by Christa Wick
We weren’t the first to arrive at the airport. Stepping onto the privately chartered plane, we were greeted with a warm round of applause. Looking around to find that every face belonged to someone on my staff, I stiffened. If Blake had invited a single person he knew, they weren’t on the plane.
Way to drive a stake through a girl’s heart.
I looked at him, felt the hot accusation burning in my face and prayed no one else on the plane realized I was hurt and angry.
Running his hand along my side, Blake whispered in my ear. “Relax, PJ.”
The plane didn’t have regular seats. Instead, two long leather couches curved against its sides. Leading me to the center of one, he pulled me onto his lap and buried his face against the side of my neck. He rubbed my arm, speaking so low only I could hear him. “Abigail and her family will be there tomorrow. Beyond that, I have business associates, love, not friends.”
He planted a soft kiss at the curve of my jaw. “I wanted you to have a nice private ceremony surrounded by those who love you.”
Plastering a smile on my face, I nodded.
Yeah, they all loved me.
Everyone except the one who mattered most.
Everyone but Blake.
*****
We landed at the Owen Roberts International Airport a little over three hours later. After a quick nod by a customs official, we piled into white limos, all the women in the first two, Blake and the other men in the third.
Michelle Hennings, my lead designer and a close friend since college, gave me a bear hug as soon as the limo pulled away from the airport. “We’ve got the best hen party ever planned! Blake gave us everything we asked for!”
“Including two strippers!” That was Clara, recently divorced from the man she’d lost her virginity to. She pointed a finger at every last one of us. “And, ladies, one of those hotties is mine!”
By eight p.m., every last one of the women was at least slightly drunk. True to her declaration, Clara had disappeared two minutes after the taller of the dancers left to take a breather and still hadn’t returned. Kevin showed up, completely sober, after he managed to sneak away from Blake’s bachelor party.
I elbowed him as he sat down on the couch beside me. “Didn’t like the entertainment, huh?”
He grinned, his gaze locked on the thrusting groin of the remaining dancer as Michelle tried to hook the man’s G-string. Kevin shook his head. “No entertainment, just whiskey, cigars and a helluva lot of poker chips. Real ones!”
“You tapped out already?” I joked. Kevin didn’t exactly have a poker face.
“No.” He patted his jacket pocket, the sound of plastic knocking together distinct but faint. Leaning over, he planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “Congratulations, PJ. It’s clear Blake is absolutely crazy about you.”
I forced another smile and waited a full five minutes before excusing myself. Obviously Blake had a great poker face. It helped that Kevin took everyone at face value. Out of everyone I worked with and was friends with, he’d be the most crushed if he ever found out this was all a lie.
Stepping onto the patio, I closed the door behind me and moved out of the light. Not wanting to stumble on Clara and her new friend making out in the dark, I listened for a few seconds for any sounds before I skirted the manicured lawn and headed toward the private beach.
Less than fifty feet from the patio, I realized Blake was leaning against a palm tree and watching me. He was both the last and the only person I wanted to see at that moment. I approached him, stopping a few feet short of the tree he leaned against.
Apparently, that wasn’t acceptable. Reaching out, he yanked me to him, his grip unyielding as his lips crushed mine. Half a minute passed before he let me surface for air.
I tried to get my hands up between us. I desperately needed a little distance, my emotions whipping between wanting to cry and the hot urge of peeling my dress off. “What are you doing here?”
“What is he doing here?” His grip as rough as his voice, he pulled me into another kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. His fingers curled in my hair to hold my head immobile. “You’re mine, Pippa.”
A quick spin and Blake had me pinned against the tree. A hard tug and the skirt of my dress was up over my hips, his big hands wrapping around my ass to cinch me against him. He kissed me again, offering no tender pretense as he pillaged my mouth. “Mine tonight, tomorrow—”
“Until Anna drops the suit or you crush her in court,” I reminded him. That was the cold, hard truth, as much as I wished it otherwise. He was happy to have me, to use me -- even if he gave me pleasure in return. But the minute things were settled, he’d be free to pursue the woman he was in love with. Like every other lover in my past, he wouldn’t need a stand-in anymore.
