An Improper Bride (Elliot & Annabelle #2) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 4)

by Nadia Lee

  “But marrying your girlfriend? That’s…disgusting. I’m sorry, but father or not, that’s the kindest thing I can say about what he did to you.”

  “Nobody knows the story but you. Well, Dad and Wife Number Four do, but they aren’t talking.”

  I blink away the tears forming in my eyes. “She must’ve meant a lot to you.”

  “Did. Past tense. But yes.”

  It’s such a horrible story. No wonder he didn’t want to share it. “Elliot…”

  He brushes a thumb at the corner of my eye. “Does this mean you aren’t going to call me A anymore?” He’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not really working.

  A part of me is glad he told me, but I know it cost him to recite the ugly and humiliating story, the way my telling him what happened when I was fifteen hurt me. I shake my head. “That was mean of me.”

  “I think it was human of you. And it gives me hope that I’m with a woman, not some perfect celestial being out of my reach.” A rueful grin tugs at his sensual mouth. “I could’ve at least given you a nickname.”

  I squeeze his forearm. “Nonny calls me Anna.”

  “I know.” His forehead rests gently on mine. “But I’d rather call you Belle.”

  “Belle?”

  “It means beautiful.”

  My lips part.

  He puts his index finger on my chin. “When I called you beautiful, it wasn’t just some empty nickname I use with all the women. Most of the time that would be ‘babe’ or ‘sugar.’”

  “Cliché.” I tilt my head down and kiss the finger. “But I can be sweet like sugar,” I whisper. My tongue brushes his bare skin and I taste salt and Elliot. Longing pools in my belly. I curse the fact that I’m on my period. The timing really is rotten.

  A slight shudder runs through him, and his eyes darken. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were beautiful…and you looked at me like you wanted to slap me.”

  I giggle, my cheeks warm at the embarrassing memory. “I looked ridiculous.”

  “The outer packaging was maybe a little overdone. But there are a lot of ways a woman can be beautiful. Some women are pretty on the outside but ugly inside. Some women are the other way around. You? You’re beautiful inside and out. You have a gentle soul, Belle.”

  I close my eyes as I soak in the nickname. I love the way it sounds on his lips, husky and reverent at the same time. I don’t want anything to remind him of the painful betrayal, and if calling me Belle helps keep the old memory locked away, I’m a hundred percent on board. Belle is the perfect antidote to Annabelle.

  His finger drops. We stay like that for a while, sharing the same air and breathing in each other’s scent. Elliot smells amazing—warm, strong and male that’s uniquely him. Nobody comes close to this man. My heart knocks against my chest. The longing becomes more acute, almost knife-like in its intensity.

  He tilts his head. I lean forward, and our lips touch—the barest of brushes. It’s so sweet, it makes me ache. His hands cradle my face as though I’m a precious treasure. And I’m being sucked into him, surrounded by his touch, his scent, his taste, his heat.

  But I’m not lost. He is my light, my anchor in the violent need that sweeps over me. I open my mouth wider. His tongue flirts with mine, each caress bolder than one before. My breath quickens, hot want winding through me. I can kiss him like this—forever, until the end of time—so long as the sweet moment remains unbroken.

  As lovely as his revelation and gesture have been, what we have is more fragile than a newborn butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. He doesn’t have to spell it out; I know that Julian is counting on us to fail…and that Elliot’s ex is back in his life for some inexplicable reason. I’m not naïve enough to believe that the previous Annabelle stopped by just to congratulate him on his marriage.

  Without breaking the kiss, he squeezes my butt and moves me until I’m straddling his hard thighs. His hand cups my breast. But the tank-top and bra are in the way, and I need a more direct touch. I want his hand on my bare skin.

  I take his hand and guide it under my top. He brushes against my quivering inner belly. A trail of heat prickles my skin, and I groan against his mouth.

  Still we do not break our kiss.

  He travels upward until his hand pushes my bra out of the way and finds my breast. My breath roughens as he toys with my nipple. His clever fingers roll it, then tug it and brush over it, every time changing the pressure and intensity as though he’s trying to find the best way to torment me. Pleasure pulses from my nipple all the way to my clit, making me squirm.

