Marriage by Mistake

by Alyssa Kress

  Dean smiled. "Helpless. That's how I want you. Completely at my mercy."

  Kelly suppressed her next moan as Dean swept his tongue between another two of her fingers. She was rushing past the point of reason, but his words did penetrate. He wanted to be in charge — this time. He wanted her to be the helpless one — this time. The idea was either tit-for-tat shallow or...pretty good.

  Dean raised Kelly's hand and fit his lips to the inside of her wrist. Kelly moaned as he began a gentle, warm suction. The idea was looking better all the time, though a part of her, deep down, still wondered... Did he really want this?

  Dean increased the sucking pressure on her wrist. At the same time, he reached up to curl his other hand around the nape of her neck.

  "Dean!" Kelly's head fell back. How did he do that? How did he know the exact spot that would make her — helpless?

  "Kelly." With his voice deep and confident, her turned her chin toward him. Then his mouth came down on hers.

  Dark heat enveloped Kelly. It was all she could do to keep standing. "Mm," she groaned. "The bed."

  Dean's chuckle was low, even diabolical. "Oh, we'll get there...eventually."

  They did get to the bed, but it must have taken an hour or so. Dean kissed, he stroked, he caressed. With every touch, every murmur, Kelly melted more. Gone, fled, went every misgiving. The man was a master. By the time he did set her down on the silk counterpane, she felt like a liquid puddle.

  It was a completely different experience from their afternoon at the Parker House. Yes, Dean had been inventive there, but not...a Houdini.

  "Let me — " she murmured, trying to reach for him, wanting to give him something back.

  "Not this time," Dean replied. "I'm in charge."

  "Oh, yeah." It was just as well. Kelly's arms felt like jello. She lay there, supine, as Dean did everything. At one point she found herself clutching his hair. "This is too — "

  "No," Dean insisted. "It's not enough." And he continued, moving up and down her body, with his mouth, with his hands.

  Kelly moaned, she writhed. It was too much, but somehow she was taking it; taking it and becoming more and more his willing slave.

  "Open your legs," he commanded, and of course she did.

  "Dean, I want — "

  "Not yet," he said. And so it went. To every sensual peak he brought her, it was 'not enough' or 'not yet.' Kelly hadn't known she could sustain such an intense state of arousal, rising and falling, only to rise again.

  She abandoned her pleas for him to come with her. He wasn't about to do that and anyway, she was getting too lost in her own sensations to care. The world focused down to the fire raging through her. She strained against him.

  "All right," he finally said. "Now."

  She came apart, just shattered into a million pieces. Exactly on cue. Not that she was complaining. The pleasure was intense, the whole experience like nothing she'd ever known. "Dean!" she cried, and reached for him.

  He tensed in her arms, she thought, though she wasn't terribly sure of anything right then. "Dean, Dean," Kelly sobbed.

  It took her a minute, holding him close, to realize he was still fully clothed. A chuckle bubbled up amid the aftermath of her climax. "You're still in your suit," she exclaimed. "And tie!"

  "Hm." He pulled away enough for her to see his smug smile. "Guess I was too busy to take them off."

  "I'll say." Kelly smiled back as she smoothed a hand down his tie. She'd never been with a man who could concentrate so completely on a person other than himself. "Looks like you've got a minute now."

  His lashes lowered. "Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure I've plumbed your potential."

  "Ah." Kelly put a hand on his chest. "You've plumbed it."

  His smile managed to widen. "If you're sure."

  "I am."

  "Well, then." Looking awfully pleased with himself, Dean sat back on his haunches and began loosening his tie.

  Watching his obvious satisfaction, Kelly felt it shimmer through her again, stronger than ever, the love. This time, though, she wasn't taking anything for granted. She didn't expect him to love her back, but was he at least happy they'd had sex? Her head tilted. "How about you?" she asked, "Are you okay?"

  His hands stopped on his tie.

  Her eyes hooded. "Are you sorry?"

  He stared at her. "That's important to you, isn't it? That I...not be hurt."

  "Well...yeah." More important than he could know.

  He continued to stare, his expression turning almost desperate. "I'm not hurt," he told her. "Far from it. Besides, don't you remember this was my idea? My choice?"

