by Kati Wilde
“I know. You just made that very clear.” She glances at me with a sad sort of amusement touching her mouth. Amusement that vanishes only a moment later, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth before looking out the window again. “Do you want to tear up our marriage contract completely? I will still help you with the rest…and be the business partner you hoped to find.”
Because when I brought that proposal to her, I didn’t really know what I was looking for. But it was Audrey all along. For however long I can have her. Six months. Two years. It’ll never be long enough.
I should have known a man can’t have a whole pie and eat it, too. So I’ll take what I can get.
“No,” I tell her hoarsely. “I don’t want to tear it up.”
Her eyes close briefly. She pulls in a deep breath before glancing at me with another little smile. “I suppose there is still the matter of your unlikely demise. We need to make sure that inheritance stays out of the Wyndhams’ hands.”
“Yes.” I’ll agree with any reason she wants to believe.
A bit of sparkle returns to her gaze. “And spite.”
I try to dredge up a smile but can’t manage much. Because spite isn’t anywhere near the top of my list of reasons to marry her. Hell, I’ve barely even thought of the Wyndhams during this past week. Only of her.
Only of making certain she still wants to marry me.
“And this, too,” I tell her gruffly—and she doesn’t stiffen when I catch her chin, doesn’t pull away when I softly kiss her. Instead her eyes close and she melts against me.
Her cheeks are flushed when I lift my head. Her eyes search my expression, then she glances away, her gaze settling on the contract I abandoned on the table.
“Caleb, we can change the agreement—but you should know that, in my mind, this is when our marriage begins. When I sign this contract. Not the ceremony or the license. To me, that’s just…” She seems to cast about for words before settling on, “That’s just the handshake after the deal is made, because there’s no going back for me after this. So if you have any doubts—”
“I don’t. And I’ll sign any damn thing you want me to.” Especially if a contract is what locks her down. “But I still want the ceremony. Because that’s what’s important to me.”
The vows that talk about forever. Not just a short time.
She nods. “Of course we’ll have both.”
“All right, then.” I stalk over to the table and grab a pen, start flipping to the end of the contract. “Let’s do this.”
“Not yet!” Her exclamation and soft laugh follow me. “We need witnesses. And we’ll ask them to print a copy that doesn’t include the paragraph about the settlement.”
“Oh. Good.”
Her face serious again, she collects the contract from the table. “But are you certain, Caleb? If we lose against the Wyndhams, you’ll end up with nothing when our marriage is over.”
“I’m sure,” I tell her.
Because it’ll be the same either way. Win or lose, when our marriage is over…
I’ll have nothing at all.
9
Audrey
Audrey: I’m leaving the Christmas party now. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.
Caleb: I’ll be ready.
In the backseat, I click off my phone and lean my head back, closing my eyes. The driver’s closed partition, privacy screens on the windows, and soundproofing shut out the light and noise from outside, but I can’t shut out the pain that’s been growing inside me all afternoon.
I’m no good at lying to other people, but I apparently have no problem lying to myself. I told myself that I would be content with the short time I have with Caleb. Yet I could barely breathe as I watched him read through the second part of the marriage contract today. Hoping with everything in me that, after spending this week together, he’d modify his original plan to dissolve the marriage after the legal battle ended.
But he didn’t. He let that part of the contract stand while everything inside me felt as if it was breaking apart.
That wasn’t even the worst of it, though. I thought it would be. But I had a week to prepare for that—of reading that section over and over, of knowing it might never change. I wasn’t prepared for the rest.
I want to marry you, he said the first time we met.
But it was a lie.
I never believed the proposal was anything more than a business arrangement. That had been clear from the beginning. He wanted to marry me to spite the Wyndhams. I was never under the illusion his offer meant more than that.
Yet I still believed him when he said, I want to marry you. That statement had electrified me. It had surprised me and pleased me and I decided to accept his proposal before I even heard the rest of his pitch.
But he never meant a word—and I didn’t even realize it.
