Million Dollar Marriage
Page 25
I stare at him, mesmerized, as he adds ice and expertly shakes it, then picks up a lemon and a peeler and shaves the rind into the glasses. It’s clear he’s been making them for a long time.
“You look good doing that,” I say. “Sexy.”
He pours the liquor into the glasses, easily, and hands one to me. “Does it turn you on?”
“Oh, fuck yes,” I say, taking a sip, then pulling back, surprised. My man can get me liquored up anytime. “Mmm. This is good.”
He stares at me in mock horror as he lifts the glasses for the girls. “I don’t approve of that kind of talk, Mrs. Cross. I find it low class.” He gives me a wink.
“Hey,” Joe calls from the table, where he and Jimmy are checking out Jimmy’s latest YouTube video. “Word overseas is that a certain tell-all book is at the top of the bestseller list. Again.”
Courtney claps her hands. “That makes two weeks in a row!”
I look at Luke, and we shrug. Haven’t read the book. Haven’t even thought of reading it. We sold our story at auction, did a few in-depth interviews with the writer, got the money to pay off my loans and his mortgage, and wiped our hands of it. Actually, we were kind of hoping it would bomb, because we’ve already gotten the money, and if it bombed, maybe people would stop caring and the media would finally leave us alone. When we left for the wedding, they were camped out at both Tim’s Bar and Courtney’s apartment, even though I’ve been living with Luke for several months.
But we say what we’ve always said, which has now become the Cross family mantra. I’m going to have it sewn in needlepoint and placed above the mantel in our apartment at Tim’s when I get back to the States:
Fuck ’em.
I’ve been decorating, and the place isn’t nearly the shithole Luke thought it was. The bar is actually quaint and homey, and people love it. With a little advertising and some clever marketing schemes Lizzy and I worked up, the bar that holds his grandfather’s name is not just going to live on—it’s really starting to pack them in. The night before we left for Paris, the line to get in was all the way around the block. Jimmy was joking that he was going to have to give up his booth.
“I don’t want to go back home,” I say to Luke over the bar as I finish my cocktail and he pours me another. “You know they’re just going to hound us when we return from our honeymoon.”
He grins and sips his cocktail, then leans forward and kisses the shell of my ear. “Who says the honeymoon has to end anytime soon, baby?”
I like the sound of that.
The celebration ends, and I’m a little sad about that, but I’m happy because I know what comes next. The wedding night. As much as I love these people, I’m giddy at the thought of being alone with my husband.
My husband, my husband, my husband. I’ll never get tired of saying that. And I’m his wife.
I know, he’s been my husband before.
But only now does it feel real. Right. Perfect. Forever.
We kiss our friends good night, tell them we’ll see them tomorrow for the farewell breakfast, and he takes my hand and leads me to the elevator, his hand already roving under my skirt. We go inside and the doors slide closed, and he buries his face in my neck, lifting the fabric of my dress.
“Damn, this dress has a hell of a lot of layers,” he murmurs as we head up to the penthouse. “Where is my wife? She under here?”
I am definitely not hiding from him. Sure, I wanted the dress, but that was then. I’m over it. I can’t wait to get out of this infernal thing and feel his skin against mine.
His fingers get free of the tulle and slip between my legs.
He lets out a groan, and desire flickers through me as he strokes the bare skin of my thighs. “There she is. Mmmm, so warm and wet for me already?”
The bell above the door dings, and without warning, he scoops me up into his arms, carrying me all the way to our room. “Luke, what are you—”
“I’m taking my wife to bed, the fastest way I know how.”
I can’t argue with that. I tighten my hands around his neck.
He opens the door and kicks it closed, then settles me down on the bed. His eyes darken as he gazes at me, taking off his jacket, loosening his tie. “You sure are pretty in that dress, Mrs. Cross. But now I think it’s time I took it off you.”
I grin. “Good luck.” I roll onto my stomach so he can take a look at the complicated hook-and-eye thing running down my back that has me basically sewn into the dress. “Also. I have about four hundred bobby pins in my hair. This mission, should you choose to accept it . . .”
He starts by slipping off my shoes, and then he begins to work on loosening the dress. “Since when did I ever back down from a challenge? And the reward’s a hell of a lot better this time.”
It’s slow going. I start working on the bobby pins, uncoiling the ringlets of hair that I’d piled on my head, while he does the dress. Every time he bares a little bit of skin, he kisses it gently. Then, about five minutes into it, he lets out an impatient growl. “I hope this ain’t grounds for divorce.”
And he grips the fabric in his hands and rips the seam clear apart.
I laugh as he pulls the heavy white draping away from my body, leaving me in my frilly white thigh-highs, thong, and lace bustier with garters. “I wasn’t planning on wearing it again, really.”
Now he’s standing at the edge of the bed, gazing at me hungrily. “That’s more like it,” he growls, reaching for my stockinged feet and sliding me across the bed to meet him. His fingers dig into my thighs, into the clips tethering my garter to my stockings. “I don’t know what the hell these are, but they’re fucking classy.”
“I don’t give a shit about class. Give me dirty any day,” I say, reaching up and unbuttoning the buttons on his dress shirt, baring his smooth chest. When I am done, I splay my hand over his heart, feeling it pumping like mad in his chest. “No. Just give me you. I want you, Luke. Always, forever.”
He stands between my open thighs, looking down at me, ready to claim me, but the truth is, I’ve already been claimed. I was claimed the moment I set eyes on him.
He cups my face in his hand, his thumb lightly tracing my lip, and breathes, “I’m going to live every fucking day of my life to make sure that you’re happy, Mrs. Cross. My beautiful wife. You’ll see. I’m going to be everything you’ve ever wanted in a husband and then some.”
I kiss the tip of his thumb and lean into his touch. “Oh, Mr. Cross. You already are.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Although writing is a personal thing and sometimes quite a lonely profession, publishing is a whole other beast, and I couldn’t do it without the help and support of my amazing team. I’m grateful to you all.
To my family, I love you!
Special thanks to Lauren and Holly at Amazon Publishing and Montlake, for believing in me and taking me under their magic wings. Thank you to everyone at Montlake for being the very best team I could have ever hoped for!
Thank you to Amy and everyone at Jane Rotrosen Agency!
Thank you to all my writing friends. I appreciate each and every one of you so much.
Thank you to Nina, Jenn, Chanpreet, Hilary, Shannon, and everyone at Social Butterfly PR. You are amazing!
To Melissa, Gel, my fabulous audio publisher, my fabulous foreign publishers, and all my bloggers for sharing and supporting my work—I value you more than words can say!
And, readers—I’m truly blessed to have such an enthusiastic, cool crowd of people to share my books with. Thank you for the support. XO
Katy
PLAYLIST
“Trouble”—Pink
“Timebomb”—Tove Lo
“Say It Right”—Nelly Furtado
“Team”—Lorde
“Clarity”—Zedd (feat. Foxes)
“I Don’t Know How to Love Him”—Sinead O’Connor
“Goodbye”—Miley Cyrus
“Far Away”—Nickelback
&nbs
p; “Dancin’ Away with My Heart”—Lady Antebellum
“Nothing Really Matters”—Mr. Probz
“I’m All Yours”—Jay Sean
“Never Gonna Leave This Bed”—Maroon 5
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Katy Evans loves family, books, life, and love. She’s married with two children and a dog, and she spends her time baking healthy snacks, taking long walks, and taking care of her family. To learn more about her books in progress, check out www.katyevans.net and sign up for her newsletter. You can also find her on Twitter @authorkatyevans and on Facebook at AuthorKatyEvans.