by Naima Simone
The short ceremony rushed by at lightning speed. Soon, the reverend asked them to repeat after him. She didn’t stumble over her vows, and to her ears she sounded truthful.
Almost over. We’re almost there.
“Lucas has prepared special vows for his bride,” the pastor announced with a nod.
Sydney barely controlled her flinch of surprise. He had? Why? This wasn’t a usual, loving ceremony. Why would he…?
“Sydney,” he began, his deep timbre at once loud and intimate, almost as if for her ears only. “I know our relationship has been…unconventional. I know your acceptance of me and us has been a sacrifice and a leap into the unknown. I promise today, in front of family and friends, that you haven’t leaped alone. And from this day forward, for as long as we are together, I vow you will never be alone again. I promise to protect you, provide for you, shelter you, and dedicate every day of our marriage proving to you how beautiful and special you are. How wanted you are.”
Tears, unbidden and hot, stung her eyes. To their wedding guests, she probably appeared like an emotionally overcome bride touched by her groom’s pledge of love. But they didn’t understand the hidden truth. This…this message wrapped up in pretty words actually meant something to her—where the traditional vows wouldn’t have—because they were honest. No promises of love and until death do us part. Just his own promise to honor her. To respect her.
And for the year they would be man and wife, it was enough.
“Lucas.” She paused, but the flash of surprise and maybe even pleasure in his eyes encouraged her to continue. “You were…unexpected in my life.” She couldn’t help the small smile at the private meaning between the two of them. “I promise today that I will be the wife you need and won’t betray you. And for as long as we are together, you won’t walk alone, either.”
She held out the ring she’d clutched in her hand.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
…
He was a married man.
Even as Lucas accepted more congratulations from one of the guests invited to the intimate ceremony, he sought out the woman responsible for the simple but elegant transformation of his brownstone’s parlor level into a wedding venue.
Sydney Blake. Sydney Oliver, now.
His wife.
Vibrant red, orange, and gold leaves outside the floor-to-ceiling bay windows created a brilliant backdrop for his bride as she chatted with Terry Henley, the CFO of Blake Corporation and her godfather. Shoulders Lucas had bared and kissed just seven days ago gleamed like honey. The strapless lace and silk dress cupped her breasts and waist then flowed over her hips, ending in a train. Her thick caramel-colored strands looped and swirled around her head into a loose tail that appeared soft…romantic.
Gorgeous as hell.
Grim resolve settled in his chest like a great boulder in a dark, bottomless well. He’d plotted, threatened, and blackmailed to voluntarily shackle himself in a commitment he detested.
But Lucas wasn’t blinded by love and denial. This union had a single purpose. And though he wanted—fucking lusted—after his wife with a need that bordered on insanity, he’d let her walk away a year from today. Before he’d put this plan into place, he hadn’t planned on getting married. His experience had taught him that love, honesty, and fidelity were elusive dreams when money, power, or prenups were involved. And while Sydney hadn’t married him for who he was or what he possessed, blackmail didn’t make a solid foundation for marriage, either.
“For a man who just entered connubial bliss, you don’t look very happy.”
Lucas shot a glance at Aiden, who’d appeared at his elbow. “Shut it.”
His friend shrugged and sipped from a glass of champagne. “Sydney did a beautiful job. Especially considering what she had to work with. You know, time constraints, last-minute details…blackmail.”
“Aiden,” Lucas growled.
“Fine, fine,” he drawled, his free hand held up in surrender. “Those were beautiful vows.”
Aiden arched an eyebrow as if waiting for a response or explanation from him. Lucas stared at his friend, silent. Aiden would be waiting there for a long damn time before he received one. Not when Lucas couldn’t even explain to his own self why he’d written them the night before. Hell, he didn’t want to analyze why.
Nor did he dwell on how the vows Sydney had declared in return had rocked him to his core.
“Okay, I’ll back off since it’s your wedding day.” Aiden surveyed the room, a frown drawing down his dark blond eyebrows. “I thought you said Sydney’s father disowned her,” he murmured. “But he’s here.”