I can’t always tell when people are lying to me, and I can’t always interpret their tone and expression, but I can spot a gimmick like red paint on white canvas. Yet I didn’t spot his. I took him at his word. And since then, he’s been so forthright that it never occurred to me that his I want to marry you was just a way of getting my attention.
But he didn’t want to marry me.
Maybe he does now. He says he does. But maybe he just…recognized that marriage was a better deal. Because it is. So maybe he doesn’t really want to marry but is smart enough to see the advantages, so he agreed to take that step. I know he doesn’t want my money, but in this fight against the Wyndhams, marriage to me makes attaining his goal much more certain.
As for the sex that he claims is another reason…we certainly don’t need marriage for that. And I don’t think he’s faking his desire when he kisses me or touches me, and I don’t think his thoughtful way of offering protection and comfort is a pretense. But those have nothing to do with marriage. He would be the same if we were only dating. Because passion and caring are in his nature, and his friend was right to call him a marshmallow. Caleb is a big, sexy marshmallow. A little charred and rough at first glance but so sweet inside. So he would be the same whether he was marrying me or not.
And I don’t know what to believe now. Self-doubt has crept in. Because I mistook what he wanted from the beginning—mistook the words that formed the foundation of this relationship. And it hurts. The painful vulnerability that faded over the past week is once again a giant, aching hole in my chest.
I open my eyes as the vehicle stops in front of a house festooned with Christmas decorations. Movement on the upper level of a detached garage draws my attention. Warmth twists in my belly as I recognize Caleb’s big form coming down the stairs, wearing the same black twill trousers and red flannel shirt under a heavy canvas coat that he wore to the tree lighting ceremony. He greets my driver by name before getting in and choosing the rear-facing seat across from mine.
“A bigger car today,” he comments, leaning forward to briefly press his lips to mine. “Are we pulling out the stops for the Wyndhams?”
“For my employees. All of my drivers are on call to take home anyone who isn’t sober enough to drive.” The door closes, leaving us in a cocoon of dark and quiet. “I hope you don’t mind if we keep the privacy screens up.”
“I don’t,” he says softly. “Was the Christmas party too much? If it was, we can skip this dinner.”
This whole day has been too much. But the dark isn’t just to settle my brain. It’s how I hide when I’m hurting, too.
I don’t want to say any of that, so I simply tell him, “Dinner will be fine. And there’s a Christmas present for you on the seat over there.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“It’s not from me.” I know he doesn’t want anything from me. That was made clear today, too. “It’s from Jeremy and Jessica. They didn’t think you had time to shop for an ugly sweater for tomorrow, so they picked up one for you.”
“Ah, shit. That’s good of them. But they shouldn’t have done that.”
�
�They like you. And they enjoy giving things to people they like.” Just as I do.
“Yeah, but I was thinking we shouldn’t even go to that party.”
Patrick’s ugly sweater party? “Why?”
“Because the wedding’s only two days after that. I’m sure both of us have tons of other shit to do.”
“Not according to my calendar.” And if I needed time to accomplish something, I’d schedule time for it. “Is there something else you need to do? Or you just don’t want to go?”
Frustration roughens his response. “I’m just thinking it would be better if we didn’t.”
“Oh.” My throat suddenly closes up. Tight, so tight. Because it suddenly occurs to me why he doesn’t want to go. Or rather, doesn’t want me to go. My voice is a jagged whisper as I ask, “Are you afraid I’ll be a rude snob to your friends again?”
“What? No. Fuck no. That doesn’t worry me at all.”
“Then why?”
“Because of this, baby. Because you just got out of a party and you’re sitting here in the dark. And it’s not all ugly sweaters. There’s going to be a fuckton of people, they’re all going to be loud and drunk, they’ll have music blasting in one room and probably playing a Die Hard marathon at full volume in another room, and they’ll all be trying to grab you and hug you and shake your hand while congratulating us.”
