A Wedded Arrangement (Convenient Marriages, #3)

by Adams, Noelle

  “I know you do. But you could also support five different families for an entire year with what you spent on it. And you’re honestly asking me how you’ve wasted money?”

  He gave a small shrug and a quirk of his lips. “And you, on the other hand, are an exemplar of noble moral character with your ten-year-old Ford and life of celibacy.”

  She sucked in an indignant breath. “I don’t live a life of celibacy.”

  “Yeah? When was the last time you had a little fun in the sack?”

  “Did you seriously just say ‘in the sack’?”

  “I did.” He stood up and went to rinse out his glass and put it in the dishwasher. “We’ve already agreed on my classiness. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  She rolled her eyes again, but if she didn’t give him an honest response, he’d know he’d scored a victory. “Two years ago.”

  “That insurance guy you dated?”

  “Yes. Chris.”

  “Pretty good in bed, was he?”

  She didn’t answer that question with anything more than narrowed eyes.

  Lance chuckled. “And how long did you go without before you started dating him?”

  “A year and a half. I only have sex when I’m in a relationship. What’s your point? That there’s something wrong with me because I don’t go around screwing everyone who catches my eye?”

  “No. I don’t think something’s wrong with you. But I also don’t think you’re morally superior based only on the frequency with which you fuck. I only have sex with women who have freely and enthusiastically consented.”

  “I know that,” she replied quickly, prompted by a flicker of worry that he was taking their banter more seriously than normal. “Of course I know that.”

  “And I haven’t had sex at all since we got married, just like we agreed.”

  “I know that too.”

  She did know it. She didn’t even wonder anymore. Truth be told, she hadn’t been entirely trusting in the first month or two of their marriage. She’d done more than one drive-by of his office when he worked late in the evenings. She’d made a point of searching social media for proof that he was where he said he was. And one humiliating weekend, she’d flown up to New York when he was on a business trip to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of being out of town to hook up.

  He hadn’t been. He’d worked all day and spent the rest of the time alone in his hotel room.

  Her mental justification for that decline into suspicion and paranoia was that she was married to a man she had no reason to trust. If she caught him cheating, their prenup would allow her to end their marriage immediately while still getting the rest of the money she was owed. It only made sense to see if Lance was following through on his word.

  She still cringed whenever she remembered what she’d done. She’d never admitted it to anyone, and she prayed no one would ever find out.

  Most of all, not Lance.

  Lance cocked an eyebrow at her, pulling her out of her embarrassing recollection. “You look like you’re remembering doing something naughty,” he drawled.

  Shit. Shit. He was way too good at reading her mind. It was genuinely dangerous. Her cheeks were burning, but she managed a cool, disdainful look. “You’re projecting your own memories of naughtiness onto me.”

  “Could be.” He straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the counter. “I haven’t been naughty in a really long time.”

  “Oh please. Don’t give me your sob story. You’ve been taking care of yourself just fine. Why else would you take two or three showers a day?”

  He’d been leaving the kitchen, but he turned back with a laugh. “You’ve got me.” He took a few steps toward her, standing just behind her stool.

  She didn’t turn around. It felt like he wanted her to, so she made herself resist the impulse. But she was acutely aware of his big body behind her. He was all heat and physicality, and it radiated off him in waves.

  A curl of hot desire tightened between her legs.

  He tilted his head down so he was murmuring right in her ear. He wasn’t touching her, but his presence and voice felt like an intimate caress. “But I’m not the only one who takes care of myself. How often do you change the batteries in that vibrator?”

  Her hands clenched on the granite edge of the countertop as she used every ounce of control to suppress the intense wave of need and excitement that washed over.

  Lance could do this to her. He could turn her on without even trying. She didn’t actually know if he did it on purpose or if his visceral sexiness was simply as natural as breathing to him. Either way, he had the power to leave her a quivering mess of unfulfilled arousal.

  It was wrong. It had to be wrong. There was no way it was right to be so intensely attracted to a man she disliked as much as she did her husband.

  But it was a reality of her situation, and it had only gotten worse as the year of their marriage progressed.

  Three more months. Only three more months and she’d be free of him forever.

  She was good at restraint and self-suppression. She could make it until November without humiliating herself.

  She turned around slowly, steeling herself against being so close to him. His face was less than four inches away from hers, and the green-gray of his eyes had darkened.

  “I’ve not changed the batteries at all,” she said, pleased when her voice came out as light, almost teasing.

  He gave her a questioning look as he took a step back.

  Then she added, “My vibrator plugs into the wall.”

  ANYONE TRYING TO ARGUE that social class isn’t a major source of conflict in the United States needed to spend a little time in Green Valley.

  Forty percent of the town was in the top five percentile of income nationally, and the rest of the town provided all the services required to take care of the millionaires. Green Valley had literally been designed to cater to the wealthy. Forty years ago, a real estate developer had bought up land on a large boating lake about forty-five miles outside Charlotte and planned an expansive gated community for business executives and their families who wanted to live outside the city. The community boomed and then expanded into another, the two linked by an extensive country club and marina that was the center of the town’s social circle. Eventually Green Valley boasted a thriving downtown area filled with businesses aimed at the affluent and a town government that primarily served the country-club set.