“Damn it, PJ, I don’t give a fuck about Anna’s suit.”
I pushed at his hands. He was lying. His dick was hard and he was lying. A week, a month from now and he’d be singing a different tune. His heat would turn to cold indifference.
Twisting away, I pulled my dress back over my hips. He wouldn’t have me tonight or any night other than tomorrow. We’d do the deed once to make it legal and then I was putting the brakes on the charade. There would be a few controlled interviews with the press, a few public sightings -- also carefully controlled. When the trial actually started, we could ramp things up again. By then I’d damn well be able to allow Blake’s touch without the certainty that it would be over all too soon grinding me to dust.
“Pippa!” He reached for me, but I managed to outmaneuver him.
I put my hand up, stopping him. “You will not follow me if you want me to show up at the ceremony tomorrow.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he glared at me. “You’d break the contract?”
“Yes.” That was a lie, but it slid past my lips like it was the truth. Now that we were on the island, the marriage certificate ready, the press alerted, he couldn’t risk my backing out any more than I could afford to break our agreement and have him call the note back.
“Love, you—”
“None of that!” I pointed a finger at him. “Not when we’re alone.”
“Yes, that, love.” His gaze narrowed, his lips thinning as he took a step toward me. The sand sucking at my sandals as I tried to turn, Blake caught me. “Not just from my lips, but from yours.”
“I can’t, Blake.” Shaking in his arms, I curled in on myself, tried to make myself small enough to slip away. It didn’t work. I was too big, too awkward. “Please don’t make me.”
“Make you?” His grip loosened, but not enough that I could free myself. His arms tightened around me again when I tried. His lips edged my jaw, tracking up when he reached my chin to whisper across my mouth. “Baby, those rides in the limo, that first night at the penthouse, in the elevator -- you surrendered.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t proud of it, wouldn’t argue that I hadn’t lost all control over my body and heart those times he had touched me. Neither would I admit it. I had to have some piece of me left when this was over. There would be nothing if I called him love. Nothing to rebuild from. Nothing to give another man.
“You did, Pippa.” He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, his hold on me gentling, his hands running up and down my back in soft persuasion. “You surrendered. You came crying my name and clinging to me. All that and you can’t call me love? Even faking it?”
That was it -- the whole damn problem. If I’d been faking it, I wouldn’t have a problem calling him love.
“Pippa, answer me.”
I couldn’t, and the burst of noise from the house as Michelle opened the door and called my name meant I didn’t have to.
*****
Like the light through the stained glass, a wave of soft laughter filtered through the chapel Sunday afternoon. Reciting my vows, I paused and tried to place the source of my friends’ amusement. They had laughed at the end of the pastor’s last sentence. I retraced his words, the very words
I was supposed to be repeating at that moment.
To love, honor and obey -- with a minimum of pushback.
Right, Blake had asked him to change the vows. They recognized it as an inside joke -- one they thought they understood. The joke was entirely on me, a reminder of the contract that had led to this sham marriage. I lifted my gaze to find Blake drilling holes in my skull, his face seemingly so tense it would crack if so much as a butterfly landed on it.
He held my hand, his grip tightening painfully until he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. When he opened them again, I saw…
I had no idea what I was seeing. The emotion was nothing I could name. Wanting that shadow clouding his face to pass, I quickly pushed the words out, another wave of laughter following in their wake.
Laughing with them, the pastor pronounced us married and Blake pulled me to him, his mouth covering mine before the pastor gave him permission to do so.
My knees started to give, only the strength of Blake’s arms keeping me upright as the kiss deepened. Blake molded me to him, my soft curves giving way to his hard planes as huzzahs erupted from the audience. I needed oxygen, wasn’t getting any. Even when he broke the kiss -- I couldn’t remember to breathe.