“I like Die Hard,” I snap before tapping on the overhead light, trying to control the emotions suddenly raging inside me.
Sitting across from me, Caleb blinks a few times, then his brows lower in a dark frown. “Are you pissed off?”
Partly pissed off. Partly touched. Mostly thinking that I never want this to happen again.
In a tight voice I tell him, “I appreciate your concern. I do. But you need to understand that I don’t accept invitations because I think it’s a polite thing to do, or because I feel an obligation to go. I only do what I want to do—and this party sounded fun. I also expect the noise and music, and if I thought I wouldn’t enjoy myself or be okay, I wouldn’t go. As it is, the worst that will happen is that I space out or have to find a dark room for a while. And those aren’t such bad things.”
“They aren’t bad things at all.” His eyes close and he gives a heavy sigh, dragging his hand through his hair. “All right. I was just—”
“I know what you were just. You were trying to protect me. And I like very much that you are thinking of me, Caleb. I truly do. But please do not ever think for me.”
His jaw clenches but he gives a tight nod. “But you’ll tell me if you need me, or if it’s too much.”
That, I can give him. “I’ll tell you if I need you.”
“And I live right over Patrick’s garage—so if you have to escape, I’ll keep it open for you.”
“Thank you.”
He groans. “Don’t thank me, baby. It’s the least I can do. But while we’re at it, is there anything else you want to get off your chest?”
I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to at all. But my eyes suddenly burn, my throat thickens with tears, and it bursts out. “I didn’t know it was a gimmick.”
Caleb goes utterly still. “Audrey—”
“And I feel like such a foolish dipshit!”
His expression hardens. Instantly he leans forward, catching my hands. His gaze locks on mine. “First of all,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, “you are the smartest person I’ve ever met. Hands down. No fucking question. The most brilliant. So you don’t ever think or feel like that. And second of all…” His voice suddenly hoarsens. “I can’t say I’m sorry for doing it. I’m so damn sorry it’s making you feel like this. But if I only asked you to be a business partner, then I wouldn’t be here with you now. I wouldn’t know what your pussy tastes like and wouldn’t be jacking off every fucking day while picturing you under me on our wedding night. If I hadn’t asked for the whole damn pie instead of a single slice, I wouldn’t be marrying you in three days. So if I said I was sorry that I went into your office with a marriage proposal that I never believed you’d accept, it’d be a lie.”
I swallow past the thick lump in my throat. “So your only lie was the first one?”
“Yes. Except it’s not a lie anymore.”
Because he wants to marry me. Maybe not forever. But for now. And despite all this pain and uncertainty…I also know that I love him. I know I’ll hurt even more when I eventually have to let him go.
Fortunately that won’t be today.
A ragged breath shudders from me. And another. Then I ask, “You jack off every day?”
A short laugh escapes him, as if that was the last thing he expected me to say. “Every day since I met you.”
“Why don’t you do it with me?” I only get to touch him above the waist or through his jeans.
“Because I’m keeping my pants on with you. But I usually come while I’m eating your pussy, anyway. I’ve done a hell of a lot of laundry this week.”
“I haven’t done any,” I say and as he grins in response, I demand quietly, “Show me.”
His fingers tighten on mine. Heat flares through his gaze. “My laundry?”
“I want to watch you jack off.”
His breathing deepens. “We’re only about five minutes away from the Wyndham estate.”
Not enough time. “Then we’ll save that for the trip back. But I want to see you now.”
“Me?” His voice roughens. “Or my dick?”
“Both,” I whisper huskily. “I want to look at you—and the big cock that I’ve felt against me but never seen.”
His eyes darken. “Say all that again, Audrey. And then tell me you want my long, thick cock balls-deep inside your tight little cunt.”
Is that what he wants to hear? But I want something, too, and negotiating is an activity that I do very, very well. “Maybe I’ll tell you after you show me.”
“Oh fuck,” he groans and leans back, sliding down a little in the seat and unbuckling his belt. “You’re such a hot tease.”