Yes, Jason and Charlene had attended the wedding. They’d even plastered on their fake smiles and appeared delighted in their daughter’s choice of husband.
“I’d like to believe their motives are altruistic, but somehow I can’t quite convince myself,” Lucas drawled.
“Hmm.” Aiden fell quiet for a moment, switching his thoughtful regard to Sydney. “At least she seemed happy they showed up. I guess that’s all that matters. No bride should be upset on her wedding day.”
True, pleasure had sparkled in Sydney’s eyes when she’d spied them as she descended the staircase and entered the large living room. That moment when her face had lit up with a lovely, genuine smile—not that hated, aloof, cold caricature she usually wore—had been worth the knowledge that her parents had most likely decided to attend to save the untarnished image of a perfect family, not for her sake.
“Speak of the devil… I think your new father-in-law wants a word with you.” Tension invaded Aiden’s tall frame and hardened his features. Most people witnessed the affable, easygoing playboy and rarely met the man honed to razor sharpness by the cruel and pitiless Chicago streets. “You need me to stay?” he asked as Jason strolled toward them, pausing to greet guests as if he were the host and proud father of the bride.
The fury and hatred that always simmered beneath the surface surged, hot and fierce, scalding Lucas. Jason had that effect on him. “No, I’m fine,” he said, voice flat. “Thank you, though.” He clapped a hand to Aiden’s shoulder.
“Okay.” He lifted his glass for another sip, but his regard, narrowed and glittering, remained on Jason. “I’ll be over there charming your wife.”
Lucas snorted before inhaling and turning to face the man who’d given Lucas’s life purpose—retribution.
His new wife’s father.
“Lucas.” Jason’s loud, jovial greeting grated his ears. Particularly when one look into the other man’s ice-cold hazel eyes revealed a loathing that rivaled his own. “Congratulations, and welcome to the family, son.” He pumped Lucas’s hand, pulling him close for a quick, hard embrace even as Lucas’s stomach rebelled at “son.” He hoped to hell he had lye in the kitchen. Mere soap and water wouldn’t scrub away the thick, grimy coat of Jason’s duplicity.
“I’m glad you and your wife could make it, Mr. Blake,” he said smoothly.
“We wouldn’t have missed Sydney’s big day for the world. As long as she’s happy, we are, too. And none of this Mr. Blake nonsense. We’re family now. Please, call me Jason.” Jesus Christ, the man should run for office with all the bullshit he was slinging. Jason inclined his head. “Would you mind if I tear you away from the party for a moment? There’s something I would like to speak with you about. Privately.”
“Of course,” Lucas murmured. Feeling the weight of the interest on the two of them, he led Jason from the living room and down the stairs to the garden level of the brownstone that he’d had converted to a study, home office, and library. He strode over to the fully stocked bar. “Can I pour you a drink, Jason?”
“Cut the crap, Oliver,” the other man snapped.
Sighing, Lucas tipped a finger of bourbon into a tumbler and recapped the decanter. “I suppose it’s safe to say the pleasantries are over?” he mocked.
“I’ve been busy since you and Sydney showed up at my office with your little announcement.” He spat the last
word, distaste twisting his handsome features. “Raised in the South Side of Chicago by Duncan Oliver, your construction worker uncle. Paid your way to the University of Chicago by working on those construction sites beside him. Graduated summa cum laude in three years with a bachelor’s degree in finance and in another two years, earned an MBA. Started your business at the age of twenty-one. Bought your first company under the Bay Bridge Industries umbrella at twenty-four. Earned your first million at twenty-five. A brilliant and formidable businessman. A real rags-to-riches story that makes wonderful copy.”
Lucas didn’t reply as Jason ticked off the facts of his personal and professional life that could be found in any company brochure or newspaper article. The darker details of his history had been carefully hidden under so many layers of lies, documentation, and greased palms, Jason would’ve had to hire Sherlock Holmes to ferret out the truth behind Lucas’s identity. Still…unease curled in his gut. He didn’t put anything past this man.