I leaned against him, numb as he whisked me to the bridal limo that would take us to the small reception. The driver took the scenic route, giving everyone else time to get there first. By the time we walked in to more applause, my cheeks were wet.
They were all certain my tears were of joy. Only Blake and I knew the truth, but he was smiling like he believed his own lies.
The reception was quicker than most, maybe ninety minutes. The food was already being served, followed quickly by the cutting of the cake and our first dance as a couple before everyone took their turn dancing with us. Every time someone spun me in Blake’s direction, I found him watching me.
Parting from her dance with Blake, Clare gave me a wicked smile and whispered in my ear. “Looks like a certain CEO is itching to get back to the honeymoon suite.”
I mustered up a smile but could feel the blood draining from my face.
Erupting in laughter, Clara lifted a brow at me. “Honey, you look nervous!”
“That’s because she knows I’m back to step on her toes again.” Returning for a second dance, Kevin started to squeeze between Clara and me.
Blake intercepted him. “The limo’s ready, love.”
Staring at me, he completely ignored Kevin. He held his hand out for me to take, his gaze commanding. A tremble running through my arm, I curled my fingers around his palm. He drew me close, tucking me against him as we made our way past Abigail, her family and my friends.
I stayed mute the short ride back to the estate he had rented for the weekend. Aside from the security guard at the front gate and another in a small outbuilding near the beach, we were alone.
Candles had been lit and spaced out on the path to the bedroom we would share that night. White and pink roses carpeted the ground. Above the pounding of my pulse, I could hear the soft strains of music playing in the library. Recognizing the dueling sopranos in Strauss’ Presentation of the Rose, I closed my eyes and let Blake lead me the rest of the way into the bedroom.
How had he remembered it was my favorite opera? It had only come up my first month working on one of Blake’s PR campaigns. I’d missed the opening of Der Rosenkavalier. When he had discovered it was my favorite opera, he had asked me whether I believed in love at first sight while handing me tickets for a private box for the next showing.
It should have been beneath his attention to begin with, but here we were -- almost a year later -- and he had it playing on the way to our bridal chamber.
God help any woman Blake Cross actually set his heart on.
Stopping at the foot of the bed, he tilted my chin up and waited for me to open my eyes. “Was the chapel okay, love?”
Drawing my lips in to stop their quiver, I nodded.
“And the dress?”
I nodded again, fighting to hold back tears as the final strains of the song faded. “Beautiful -- too beautiful to waste on a pumpkin.”
“Baby, say something like that again, and I’m going to spank you.” His jaw tightened, his thumb and finger gently pinching my chin to keep me from looking away. “You’re beautiful, Pippa. The dress comes alive on you -- not the other way around.”
He smoothed his hand down the side of my neck to trace the top of the bodice. “So alive, it’s almost a sin to take it off you.”
Blake advanced on me. I tried to take a step back, the bed halting my progress. He captured my waist, one arm against the small of my back to trap me in his embrace. His free hand worked the zigzag of satin ribbon that kept me laced into the dress.
Unable to meet his gaze, I stared at his chest. “Can’t we just say we did?”
“No, baby.” He tugged at the back of the dress, further loosening the ribbon.
Cold air curled along my back to push a shiver down my spine. His lips whispered along my throat and I heard the fast zip of ribbon as he pulled the last of it free from the silver eyelets. The dress fell to the ground, leaving me in just the ivory boned corset and lace panties he had packed for me, finished by matching pumps and a lace garter.
His hands on my shoulders, he pushed me onto the mattress. Leaving the pumps on, he lifted my legs high enough to sweep the dress out from under my feet. Lowering my legs until my feet touched the floor again, he parted my thighs. A growl vibrated through him as his lips brushed up one thigh to reach the garter. Slowly, he peeled the band of lace down my leg.
