This morning was that morning’s polar opposite.
She pulled on a pair of comfy cotton pants. She’d slept in her panties and a silky cami she’d found in her luggage—an entire new wardrobe she hadn’t chosen, yet fit her style so precisely, it gave her pause. Penelope’s doing? The wedding planner’s? Or had it been Reese himself? The idea of him choosing her comfortable yet sensual wardrobe was enticing…
Shoving aside the distracting thought, she pulled a long-sleeved shirt perfect for the chilly morning over her cami and finger-combed her hair. Obeying Penelope’s orders about makeup, she splashed water on her face and dusted on a little powder. Just as she did, another light rap came at the door.
Reese was on the other side in sweatpants and a sweatshirt—both gray—his hair slightly rumpled, his face in need of a trim, and looking more devastating than she thought possible. “Ready?”
“Um…” Words. She couldn’t call up enough to string into a sentence, so she went with a slightly coherent reply. “Yeah. Yes.”
With a nod, he reached past her and snagged the fluffy comforter from the bed, rolling it into a big ball. Then he took her hand—cold—in his—insanely warm—and said, “Let’s go see that sunrise.”
Emerging from the softly lit cabin of the boat to the dark, frigid wind on the deck made her suck air through her teeth. She considered dashing back to bed—after she snatched that heavenly blanket from Reese’s arms—but seeing as this was their first appearance as a married couple, fleeing his presence the morning after wouldn’t be well received. Still, she couldn’t help voicing a complaint.
“Oh my God! It’s freezing out here,” she said, her teeth chattering.
“Worth it, I promise.” Wind kicked his hair. He looked almost rugged with the overgrown stubble and those casual clothes. Like him, but a homier him. She’d never really thought of Reese Crane as “homey.”
“When was the last time you took in a sunrise on a yacht?” he asked, shaking out the blanket.
“Never. You?”
“The morning after I proposed to you.” His mouth quirked and she had no idea if he was joking or not.
“Really?”
“Really. Took the boat out and sat on the water until morning.” He spread the blanket over a bench facing the water and sat.
“Were you having second thoughts?” She’d had about a million.
“Come get warm,” he said instead of answering her. He held the blanket out like a cape and obeying his request, she sat next to him. He rerouted her, lifting her onto his lap, then closed the blanket over her. She snuggled into his heat, moving until she was comfortable.
He grunted when she bumped his—ahem—man part a little too aggressively.
“Sorry.” This time, her wiggle was met with his palms closing over her waist. He turned her to the side where her hip met several inches of steel.
“Hold still,” he said, his voice just as hard. “Before you kill me.”
She bit back a smile. Not because him being turned on was funny, but because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had that effect on a man.
“Laugh it up,” he encouraged, one hand moving up her leg.
“It’s not you. I just…this is…weird.”
“It’s a human reaction,” he said simply.
She gazed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Was this how he categorized the one-night-only dates he was so well known for? As “human reactions”? She almost asked but he interrupted her thoughts.
“We’re supposed to look in love,” he said drily. “Consider this my effort to help that along.”
She let herself giggle, startled at how easy it was to sit on Reese Crane’s lap and laugh. It was as if she’d fallen into an episode of the Twilight Zone.
“That’s better,” he said, his hand coming to rest on her thigh.
She’d brushed her teeth before she came out and was pleased to pick up the hint of mint on his breath as well. They were being so careful. So very careful. And now they were being tasked with indulging. Something Reese was skilled at, but she hadn’t given in to much in her life.
So, go for it.
“Thick hair.” She pushed her fingers through the strands the way she’d wanted to since he’d appeared outside her bedroom door. Wavy, dark brown, but in the coming daylight, she could see the flecks of gold. “No gray yet,” she observed. “Surprising since your father has a head full.”
Unwavering navy eyes stayed on her. So this was what it was like to have his full attention. Since he hadn’t stopped her, she gave in to another whim and ran her fingers down his jaw and over scruff that was soft to the touch. Against her breast, she felt his heart pound.
She dipped her fingers into the collar of his sweatshirt, holding his gaze. His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. The steel beneath the blanket bobbed against her hip.
“Chest hair,” she whispered, exploring carefully. “I like that.”
“Do you.” He tightened his arms around her.
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. The sun peeked over the water, casting golden light over his face, but neither of them looked away from each other to take in the morning making its grand entrance. Reese’s hand came out from under the blanket and cupped her neck, pulling her mouth close to his.
“So fucking soft,” he whispered against his lips. “I’ve never felt skin so smooth.”
“Not ever?” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. They were so close she could almost taste him.
“Never.”
She gave in, erasing the scant space between them, telling herself kissing him was for the benefit of the camera. On contact, Reese crushed her against him, and that’s when she knew.
They weren’t pretending. This kiss was real.
Merina speared one hand up through the back of his hair, her arms still linked around his neck. She needed him as close as possible. His tongue delved into her mouth and she accepted, kissing him as passionately. They made out for long minutes, so long that by the time they separated, she was out of breath. Sunlight had washed over the deck, heating the boat, though they’d done a pretty decent job of heating it themselves.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes hooded and his lips pursed.
