by Unknown
Suspicious of his cheerful mood, she fidgeted with the strap of her battered, backpack purse. “In all honesty, I don’t even need this new outfit.”
“Yes, you do.” He crossed his arms. “I had guessed a financial reason for your hand-me-down obsession, but the real explanation is much simpler. Sales people freak you out.”
Her brows knitting, she shook her head. “Of course not. I’d fail at my job if that were the case.” As the Food and Beverages manager of a five-star hotel in Hong Kong, she interacted with vendors on a regular basis.
“Work doesn’t count.” He waved his hand in the air. “You get flustered when shop attendants approach, embarrassed when they offer help, and then you’d sprint out of stores without spending a single cent. At the rate we’re going, I’ll have gray hair before you buy enough clothes to last a week.”
“You exaggerate.” She puffed out her cheeks. “I would never do something so rude.”
“Okay, you didn’t run. Slinking might be a better word.” He pointed at her shoes. “While we’re on the subject, why don’t you take those off? This might take a while.”
Though tempted to argue, pride failed to overrule pain receptors. Her eyes almost rolled back as she kicked off the pinching sandals. “What might take a while?”
He picked up her discarded footwear and placed them off to the side. “All the things I plan on doing to you. Take your clothes off.”
She placed her hands on her hips and summoned her sternest voice. “Pardon?”
Striding back to her, he folded onto the armchair. He sat with his legs spread, resting his elbows on the armrest. “You heard me. Strip.” He sounded dead serious.
She cleared her throat. “May I ask why?
A dimple grooved his cheek as he looked her up and down. “For a variety of reasons, necessity being one of them. You’re eventually going to try on all these dresses and high heels.”
“But….” She sputtered. There were over a hundred outfits in the place.
“Don’t worry. Everything is in your size. I called ahead.”
“You’re kidding.” There couldn’t be this many items her size in all of Switzerland. The country seemed populated with willowy, in-shape, supermodel candidates.
She narrowed her eyes. “When did you call ahead?”
He steepled his fingers. “Soon after our wedding, once I’d noticed you’d only packed a carry-on. Good thing I acted early. Apparently, size five footwear isn’t very common here, and you’re so petite a lot of the dresses had to be hemmed. The process took a few weeks.”
Her jaw dropped. “You bought everything here?”
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he dismissed an unnecessary expense far exceeding her annual salary. “How else could they get alterations done? A selection of items will be delivered to the chalet. The rest, they’ll send to Hong Kong. Considering the temper tantrums your cousins are throwing, we’ll have to fly home pretty soon and stay longer than I’d like.”
The idea of facing her family as Damien’s wife threatened to bring about nausea. Her entire life, they’d treated her as a poor relation, and she enjoyed the relative anonymity of her subservient status. Since her husband planned to take control of his adopted father’s hotel chain, he’d insist she receive a modicum of respect. At the very least, he’d demand politeness from those accustomed to watching her cower.
No matter who held the purse strings, her uncle, aunt, and cousins would never treat her as more than an indebted servant. If her husband pressed the issue, they’d pretend to bend, then lash out at her to assuage their dented pride. Uncertain how long Damien’s protection would last, logic dictated she tolerate their abuse in silence.
Though she’d pursued steps toward financial independence, she couldn’t afford to make an enemy out of one of the most powerful families in Hong Kong. The decisions she’d made prior to her unplanned marriage hinged upon being ignored and forgotten. As long as she stood by her husband’s side, she had no hope of avoiding the limelight.
Pondering her upcoming misery robbed Kailee of what little energy remained. With a sigh, she lowered her butt onto the platform. Not trusting her inscrutable benefactor enough to discuss her fears over their upcoming return, she concentrated on the more immediate issue.
“If you’d already gone through this ridiculous extravaganza….” She thumped her fist on the velvet-covered wood. “Why did you force me to traipse all over town today?”
“I wanted you to see the sights.” He grabbed her forearm and pulled her up to straddle his lap. “And I needed to gauge your taste. Based on the input I phoned in earlier, the staff here culled the items you’d never wear and donated them to charity.”
Dropping her forehead to his shoulder, she calculated the expense and stifled a screech. “So this place is some sort of purchasing service?”
He smoothed the purse off her shoulders and tossed it aside. “More like an exclusive, curated boutique aimed at providing a private, tailored, and hassle-free purchasing experience, at least according to one of my executive assistants.”
Having worked in exclusive hotels long before she’d graduated from college two years ago, she had a good idea why such a place existed. “Rich men bring their mistresses here to shop.” In her social circle, no one expected fidelity. Everyone valued discretion. Kept women made extravagant purchases in secret, away from flashing cameras and stores frequented by their patrons’ legitimate families.
And here she sat, caught in an odd limbo between lover and wife, and one crucial step away from falling into either category. After all, she had yet to have sex with her husband, though they’d toed the line more times than she cared to count.
Tonight, before boardroom maneuverings and familial warfare tainted their delicate relationship, she’d offer to take the inevitable step. Since his return, he’d treated her as though she might shatter if he demanded more. But she was made from sturdier stock. Neither their tempestuous present nor her shameful past could tear her to shreds.