“Isn’t that what makes our country so wonderful?” Lucas studied Jason over the rim of his glass. “All a man has to do is work hard with integrity and determination, and he can accomplish all of his dreams.” Like Lucas’s father, Jason had inherited his wealth. But unlike Robert Ellison, Jason hadn’t been satisfied until he’d stolen his best friend’s reputation, money, and wife to compound that wealth. Integrity? What Jason knew of that concept could be stuffed into a gnat’s ass with room to spare. “Am I supposed to be ashamed of my past?”
“A boy born to nothing always hungers for more. The thing about that boy is he eventually becomes a man with the same insatiable hunger for better, to be better. And where breeding can’t get him, he’ll use money or people.”
Lucas sipped the amber alcohol and welcomed the burn over his tongue and down his throat. It distracted him from the rage-fueled pain that had taken root in every organ so it pumped through his blood, infiltrated his arteries, escaped him with every breath.
“And Sydney would be the person I’m using to infiltrate the rarefied stations I could never obtain on my own because my blood is red instead of blue, is that it?” The fucking irony.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Oliver,” Jason growled, stalking closer, fists tight at his sides. “No matter how long my family has lived in Beacon Hill…no matter that Blake Corporation has been in existence for decades, and its subsidiaries have provided employment to not just this city but the country…no matter how many zeroes are on the bottom line of my P&L statements…to some people, I will be nothing more than a black man worthy to shine their shoes but not darken their doorsteps. So I have nothing against your background. But that doesn’t mean you don’t.” He jabbed a finger at Lucas. “There’s a chip on your shoulder big enough to break a man’s back. And while my daughter may think she’s in love, I don’t want her to end up a casualty of your ambition. She’s been hurt enough.” A fleeting dark emotion flashed through his eyes. “Suffered enough. I won’t let you use her.”
Shock momentarily banked the fire blazing inside him.
“I hate to disappoint you, but if you think marrying me will hurt my father, you’re sorely mistaken…ultimately, one wealthy, connected son-in-law will be just as fine as another.”
Sydney’s warning from a couple of weeks ago haunted him. Apparently, she’d been wrong. Her father did care. Or he deserved one hell of an award for best performance by a concerned father. With Jason Blake, he couldn’t tell.
“So disowning your daughter was your way of not hurting her?” Lucas set the tumbler on the bar and crossed his arms, eyebrow arched. “Taking away the only family she has is your idea of not inflicting suffering?”
Jason’s lips curling back from his teeth in a snarl. “Don’t dictate to me what’s best for Sydney. If that was the only way to prevent her from making this mistake, then I would do it again. But I’m here today, aren’t I? And this isn’t over.” He strode closer until Lucas could spy the thin lines radiating from Jason’s eyes, the deeper ones bracketing his mouth. “I don’t trust you. Those people out there—your business colleagues, friends, my daughter—you may have them fooled, but you’re after something, and it isn’t Sydney’s hand in marriage. If you truly had her best interests at heart, you would’ve left her alone, let her marry Tyler. Have a good life.”
Slowly, Lucas lowered his arms and straightened from his sprawl against the bar top. “And Reinhold would’ve made her happy? She would’ve had a good life by whose standards? Yours? You don’t know your daughter, Jason.” The anger returned, bright and searing. “Did she want that marriage? Or did you?” When the older man didn’t reply, but his mouth firmed into a grim line, Lucas nodded. “I won’t betray Sydney. I won’t ignore her, neglect her. I didn’t marry her to hurt her.”
He wouldn’t dress her up in stylish clothes, parade her around like a show horse, and then stable her until he needed her again. That was the life Jason had intended to condemn his daughter to—the life Sydney had agreed to. No, Lucas didn’t love her; if not for his hatred and plans for Jason, he wouldn’t have married her. Still, she was a vibrant, beautiful, sensual woman who deserved to be seen for herself, not her family name or blood. With Tyler, she would’ve eventually paled into a blurred gray version of the woman who’d grabbed Lucas by the neck and demanded his fidelity. The woman who patiently and willingly devoted her time and love to teen girls. The woman who’d writhed with passion in his arms.