“Honey.” She stroked his face. “You look…flushed.”
He didn’t smile at her teasing. In fact, his face went harder than the insistent erection pulsing against her backside.
“That should do it,” he growled.
“Do what?”
“Give the photographers what they need.” He moved her hand from his face and kissed her palm, but it was a flat kiss, his expression equally so. He shifted out from under her and stood.
She didn’t like this “business as usual” guy. She liked rumpled, sexy, kissing guy. She liked couldn’t-control-himself guy.
“I’m going to grab a quick shower.” A twitch of his lips didn’t give way to a real smile before he vanished belowdecks.
Picturing him in the shower without anything on sent a flood of warmth to her belly. Reese had lost control with her and he didn’t like it. She pressed her fingertips to her lips to smother a smile.
She liked it.
Too much.
* * *
Reese rested his fingertips on the blotter of his desk, nostrils flared, his mind a tangle of silken skin and sex and hot kisses that stole the breath from his very lungs.
Only two of which he’d sampled this past weekend.
He’d spent a total of two days aboard Luna, but after the sunrise that accompanied his dick-rise, he’d spent a lot of time avoiding his wife. He’d returned to the deck with coffee for each of them, his body under its best behavior.
He couldn’t afford to let go of his control. There was too much at stake. Crane Hotels. CEO. His legacy. The position he was born and bred and groomed to take. He wouldn’t lose it over an attraction of convenience.
She’s more than convenient and you know it.
Merina was a long game: lasting months, not one night. The attraction between them was as volatile and unstoppable as a brush fire in California’s dry season. Dangerous.
He frowned.
As of this morning, he could take solace in the fact that their ruse did its job. A gossip column in the local paper had offered up photos of spring in Chicago. A section called “Love Is in the Air” featuring budding trees and flowers and a photo of Reese and Merina’s sunrise kiss.
The shot was from too far back to see much more than their faces pressed together aboard Luna. But the headline was key and what had Penelope phoning him first thing this morning to punch the air in triumph.
REESE’S ROCKET UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!
To be fair, he may have felt less homicidal today if his “rocket” had been well tended to.
“No to dinner with the city council,” he answered Bobbie, who was standing in front of his desk jotting things onto a pad of paper. “I’m not in the business of being a social puppet.”
“Yes, sir.” She finished writing, overlooking his bad mood. But he knew she could tell. He could tell. The idea had been to go right back to work after the wedding and carry on as usual, but ever since he’d unzipped his bride’s dress in their shared bedroom, he hadn’t stopped wondering what it’d be like to get her out of her clothes and into his arms. Even when he wasn’t thinking about it, he thought about it. Which was inconvenient. Ill-advised.
Unexpected.
That last description irked him the most. He thought he’d known what to expect from Merina when he’d offered this arrangement. Now life was throwing him a curve ball and he did not like it. Not even a little. Worse, he’d be going “home” tonight, which meant his current method of dealing—avoidance—was about to come to an abrupt end. Workdays didn’t last all day. Not anymore.
Given the mansion’s sheer size, he should have enough breathing space to ignore the potent attraction and get his brain back in the game. But there was no way around sharing a bedroom. The house staff may not be there at night, but come morning, they’d see the sheets disturbed in two separate bedrooms and suspicions would be raised. For the most part, he trusted his staff, but when it came to getting fifteen minutes of fame, he only trusted Magda implicitly. He had one shot at making the public believe in him and Merina. They’d have to keep their guard up in front of everyone.
Bobbie left, but the doors didn’t swing shut before Tag strolled in.
“Would it kill you to wear a fucking suit?” Reese barked.
Tag waited for the doors to shut completely behind him, then crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. “Bro. You have got to find a way to work off this sexual energy or everyone is going to know the truth in a day or two.”
Reese let out a breath that was loud enough to rattle the windows behind him. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
Dammit.
“You are crouched like Wolverine ready to pounce.”
Reese took in his posture, hunching over his desk, fingernails white from the amount of pressure he was applying. He was strung tight. He stood, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck.
“Guess you should’ve taken a mistress alongside your bride,” Tag observed, coming to the guest chair and plunking into it. A half-smile suggested he was kidding, but Reese didn’t find it funny. The only woman he could picture beneath him, legs spread, back arched, face flushed as he drove into her, the air filled with her moans of pleasure, was Merina. What horrible irony that he’d married the one woman he couldn’t fuck.
“I know why you’re stressed,” Tag pointed out, because he was being oh-so-helpful today.
“It’s work.”
“No, it’s not.”
Reese didn’t sit; he was too wired. He affected a bored expression. “Fine. What is it? Enlighten me.”
“You have to go back to the house and live there,” his brother answered matter-of-factly.
“And?” But Reese knew where this was going.
“And your suite here at the hotel will be neglected for the first time in years. You’re returning to the scene of the crime, man, and don’t think that’s not going to affect you. Having Gwyneth take off was one thing, but having her take off with Hayes was the fuck-you to end all fuck-yous.”
Hayes. The second-to-last person Reese wanted to think about was his ex-best friend. The first being Gwyneth.
