A Wedded Arrangement (Convenient Marriages, #3)

by Adams, Noelle

  When Lance was seventeen, his father was arrested for embezzlement. Because he was rich and white, he’d only served two years in prison, and his wife and a lot of the community had immediately forgiven him. But it had destroyed Lance’s relationship with his parents.

  Savannah knew that. She’d been young when it happened, but she’d been smart and observant enough to pick up nuances. She should have known that Lance would never work with anyone who cheated other people out of their money the way his father had.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, staring down at her plate. “I know you wouldn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he repeated as if he didn’t believe her.

  “I know.” She glanced over almost shyly. “I’m glad.”

  He nodded soberly and finally ate the bite of salad on his fork.

  Her heart twisted and her throat ached. She really needed to shift the mood—it was giving her wrong ideas about being close to him. About wanting to be closer. She sipped her wine and asked, “So who did you meet with for real this afternoon?”

  His expression cleared. “It’s a small business. A local coffee shop that wants to expand with a couple of new sites. They’re committed to the expansion, but they’re not sure they can afford my fees. I showed them how it would be worth it, but it is a big up-front investment.”

  “Do you ever give discounts?”

  “Yeah. Definitely. I never make small businesses pay as much as big companies. But even my lowest offer is still a lot for a company like that.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I like the owners a lot. You’d like them too. They’re your kind of people.”

  “And who are my kind of people?”

  “They’re smart and funny. They started with nothing and worked really hard, earning their success entirely on their own.”

  “Are they a married couple?”

  “Yeah. In their forties. I hope they want to work with me.”

  “Maybe they will.”

  She couldn’t believe they were having a regular conversation—no quips or insults or sarcasm. She was enjoying it. She wanted more.

  And that hit her with a sudden flash of fear.

  It was like her mother had said last week. She couldn’t—could not—start thinking about Lance like that. She’d end up getting hurt by her own stupidity.

  So, in a desperate attempt to return to their normal interaction, she said, “I thought when you said they were my kind of people you meant working in a coffee shop. Remember, I used to do that once upon a time.”

  He’d been twirling angel-hair pasta on his fork, but he turned his head with a look in his hazel eyes that was almost disappointed.

  Disappointed. As if she didn’t have a right to bring up his past wrongdoing.

  She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Am I supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “Did I suggest you needed to pretend such a thing?”

  “No. But I can read your expressions, you know. And you did get me fired back then. Maybe it wasn’t important to you, but it was sure as hell important to me. I needed that job.”

  He was chewing, so he didn’t reply immediately. When he swallowed, he raised his wineglass and murmured over the rim, “I know you did.”

  “And I’m supposed to forgive and forget just because it was a long time ago?”

  “I never asked you to forgive and forget. I’ve always assumed you’d hate me forever because of that.”

  “Not just because of that. You also cheated at that Easter egg hunt.”

  He made a soft choking sound. “I didn’t cheat.”

  “Yes, you did! I found all my eggs on my own, but you convinced a bunch of your friends to give you theirs, so you unfairly ended up with more than me.”

  “There wasn’t a rule about not taking eggs from other people.” His voice was amused again, the discomfort of earlier dispelled.

  “There didn’t need to be a rule. Any decent person would know that tricking your friends out of the eggs they found wasn’t fair play.”

  “I was eight,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I was five, and I still knew that you cheated.” She cleared her throat, realizing she was feeling fond again when she shouldn’t be. “Anyway, you weren’t eight when you got me fired.”

  He didn’t answer immediately. He stared down at his plate. “I might as well have been,” he finally muttered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I was a stupid kid. I was being a jerk. You always annoyed me because I could never get you to back down. I thought coming back from college would feel different, but then there you were, looking like... Sneering at me as if I were... You always drove me crazy.” He finally met her eyes again. “I was an asshole to complain just to prove I could hold my own, but I had no idea it would get you fired.”

  She froze, biting her lower lip.

  “I should have known, but I didn’t.”

  “How could you not? You were the son of the Carlyles. I was nobody. Of course I wasn’t going to keep my job.”

  He shook his head, looking away. “I was stupid. I didn’t know.”

  Maybe she was hopelessly naïve, but she believed him. The knowledge sat like a weight in her gut. She took a weird, shaky breath.

  “I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, but I’m sorry.” He was staring at his plate, almost mumbling out the words. “I was sorry back then, and I’m even sorrier now.”

  “And it never occurred to you to just tell me that?”

  “You wouldn’t have believed a word I said to you back then.”

  It was true. It was absolutely true. She didn’t even know why she believed him now.

  He seemed to be waiting for a response, so she gave a little nod, hoping that was enough to satisfy him.

  It evidently was. He went back to eating, and she was able to enjoy the rest of her meal, feeling like she’d been suddenly freed of a weight she hadn’t known she’d been carrying.

  THEY HAD JUST FINISHED rinsing their dishes and loading them into the dishwasher when there was a sudden banging sound from the terrace.