The thought of Tyler possessing and squandering all that fire had his fist clenching until an ache pulsed across his knuckles. No, more than his next breath, he wanted to taste that desire, be consumed by her fire.
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” Jason retorted, and with one last fulminating glare, pivoted and stalked from the room.
Lucas finished his drink and moments later followed, his vow about not hurting Sydney reverberating against his skull.
Too bad he couldn’t still the small voice inside his head warning him that by ruining her father, he would be inflicting the worst damage of all.
Chapter Twelve
Sydney Oliver.
Her new name. Or at least it would be for the next year.
Sinking to the living room couch, she removed first one high heel, then the other. With a groan, she rubbed her thumb into the sole, massaging away the dull ache caused by hours on her feet. And as long as she concentrated on her sore feet, she could keep the thoughts of her new husband at bay.
Panic mingled with tendrils of excitement, and she paused mid-rub, bowing her head. Panic because tonight he probably expected her to share his bed. And excitement because he probably expected her to share his bed.
“You’re demanding fidelity, and I’ll give you that. But if I intended to be celibate, I would’ve become a priest.”
She shivered as memories of the last time Lucas had touched her flooded her brain like a faucet that had been twisted on. The images poured into her brain. His big hands on her flesh. His dark, sensual voice in her ear. His hard body pressed to hers. Jesus. Arousal pounded like an anvil against metal, and suddenly the corset beneath her dress was cinched too tight. The soft silk and lace too harsh on her sensitized skin. Her panties not substantial enough against the liquid heat building between her thighs.
A week ago, she’d believed she would be ready for this—for him. Seven days with limited contact and the most cursory communication with Lucas had instilled a false sense of confidence and security that, yes, she could consummate this marriage. Consummate. She huffed out a breath. Such an innocuous word for something so…cataclysmic.
“The last guest left?”
She glanced up as Lucas entered the room. And quickly returned her attention to her sore feet. But too late. His image was already branded on her retinas. Tousled dark hair falling around his lean face. Jacketless. White dress shirt opened at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, muscled forearms. Large, bare feet. Why did the sight of his feet impact her the most? The intimacy of it? The…
vulnerability of it?
So not fair. They were feet, for God’s sakes. There was nothing sexy about toes…
Unless they were attached to Lucas Oliver, apparently.
“Yes,” she replied, realizing she hadn’t answered his question. “About ten minutes ago. Did your call work out okay?” He’d received a phone call about half an hour before the end of the reception. Business, since he’d disappeared. The knot in her chest had been irritation, not disappointment. Because it wasn’t as if their marriage was real instead of a trade discussed and signed off on in a corporate office. Actually, his conducting business on their wedding day was the most honest transaction of the day.
“Fine.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, one ankle propped over the other. Head cocked to the side, he studied her. Even though she kept her head bowed, she sensed his turquoise scrutiny, felt it like a tactile trail of fingers over her hair, shoulders, collarbone. The tops of her breasts. “Sydney,” he murmured.
“Yes?”
“Today was beautiful. The house, the ceremony, the reception—everything was wonderful. Thank you.”
She straightened, stunned by him for the second time that day. “Thank you” she heard often enough for work on a committee or a donation to one cause or another. But praise? Compliments? Only at the youth center, where they appreciated her, valued her. Almost never anywhere else, including home, where her efforts were her duty, expected.
“I—” She shook her head. “You’re welcome.”
“Would you like me to do that for you?” When she frowned, he nodded at her foot.
“N-no,” she stammered. Touch her? God, no. “I’m okay. Earlier, I saw you leave with Dad,” she said, hurriedly changing the subject from his hands on any part of her body. “Is everything okay? What did he want to talk with you about?”
The corner of his mouth hitched in a small smirk. “He doesn’t trust me.”
She laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. “Yes, well, after my mother pulled me aside for a heart-to-heart during the reception, I figured out pretty quick why they decided to make an appearance today.” And it had been an appearance. A cameo. A show.