure in his ear.
She’d absolutely owned him in that bedroom. And that was a feat no other woman could claim.
An hour later they stepped into the ballroom where the gala was being held. The ritzy, high-end mansion made Chase’s mansion look like a cute starter home by comparison. The color palette was übermodern silver and blue, the theme an aquatic one. Glass room dividers with rivulets of water running down them separated the room into sections and ice sculptures accented every corner. One was shaped like a massive merman, another like a conch shell that doubled as service for a buffet of cocktail shrimp, and there were several other smaller frozen vignettes lit with blue or green lights. Music thumped the speakers and guests stood around high-top tables with bases shaped like seahorses.
“Oh! Champagne. We must.” Stefanie was a ball of energy, fitting in at the gala like she’d planned it rather than simply attending as a guest.
Emmett had landed the invitation from Sonia herself after having received a call from her assistant that Sonia was in need of a bodyguard for an event last year. He’d phoned one of the key players off his security team and Doug had picked up the gig, happy for the extra money. Sonia had given two tickets to the event to Doug, who had hande
d them over to Emmett without a second thought.
“I’m not sure I belong in this crowd,” Emmett told his wife.
Understatement. He most definitely did not belong in this crowd.
“Don’t be silly.” She handed him a flute filled with bubbly liquid.
“Your net worth has about a hundred more zeroes than mine.”
She rolled her eyes. “We didn’t sign a prenup, you know. My income is your income.”
“No. It’s not.” He cupped her elbow, making sure he had her attention. “I’d never take your money, Stefanie.”
“So serious all the time.”
She took a sip of the champagne, her eyes on the near-barren dance floor lit by wavy, undulating lights meant to look like water. He could’ve guessed what she was about to ask, but before he could argue she’d divested them of both their glasses.
“Dance with me.”
* * *
“No.”
Her husband had turned obstinacy into an art form.
Sliding her hands into the black jacket and over his crisp white shirt, she tipped her chin, taking in every big, grouchy inch of him. The tuxedo had nearly turned her into mush tonight. On the drive over, she was tempted to untie that bow tie and then palm his crotch while murmuring dirty, fun promises in his ear.
She hadn’t, though, and now regret was a heaving, growling beast.
“It’s time to admit that you’ve earned me.”
He said nothing, but the storm in his blue-gray eyes said plenty.
She could read his pained expression as clearly as if he held a cue card. She didn’t like what she saw. He believed he was beneath not only the people at this party, but Stefanie herself.
Suddenly, she wasn’t interested in waiting until they arrived home to have her way with him. She was going to teach him an unforgettable lesson and collect what she’d wanted from him since their first night together.
Him. Tumbling over the edge of the orgasm cliff first.
“Walk with me.” She palmed his forearm. When he resisted, she gripped him tighter. “I promise no dancing.”
He walked with her as they meandered away from the crowd.
“No one here is better than anyone else no matter how much they’d like you to think so,” she leaned close to say. “No one is above gossip and I’ve heard it all. Monique’s third husband, Samantha’s Botox addiction. Terrence’s calf implants.”
Emmett raised an eyebrow.
“You heard me.”
She walked arm in arm with Emmett until they reached a curtained-off section at the back of the room. A thick swath of semisheer fabric was lit by a wall of white twinkle lights but she couldn’t see what was behind them.
Perfect.
She found an opening in the material and tugged Emmett with her.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice dominated the small space, where open cardboard boxes with a few remaining champagne glasses were stacked. Evidently they were using this area as storage.
“We should be safe hidden here unless they run out of glassware.”
The fabric cast a blue light onto the planes of his angled face. So damn handsome.
“Stefanie.”
“You can call me queen.” She tugged his bow tie free, and seeing that strip of untied silk lying on either side of his collar had lust pooling low in her belly. “Guess what you become when you marry the queen?”
She began unbuttoning his shirt. Three buttons down, he gripped her hand. But he did not stop her. Instead, he brushed his thumb along her skin and then loosened his hold.
Yes. He wanted this as much as she did.
She parted his shirt and exposed his glorious chest, pressing a kiss to his rock-solid pecs.
When she dragged her tongue to his abs, he caught her elbows like he was torn about allowing her to sink to her knees before him.
Tenderly, she laid her lips on his stomach and then teased the tip of her tongue past the waistline of his pants. She brushed his hold aside and worked his belt from its buckle. Emmett’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides while his eyes burned twin holes into her.
Stefanie opened his zipper, pleased to find a hard ridge pushing against the seam of his boxer briefs. At least one part of his anatomy had no argument about what she was trying to do.
My accomplice.
She took him in her hand and Emmett’s head dropped back on his neck. A moan of pleasure vibrated down his form, low enough that she barely heard it over the bumping bass outside their shrouded hiding place.
