More than a Convenient Marriage?

by Dani Collins

  “Why are you wearing that?” His voice barely made it up from the depths of his chest.

  “I’ve grown out of all my nightgowns,” she said with aggravation. “Do you mind?”

  “It’s criminal, Adara,” he admitted with a scrape in his throat, polishing the last of his drink. “We promised not to tease each other. Let me get you my robe.”

  She tilted her head to a skeptical angle as he brushed past her. “I wasn’t trying to tease. But, be honest, are my legs okay? Because they seem swollen. No wonder everyone was appalled.”

  Be honest, echoed in his head, but the whiskey was burning through blood that had abstained from alcohol the way the rest of him had been going without his wife. Fear, genuine fear of losing her—not this penthouse or their cruise ship or the other properties they owned—edged out conscience or logic. All he wanted was to hold on to her. Tightly.

  “It’s been a long night. You should be asleep,” he told her when she followed him into the bedroom.

  “I had a nap before we left,” she reminded, scowling as he shook out his robe and held it for her. “Does it strike you that we act less like a married couple these days than a nanny and her charge? You don’t need to dress me.”

  He patiently continued to keep the robe suspended by the shoulders, inviting her to shrug her arms into the sleeves. “If I treat you like a child, it’s only to remind myself that’s why I can’t have you. You know I’m crazy about you.”

  “But how could you be? Look at me!” She flashed open the shirt she’d been hugging over her front.

  He shut his eyes, but not before he took a mental photograph of creamy skin, nipples dark and distended, lush, plump curves and a ripe round belly with an alluring shadow beneath that was not concealed by any satin or lace. She was naked and gloriously fertile.

  This was why ancient men worshipped the goddess who provided their young.

  “You can’t even look!”

  “For God’s sake, Adara.” He hung the robe on its hook and moved into his closet to change, needing the distance or he’d bend her over the nearest piece of furniture and show her how badly he wanted her. “If I wanted to sleep with a stick, I would have married one. You’ve always had a nice round ass and I like it. Frankly, it’s better than ever in my opinion. See how hot I am for you?”

  He paused in hanging his tuxedo pants over a rod and moved into the doorway, showing her his straining erection barely contained by his boxers. Every cell in his body was primed for her and this fight was only shredding what little control he had left. It didn’t help that he was also dealing with Nic’s threats, feeling his grip on Adara and their life together slipping away. He wanted to cement their connection with a prolonged act of intimacy, but it wasn’t possible.

  Adara’s gaze went liquid as she roamed it lovingly down his form, wetting her lips as she stared at the shape straining against the molding fabric of his shorts.

  “I could—”

  “I told you, we’re in this together,” he muttered, turning away from her offer even though it was like wrenching muscle tissue from his bones. But every time he thought of the way she’d gone down on him to protect this pregnancy in the first place, and that he’d resented not having all of her, he felt like the biggest heel alive.

  He was.

  He finished stowing his clothes and stepped into his pajama bottoms, returning to the bedroom to find her buttoning his shirt up her front, not looking at him.

  He sighed, but what could he say?

  A few seconds later, the lights were out and that delicious ass of hers was pressed firmly into his lap, driving him insane as she wiggled to get comfortable.

  “Can I have your arm?” She lifted her head.

  He obliged, sliding his arm under her neck the way she liked. As she settled and sighed, he smoothed her hair back from her ear and rested his lips against her nape. His other hand splayed on her belly and he let out a breath as well.

  She was still tense though and it made it impossible for him to relax.

  “Don’t be angry,” he cajoled. “This is only for a couple more months.”

  “Months,” Adara cried, nearly ready to burst into tears of frustration. Feeling his erection against her cheeks didn’t help.

  “Weeks,” he hurried to say, even though they both knew it was eight.

  “I’m dying.” She covered his hand with hers and drew his fingers into contact with the wet valley between her thighs. “See?”

  It was something she couldn’t have even contemplated doing half a year ago, but they’d grown close and honest and sexual. Her body wasn’t as visual as his when it came to showing how aroused she was, but she wanted him to know how badly she was suffering. She expected him to pull away and scold her, but he surprised her by burying a groan against her neck and stroking deeply and with more pressure. He explored her with the familiar expertise that always drove her directly to the edge.

  Her hips rocked instinctively into his caress, then back into that teasing hardness behind the thin shield of fabric pressed against her bottom. His other arm shifted to clamp around her, clasping one full breast and caging her to the wall of his body while he bit her neck. His hips pushed against her and he pressed two fingertips where she felt it most, pinning her in a vise of sheer delight.

  A quicksilver shiver was chased by a shudder and then the quaking poured through her, running like fire between her thighs and suffusing her whole body in sparkling waves of pleasure. The contractions were huge and stunning and incredible. She mindlessly prolonged them by grinding his hand between her legs and rocking her hips against his erection, loving everything about this wildly intimate act.

  When the paroxysm receded, she gasped for a normal breath.

  Gideon’s caressing fingers left her. She protested with a little murmur. Her body wanted more and more and more, but a sweet lassitude filled her too. Now she felt sexy and adored.

