When she expressed perfectly justified outrage at such a course of action, he promised he’d make it up to her.
He had. More than once last night. He’d been fully committed to the enterprise. They’d both had a very good time.
And evidently he’d been so worn out afterward that he hadn’t bothered to go back to his own bed.
She liked the weight of his arm across her stomach, as if he was assuring himself in his sleep that she was beside him. She liked the way he occasionally snuffled. It made him feel more real, more human. She liked the way it felt like they were truly married, waking up like this in the same bed.
She liked it so much she had to stop herself. She reached over and poked Lance in the side.
He made a grumbling sound but didn’t move or open his eyes.
She poked him again, this time pairing it with “Hey, Carlyle.”
“Why am I being poked at such an ungodly hour?”
She wanted to giggle but managed not to. “It’s not an ungodly hour. It’s almost six thirty.”
“That can’t be right.” He still hadn’t opened his eyes, although he was obviously fully awake now. His hair was falling over his forehead and eyelids. “My alarm goes off at six.”
“Well, it probably did, but you aren’t in your room. You never made it back there last night.”
“Why not?”
“You tell me. Spending the night doesn’t seem appropriate behavior for casual-slash-hate sex, but you’re the one who did it.”
He finally lifted an eyelid and peered at her with one groggy hazel eye. “Sorry. Must have gone to sleep.”
“That’s okay. Happens to the best of us occasionally.” She was enjoying the conversation, and she was pretty sure he’d seen the smile she was trying to hide.
He closed his eyes and adjusted his position, turning his head to the opposite side and settling in like he was getting more comfortable.
She huffed. “Are you going back to sleep? It’s past your getting up time. What about your rigorous exercise regime?”
“I’ll skip it today.”
“You’re skipping again? You keep it up and your sexy arms will be history.” She reached over to caress the rippling line from his shoulder to his wrist. She really couldn’t help it, and she’d challenge any straight woman to resist the impulse when faced with the sight of one of Lance’s arms naked in bed like this.
Despite his pose of sleeping, Lance was obviously keeping up with the conversation. He replied in an exaggerated mumble. “Yesterday was arm day. My sexy arms will be fine.”
“Oh. That’s good. I’d hate to cheat womankind out of the sight of those arms even if they just get to admire them from a distance.”
She could have sworn he was smiling even though she couldn’t see his face. He still wasn’t moving, so she amused herself with caressing his arm some more, gradually moving her hand over to his shoulder and then down his bare back.
His back was pretty damn impressive too—tight, lean muscles against the angles of his shoulder blades and the column of his spine.
He made a low humming sound as she petted him.
“I like your freckles too,” she admitted, enjoying the faintly dappled colors of his skin with the freckles fading into his tan.
He mumbled something that sounded like, “Mm-hmm.”
“I do. Creates some chiaroscuro.” The word wasn’t accurate, but she figured Lance would enjoy it anyway.
He did. His shoulders shook briefly with suppressed amusement.
She was smiling like an idiot at his tousled, curly head. Then she noticed a dark mark on his right shoulder.
A bruise that was just starting to fade.
She was the cause of that bruise. Not just that first night but the second night as well. She’d bitten him there as she came, making the mark. Since then, she kept biting him in the same place, so the bruise hadn’t yet had a chance to fade completely away.
She didn’t do it on purpose. She wasn’t even aware when it was happening. That was just the place on his body that her mouth ended up when she was trying to deal with how good she was feeling.
She kind of liked the bruise. Like she’d marked him as hers.
Following a ridiculous impulse without thinking, she leaned over and bit the top of his shoulder, as close to the bruise as she could get.
She didn’t bite hard, but the effect was dramatic. Lance let out a rough sound and flipped over to face her.
“Did you just bite me?” he demanded.
“Nope. Not me.”
“You bit me!” A possessive kind of smile was barely hidden on his face, beneath his feigned outrage. “I was innocently sleeping, and you just went and bit me.”
She giggled helplessly and leaned back over to kiss the place she’d marked. “Sorry. Just a random impulse. Something about that shoulder is just begging to be bitten.”
She was still laughing as she rolled away from him and started to get up. She was wearing nothing but one of Lance’s undershirts, which was the only convenient article of clothing she’d found on her way to the bathroom after sex last night.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Lance grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back toward him. “You don’t get to bite me first thing in the morning and then get away without appropriate recompense.”
She squealed as she mock struggled against his grip until he had her turned over onto her back with his upper body braced above her. “Recompense? We’re doing recompense now?”
His grin was almost feral, and it was both sexy and something else. Something deeper that made her heart hammer. “Well, someone’s got to provide fair payment for that malicious bite I got just now.”
“Fine,” she said with a resigned sigh. She pulled the neckline of the white undershirt down to expose one of her shoulders. “Bite away. We’ll be even.”
His eyes narrowed to a wicked glint. He very slowly lowered his face toward her exposed skin. Just before he reached it, he glanced up to meet her eyes. “You ready for it?” he asked in an irresistibly husky voice.