“Marrying the queen,” she said as she tugged his pants and boxers past his heavy thighs, “makes you—” she flicked her tongue over the head of his erection “—the king.”
Opening her mouth wide to accommodate him, she took him onto her tongue and laved his soft flesh. He tasted heavenly, his masculine fragrance filling her nostrils as he filled her mouth.
His expelled breath was a gruff echo of her own pleasure as she hummed and took him deeper. She uncurled one of his fists and laid his flat palm on the back of her head, letting him know it was okay to encourage her.
He stood stiffly for a few seconds before giving in to the pleasure she was delivering. Then he let her do what she’d wanted to do since their wedding night.
Her husband was going to come first tonight.
She sucked the tip of his shaft, refusing to let up even when his knees locked and he growled her name.
“Stef.” His voice was a rumble of far-off thunder. “Stefanie.” That one, too, but closer. Louder.
She released him and locked her eyes on his, making the same request he had in the jewelry store when he bought their rings. “Let me.”
He sent one concerned look at the curtain behind which they’d hidden, but before the conflict in his brain could ruin their fun, she took him on her tongue again.
Then he was no longer conflicted.
His hands encouraged her, his words praising her with gentle gruffness. “Yes, honey. Like that. Just like that.”
He wound his fingers into her hair and tightened his grip pleasantly. She picked up the pace, spurred on by the popping threads of his control.
A moment later, he spilled his release into her mouth. She let him, relishing a moment that was about more than her winning, more than him coming first. She wanted him to know that he was as worthy of her as she was of him.
That they’d found forever in the unlikeliest of circumstances.
In that moment, on her knees behind the Sparkle & Shine gala, Stefanie allowed her heart to have a say.
It was just a whisper, but she recognized the four-letter word. A word that normally preceded marriage rather than following the vows.
She shut it out and rose to her feet, focusing on the here and now and the dazed look in her husband’s eyes. But the blissful afterglow was short-lived when a familiar voice spoke from directly outside the curtain.
“Have you seen Stef and Emmett yet?” the voice asked.
“Not yet,” a woman answered.
Emmett wrestled with his pants as Stefanie bit her lip to hide a laugh. He palmed her mouth to stifle that giggle, his brow a thundercloud of displeasure.
Evidently, Mayor Chase Ferguson was looking for them.
Twenty
Mimi assessed Emmett from one seahorse table away, her long lashes dipping to conceal the color of her eyes. Stefanie had been talking with her over champagne while Emmett and Chase found glasses of liquid that were not bubbly or French.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Chase asked.
Hopefully not Stef going down on me at this very party.
“No idea,” Emmett answered. Chase appreciated honesty but he wouldn’t appreciate that much honesty.
“How does Mimi make a simple red dress look so damn tempting? Is
it midnight yet?” Chase’s irritated tone made Emmett smile.
A decade back, Emmett had witnessed Chase fall over himself for Miriam Andrix. Neither Emmett nor Chase had been looking for anything permanent that summer. Emmett had indulged in a few very impermanent hookups, but not his best friend. No, Chase had followed Mimi around like a puppy. Then he’d let her go when she hadn’t successfully fitted into the Ferguson family fold.
Emmett bristled as he considered how much he had in common with Chase’s fiancée.
“...toast at midnight and then I’m getting the hell out of here,” Chase was saying. He shot an elbow into Emmett’s ribs. “Hey. What’s up with you?”
“Never thought I’d see the day where you and Miriam were reunited,” he said to conceal the deeper truth.
Chase’s irritation faded in a blink. He was a man in love and it encompassed him and anyone around him whenever his future bride was near.
“You never thought I’d pull my head out of my ass, you mean?” Chase chuffed at his own expense before taking a drink of his whiskey. “I’m better with her in my life. Great, actually.”
Miriam’s attention was on Stefanie, who lifted her hand and gestured as she told a story. Her wedding ring caught the light and winked like a lighthouse warning Emmett away from the rocks.
Warnings he’d ignored since he placed that ring on her finger.
It’s working. That’s what I’m saying.
Stef tossed her head and laughed, and a ribbon of longing tied itself into a knot in his gut. She’d called him a king before lowering herself to her knees in front of him this evening. Every part of him had wanted to lift her into his arms and haul her very fine ass out of here. To finish what they’d started. To take her over the edge the way she had him.
His best friend’s muttered curse brought him back to the present. Chase’s expression was a mask of acceptance.
“I thought your attention to Stefanie over the years was about loyalty to our family. Or to me,” he added with a grunt.
“It was,” Emmett said before correcting with, “Is.”
A Christmas Proposition Page 13