A broken heart, however, she might never recover from.
“Mistresses, you say?” He tugged the elastic off her ponytail, sending the heavy mass cascading over her back. “There you go, shattering my sweet and innocent image of you.”
“I’ve never pretended at innocence.” How could she? Her uncle had outed her as damaged goods, on her wedding day, to her groom’s face.
Damien combed through her hair, drawing tendrils forward to cover her chest. Under the guise of working through knots, he teased her breasts with the tips of his fingers. “You don’t need to pretend. What do you know of secret affairs?”
“I’ve seen and heard enough to figure out why we’ve been left alone.” In theory, no one should enter this room without his express request. After all, designer wear and expensive baubles served as a form of payment. The service offered in exchange could be enacted wherever and whenever the buyer desired. More often than not, customers demanded immediate return on their investment.
With a sigh, he brushed his thumb between her knotted brows. “You might have guessed this establishment’s clientele, but that isn’t what’s happening here. I made this decision for expedience, not discretion. You are my wife.”
“And you didn’t marry me by choice.” She whispered the bleak reminder. “I don’t want gifts from you. I can’t accept them.” Years ago, she’d unwittingly played the whore. The aftermath came close to destroying her.
He cradled her face with his hands, forcing her to stare into his eyes. “Neither my father nor my uncle can force me to do anything I don’t want to do. As you’re now aware, I had more than enough cash to buy the damn company out from under their feet. Yes, there were practical reasons for an alliance. Yes, part of my decision stemmed from wounded pride. But make no mistake. I chose to marry you.”
Pulling her forward, he sucked her lower lip past his teeth. She melted into the kiss, her fogged mind unable to conjure an eloquent retort.
His lips traveled
over her jaw and up her cheeks. “I’m your husband. When I force you to use my hard-earned money, it isn’t a payment.” He lingered over her temple, before tipping her head back so he could devour her once more. Trembling, she circled her arms around his neck, using him as an anchor. His muscles flexed under her forearms, his grip around her waist tightening as he shifted his hips and ground his erection against her butt.
Too aware of the edge they skirted, she pulled back. Through harsh pants, she murmured a husky invitation, hoping her voice expressed more than she had the courage to say. “Take me home.” Let’s finish this.
Perhaps once he’d sated his appetite, he’d start acting like the heartless playboy she’d heard about, instead of confusing her with tenderness and promises of protection.
“I will, but not yet. I’m working up to tonight. Haven’t you noticed?” He nipped her chin. “Anticipation is half the fun.”
Startled by the playful note in his tone, she nuzzled his cheek. “So all this stuff is a bribe.”
“We both know I don’t need to barter gifts for sex.” His heated breath grazed her earlobe. “You are incapable of resisting me.”
Chuckling at the surprising verity of his statement, she play-punched his jaw. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day it’ll come true.”
He captured her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “That day came weeks ago, when you stepped into my office and told me your cousin planned to ditch me at the altar. Since then, you’ve developed a tendency of melting into a puddle at my feet.” Laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “I had to tie you up to keep you standing.”
At the casual reminder of the two most erotic experiences of her life, her face flamed. “If you see no reason to butter me up, why this production? We could be at your chalet, right now, in your bed.”
“It’s our bed, and I wanted to spoil my wife. That, and we could use a change in scenery.” He slid his fingers under her dress, resting them with deceptive stillness against the inner side of her thigh. “At lunch, I discovered your weakness for semi-public orgasms. This particular set up lends a thrill and gives me an excellent opportunity to get you warmed up.”
Self-conscious, she fingered her demure neckline. “I didn’t…. Lunch wasn’t…. You gave me no choice.”
With his index finger, he drew a line from between her collarbones down to her cleavage. “You didn’t stop me.”
She couldn’t argue with his observation. After all, she’d allowed him to sneak a vibrator under her panties, in broad daylight. “I’ll do whatever you want, but I can’t accept all this stuff. It’s too much, and I have nothing to offer in return.” With her gaze, she implored him to understand her reluctance. “I’m already beholden to too many people. I won’t add you to the list.”
He closed his hand over her breast. At her startled squeak, he grinned. “I bought these things for me, not you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have any need for women’s clothing.”
He brushed his lips over her pulse. “Today, each time you approached a display, I got the oddest feeling. It’s as if my heart stopped, then started beating even harder when you picked out something you liked.”
Her attempted scoff morphed into a moan as his tongue scalded her neckline. Denied the final step in their dance, her body thrummed with pent-up need, leaving her defenseless. “Uh huh…. Sure….”
“It’s true. I even held my breath while you oscillated between two different shoes.” He cupped her breast, lifted, and squeezed until the upper swell peeked out over her dress. “I almost groaned when you walked away with nothing. I suggest you don’t make it a habit.” He bit her cleavage, hard enough to hurt.
She dug her fingers into his taut shoulders. “Damien….”
“I worked for every cent I have.” He tugged her dress down until her nipple popped out over the hem. “It’s mine to spend as I wish.” His teeth scraped the pulsing tip. “And pleasing you pleases me. Can we stop talking yet?”