  They both walked over to the sliding glass door and peered out. It was already dark, but the terrace was well lit and the moon was almost full. She could see trees blowing wildly and the water moving violently on the lake. One of the chairs at the outdoor table had blown against the railing.

  “What’s happening out there?” Savannah asked, her eyes wide as she looked through the glass. “Are we supposed to be having a hurricane or something?”

  “It’s just really strong wind, I guess. Doesn’t look like it’s going to storm.” He appeared just as fascinated by the blowing trees and waves as she was.

  Another chair blew over as they watched.

  “Maybe we should go bring them in,” she suggested. “No sense letting the wind cause any damage.”

  Lance was already opening the door.

  Together, they brought in the four chairs and the two large potted plants. The table was so heavy there was no way it was going to move.

  When they’d rescued the furniture, Savannah went back outside to look out at the lake. The wind was strong and cool but not cold, and the night felt weird and wild and unnatural. Clouds were blowing over the eerie moon and then away from it within seconds.

  “It feels like the world is bracing for some kind of supernatural invasion,” Lance said, coming out to stand beside her at the rail.

  “I know. I’m not sure if I’d expect ghosts or werewolves or vampires, but something wicked is definitely on its way. Look at that moon.” She gazed up at the sky with wide eyes, enjoying the strong wind against her face.

  Her hair was loose and kept blowing into her face. She was used to her hair and it didn’t bother her very much, but Lance reached over to gently move the wayward strands away from her cheeks and eyes, tucking them behind her ear.

  She turned toward him in surprise, her heart starting to race at the light touch.

  “Doesn’t it ann
oy you when it gets in your eyes like that?” Lance was gazing down at her, and his eyes looked darker than they were supposed to.

  She licked her lips without thinking. “Not really. It’s just my hair. It does what it wants.”

  “So does mine,” he admitted.

  She laughed and reached up to push a disorderly mass of curls back from his forehead. His hair was softer than she’d expected it would be—big, loose curls rather than tight spirals. She liked the feel of it. Her fingers combed their way through the thick waves. Then her fingertips were rubbing his scalp.

  His breath hitched audibly. He seemed to have frozen, gazing down at her with a deep look that made the air between them shudder. His fingers were still wrapped around a piece of her long hair.

  And she was petting him. There was no other word for it. She kept moving her hand in his hair, and the texture of it against her skin was better than anything.

  She couldn’t make herself stop.

  When he finally moved, it was to take a step forward. Slowly. Intentionally. Until there was barely an inch between them.

  She didn’t move back. It was all she could do not to pull him forward all the way. Her hand had stopped its caressing motion, but it was still tangled in his curls.

  Her heart pounded loudly. Her breath was shallow and quick. She was hot and cold at the same time. The blood in her veins seemed to throb.

  He let go of her hair and moved his hand up to her face, just as slow and intentional as the step he’d taken. It was like he was watching, bracing himself, stalking.

  Waiting for her to turn and flee.

  But she didn’t want to flee. She wanted him to touch her skin.

  He cupped one side of her face with his big, warm hand, tilting it back and then holding it in place.

  Every cell in her body was pulsing, straining to reach him. When he didn’t make any further moves, she couldn’t hold back anymore. She stretched up toward him, reaching for his mouth with her lips.

  He met her halfway.

  His mouth brushed lightly against hers at first, but it felt so good that she grabbed for him greedily, pressing against him with her lips, with her whole body.

  He made a throaty sound as he raised his second hand to span the curve at the back of her neck. He kissed her harder, his body tightening.

  She was returning the kiss like a starving person, wrapping both arms around his neck so she could stretch up to reach his height. She darted her tongue out to taste his lips, and then his tongue was suddenly active, sliding against hers and then farther into her mouth.

  Excitement and pleasure surged through her body, centered at the pulsing between her legs.

  He turned their bodies so hers was pressed against the railing. It was solid. An immovable melding of thick metal and aesthetic design. It could take all their weight and more without buckling, but the position against the rail made her feel like she was hanging off the edge of the building.

  The wind whipped against her hair and clothes—in every place that wasn’t pressed against Lance’s solid heat.

  In a sudden flash, she felt like she was falling. She squealed and grabbed for Lance instinctively in a frantic, clumsy move.

  He laughed and pulled her away from the railing. “The height too much for you?”

  “No, it’s not too much for me.” She was a little embarrassed by her panic, although it was impossible to be annoyed when Lance was looking at her with that warm laughter in his eyes. “But you were pushing me against the railing, and the wind is really strong. And cold.”

  “It is kind of chilly.” He gathered her against him, pressing a few little kisses against her mouth. “Maybe we should move this inside where it’s warmer.”

  Her heart was still racing with both excitement and the lingering fear, and it was the fear that finally broke through the haze of need and desire that had overwhelmed her.

  This was Lance.

  Lance Carlyle.

  Spoiled, arrogant Lance Carlyle. The same entitled rich boy she’d known all her life.

  She couldn’t be kissing him.