  His other hand pushes my skirt up. I dig my fingers into his hair, my mouth now ravenous and unrestrained over his. Our tongues tangle and teeth scrape for every bit of taste. He positions me so my hot core is rocking against his thick cock, pulling a moan deep from my chest.

  “You’re so fucking hot,” he rasps.

  “For you…”

  I move against him. It’s close but not quite.

  “Greedy, greedy girl,” he whispers.

  “You make me greedy.”

  He keeps the pace, his hands controlling my hips, and his mouth plundering mine until it’s all I can do to cling to him. His thumb is against my clit now, and my toes curl in my shoes.

  The pleasure winds tighter and tighter. He pinches my nipple hard. His rough breathing fuels me, and he orders, “Come for me, Belle.”

  I let go, my head falling back. My mouth opens in a broken scream as a white hot orgasm sears through me.

  When I open my eyes, I feel his erection against me, and I flush. I cannot believe I was so shameless, much less while I’m on my period.

  “You’re embarrassed now?” He quirks an eyebrow.

  “I’m…” I bite my lower lip. I can’t take him inside me.

  “I know.” He presses a tender kiss to my mouth. “It’s okay. I love watching you come.” But unsated lust glitters in his eyes, and I want to replace it with satisfaction.

  “I can do other things to make you feel good,” I whisper. Then I kiss him.

  I’ve never actually wanted to give a blow job before, but I do now. I want Elliot to feel at least a fraction of what I felt.

  I glide down his body until I’m kneeling in front of him. His gaze is hot as he watches me. I pull his pants and boxer briefs down. His cock springs out, dark veins standing out in sharp relief against the thick, smooth shaft. The wide tip is slick, and I lick my lips. I don’t know why I’ve never considered taking him this way, given how often he buries his face between my legs.

  I suck him deep into my mouth. Salty pre-cum coats my tongue, and I stroke him, while pulling my cheeks in for stronger suction.

  He exhales roughly, his hands digging into the seat. A low growl spills from his parted lips. He lets me set the tempo, explore him at my own pace. His skin is silken although what it encases is as hard as concrete. The contrast is driving me crazy; his scent is strong, earthy, and I can’t get enough of him. I relax my face, trying to pull as much as I can, while my hand grips the base and pumps. His cock twitches and pulses, and I suck hard, my head bobbing.

  The muscles in his thighs tense, and his pelvis thrusts in sync with my rhythm. From his rough breathing and the raw groans deep in his throat, I know he’s close. I speed up, my entire being focused on making him feel good.

  He lets out a guttural moan a fraction of a second before spurting hotly in my mouth. The climax stuns me for a moment, but I swallow and wait for the pulsing to subside before I come up. A dark flush colors his cheeks, and his face is relaxed in utter satisfaction. It feels good that I’ve given him pleasure the way he gave it to me.

  “Belle…” He pulls me up and kisses me deeply, his tongue sweeping in. But then he pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

  “You…um…want me to go rinse, or…?”

  Elliot laughs. “No.” He licks my lips. “You taste amazing. Like you and me. Us.”

  Us.

  The word stirs such longing that my eye
s tear up. I want that connection and possession…and I want it with Elliot.

  I finally acknowledge something I’ve known for a while now. It’s too late for walls around my heart. Elliot is already inside.

  This time, when he dips his head again, I kiss him back. Willing him to feel what I feel for him, because I don’t have the courage to voice it.

  Chapter Eight

  Annabelle

  We spend the rest of the morning in absolute laziness by the rooftop infinity pool. It holds a special memory for me since it’s the place where Elliot and I had our first dinner together as a married couple. And afterward, he seduced me. Delicious shivers run down my back at the memory.

  “You sure you don’t have to work?” I ask.

  “If anything were blowing up, I’d’ve gotten a call by now.” I glance at his phone, which is blissfully quiet.