“Ancient history,” Reese said. The mention of their names sent a wave of regret through him, but most of that sting was because he’d been taken advantage of—had allowed himself to be taken advantage of—and hadn’t stopped it. “Right now my focus is on surviving the next six months.” Or less. Maybe the board could be wooed before then and they could divorce before his dick shriveled and dropped off. He repressed a shudder.
“Is she not cooperating?”
If by “not cooperating” Tag meant she was “not having sex with him,” he was spot-on. Like Reese, Tag dated often, only when Tag dumped his date it wasn’t with a curt conversation and delivered flowers. Tag did it with a wink, a smile, and a playful bump on the jaw, and the line that worked best for him: Let’s save ourselves the trouble. The blow-off matched his easygoing attitude, so girls most often left with a matching smile.
“Meaning?” Reese asked.
“Meaning is she bitching at you all the time? You two have this volatile energy.” He wiggled his fingers in front of him. “Combustible. If you’re not screwing it away, you have to be arguing.” He shook his head curtly. “Not good for the public.”
Hmm. Great point.
“We’ll manage.”
“I didn’t come in here to razz you, believe it or not,” Tag said. “I wanted to suggest you come with me to play racquetball. Burn off some of your rage before you climb this building and start swiping at low-flying planes.”
“Racquetball.” The idea of pounding a little blue ball into the wall sounded like a great way to forget about his own pair. At least for a few hours. “You’re on.”
“Was that a yes?” Tag put a hand over his heart and pretended to have a heart attack.
“Don’t make me change my mind,” Reese said, instantly feeling his mood lift.
It’d been a while since Reese had walked away from his desk on a weeknight.
He was overdue.
* * *
By eleven o’clock, Merina was uncharacteristically beat. Typically, she’d just now be getting going. A day running the Van Heusen pulled her attention in nineteen thousand different directions, so it was during the late hours she was able to catch up.
Car window rolled down, she opened the gate via fingerprint, a detail set up this morning before she’d left for work, and parked in the massive garage next to Reese’s fleet of billionaire-mobiles. She sneered. Those cars were like the women he used to date. Ridiculous, silly excuses for attention, only to be discarded or replaced the moment he tired of them.
Wow. Along with being beat, she was grouchy too. Purse on her shoulder, she stepped from her non-flashy sedan and moved to the side entrance to the mansion, which she was pretty sure opened to a cloakroom…or the kitchen? She couldn’t remember. She’d had a hurried run-through of a tour twice now and determined that the house was a maze.
Before she could open the door, it popped open before her, revealing a portly, smiling woman wearing a black uniform, a white shirt, and a tired smile.
“Magda,” Merina greeted, fingers mentally crossed that she’d gotten the woman’s name right.
“Mrs. Crane.” Magda’s accent was pure Chicago. “Late night for you. Were you able to work the gate and the garage door okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Everything hums like a well-oiled machine around here.”
“Thank you for saying so.” She pointed over her shoulder to the kitchen. “Your dinner is in the oven. Tamales, or if you don’t care for those, a small tray of spinach lasagna.”
Yum.
“I’ll probably have bo
th,” Merina said. She could get used to coming home to dinner. Typically, she ate room service in her office, and as good as the food was at the Van Heusen, there was only so much spring-mix salad and seared ahi a girl could eat.
“Good night, Mrs. Crane.”
“Good night.”
Magda left via the open garage door and Merina punched the button to close it. She ended up opening the wrong garage doors twice before figuring out what buttons to push to close them again.
“Pull it together, Mrs. Crane,” she chided herself as she walked inside. She set the alarm code on the door and strolled through the kitchen, the smells as tantalizing as promised. And, as she’d promised Magda, she sat down to a healthy portion of both lasagna and tamales before rinsing her dish and fork and depositing them into the empty dishwasher.
“For my next trick, I’ll find my room.” She’d been trying to be funny, but it wasn’t so funny when she got turned around in the staircase that led from the kitchen to the opposite side of the house, and then in attempting to reroute to the other hallway, ended up in an upstairs office instead.
Tall, rich mahogany shelves lined the walls, books clogging them. An arched window faced the lake, taking up half the wall. A desk dominated the space, and the man facing the window dominated the desk. She couldn’t see Reese’s face, just the back of his head, chair turned, hand propping up his head. She had no idea if he’d heard her approach until he spoke.
“Evening.”
“I’m lost. I was on my way to the bedroom and made a wrong turn in Albuquerque.”
“How do you think I ended up in here?” He turned, dropping his elbow and facing her. He was in his signature dark suit, this one with a subtle pinstripe design visible thanks to the moonlight, and his tie knot had been loosened, his top button opened. His scruff was short, his hair perfectly styled, and that crooked tie was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen him wear. It bespoke of his loss of control, and she was quickly learning “uncontrolled” was the way she preferred him.
“So you gave up?” She walked to the desk and Reese’s eyes dropped to her feet before skimming up her pencil skirt and lingering at her silk shirt. That’s when she remembered his comment about her tattoo. Was that why his eyes so often strayed to her chest?
The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) Page 13