  Oh, yes, she remembered. He'd wanted to show her, to prove a seduction could be as much his idea, but still... She wouldn't put it past Dean to have done all this as an elaborate apology. He was a man who'd want to leave everything square. He could easily have brought her to the most exquisite orgasm only because he wanted to balance the ledger sheet.

  "Remember?" Dean insisted.

  Kelly gave a tiny nod. "I remember."

  Dean gazed at her a moment longer, then smiled. "Liar."

  "What?"

  "Fine." Still smiling, he gently pushed her until she was lying flat on the bed. "I'll prove it to you, all over again." His teeth flashed. "I'll just keep on proving it until you start to believe me."

  "I believe you," Kelly said quickly.

  Dean laughed and kissed her lips. "Problem is, I don't believe you now."

  "Oh, Dean, we can't — "

  But Dean kissed her again, and put his hands and shifted his body in a way that told Kelly, indeed, they could. Oh yes, even after all Dean had just brought her through, she could feel herself softening, dampening, wanting again.

  "You are magic," she murmured.

  "No," Dean whispered back. He released a strange, uneven sigh. "You are."

  ###

  Dean might have drifted off to sleep if they hadn't left the bedside lamp on. Despite his exhaustion, the light caused his lashes to flutter, his eyes to open. He stopped himself, though, from simply reaching up to switch it off. He had to think a minute here.

  He was in bed with Kelly. If he turned off the light, he would undoubtedly remain in this spot until morning.

  Would that be a good idea?

  He lifted his head carefully. Kelly was facing him on the bed, her eyes closed and her breathing long and deep.

  Dean had to admit it was a profound pleasure to look at her. Her hair was curled wildly about her face, her mouth reddened from his beard. Something lurched possessively, triumphantly, within him. She looked like a woman who had been loved long and loved well.

  Dean's lips twisted. Long and well, indeed. He hadn't intended to make love to her at all. All he'd intended was an apology, something sincere and deserved. Instead, here he was in bed with her. Again.

  Dean shook his head. Clearly, he went crazy whenever he was around this woman. He didn't behave rationally or intelligently. He didn't behave like...himself.

  On the other hand — Dean's rueful twist of the lips turned into a genuine smile. On the other hand, he wasn't alone in the insanity. He had a strong feeling Kelly didn't have much control over her behavior when she was around him, either. Why, she'd been downright leery about hopping into bed with Dean again. It had been a wicked pleasure to see her resistance flow into surrender — because of him.

  Yes, because of him. Dean's smile slowly faded. Thoughtfully, his gaze searched Kelly's sleeping face. She hadn't wanted to seduce him, she hadn't sought to get him in her power. Afterward, she'd asked if he was okay. He could no longer deny she was sincerely concerned for his welfare.

  She was...nice. A nice, perhaps even sweet, woman.

  Dean felt a flare — of something. Like faraway lightning. There, and then gone. Inexplicable. Unsettling. He frowned.

  Passion, he told himself. He'd never felt passion this powerfully. Every time he reached a climax with her — every time she reached one with hi
m — it hit him like a thunderclap. That first time tonight, with his name on her lips... Fortunately, Kelly appeared to be as much a slave to the phenomenon as he was. Why, if he reached out for her right now, she'd probably turn into his arms.

  Leave her bed? That would be useless. Avoiding the issue of their passion was not going to make it go away.

  Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, then reached over to turn off the lamp.

  Perhaps it was time to try a different tack.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the gray light of dawn Kelly rolled over, waking with a sigh and a frown. Her eyes opened wide as they met Dean's.

  "Oh," she breathed. "You're still here." So...it hadn't been a dream.

  Meanwhile he stared at her with an expression so blank it made Kelly's stomach twist. Oh God, what was his attitude now? As if in answer, very slowly, he smiled. "Yes, I'm still here. Better yet, it's still early."

  "Early?" Kelly's stomach remained tight, but now for a very different reason.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her onto her back. "Nobody will be up for, oh, at least fifteen minutes or so."