  Before they retired, Savannah’s father had cleaned rich people’s pools and her mother had worked in a grocery store. Savannah had been raised in an inexpensive row house in the west part of town, which was where all the nonwealthy folks lived. Her friends had been the children of private chefs, of chauffeurs, of gardeners, of bartenders, but she’d gone to school with rich kids like Lance.

  Green Valley prided itself on its robust community, and one of its annual events was the Symphony in the Park.

  Savannah had never gone as a kid, but she’d heard about it every year. She’d attended last year to take pictures and film a video, but this year she had a seat in the reserved section.

  She felt weird as she climbed out of the Aston Martin and waited as Lance tipped the valet and came over to where she stood.

  He looked way too sexy in his gray suit, the sophisticated clothes an appealing contrast to the constant disarray of his hair and the slight five-o’clock shadow on his jaw.

  “You look like I’m leading you to the guillotine,” he murmured as he put a hand on her back to lead her down a paved walk toward the outdoor stage in the middle of the park.

  “Not a bad comparison.” She kept a fake smile on her face, the smile she always used at social events with Lance. “Except the rich folks were the victims back then.”

  He chuckled dryly, and she wasn’t sure whether he was honestly amused or just putting on a facade. Part of their deal was publicly acting like they were in a genuine, loving marriage.

  They greeted a few people
as they walked, and Savannah felt eyes on her as they neared the roped-off sections filled with rows of comfortable chairs. People were staring. They were probably wondering what the hell she was doing with a man like Lance. She wasn’t bad to look at, but she also wasn’t beautiful. She had thick brown hair she had to struggle to keep smooth and large blue-gray eyes. She was medium height and medium weight, and her skin wouldn’t tan to save her life. Plenty of people found her attractive, but she wasn’t nearly as gorgeous as the women Lance had always dated.

  She could just imagine the shocked gossip when they’d announced their engagement last year. Lance Carlyle marrying Savannah Emerson.

  The symphony concert was free for anyone who wanted to attend, but tickets for the reserved seats were impossible to get unless you were part of one of the original families. Everyone else sat on blankets on the grass.

  Savannah was wearing a navy-blue dress with a simple cut and a skirt that flared slightly at the knee. Her shoes and purse were designer, and the necklace and earrings she wore were more expensive than her car. When she’d married Lance, she’d refused to let him buy her a new car, and her everyday clothes were the ones she’d always worn. But she’d had to relent and let him pay for nicer outfits for events like this. There was no way in the world she could have afforded them otherwise, and people would naturally suspect the nature of their marriage if she went around in discount dresses and knockoff shoes.

  They found their seats, but there was still twenty minutes until the concert started, so Lance went to get them glasses of wine, and Savannah stood next to the velvet rope near their seats and looked around.

  She waved at a friend from high school who was picnicking with her husband not far away. They must have arrived two hours ago to get such a good position. Natalie stood up and came over.

  “Hey, Van. How does it feel to have made it behind the ropes?” Natalie asked with a grin.

  For her entire life, nearly everyone had called her Van. Lance was the only person she could think of who called her by her full name.

  Her heart twisted, although it was clear that her friend wasn’t bitter. “It feels... weird.”

  “Do you ever feel like you’ve crossed a picket line?”

  “All the time. I’d much rather be on a blanket with you and not wearing these uncomfortable heels.”

  “I guess if you fall in love, you take what comes with him even if it makes you one of them.”

  “I guess so.” Savannah wasn’t rich now, and she didn’t like anyone to believe she was. She was the same person she’d always been. “I know I’m in the reserved seats now, but I’m not really that much different than I was back in school.”

  Natalie shook her head with a smile. “Maybe not. Except instead of TP’ing Lance’s car with me, you married him and are wearing that crazy-big rock on your hand.”

  Savannah shrugged, having no idea what to say to that. She glanced down at her left hand and was vaguely surprised to see the expensive rings on her finger—a large princess-cut diamond solitaire on an engraved platinum band and a matching wedding ring. “He’s not like we used to think he was.”

  “I guess not. Not if you fell in love with him.”

  At a loss for words, she was relieved when Natalie’s son started to whine and she returned to her family.

  Savannah glanced around and saw Lance holding two glasses of wine and a plate of something. He was chatting with the guy who’d been his best friend since kindergarten.

  “Hey, Van,” a voice came from behind her.

  She whirled around to see Carter Wilson standing in front of her. He was another one of Lance’s friends, and she’d known him just as long as she’d known Lance. For years as a teenager, she’d had a crush on him. He was the only one of the rich kids who’d made a point of being nice to her in school.

  She smiled. “Hey there.” She looked around. “Are you here alone?”