Her breath hitched as she nodded. She was ridiculously excited about the bite. She chewed her lower lip as his lips brushed against her skin, feather soft.
Then, instead of biting, he planted his lips and blew hard, making a very rude sound against her skin. The vibrations caused intense chills to run all through her body. She let out a startled squeal and tried to pull away from him, but she was trapped by his arms and big body.
“What was that?” she demanded, relaxing back onto the bed once the chills had subsided. She scowled up at him for good measure, although she was still having to struggle not to laugh.
He leaned down as if he would kiss her, but he murmured instead, “Re-com-pense.”
“That wasn’t recompense. That wasn’t a fair trade. That was—” Her words were broken off when Lance tilted his head to press his mouth against the other side of her neck and blew hard a second time.
She squealed again and then kept squealing as he kept blowing, his own body shaking with amusement he was hiding better than she was. Again on her neck. Then lifting her shirt to reach her stomach. Then even doing it on her thighs. She made a feeble attempt to get away from him, but he was too strong for her, and the truth was she didn’t try very hard.
She was sobbing with laughter and frustration and pleasure when he pulled her leg up to reach her inner thigh. “No, no, no, no, stop! I give up! I give up!”
He lowered her thigh back to the bed with another grin. “You give up?”
“I give up.” Her breath was coming out as wheezes, but she managed something resembling a glare. “Bastard.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Nothing! Don’t do anymore, or I swear I’m going to pee in my pants.”
He chuckled and rubbed her inner thigh with irresistible entitlement, as if all her less-than-perfect flesh there belonged to him. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re not wearing any pants.”
“Then
the peeing thing would be even messier.”
He chuckled and bent his elbows so he could kiss her.
She wanted to kiss him but also didn’t trust him at the moment, so she turned her head away.
“No more,” he said. “I promise.”
She relaxed, and he closed the distance between them with a very gentle kiss. “If I’d known all it would take for you to back down was to blow a bunch of raspberries all over your body, I would have done it ages ago.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She tangled both hands in his hair. “I wouldn’t have let you.”
“That’s true. I’m not sure how I got so lucky this month, but I’m not going to complain.” He kissed her again, lowering more of his weight onto her. His erection poked into her stomach before he readjusted it so it was pressed flat between their bodies.
“So blowing raspberries turns you on, does it?” she asked, still smiling as she rubbed up against him.
“No. But you do. You do every time.”
There was no way in the world she didn’t want to hear that. She arched in pleasure as he found her mouth again and kissed her more deeply. They kissed and caressed each other in a haze of heavy enjoyment until he was fitting himself between her legs and pushing his hard length inside her.
“Not too rough this morning,” she said against his lips as her body adjusted to the substance of him inside her. “I’m kind of sore from last night.”
“Okay. No problem.” He started to rock his hips with a steady, gentle rhythm, and it was exactly what she wanted to feel.
She bent her legs and moved with him, rubbing her hands up and down his back until she ended up holding on to his ass, feeling the muscles as they clenched. After a couple of minutes, she squeezed one of her hands between their bodies so she could rub her clit as they moved together.
Then her inner muscles started to tighten.
“There you go,” Lance mumbled against her mouth. He was still trying to kiss her. “Is that working for you? What do you need me to do?”
“Just keep doing that,” she gasped, rubbing hard at her clit. “It’s working. It’s working.”
She couldn’t say anything more because he found her lips again. It wasn’t the most skillful or coordinated of kisses, but it was deep and naked and real.
She whimpered into his mouth as her body shook through a climax, and then she kept squeezing around him as his speed got jerky and he started to grunt his way to climax.
She loved the feel of his body as he came. She loved the helpless sounds he made. She loved the way everything about him softened afterward. She stroked him as he came down.
He kissed her mouth. Then kissed the side of her throat. Then he rolled off her and stretched out on the bed beside her.
She was wet between her legs from both his fluids and hers, and it wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings, but she wasn’t quite ready to move yet. Not even to clean herself up and pee, which she still needed to do.
“That was amazing,” Lance huffed out. He reached over and patted the first part of her body he touched, which happened to be her hand. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you. You’re not bad yourself, even if that was the last thing I expected to be doing at six forty-five on a Friday morning.”
Something changed about his body. “Shit. It’s Friday. Isn’t it?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that? Almost the weekend.”
“I know.” He groaned and rubbed at his face. “Damn it.”
“What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
“No. Not really.” He turned his head to meet her eyes. “It’s nothing really. Just my mother’s birthday.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “It is?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you... do you need to do something? See her or something?”
“Yeah.” He groaned again, softer this time. “There’s always a birthday dinner. I have to go. I can skip almost everything else, but I can’t skip that without really hurting her. I just dread it.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She glanced toward him. “It’s at your parents’ house?”
