Then realization dropped on his head like an anvil. “Do you think I will throw you out of my house when the contract is over?”
Red flooded her averted cheek.
It matched the shade filling his vision. “How could you—you don’t trust me?”
Her gaze continued to fix on a point far to his right. “It’s not that. But—”
“But you don’t.” The ground shifted under his feet, throwing everything he thought was solid and sure into question.
She sighed. “Our agreement is only until the Ruby Hawk deal is signed. That’s less than a month away. So I asked Mai if I could continue to rent the room.”
“I’ve been honest with you at every step—”
“Yes, but the steps keep changing! I was supposed to find you a bride. Not be the bride. Who knows what your next strategy will be?”
The room turned dark and muddled, the color running together in a muddy mess. “I wasn’t aware you disliked being married to me,” he managed to say.
Her eyes widened. “No! That’s not what I mean! I love—” She stopped, and then pressed her lips together. “I am more than happy with our arrangement. But it has an end date. You don’t expect me to hang around after it is over.” She met his gaze straight on. “Do you?”
Did he?
He hadn’t thought much past the completion of the deal with Nestor. By now, he should have gathered up all the data points and run a regression analysis to determine the natural course forward. But he had no plans past signing the paperwork with Nestor.
He and Danica could make a plan. Together.
He opened his mouth but was cut off by a shake of her head. “No, of course you don’t. And I didn’t expect you to.”
Her dismissal stung. Like an entire colony of fire ants. “You won’t be tossed aside.” He used his CEO voice. “That would be a waste of invested time and resources.”
She flinched, just a millimeter, before she recovered with a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “Spoken like someone who values heartlessness.”
That stung even more. “A heartless person would walk away. Not my intention.”
“A heartless person is someone who views others as objects only. No emotion. No love,” she finished in a rush. “Let’s get the boxes over to your house. Then Operation Living Together can commence.” She moved to walk toward the front room.
She would not distract him by changing the subject. “You say I’m heartless. So be it. But you’re refusing to trust. That’s worse.”
She whirled around, her hands thrown into the air. “How can I trust you when there’s no emotion?”
“It didn’t seem to get in your way last night. And this morning.” She trusted him enough to shatter in his arms, crying his name as he shuddered inside her.
She flushed. “Yes, the sex is great. I admit it. But sex is a, what did you call it? ‘Chemical reaction caused by hormones and preprogrammed neurological responses’?” She quoted his words from the taqueria back at him. “When there’s no lo—caring,” she corrected herself, “there can’t be trust.”
“People trust each other every day without being emotionally involved,” he pointed out with perfect logic. “Trust is what allows society to function. If we didn’t trust firemen to show up when called or banks to hold our money—”
“Or Nestor to hold up his end of the deal?” Her direct stare challenged him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Or business deals.”
“And there’s the rub. I don’t trust Nestor or Irene either.”
He shook his head. “There’s a difference between blind trust and expecting someone to hold up their end of the deal—”
“Which you can’t trust Nestor and Irene to do, because they don’t care about you. They want something from you instead.”
On the contrary, they did care. About winning. About getting the upper hand in the game of one-upmanship their families had played for decades.
He was still furious with Irene for telling his parents about his marriage. That was underhanded, even for her. His parents always looked down on his efforts to be his own man, build his own legacy. It was the twenty-first century, but they held Victorian notions that working for a living would degrade their social position. They would have been the first to urge him to take the offered money and give up his company, even to Nestor, if it meant he would join them in spending the family trust jetting from golf course to ski slope.
Irene knew that. Siccing his parents on him while wrestling control of his company was just an added bonus for her. “That’s not precisely true—”
“You know what I think?” Her words tumbled out quickly, as if a dam holding back a swollen river had finally burst. “You don’t want to believe in caring—in love—because it would mean giving up control. And you can’t stand not being in control. You want to corral the entire world, turn it into nice neat equations. But the world doesn’t work that way.”
What? No. He didn’t believe in love because it wasn’t real. Oxytocin and other hormones tricked the brain into attachment, and smart humans learned how to manipulate that to get what they wanted. Trust, on the other hand, was a cerebral choice, born of rationality and logic. It was the most powerful covenant possible between two people.
And he trusted her. Not just with the deal, but with his real self. The self who bought his own computer by gambling online while still in middle school. The man who no longer needed his parents’ approval but wouldn’t mind having it, on his terms.
She’d learn to place her trust in him. They still had time before their prenup came to its conclusion. And he was confident they could make an even more advantageous deal when this agreement came to its end.
The sun outside the windows started its descent, casting a golden glow over the room. It lit her curls, turning them into a halo that framed her heart-shaped face. Hazy rays outlined the curves of her hips and waist, reminding him how well he knew her unique geography but still had more to explore. His gaze dropped to her lips, pursed into an eminently kissable shape. Her cheeks were rosy, her gaze dark and wide.