  I have no interest in swimming, but I do want to sun since I’m so pale. And I can read the novel I’ve been dying to start for a couple of days, the sequel to the sexy fireman romance. My face heats, remembering how Elliot found me reading it and reenacted one of the sex scenes. Oh my god, hot. If I were alone, I’d be fanning myself.

  Elliot does a few laps now and again, his powerfully muscled body cutting through the water like a shark. He looks so yummy, and I can’t help but feel a tinglingly female appreciation for such prime male physique. I wouldn’t object if he swam naked, but I’m not brazen enough to suggest it.

  I hear the intercom buzzing. “Lunch,” I call out, shrugging into a robe. I go to the door to take delivery from the local deli, and hand fifty bucks to a clean-cut guy who’s probably no more than a college sophomore. “Keep the change.”

  His mouth opens, then he beams. “Oh-ho-ho, sick! Thanks!”

  I shut the door and return to the rooftop pool. Elliot’s out of the water, his gorgeous butt parked in a lounger draped with a long, fluffy towel. I hand him his roast beef sandwich—extra horseradish gravy and one slice of tomato, no lettuce or pickles. I settle down to soup and salad.

  “Dainty,” he teases.

  “I’m not that hungry. I had a late breakfast, remember?”

  Grunting, he bites into his food. The man loves to eat, but somehow manages to stay lean and fit. Must be all the exercise.

  “By the way, what was it you wanted to tell me?” I ask after a few spoonfuls of the homey chicken and rice soup.

  Elliot’s already almost finished with his lunch. Something uncomfortable crosses his face. “Nonny was forcing herself to stay awake at night.”

  I blink. “Did she say why?”

  “She was worried about you.” His words are measured and calm. Too measured and calm.

  “What does that have to do with her staying up?” A thought strikes me. “So she doesn’t have insomnia?”

  He pushes the remains of his sandwich away. “I don’t think so. She thinks you might try to hurt yourself. So she’s staying up to make sure you don’t.”

  I stare at him, unsure how to take this. “What, like sleepwalking?” I say finally. “Why would Nonny think that?”

  “Did you try to hurt yourself when you were fifteen?” His voice is low. Despite the question, his eyes betray him. He knows.

  I look away. “Yes. I was desperate.”

  And I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I could traumatize my body somehow and make myself inhospitable to the baby inside me…

  A tight knot clogs my throat, and I swallow. I can’t continue. I’m ashamed and conflicted about what I did. Having the baby would’ve been the height of madness. I was fifteen, didn’t know who the father was, and couldn’t have taken care of it. And I would’ve disappointed, even crushed, my parents—especially my mom, who thought I could do no wrong. But there are times I feel deep sorrow for the little life that was…unwanted through no fault of its own.

  His gaze soft, Elliot reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He knows me so well.

  I keep my head lowered. “But it was. If I hadn’t drunk so much…”

  “No.” His voice hardens. “It wasn’t. I won’t let you blame yourself. The only bad guy is the prick who took advantage of a young, drunken girl. Not you.”

  “But what if I wanted to?” I ask in a whisper. “What if I did say yes…or even came on to the guy…but just don’t remember?” That night is one big blank. I’m never going to know what happened.

  “When someone’s too drunk to recall what happened, she can’t give consent,” Elliot says flatly. “You were a victim. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I raise my head so I can look him in the eyes. “But I’m hurting my sister.”

  “She saw you toss yourself down the stairs. She thinks you do it when you’re stretched thin and feel stressed out. She thought you might’ve gotten to that point again recently, especially after Tiffany’s little stunt at dinner.”

  Suddenly I feel chilled despite the warm sunlight pouring over us. “I see.”

  “Come here.” He pulls me onto his lap, my back pressed flush against his torso. His body heat envelopes me, heating me from the outside in. “I’m only telling you this so you can decide what you want to do about the situation, not to make you relive an ugly memory or blame yourself for any of it. You don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want to. I already told her I’d watch over you so she wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

  His sweet thoughtfulness brings tears to my eyes. Does he know how he’s pulling me deeper into him? He’s made it clear he doesn’t want anything permanent with me…

  We have an expiration date, but I’m beginning to wish that time would stop.