“No. Fortunately, it’s at a restaurant, which makes it a little better. But it’s just me, my mom, my dad, my sister and her husband. So it’s nothing but family. It’s usually... terrible.”
Savannah knew very well how conflicted Lance’s relationship with his family was, and she hated how down he seemed at the thought of the dinner, even after having a very nice morning. “Your sister’s husband comes?” she asked slowly.
Lance lowered his brows. “Y-yeah.”
“So I could come too, if you wanted. I mean, if you thought it would help.”
He licked his lips, his body growing very still. “You’re not going to want to come to this dinner.”
“Well, it probably wouldn’t be on my top-ten list of things to do tonight, but it’s not that big a deal to me. If you think it would help, I’ll come with you.” When he didn’t respond immediately—just kept staring at her like she’d grown a second head—she hurried on, “But it’s no big deal. If it’s easier for you to go alone, that’s totally fine with me too. Just thought I’d offer.”
“You’d really come?”
Suddenly self-conscious, she shrugged and glanced away. “Sure. Why not? It’s just a dinner. I’ve done plenty of dinners with you before.”
“But this would be different. This is going to be very uncomfortable. They basically hate every single one of my life choices, and they aren’t afraid to tell me so to my face.” There was a new glint in his eyes despite his words. Something that looked a little like hope.
It was that hope that decided her. “I’ve handled plenty of uncomfortable situations before. I’m not personally invested in your folks, so it’s not going to be as hard for me as it is for you. It’s really fine, Lance. I’ll go. I’ll go.”
He took a strange shaky breath and picked her hand up off the bed. He squeezed it before releasing it gently. “Thank you.”
THE DINNER WAS AT THE most expensive restaurant in Green Valley (and there were a lot of expensive restaurants in town).
Savannah didn’t much like this restaurant. She found it stuffy and pretentious, and the food wasn’t nearly good enough for the prices they charged. But evidently the prestige was enough to make it a popular place. It was impossible to get in without making a reservation at least a month in advance.
The Carlyles had one of the best tables in the place, in a private alcove near a stone fireplace.
It wasn’t nearly cold enough for a fire, but one was blazing anyway. Savannah was uncomfortably hot as soon as she walked in, and excessive heat definitely wasn’t good for people’s tempers.
She was worried.
Lance felt tense beside her.
She hadn’t been sure what to wear, so she’d put on an outfit that was nearly always safe in Green Valley. A dark gray pencil skirt and a light blue-gray cashmere twinset with good heels and tasteful diamond jewelry. Lance was wearing a regular suit, so she figured she was dressy enough to pass for anything but the most formal of cocktail parties while still not drawing attention to herself.
Apparently she’d chosen well since Penelope—Lance’s sister—was wearing a near-identical outfit in different colors.
Lance was more attentive to her than normal. Getting the car door for her when they arrived at the restaurant. Keeping his hand on the small of her back as they walked. Guiding her to a seat at the table and pulling the chair out for her before she sat down. She figured it was a way to distract himself from interacting with his family.
She didn’t mind. It felt nice.
The first hour of the dinner went fine. It was definitely not fun. Every word felt forced. Fake. But the conversation was basically polite as they discussed Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle’s trip to the south of France last month and the new house Penelope and her husband had bought outside DC, where they lived.
Savannah said as little as possible, replying whenever
she was asked a question but mostly letting the others guide the discussion. She didn’t know these people well enough to be sure of the best things to say, and the last thing she wanted was to make it worse for Lance by accidentally stepping on someone’s toes.
After the main course, Mrs. Carlyle opened her presents. Lance had bought her a gorgeous scarf—labeling it as being from both him and Savannah—and his mother appeared to adore it.
By the time a server brought out expertly decorated individual lemon cakes—with a single candle on Mrs. Carlyle’s—Savannah was starting to relax. Not much longer left of the dinner, and then they could leave. The ordeal would be over, and it wouldn’t have been as bad as she’d expected.
She shouldn’t have relaxed.
As soon as Mrs. Carlyle blew out her candle, Penelope turned to Lance and asked, “So, how’s your little business going?”
That was what she said. Little business. Her tone was fake pleasant. The condescension was clear.
Savannah had never known Penelope well. She was five years older than Lance and had been off to college by the time Savannah was ten, so she’d never had a clear impression of her except that she came across as the perfect Green Valley country-club girl even after she moved out of town.
Because she wasn’t prepared, Savannah stared in astonishment at Penelope before she managed to control her expression.
Lance was obviously not surprised at all. He arched his eyebrows in his lofty look and murmured, “It’s going well.”
“It’s really cute how hard you’re working on it. Are you getting any better clients?” Penelope was all big hazel eyes, perfect lipstick, and false innocence.
Savannah wanted to scratch lines down her face.
Then Mr. Carlyle got in on the conversation, giving pompous, unneeded advice about what Lance should be doing with his business and how to raise the profile so he could get clients that really mattered rather than dealing with the riffraff.
A Wedded Arrangement (Convenient Marriages, #3) Page 11