His gaze never leaving my face, Blake stood and pulled his tuxedo jacket off. It joined my dress on the floor, quickly followed by his shirt, shoes and socks. His pants still on, he sank to his knees again. His hands gripped my thighs, his thumbs stroking the flesh as his gaze roamed my body.
I wanted to cover myself, but all I had were my hands. I started to shield my sex, but he dropped his chin, his eyes intense as he glared up at me and slowly shook his head. Flipping his hands so that his knuckles brushed against my skin, he slid his fingers under my panties, lowering the front and side panels just enough that my pussy was exposed to him.
I knew I was wet, had felt the cream pulsing from me. Now he knew how aroused I was. Blood rushing to my face, I closed my eyes.
“Look at me, PJ.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want the image of his lust branded in my memories, didn’t want to see the slow flutter of his eyelashes as his mouth dipped down to my pussy and know that he wanted another woman beneath his lips, along his tongue.
“Baby, look at me and see how much I want you.”
I denied the possibility with another shake of my head, harder and more desperate. “You don’t.”
“I do.” His grip on the panties tightened, the fabric digging into my full hips. “Now look at me.”
I brought my hands up, covered my face. He could take me, but he couldn’t make me watch.
Blake responded to my disobedience with another growl. I heard a rip, felt strands of the torn lace as they landed on my skin. Placing both hands on my mound, he pulled my labia back. Warm and wet, the tip of his tongue touched the base of my clit and then stroked up to curl inside the hood. His top lip teased the exterior for a few heartbeats and then he pulled back.
More seconds pass, long enough for me to grow confused, and then he took another slow lick, stopping with the tip of his tongue pressed against the small pearl inside the hood. He sucked at it, his tongue lightly flicking. His hands massage my lower lips, the thumbs softly attacking the opening to my cunt.
My mutinous hips began to rock against him, a small cry escaping me at their treachery. One thumb pushed an inch into me, moving in a shallow circle.
“So sweet and tender, baby.” He took a lick and then another. “I could eat you all day.”
I’d be lucky if I lasted another minute. The contractions that had been squeezing at my uterus since we entered th
e house grew stronger, more frequent. Each lick had me knotting tighter inside, each squeeze forced my hips a little higher.
My hands flew down to my sides, fisting the bedspread as I fought my surrender.
“Don’t fight it, love.” His thumb pushed deeper, the flat of the nail pressing up against the ball of tissue just inside my gate as his mouth bore down on my clit. “I want to be inside you so damn hard--”
My release came, slamming into me, stealing my breath. My hips crested, held position, then pushed higher as I cried out his name. Blake kept stroking, pressing, sucking until I lost all control of my lower torso, my flesh sinking into the mattress with a series of jerks and twitches.
Blake rose up, quickly stripping his pants and underwear off. I heard the heavy silk hit the ground, felt its soft brush as he pushed the clothing tangled around his feet to the side. I waited for him to touch me again, my skin stinging with anticipation.
More seconds passed, no sounds audible beyond the rush of blood against my ears. Opening my eyes, I looked past my heaving breasts to the man standing between my spread legs.
Fuck, he was magnificent. Candlelight flickered along his muscled abs. Lean hips descended to powerful thighs, the muscles rolling as he flexed. And there, center view, the fat tip and thick shaft guiding him forward, was the most beautiful cock I could imagine.
Centering one knee on the mattress between my thighs, Blake pushed his hands under me and lifted. He slid forward, pushing me up the bed until my head was against the pillows. He kept his gaze fixed on mine, the flame of the candles reflecting a burnished bronze.
Leaning on one elbow, he ran his free hand along the front of the corset to expose the flesh beneath one hook at a time. He smoothed the fabric to the side before cupping one breast, lifting it up as his head dipped down. He tongued the nipple then drew it into his mouth. His hips gave a little roll, his shaft sliding along the split of my lower lips. Slickened with my cream, it glided without friction. His ass lifted, the tip butting against my plump labia before angling down.