His groin tightened. He and Danica may disagree on emotion, but when it came to physical activities, they came together. Many times. Each explosion more mind-shattering than the last.
“I thought you liked my control,” he said, moving toward her until only inches separated them. He brushed a loose curl off her cheek, allowing his fingers to linger on the soft smoothness of her skin. “A lot,” he breathed into her ear.
She blinked. Her crossed arms relaxed, her body tilting toward his. Several emotions, few of which he could identify, came and went on her face. She settled on a half smile, her closed lips softly curving. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
“Is it working?” He kissed the skin where her neck met her shoulder, breathing in her delectable scent.
She let out a soft gasp and inclined her head to give him more access. “I didn’t tell you the best part about rooming with Mai. She has a double shift today. She won’t be home until 10:00 p.m.”
He grinned. The knot in his gut loosened, untied. Sex was familiar. Sex, he could handle. “Really?” he rumbled.
She nodded, that mischievous pink tongue of hers appearing as she licked her upper lip. “I have the house to myself,” she breathed, and wound her arms around his neck.
“Good to know,” he replied. He started to remove the elastic from her ponytail, but she moved away.
“No.”
He stared at her. “No?”
She nodded. “My house, my rules. And rule number one—” she stood on tiptoe so she could whisper in his ear, her breath hot against his skin “—is no touching. I get to touch you. Let’s see how you can handle not being in control.”
* * *
Danica focused on Luke, her hands gripping his tightly. When they made love, Luke
ensured she was awash in pleasure before he would allow himself to take his. Even moving into his house had to be on his terms, the shots called by him.
After meeting his parents, she had a better idea of what drove Luke. Far better to separate love from sex or remove love from the equation altogether when marriage was a game of power. He’d warned her, but she hadn’t believed it. Then she’d seen it with her own eyes.
She couldn’t change him. She couldn’t make him see winning wasn’t the only thing. In fact, it didn’t even make the top one hundred of things that make life worth living. She couldn’t make him believe unconditional love had a power of its own, so great it could move worlds.
But for now, he was in her hands. Literally. She was the one in charge. “No touching,” she reiterated, and stepped back. “If you do, I’ll stop.”
She dropped his hands just long enough to grab a long piece of fabric from the organizer hanging on the back of her door while his hopeful gaze focused on the queen-size bed that dominated the space in her small bedroom. By the time his attention turned back to her, she had finished looping the item around his wrists and tying them behind his back with a square knot.
He looked over his shoulder, straining to see his hands. “What in the world did you use?”
“Hogwarts school tie from a trip to Universal Studios,” she said. “I’m a Hufflepuff.”
He shook his head. “I have no idea what that means.” Then he wagged his eyebrows. “But I like the sound of huffing and puffing.”
“I suppose that makes you the Big Bad Wolf.”
He growled, making her laugh. She began to unbutton his shirt, pausing to trail her fingers through the crisp hair outlining his pecs. His flat brown nipples just begged to be touched, and with her thumbs she drew circles, ever so softly, over each one.
A shudder racked his body, and he leaned down to kiss her. She stepped back just in time and wagged a finger in front of his tempting lips. “No touching.”
“I thought you meant with my hands.”
“Don’t think,” she breathed in his ear, then nipped his earlobe. “Feel.”
His blue eyes were even darker. “Don’t worry, that’s happening.”
“If you’re talking, you’re thinking,” she warned and scraped her nails across his nipples. His Adam’s apple worked for a few beats, and the erection she could feel against her stomach pressed harder.
She stepped back, just a smidge, so her right hand could follow the dark trail leading down his muscled stomach and disappearing into his khaki trousers. The front of his pants sported an impressive bulge. It took only a second to undo his belt and then both her hands were free to slip between the waistband of his boxer briefs and the firm skin of his lower abdomen, exploring the straining prize awaiting her.
Luke’s breath came in staggered bursts. His hips bucked, brushing against her. When she took her hands away, he stopped.
“Danica.” Her name was a strangled combination of syllables.
She grinned. Giving his erection one last caress, she moved away to slowly unbutton her blouse, pausing after each one to see if he was watching. His gaze was glued to her chest. She let the silk fabric fall to the floor and shimmied out of her skirt. When her relationship with Luke turned physical, Danica had decided she needed to invest in new lingerie. Today’s matched set was nude-colored lace trimmed with black satin ribbons. She chose the bra because it created cleavage for days, while the wisp of lace covering her bottom seemingly revealed everything yet left most to the imagination.
She didn’t need to be psychic to know where Luke’s imagination was leading him. His hungry gaze followed her as she walked back to him. Placing a hand on his chest, proud of herself for controlling the tremble caused by the near-feral expression on his face, she helped him step out of his pants and underwear. Then she carefully steered him backward toward the wing chair in the corner of the room. He sank down into it, his gaze never once leaving hers.
She could get lost in the heat she saw there. The heat and the need and the... No. She would not delude herself there was anything resembling caring in his gaze. He liked sex, and he liked having sex with her. That was all. Still, a tiny corner of her heart began to beat in hopeful rhythm.