  “If I ever find out who did it…”

  I don’t have to see his expression to know that there’s a promise of violent retribution etched onto his face. It’s in the cold, granite tone of his voice.

  Shifting I put my cheek over his heart. It beats a little too fast. I close my eyes. “Let’s not talk about ugly things,” I say softly. “It’s a beautiful day, and I’m happy being here with you.” The words slip out, but I’m not saying them just to placate him. I mean it.

  For the first time since my parents were gunned down, I’m truly content and happy. Elliot strokes my hair, placing a kiss on the crown of my head, and I let myself go boneless with a small smile.

  * * *

  Annabelle

  By Friday, Nonny looks much more rested and it’s like nothing ever happened. The brand new fitted red baby-tee and denim shorts make her appear just like any other kid in her class. Her bounce is back, the high ponytail swinging with every step. She gives me a tight hug before leaving for school, her white and navy blue Chucks loud on the hardwood floor as she hurries out to catch the bus.

  I still haven’t talked to her about her worries. I should, but I haven’t figured out the right approach.

  “She needs to learn how to drive,” Elliot muses as he polishes off his eggs. He’s in a loose blue Superman shirt and cargo shorts, bare feet hooked on the bottom rung of his stool.

  “I don’t know,” I say, running my hand down my sleeveless pale beige dress with a blue and purple butterfly print. When Elliot’s shopper Josephine Martinez sent it, I thought it would look bad on me, but it is actually quite cool and sophisticated.

  “She’s old enough. I’ll arrange for it. She can’t ride the school bus all the time.”

  I frown as my caffeinated brain does some quick math on how much it’s going to cost to buy her a car.

  He gets up and presses a quick kiss on my mouth. “Stop worrying about money. It’s my prerogative to spoil my sister-in-law.” He dumps his plate and mug in the sink. I don’t think he knows how to open the dishwasher. “By the way, I arranged for a spa for you today.”

  “Why?” I ask, coming up to him.

  He extends a hand, and I give him my empty coffee cup. “To get you relaxed and ready for the dinner. I thought you’d like that.”

  “Is this a subtle remin
der to do my mani pedi?”

  “Nope.” He sprinkles some water over the dishes and kisses me again. “It’s a blatant reminder to pamper yourself.”

  I flush. “Well, thank you.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “For being good to me.”

  A corner of his mouth lifts. “If you think this is being good, wait’ll you see our honeymoon.” He pauses. “You do have a passport…?”

  “Yes.” I got one my sophomore year in college, with an eye toward a semester in Europe. Not that I ever got to go, since my dad’s Ponzi scheme fell apart.

  “Perfect. We leave on Sunday.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “St. Cecilia. It’s in the Caribbean. Semi-private island. You’ll love it.”

  “How can an island be ‘semi-private’? It is either private or it isn’t, right?”

  “One family owns most of it, but not all. And recently they decided to build a new resort on a pristine strip of beach.”

  “Wow. So we’re staying at this new resort?”

  “It’s a couple of years old, but yes.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Aylster Resort. It’s quite beautiful, and the island isn’t teeming with tourists like some of the more famous places.”

  “It sounds lovely. But who’s going to watch Nonny?”

  “Elizabeth volunteered to stay here for a week.”

  “A week!” It seems like a huge imposition.

  “Two would be better, but asking her to spend that much time here would border on cruelty.”

  I frown. “This place seems comfortable enough.”

  He chuckles. “It’s kind of a joke. Anyway, she’ll be fine.”

  Relief floods me. I don’t want to unduly impose on Elizabeth. “In that case, I can’t wait.” I beam.

  “Neither can I.” He suddenly laughs. “I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to a vacation.”

  “Maybe you take too many,” I tease.

  “Or maybe because most of them aren’t really any different from clubbing in L.A.”

  I can imagine the kind of rowdy times he must’ve had. I’ve seen the photos. The women, the booze. When a man as brilliant, magnetic and rich as Elliot is out and about, he’s bound to attract women. And he certainly seemed to enjoy those wild scenes.