  “I brought my mom.” Unlike Lance, Carter was traditionally handsome. His features were almost too perfect to be real. His smile was genuine, and his brown eyes were warm as he added, “Where’s your lesser half?”

  She laughed. “He’s around somewhere. You know Lance. Can’t sit still and stay quiet to save his life.”

  “Hey, my mom was saying on the way over here that she wants some new pictures made of her and my dad. They haven’t had anything taken professionally for years. Do you have room to fit them in?”

  “Of course I do. Just tell her to give me a call. Or I could make an appointment with her now if that’s easier.”

  “That would be great. She hates making phone calls.” Carter put a light hand on her elbow and guided her toward where his mother was sitting.

  Savannah pulled out her phone and scheduled the appointment with Mrs. Wilson, always pleased to get another client.

  After finishing her MFA program, she’d gotten a job in Los Angeles. It had been an entry-level position in film editing—nothing particularly exciting—but if she’d been able to continue, she probably could have made some sort of career for herself there. It wasn’t what she’d dreamed of as a teenager (which was winning Oscars for the brilliant movies she made), but how many people without connections or sheer dumb luck ever had those particular dreams come true? Her career would have been at least loosely related to her dreams had her mother not been diagnosed with cancer.

  Her parents had assured her over and over again that she didn’t need to move back home, but she’d known they needed her. She was an only child. She was all they had. Even now that her mother was in remission, she couldn’t imagine what they’d do if she moved away again and left them with no one to check in on them regularly and help with errands and tasks around the house.

  She didn’t regret moving back to Green Valley, even if it meant she’d had to open a portrait studio and support herself by taking boring photos of new babies, graduating seniors, and brides-to-be. She was a decent photographer—certainly better than anyone else in their small town. She had regular business. Enough to meet the expenses of her studio and pay her rent and personal needs. She’d never had a lot leftover until she’d married Lance last year and paid off her debts, but it wasn’t bad work. She sometimes did weddings as well (only the small ones since the large Green Valley weddings were covered by whole teams of photographers). But her wedding videos were becoming increasingly popular, and those she actually enjoyed making.

  She was glad of any new client, and she appreciated Carter recommending her to his mother.

  They’d confirmed an appointment time for next week when Carter murmured, “Ah, you better get back to your husband. He’s glowering.”

  Savannah turned in surprise and saw that Carter was right. Lance was glowering. He looked sophisticated and ridiculously sexy in his suit, the light breeze ruffling his thick hair. He was standing in front of their seats, and he didn’t look happy at all.

  She wanted to scowl back at him, but that would hardly suit her role as his adoring wife, so she turned to say goodbye to Carter instead. He leaned over to kiss her cheek—a gesture that was common among this particular crowd—and she touched his sleeve before she walked away.

  Lance’s expression hadn’t cleared when she reached him. He wasn’t tense. His hands were relaxed around the two glasses of wine he held, but his eyes never left her face.

  She frowned at him in confusion as she took one of the glasses out of his hands. “What’s up with you?”

  He tilted his head to one side as he took a swallow of red wine. “Why would something be up?”

  “Because you’re glowering. And don’t say I’m making it up. Glower was Carter’s word, not mine.” She leaned down to take one of the parmesan crisps from the plate Lance had set on one of their seats.

  “Since when are you in the habit of adopting other people’s words?”

  “I do if they’re good ones. And glower is a very good word. It should definitely be used more often.”

  The corner of Lance’s mouth twitched
slightly. He reached to remove the glass of wine from her hand, placing it on the flat armrest between their seats. They were still standing, at least until the concert began in a few more minutes. Taking a step forward, he put his hand lightly on her waist.

  “May I?” he murmured very softly, tilting his head down to speak against her ear.

  A shiver began at the base of her spine and traveled upward. Then down again. Down even farther. She nodded, avoiding his eyes as he pulled her body flush against his. He moved his head down so he could brush his lips against the skin on the side of her throat.

  The shivers transformed into something hot and throbbing at the feather-soft feel of his mouth. She held on to one of his shoulders and tried to breathe.

  He always asked before he touched her like this—in any way beyond the most casual contact. They’d agreed from the beginning that they would act like they were a couple in love, and Lance had always been physically demonstrative, so it made sense they sometimes needed to fake kiss when they were around other people.

  It wasn’t good for her state of mind—she already found him more attractive than she should—but she didn’t dare ask him to stop doing what they’d been doing for months. He’d suspect the reason, which meant he would win.

  She did appreciate his always asking first.

  He kissed her again, this time with a flicker of his tongue against the side of her jaw. Then he moved his mouth to her ear and said thickly, “I see you used this opportunity to drool over your Prince Charming.”

  Her body tightened despite her attempt to stay relaxed. He would feel it and know she was annoyed. She at least managed to keep her voice light and lilting as she responded. “Well, what can a girl do when her husband is more wicked stepmother than prince?”

  He gave a huff of amusement that she felt against her hot skin. One of his hands was curved around her rib cage in a gentle, possessive hold. “I like to think of myself as more of a Beast.”