  "Fifteen — ? Oh." Kelly's head tipped back as she accepted Dean's thorough, drugging kiss. She could feel her stomach relax and her body start to melt as it had last night. Last night... Dean had made love to her over and over again. He'd gone to the limit — and beyond — to prove he wanted to. Even if Kelly had questions about his deeper feelings, of his desire she was now certain.

  And for right then, intoxicated by his kiss, enveloped by his strong male body, Kelly decided desire was more than enough. She murmured encouragement and threw her arms around him.

  A few minutes later, panting, Dean leaned down to kiss Kelly's lips. "Noon," he said. "My office."

  "What — ?"

  "For more." Dean swept off the bed. Before Kelly could do or say anything more, he'd grabbed his clothes and was gone.

  ###

  Dean paid no more than perfunctory attention to the faxes that came across his desk on Tuesday morning. He gave scarcely more attention to the people who filed through his office, giving him their reports. All he could think about was what had happened the night before, and then that morning.

  He'd made love to her — yet again.

  Of course that had been the plan, but now, in the cold light of day, he wasn't sure if his plan was bonkers, or incredibly shrewd. Was passion all that there was between them? Not that it mattered, Dean hastily assured himself. If there was one thing he understood about human nature, it was that emotion, of any sort, was fleeting. Passion, whatever. It would pass and be gone in less time than it would take for Dean to worry about it.

  So Dean didn't need to worry about the lightning bolts that had returned and kept flashing, brighter and more distinctly than the night before.

  Meanwhile, he kept an ear out for his intercom and the announcement Mrs. Barnes would make regarding Kelly's arrival. When it came, Dean felt a leap in his heart, a surge of adrenaline.

  "That's all, Roger. Thanks." He smiled at his CFO and stood to indicate the briefing was over.

  "You're going to want the numbers — "

  "I'm sure you will take care of all the details to my complete satisfaction." Dean came around from behind his desk.

  Roger looked at him in stupefaction. "You don't want to check my work?"

  "No." Dean put a hand on Roger's shoulder. He nudged him in the direction of the door.

  "Well, if that isn't — " Roger began, sounding pleased. He never got the chance to finish his sentence. Or maybe he did and Dean simply didn't notice, for by that time he'd opened the door. His eyes had found Kelly, sitting out in the anteroom. Kelly with her silky legs crossed at the knee. Kelly with her smile of a thousand watts. Immediately Dean's brain went into its familiar scrambling routine; his brain and all the organs running in a straight line down from it.

  Kelly didn't even try. Dean understood that now. She didn't want to make him crazy. He also understood that it was useless to resist this thing. All he could do at this point was run through it.

  Eventually they would reach the end. Sensations would attenuate, desire would cool. Eventually.

  Right now, however, desire was anything but attenuated.

  "Kelly." Dean cleared his throat. "Right on time."

  She gave him a smile. That was all. It made his heart go ballistic, made his blood heat. But that was okay. Despite the flashes of scary lightning, Dean had decided it was okay, even good, to experience this rush, this excitement.

  The more excitement now, the sooner it would pass.

  "Wouldn't want to miss a minute," Kelly said.

  Yes, she said that, right in front of Mrs. Barnes, Roger, and whoever else happened to be cluttering the outer office. Dean felt his air supply choke.

  With an effort, he swallowed. "All right, then. Let's go."

  ###

  He took her to the Parker House. Kelly had a moment of doubt about that. But once he'd closed the door behind them, once he'd started kissing her, slowly, leisurely, and without a trace of desperation, she relaxed.

  It would be nice to make a good memory here.

  "I only have ninety minutes," he murmured, when he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

  Kelly felt a bubble of relief. He was keeping track of time, showing her he could. "That's all right," she whispered back.

  He drew off her suit jacket. "I'll make it up to you tonight."

  "You don't have to — " But Kelly didn't finish the thought because Dean took her mouth again. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, while his hands cupped her buttocks and drew her close against his hips. Slowly, he rotated.

  Kelly clutched his shoulders. "Keep that up," she muttered, "and you won't have anything left to 'make up' to me tonight."

  "Mm," was all Dean said, and he pulled her blouse from her waistband.