  She also realized her neck stung. Gideon had left a love bite there.

  Dazed but determined to keep things equal between them, she tried to turn. He swore and rolled away.

  “Don’t be mad—” She realized there was also a wet patch on her back. Plucking at it, mind hardly able to comprehend how... “Did you—?”

  “Yes,” he said tightly. She sensed he was lifting his hips to remove his pajama pants. A second later the pants were dragged from beneath the covers and sent flying across the floor. “What the hell did you just do to me? I haven’t done that since, hell, I don’t think I’ve ever lost control like that. It’s not funny.”

  Adara couldn’t help the fit of giggles as she sat up to remove his shirt. “I was kinda caught up and didn’t realize you were with me. That’s nice. I’m glad.”

  “Yeah, I noticed you were enjoying it. That’s why I was so turned on, but I didn’t mean to lose it completely. Thank God it’s dark. I’m so embarrassed—would you quit laughing?” He threw the stained shirt after the pants.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, unable to help convulsing with giggles as he spooned her into him again, skin to skin. It felt incredible and she snuggled deeper into the curve of his hot body. “Was it good for you?”

  “What do you think? It was fantastic, you brat. How’s baby? Did I hurt you? I was holding you pretty tight. Good thing you’re not going anywhere tomorrow, with that giant hickey on your neck.”

  “We’re fine. Both very happy.” She smiled into the dark, melting as he caressed her belly and nuzzled her ear. “But you’re not going to leave those clothes on the floor, are you?” she teased.

  He stilled and let out a breath of exasperation. “They’re fine till—oh, hell, it’ll drive me crazy now you’ve said it and you know that, don’t you?” He flung off the covers and gathered the shirt and pants to throw them in the hamper. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked as he returned
to the bed that was shaking with her laughter.

  Adara used the edge of the blanket to stifle her snickers. “I’m sorry. That was mean, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was,” he growled, cuddling her into him once more. They both relaxed. “But you must believe me now. About finding you irresistible?”

  “I do,” she agreed, sleepily caressing the back of his hand where it rested on the side of her belly. Tenderness filled her and she knew she’d never been this happy in her life. “And I can’t help thinking... Gideon?”

  “Mmm?” he responded sleepily.

  “Are we falling in love?” Her heart stopped as she took that chance. It was such a walk straight off a cliff.

  That didn’t pay off.

  Stillness transformed him into a rock behind her. Her postorgasmic relaxation dissipated, filling her with tension. His breath didn’t even stir her hair.

  Stupid, stupid, Adara. Hadn’t she learned a millennium ago not to beg for affection?

  “I’m not sure,” he said in a gruff rasp.

  “It was a silly question. Never mind. Let’s just go to sleep. I’m tired.” She resolutely shut her eyes and tried to force herself to go lax, to convince him she was sleeping, but she stayed awake a long time, a thick lump in her throat.

  And when she woke in the night, he was no longer in the bed with her.

  * * *

  Gideon stood before the living room windows and saw nothing but his past. A dozen times or more over the years, he’d considered coming clean with Adara. Every time he’d talked himself out of telling her his real name, but this time he wasn’t finding an easy way to rationalize keeping his secret.

  At first it had been a no-brainer. She’d been all business with her proposal, selling him the upside of marriage in her sensible way. The hook had been deliciously baited with everything he’d ever wanted, including a sexy librarian-style wife. Telling her at that point that he was living under a false name would have deep-sixed their deal. Of course, he’d stayed silent.

  His conscience had first pinched him the morning of their honeymoon though. She’d come to the breakfast table so fresh faced and shy, barely able to meet his gaze. He’d been incapable of forming thoughts or words, his entire being filled with excited pride as he recollected how trusting and sweetly responsive she’d been.

  “Any regrets?” she’d asked into the silence, hands in her lap, breath subtly held.

  “None,” he’d lied, because he’d had a small one. It had niggled that she was so obviously good and pristine and unquestioning. He’d soiled her in a way, marrying her under pretense.

  He hadn’t exactly been tortured by his lie, doing what he could to compensate, even forgetting for stretches at a time as they put on charity balls and cut ribbons on after-school clubs. He had let himself believe he really was Gideon Vozaras and Adara legally his wife. Life had been too easy for soul-searching and when the miscarriages had happened, well, things had grown too distant between them to even think of confessing.

  Since Greece, however, the jabs to his conscience had grown more frequent and a lot sharper. Honesty had become a necessary pillar to their relationship, strengthening it as much as the physical intimacy. He respected her too much to be dishonest with her.

  And he loved her too much to risk losing her.

  God, he loved her. Last night when she’d asked him about his feelings, he’d been struck dumb by how inadequate the word was when describing such an expansive emotion. He’d handled it all wrong, immediately falling into a pit of remorse because he was misrepresenting himself. He had to tell her.

  And he would lose her when he did.

  He could stand losing everything else. The inevitable scandal in the papers, the legal ramifications, the hit to his social standing and being dropped from his numerous boards of directors... None of that would be easy to take, but he’d endure it easily if Adara stood by him.