“I’m not the one holding out until the wedding.”
A tortured laugh shakes through him. “Trust me when I say that I’d do any damn thing to make Christmas come earlier this year.”
Me, too. But I don’t think he expects a response, and I can’t give one anyway as he unzips and drags his erection free, his fingers wrapped around the base. The heavily veined shaft that juts up through his fist is crowned by a broad, flared head—and all of that is going to be inside me. My inner muscles clench almost painfully hard. I make a needy sound low in my throat, aware of his burning stare locked on my face, but I can’t look away from his massive length.
“It’s fatter than I thought,” I whisper. The shaft is even thicker than the wide tip. As his fist strokes upward, his fingers tighten near the head. “And a little longer.”
“The perfect size to fill you all the way up.” His voice is taut with strain. “The perfect size to make you feel so damn good.”
“Yes,” I agree breathlessly, because I don’t know what size is right but simply looking at it makes me feel so good. Because every rigid inch is evidence of his desire.
His desire for me.
“If we were married, you could climb up on me right here and…” His fist slowly drags down his length as if to demonstrate the way my pussy would take him in. “Or you could turn around in that seat and I’d get up behind you, fuck you so deep and hard.”
Oh god. He demonstrates that, too, with his fist jerking up and down his shaft, rough and fast—before slowing, slowing.
“But on our wedding night”—his breathing is heavy, harsh—“I’ll be so gentle. Because I want you so goddamn bad but I’ll never hurt you. So I’ll slowly ease into your hot little cunt when I open you up for the first time.”
Thighs clenched tight, I squirm in my seat, my pussy drowning in molten heat. “Caleb,” I gasp.
“You want that, baby? Then you tell me. I showed you the goods, so you tell me how bad you want this big cock
inside you.”
I’m not done negotiating. “Only if I taste it first.”
“Christ help me,” he groans, his eyes closing. They open again when I slide out of my seat and kneel in front of him. “Audrey. Baby. Your mouth looks so goddamn fuckable. You’re killing me.”
Not any worse than he’s killed me this past week. Softly I say, “Please, Caleb. I want it so much.”
“Ah, fuck. Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to resist that? All right, then.” His voice suddenly hardens as if he’s steeling himself. Gripping his cock just below the crown, he angles the ruddy head toward my lips. “You lick away that little drop right there. That’ll give you a taste.”
The pearly bead of semen that decorates the fat tip. More evidence of his need for me. Eagerly I lean forward to sip away the drop.
But it’s all over too fast. I barely process all the sensations coming at me. The salty flavor. His harsh curse and the small, involuntary jerk of his hips. The taut, slick skin beneath my tongue. His heat and my own arousal, the deep throb in response to it all. And foolishly, I closed my eyes, as if I were kissing his cock. So I didn’t witness his reaction.
I look up at him now and see the strain visible across his face. My voice thick with hunger, I request, “One more?”
Jaw clenched, he gives a tight nod. “Just one,” he rasps.
But he doesn’t specify how long that taste can last. And this time I keep my gaze on him, just like he does when I’m so close to coming and his mouth closes over my clit, when he begins to suckle and lick and I can’t see what he’s doing but I can feel all of it—and he never looks away from me all the while.
Now I know why. Because I do the same, closing my lips over the head of his cock, sucking and licking and watching as agonizing pleasure overtakes Caleb’s expression. I’m doing that do him. Making his teeth grit on a tortured moan and his head fall back. Making his fingers convulsively tighten around his shaft. Making the heavy muscles in his thighs tremble before stiffening.
I swirl my tongue and his breath hisses through his teeth. The tendons in his neck stand in sharp relief before he lowers his head again, gaze locking with mine. His dark eyes gleam with need, an aroused flush reddening the skin above the hollows of his cheeks. For an instant, his left hand hovers above my hair—whether to push my mouth down farther or to pull me off of him, I don’t know. Then his hand clenches into a fist and drops to his thigh.