  Precisely ninety minutes later, he put Kelly into a cab at the porte cochere of the hotel.

  "Tonight," he said, and kissed her. A second later she was looking at his back as he strode efficiently up the street.

  It had all been...very good. As sweet and tender as she could have wanted. But there were a host of questions in Kelly's eyes as, through the window of the cab, she watched Dean walk away.

  ###

  At noon on Tuesday, Felicia sat in a taxicab as it wended its way through Boston traffic. She had to resist the urge to bite her fingernails. She hadn't done so since she was twelve and she wasn't about to start again now, no, not even if she was on her way to her little lunch date with Troy. He'd made it clear she could not delay the thing one more time.

  Today, they'd get it over with.

  In silence, the cab driver maneuvered his way to the side of the road.

  "Ah, yes, this is the place," Felicia murmured. She could see Troy, leaning against the side of the building with his hands stuck in the pockets of a pair of crisp gray chinos. He straightened when he saw her in the slowing cab.

  Drawing in a breath, Felicia gathered both her purse and her self-possession. When Troy reached the cab and opened the door for her, she gave him her most proper, garden party smile. He didn't smile back. He held out his hand. The arm that supported her out of the cab was very strong. All that tennis, no doubt. Felicia lowered her lashes to conceal the way his touch made her shiver.

  Once out of the cab, she let go of Troy's hand, and took a few steps toward the restaurant. She pretended to find the façade just fascinating while Troy paid the cab driver behind her. Meanwhile, she did her best to recover.

  A few seconds, that was all it had taken for Felicia to become aware all over again of Troy's animal sensuality, and to feel intimidated by it.

  "Okay." He'd come to her side. Felicia forced herself to look over and smile. He smiled back, just as falsely. Yes, they were equally miserable. "Shall we go in?" he asked.

  "Certainly." Felicia preceded Troy into the sunny, upscale restaurant. She had been there once or
twice, but on neither occasion had she felt gawky as she navigated the array of small linen-covered tables. She was acutely conscious of Troy behind her.

  The hair on her arms lifted electrically as he pulled out one of the high-backed chairs for her. But she smiled and accepted the seat as if there were nothing out of order. As if she went out to lunch, tête-à-tête, with nasty Troy Singleton every day of the week.

  "Uh...have any trouble getting into town?" Troy seated himself opposite her.

  "Not at all. Traffic was light today." Felicia delivered the social lie as she folded her hands in her lap. She wondered if it was a good or a bad thing that the restaurant, crowded at dinnertime, was completely empty now at lunch.

  "Good," Troy replied, about the traffic. "That's really good."

  Felicia's gaze hit Troy then slanted off to regard the trompe l'oeil mural on the wall behind him. He began tapping a thumb on the linen tablecloth. Thankfully for both of them, the waiter arrived with a well-trained smile and a pair of menus.

  Felicia took her menu and opened it as if it were a rope thrown to a drowning woman. Thank God, something to talk about. "I've tried the scrod here, but not the sirloin," she told Troy. "What do you recommend?"

  Troy frowned into his menu. "I've never been here before."

  "Oh." Felicia bit her lip. Goodness, the man could help. Or was she supposed to stave off the horrible silence all by herself?

  "Ahem. You think the pasta bolognese is any good?" Dark eyes glanced over the menu at her.

  "Ah." So he was trying to help. "That sounds delicious. I think I'll get...the Nicoise salad." She closed her menu and smiled brightly. Her poor mouth was going to be very sore by the end of this meal.

  "Right." Troy closed his menu as well. Their eyes chanced to meet. Felicia stiffened with her habitual response to him, the readiness to parry whatever he might throw her way. But he didn't throw anything. He merely flicked his gaze past her left shoulder and focused on whatever was back there. Restraining himself.

  But Felicia couldn't relax her state of readiness. It was too weird.

  Fortunately, the waiter returned before the awful silence could descend again. He took their orders, flashed the well-trained smile, and walked away.

  Troy cleared his throat. Felicia watched, mesmerized, as the long fingers of his hand folded over a corner of his linen napkin. Never, she realized, had she observed Troy nervous. Nor had she taken a good look at his hands. They were rather...artistic.