She nodded as he sucked, the sensuous tug demolishing her ability to form coherent sentences. When he lifted his head, she fused her mouth to his.
Their tongues tangled. His strong fingers raked over her back and hips. His erection lengthened between her butt cheeks. Plastered against his chest, she seemed surrounded by corded muscle, caught in a vise of flesh-covered steel. He pushed into her, exploring her mouth before tormenting her lower and upper lips, alternating between the two until her surroundings dissolved into a haze. Reality narrowed to the mint and chocolate lacing his taste, the cinnamon and spice overlaying both their scents.
A chilled breeze lashed over her sweat-slicked skin, reminding her of the precariousness of their privacy. With a frustrated moan, she broke the kiss, her hands rising to yank her dress back into place.
Then she glimpsed the stark hunger on his face. Heat curling in the pit of her stomach, she accepted defeat.
“Strip for me.” A dominant edge roughened his order.
“What if someone comes?” Her protest sounded weak, a token objection nullified by implied surrender.
“That’s part of the fun.” He gripped her chin. “And it wasn’t a request. Do as I say, before I tear off your new clothes.”
Her nerves jangling with fear and anticipation, she pulled the dress over her head. The crumpled fabric slid through her fingers, dropping to the floor as he captured her waist and spun her on his lap. Unable to resist the demanding pressure between her legs, she tucked her feet between the armrest and his thighs, spreading her knees wide so she straddled the hard tent along his zipper.
Catching their reflections, she froze, too enthralled to tear her gaze away from the erotic image they presented. The three mirrors showed a startling display of their entangled bodies, the combined angles providing her with an unimpeded view of the man behind her. With his shirt wrinkled and hair tousled, his lips kiss-swollen and eyes stormy, he embodied the definition of an irresistible male.
Framed by the center glass, her own reflection drew her attention. She wore a simple, black bra and matching panties, the plain cotton a far cry from the lacy lingerie gracing the nearby display cases. The sun had tinted her face, neck, and arms light pink, while the rest of her remained creamy white. Though she’d never appreciated her complexion, Damien’s ravenous expression as his hands spanned her hips brought an unprecedented influx of confidence.
She felt sexy, and her effect on him aroused her more than any stimulant.
Yanking her against his chest, he bit her earlobe. “The bra. I want it off.”
Arching her spine to better display her assets, she reached one hand behind her and fumbled with the back strap. Desperate to gauge his response, her attention remained riveted on the mirrors.
He sprawled on the chair, his pose so relaxed her self-assurance faltered. But his Adam’s apple rose and fell as she shifted one arm to her front, hiding her breasts behind the inadequate barrier before unhooking the clasp.
The flimsy garment swung forward, shifting across her back and slipping down her narrow shoulders. With a shallow breath, she edged her free arm through the left strap. Her other hand clenched, clutching the fabric to her chest.
Her resolve threatening to take a nosedive, she drew strength from the slow brush of his thumbs at the base of her spine. But for the reassuring caress, she might have lost her nerve. Though he waited, his eyes hooded and his expression blank, tension laced the air. Against her bottom, she could sense his arousal mount. Soon, she’d push him far enough, and then he’d seize control.
The prospect made her toes curl. While teasing him empowered her, his barely leashed dominance drove her need to a fevered pitch. The incongruous combination fueled her hunger, the anticipation alone enough to push her to the edge of pleasure.
He was right. Waiting with bated breath while trying to incite his next move—it was half the fun.
Switching the position of her arms, she managed to shrug off her bra without exposing too
much of her chest. With another glance at their reflections, she surrendered to a mischievous impulse.
One by one, she spread the fingers covering her left breast. His thigh muscles tensed beneath her as she rolled a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. With a calculated moan, she threw her head back.
He wrenched the bra from her. His voice guttural, he snapped, “Put your hands behind your back.”
She wiggled on his lap. Her cheeks dimpling, she milked her own breast. “But then, how can I do—”
Before she could finish her question, he grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her. With her shoulder blades pulled back, her breasts jutted out. The pale globes rose and fell as he positioned her so each hand clasped her other arm’s elbow, her limbs forming ninety degree angles over her ribs.
His mouth firming into a harsh line, he looped her bra around her forearms, binding them together. Straightening, he clutched her hair and pulled her head to the side and back. Clamping his teeth over her pulse, he sucked, and left a bright red mark.
An embarrassed blush crept over her neck and chest. More than one hickey marred her skin, reminders of the numerous times she’d come apart in his arms. They’d married a month ago, cohabited for less than a week, but he’d already staked his claim. He’d possessed her, tied her to him in a manner far more binding than the scratch of pen over paper. Witnessing the physical evidence of her surrender, while he held her helpless and naked on his lap, drilled the message home.
The smooth fabric of his shirt cooled her tingling skin as he looped his arms around her. His large hands engulfed her breasts. He kneaded, stroked, and pinched until her nipples tightened to sharp, dusky points. She cried out, her head lolling to rest on his shoulder.
Her hips shifted with each contact, the insistent pressure between her legs growing until she couldn’t help but rub against his zipper in a desperate plea for more. With a low chuckle, he reached one hand down her belly, and dipped his fingers under her panties.