  “Shit,” she breathed, her throat starting to ache as the situation caught up to her. “What the hell am I doing?”

  His hot, soft expression transformed at her words. She saw it happen. There was a quick succession of changing emotions on his face—moving too fast for her to track—but they ended with a familiar lofty amusement. “It was just a kiss.”

  “Just a kiss?” She almost choked on the words. “Just a kiss? I can’t be kissing you. What the hell was I thinking?”

  He rubbed at his mouth as if he could still feel her lips against it. “You were thinking you wanted to do it.”

  “But I don’t.” She was lying, and he probably knew it. She was still fighting the urge to throw herself back into his arms.

  So she did the only reasonable thing a girl could do in her situation.

  She ran away.

  Four

  SAVANNAH HURRIED TO her room—it was the only place in the condo that was genuinely hers. Even there, the dark wood furniture with its sleek silhouettes and expensive solidity and the smoky blue-and-gray color scheme didn’t really feel like her.

  She did like the large picture above the bed. It was an original oil painting, with simple lines and minimal color, of a moth hovering above a lit candle. She stared up at it as she flopped sideways onto the bed.

  She’d kissed Lance, and it was probably the stupidest thing she could have done.

  The candle in that painting might as well be Lance for her. She was drawn to him just as surely as that moth was drawn to flame, and she’d end up getting burned just as badly.

  She knew it. Of course she knew it. Lance was who he was, and he wasn’t going to change. He’d very likely take sex if she offered, but he wasn’t going to want more than that.

  And she definitely wasn’t stupid enough to look for more from him.

  She lay prostrate for several minutes, her legs hanging over the side of the bed, breathing heavily as she tried to slow her racing heart.

  When she finally calmed down, she felt even worse. Because not only did she want to go back and kiss Lance again, but she’d also started feeling guilty about running out on him the way she had.

  He’d done absolutely nothing wrong this evening. He’d even waited more than once to see if she would pull away before he made another advance. He might deserve a lot of scorn from her for his attitude and some of his actions in the past, but he didn’t deserve it in this.

  He was probably angry. Annoyed with her. Mentally berating her for being weak and changeable and unfeeling. A tease.

  She didn’t want him to think that way about her.

  She wanted to make him understand.

  Without ever making a conscious decision, she was getting off the bed and walking out of her bedroom, her socked feet silent on the area rugs and hardwood floors.

  When she turned the corner into the main room—kitchen, dining room, and living room combined—she pulled to a stop. Lance was sitting on a stool at the island, hunched over with one elbow propped up on the counter and his head resting on his hand. He was staring down at his phone, and he might have been reading something there, but the screen was dark.

  His fingers were pushed into his tangled hair, rubbing his scalp just slightly. He looked exhausted. Strangely defeated.

  Her heart clenched hard.

  She stood for a few seconds before he became aware of her presence. He didn’t immediately straighten up or clear his expression. He just turned his head and gave her one of his sidelong looks. There was mockery in the look, but she could swear it was self-directed. Like he wanted to laugh at himself but was too tired to summon the energy.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I know it all already. You made a huge mistake. It was just a momentary impulse that came out of nowhere and you don’t want to indulge. You’re beating yourself up for being so stupid. You want me to promise never to make a move on
you again.”

  She stared at him, the ache in her chest rising into her throat. Her hand covered the base of her neck where it was hurting.

  He lifted his eyebrows just slightly, his eyes steel gray in the low light. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  She tried to speak but couldn’t, so she walked over to him instead. He was right. He’d summarized everything that had gone through her mind in her room. All she had to do was nod and the subject would be settled for good.

  She’d be safe.

  She’d never be anything other than she was.

  She’d never kiss Lance again.

  She’d never get to touch him the way she wanted.

  “If you’re feeling sorry for me,” Lance began, finally straightening on the stool and turning his whole body toward her, “I promise you don’t have to. Getting rejected when I kiss someone might not be a common occurrence for me, but I guarantee I can handle it.” He sounded wry now. More like his normal self.

  Savannah couldn’t have explained why, but it was the bone-dry tone that made her decision, that assured her he was still Lance Carlyle, too smug and emotionally distant to ever be anything but what he’d always been.

  She didn’t say anything. She just reached up with both hands and pulled his head down toward hers, meeting his lips in a kiss.

  One of his arms wrapped around her immediately, but she could feel a tension in his shoulders and arms, like he was holding himself back.

  She kissed him more eagerly, moving from his upper lip to his bottom one and then giving it a shameless little tug with both her own.

  His body jerked just slightly as she released his lip. He pulled back so he could scan her face as his free hand slid up to cup her face. “Is this some sort of punishment for my lifetime of self-indulgence and depravity? You keep kissing me and getting me all excited and then you pull away and run hide in your room.”

  “I wasn’t hiding.” The words were automatic because arguing with him was as natural as breathing to her now. She moved one hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the bare skin under his hairline.

  “You most certainly were hiding.” He was almost smiling now. “Never seen you so scared in your life.”