  She wouldn’t. Maybe she would stick by a man who came from a decent background, but once he really opened his can of worms and she saw the extent of his filthy start, she’d be understandably appalled. It would take a miracle for her to overlook it.

  Yet he had no choice, not with Nic breathing down his neck.

  His heart pumped cold, sluggish blood through his arteries as he waited like a man on death row, waited for the sound of footsteps and the call of his name.

  * * *

  Adara didn’t bother trying to go back to bed when she woke at six. Swaddling herself in Gideon’s robe, she went to find him, mind already churning with ways to gloss over her gaffe from last night. If she could have pretended it hadn’t happened at all, she would have, but it was obvious she’d unsettled him. She’d have to say something.

  She found him standing at the window in the living room, barefoot and shirtless, sweatpants slouched low on his hips. His hair was rumpled, his expression both ravaged and distracted when he turned at the sound of her footsteps.

  He didn’t say anything, just looked at her as if the greatest misery gripped him.

  Her heart clutched. This was all her fault. She’d ruined everything.

  “It was never part of our deal, I know that,” she blurted, moving a few steps toward him only to be held off by his raised hand.

  He might as well have planted that hand in the middle of her chest and shoved with all his considerable might, it was such a painfully final gesture of rejection.

  “Our deal...” He ran his hand down his unshaven face. “You don’t even know who you made that deal with, Adara. I shouldn’t have taken it. It was wrong.”

  She gasped, cleaved in two by the implication he regretted their marriage and all that had come of it thus far. He couldn’t mean it. No, this was about his childhood, she told herself, grasping for an explanation for this sudden rebuff. He’d confessed that before they married he’d had a low sense of self-worth. He blamed himself for his friend’s death. He had probably convinced himself he wasn’t worthy of being loved.

  She knew how that felt, but he was so wrong.

  “Gideon—” She moved toward him again.

  He shook his head and walked away from her, standing at an angle so all she could see was his profile filled with self-loathing. A great weight slumped his bare shoulders.

  She couldn’t bear to see him hurting like this. “Gideon, please. I know I overstepped. We don’t have to go into crisis.”

  “It’s not you that’s done anything. You’re perfect. And I wouldn’t do this if your brother hadn’t threatened to do it for me,” he said through gritted teeth, as if he was digging a bullet from his own flesh. “I would never hurt you if I had a choice. You know that, right?”

  “Hurt me how? Which brother? What do you mean?”

  “Nic. He’s threatened to expose me to you, so I have no choice but to tell you myself.”

  His despair was so tangible, her hand unconsciously curled into the lapels of the robe, drawing it tightly over the place in her throat that suddenly felt sliced open and cold. She instinctively knew she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, but forced herself to ask in a barely-there voice, “Tell me what?”

  He solidified into a marble statue, inscrutable and still, his lips barely moving as he said, “That I’m not Gideon Vozaras.”

  After a long second, she reminded herself to blink, but she was still unable to comprehend. Her mind said, Of course you are. He wasn’t making sense.

  “I don’t... What do you mean? Who is then?”

  “No one. It’s a made-up name.”

  “No, it’s not.” The refusal was automatic. How could his name be made up? He had a driver’s license and a passport. Deeds to boats and properties. His name was on their marriage certificate. You couldn’t falsify things like that. Could you?

  She stared at him, ears ringing with the need to
hear something from those firmly clamped lips, something that would contradict what he’d already said.

  He only held her gaze with a deeply regretful look. His brow was furrowed and anguished.

  No. She shook her head. This was just something he was saying to get out of feeling pressured to love her because...

  Her mind couldn’t conjure any sensible reason to go to this length of a tale to escape an emotional obligation. Rather, her thoughts leaped more quickly to the opposite: that it would make more sense to pretend to love in order to perpetuate a ruse. The nightly news was full of fraudsters who pretended to love someone so they could marry a fortune.

  Her throat closed up and she took a step backward, recoiling from the direction her thoughts were taking. It wasn’t possible. She was being paranoid.

  But she couldn’t escape the way tiny actions—especially those taken since she’d asked for a divorce—began to glow with significance. They landed on her with a weightless burn, clinging like fly ash.

  I fired Lexi.

  I had self-worth because you gave it to me. People respected me.

  His sudden turn toward physical attentiveness and nonstop seduction. No baby wasn’t a deal breaker, he’d said.

  But adoption wasn’t worth talking about because that would require a thorough background check.

  Her heart shriveled and began to hurt. She brought a protective hand to her belly. He must have thought he’d won the lottery when she had turned up pregnant and their marriage was seemingly cemented forever.

  I wouldn’t do this if your brother hadn’t threatened to do it for me.

  He would have let her just keep on believing he was Gideon Vozaras.

  “Who are you?” she asked in a thin voice, thinking, This is a dream. A bad one. “Where did Gideon Vozaras come from?”

  He scowled. “I took Kristor’s surname so I could pose as his son and collect what savings he had. My first name came off the cover of a Bible in a hotel room.” He jerked a shoulder, face twisting with dismay. “Sacrilegious, I know.”