Keeping her eyes focused on his, she found his erection, even bigger than before. She resumed her strokes, firm followed by soft and going back to firm again. He stifled a sound deep in his throat as his eyes rolled back, his head falling against the chair. Then she knelt in front of him and replaced her hands with her mouth, her tongue continuing the rhythm.
His loud groan pierced straight to her core. The liquid heat gathering between her legs burst into greedy conflagration. She pressed her legs together to relieve some tension. This was about him, not her. Still, she wasn’t sure if she would be the one to break down and ask for completion.
“Danica, I—” his voice was strained “—need to touch you.”
She redoubled her efforts, lost in his scent and his taste and the sheer pleasure of having him at her mercy. He was close. She could feel it.
“Danica,” he growled. “Please. Please.”
Please? The word was so unexpected, she lost her rhythm and fell backward on her heels. Luke Dallas actually said please?
In one movement Luke was out of the chair, the tie holding his hands gone and his shirt shrugged off. He picked her off the floor and threw her on the bed. She landed on her back, stunned by the sudden change in elevation, her arms and legs akimbo. Before she could gather her thoughts as well as her limbs, she heard the rip of a foil packet.
Turning her head, she watched Luke roll the condom on with record speed before he joined her on the bed, removing all disappointment she hadn’t been able to complete her task. He pulled the scrap of lace covering her entrance aside and then he was in her, his full length buried in her hot, needy depth.
She came so hard she saw galaxies of shooting stars, their fiery trails matching the fire trailing in her veins, every nerve on full alert. Luke stilled above her and then he shouted her name, his full weight collapsing onto her. She didn’t mind. She gathered him close to her, enjoying the raspy breathing in her ear, the scratch of his shaved cheek. For this brief minute, he was all hers.
* * *
Luke was spent. Completely, utterly, fully spent. He could feel his lungs working, so at least he was still alive. He didn’t think his muscles would obey him even if the fate of the planet depended on it. But Danica was beneath him and he didn’t want to crush her, so with a supreme effort he managed to roll to the side. She made a disappointed sound and followed him, curling against him.
That was...there were no words. Explosive, yes. Amazing, sure. But he’d had explosive, amazing sex before. He prided himself on ensuring both he and his partner left the bed with broad smiles on their faces. But all the superlatives in the world couldn’t capture what he just experienced.
What he and Danica experienced together.
She stirred against him and he turned his head to see big green eyes blinking back at him. “Hey,” she said with a small smile.
“Hey,” he answered, and drew her into his arms. She sighed and put her head on his chest, her blond curls tangling in every direction. He tangled his fingers in them, loving the soft, springy texture. Her breathing deepened, became regular.
His limbs were heavy and he could feel himself following her into slumber, but he wanted to make the most of his time in her space. It afforded him a rare glimpse into the private Danica, which she kept so carefully guarded. Maybe that was why he reacted badly to the idea of some of her things remaining here. He wanted to have all of her.
The surface of her dresser was bare, except for a small collection of comic-book action figures. There was something in the way they stood, smiles on their faces, hands balled on their hips to take on the world, that reminded him of Danica. Her stance had been identical wh
en she took on his parents.
On her nightstand, photos in silver frames showed Danica with an older man and woman he assumed were her parents. He frowned at the photo of a young man, handsome and confident in a football uniform. An old boyfriend? One she kept close to her pillow?
He must have moved, for Danica blinked awake. She looked up at him with a smile on her face, but it faded when she followed the direction of his gaze.
“That’s my family,” she said.
“I thought they were your parents. They look happy.”
“They are.” She paused. “Well, mostly.”
“And the other photo?” He tried to sound casual.
She shifted away from him. He missed the tangle of her bare legs with his. “My brother. Matt.”
“I didn’t know you had siblings.”
“Just the one. He’s eight years younger. My mom said he was her best surprise ever. I think so too.”
“You sound close.”
“I was old enough to help with his care. Sometimes Matt jokes he doesn’t have a sister, he has another mother.”
He indicated the photo. “He plays football?”
She nodded. “He was a gifted athlete—basketball, baseball, soccer, you name it. But his true love was football.”
“You said ‘was.’ He doesn’t play now?”
“You caught that.” She thinned her lips into a straight line, and then slowly released them. “Matt is a senior in high school. Colleges started to scout him during last season. Oh, not big programs like Stanford or USC. Smaller schools. His coaches told us if he played well this year, he might get a full scholarship. I can’t tell you how much that would’ve meant to my parents.” He caught the glint of tears in her eyes.
“What happened?”
She brushed the moisture away. “His helmet—we still don’t know why, but it flew off when he took a big hit. He lost consciousness and when he woke up, he couldn’t move his arms and legs. The doctors said he suffered partial cervical spinal-cord shock. It was a miracle he didn’t break his neck.”
Wanted: Billionaire's Wife Page 14