Not that she’d seen it online.
“I never told you all of that,” Knox said. “Did I?”
“It’s easy enough to look up.”
“You should have told her,” Toby said to Knox. Then he turned back to Chloe. “You’ll need to know more than that,” Toby said. “Like you said, that part’s easy.”
“Well, I know where his tickle spots are. Do you think that will come up?”
Both men stared at her.
Toby cleared his throat. “What about your marriage? You’ll need more intimate details.”
“More intimate than tickle spots?” she asked.
Knox spoke. “If Charlie tries to dig up proof I hired her to play my wife, he’ll just learn we dated for months prior to our marriage. When he makes that big announcement, he’ll help my campaign, not hurt it. For all intents and purposes, we look legit.”
Toby’s brow rose. “If she knows your tickle spots, I’d say you’re a hair past legit.”
“Are you here for a reason?” Knox asked.
“Just dropping off paperwork,” Toby said, glancing at Chloe. “And now I’m going.”
Knox shot a pointed look at Toby’s empty hands. “Okay, but are you actually dropping off paperwork?”
“Yeah. My briefcase is in my car.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“Yeah. Good night, Chloe.”
“Bye,” she said, her eyes trained on Knox as he left the room. He was too personal? She didn’t know what to think of that. On one hand, of course he was. But Katherine thought him different, and now Toby. And if Chloe didn’t get over worrying about why it mattered, she’d torture herself.
When Knox came back, he held a sheaf of papers and wore a slight frown. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No worries. I kind of like the guy.”
Knox frowned.
“I need to catch up on some work,” she said. “Leave me a slice for later, okay?”
“Sure.” His brow furrowed. “Something wrong?”
Not something. Everything. “Nope. I just haven’t had my nose in my computer all day, and I feel a little lost. I need to make sure I haven’t missed anything important.”
“Okay. If you need me for anything, just let me know.”
There he went again. Not exactly the words of a man who didn’t care, but then again, he’d never said he didn’t care. He just said he wouldn’t love. And what did it matter? It was a complication with no place in a temporary relationship.
It matters because you never got over him. And because you want to take the chance he’s giving you and destroy him with it. Maybe not literally, but if she proved his father was a crook, the fallout would do nothing less.
She sighed and pushed open the door to her office. She’d made exactly two trips back to her apartment since they leased the house, which meant she was lacking most of her stuff. She hadn’t needed much—just her computer and some clothes—but now she wished she’d brought something familiar. Everything around her was either plush or shiny, and she had a feeling that would make it hard to concentrate on her job.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t checked in with her editor in over two days. Beth probably didn’t miss her, but that wouldn’t exactly be good news. Chloe settled onto her desk chair and opened her laptop. The password screen came up just as Knox poked his head through the doorway. She automatically turned her computer away, a habit she’d gained from her days in a cubicle at the Tribune when having anyone look over her shoulder had made her skin crawl.
“Pizza is in the fridge,” he said, giving her an odd look. “I’m going to hit the shower.”
Had he found it absolutely necessary to tell her he was going to be naked, lathered, and soaked in steam? Swallowing, she felt irked to notice she’d suddenly gotten hot. “Did you save me an undamaged piece?”
He grinned. “I guess you’ll find out if you work up an appetite later…after you finish with whatever you’re hiding on that thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “The password is my birthday. Have at it. And work up your own appetite. I have a bet to win.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, stepping into the room rather than taking his cue to exit. “I think there’s a flaw in that plan. An orgasm shouldn’t count as a loss.”
No, no loss there. Was it even possible he could want her as much as she wanted him? His shirt hung loose and unbuttoned, offering a tempting glimpse of tanned abs and a happy trail that was borderline ecstatic. His hair was slightly tousled, his sensual lips shaped into the crooked grin that had become a tabloid trademark. God, she could go after him with a fork. But no, his brain—or that other organ—was probably just pegged on sex, and she was the only allowable source. “Is our friendly wager a little too friendly for you?”
His trek ended with an invasion of her personal space—and not an unwelcome one, at that. “Considering you’ve banned orgasms,” he said in a deliciously low voice, “I’d say it’s not quite friendly enough.”
Her pulse fluttered, fanning the fire that seemed to erupt inside her when he drew near. “I’m sure you have enough friends. Keep your pants on.”
“Can’t. I’m going to take a shower.”
“You mentioned that. Save me some hot water.” And go. Please.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Grinning, he took off his shirt, fully revealing the kind of abs seldom seen outside underwear ads and the chest and shoulders to match. “You didn’t tell me to keep my shirt on.”
Chloe bit her lip. The man was delectable, and he was turning her into a stereotype…the kind who sat lusting in a wet puddle all day because there was a ridiculously hot guy treading a little too close to her erogenous zone. “Is this a strip club now?”
“That depends. What are you willing to take off?”
She pressed her knees together and looked at her desk. “Didn’t I tell you I had work to do?”
“Suit yourself. I’ll see you in bed.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, Knox was gone…but he probably hadn’t gone far enough. He was probably exactly where he said he’d be—in the shower. Naked.
She so did not need that image in her head. And it was too bad she couldn’t get her mind to stop with visuals. Her brain insisted on replaying in vivid detail all the sex they’d had—everything from the taste of beer on his lips to the ridiculous parade of brightly colored condoms, but more than that, what he’d said. She could not believe he’d remember her favorite drink or her preference for outdoor cats without there being some kind of emotional attachment, but hell, he was a politician. He was a schmoozer by trade, and she’d do well to remember as much.
She needed to regroup. He’d given her a great opportunity, and if she wanted to make the most of it, she was going to have to come up with the story to end all stories—and if she was really lucky, she’d save her grandmother’s farm in the process. As it was, she had little to go on—just Rex’s name cropping up time and time again in the good ol’ boys club, rubbing elbows with the heads of Pactron Energy Corporation. That in itself might not have been suspicious, if Rex hadn’t also spearheaded a nasty public fight against the factory’s expansion to a new site. Most of the people in Knox’s circles had been unattainable, so if she was going to make the most of this chance, she was going to have to start digging.
She scrolled absently through her email. Aside from a couple of older unanswered messages from Lila asking how Chloe’s date had gone, most everything was junk. She was just about to close the tab when she noticed a note from her editor. She glanced at the time stamp…3:00 a.m. No wonder she hadn’t seen it—most of the middle-of-the-night stuff was auto-delete.
Regarding your employment.
She frowned. The subject of the email seemed a bit too serious for Beth, and that—along with the time the message had been sent—didn’t bode well. She clicked on the message and scanned its contents.
Midway through, she no longer saw words.
She saw red.
She stared at the screen in shock. She’d been reassigned as a staff writer in the Home and Garden section. Reassigned her ass. More like demoted.
Home and Garden?
Knox.
The timing was suspect at best. Beth didn’t say as much, but Chloe didn’t buy into coincidences.
Furious, she pushed away from her desk. Leaving the computer, she headed straight for the master bedroom. From there, she followed a thick cloud of steam to the Italian marble bathroom, where she found Knox dripping soap and hot water under one of two extra-wide rainfall shower heads. The double walk-in didn’t have a door, so her approach was soundless, and with his head tipped back and his face to the spray, he didn’t notice her.
But he would.
She reached past him and cut the hot water, leaving nothing but cold.
Spewing profanity, he turned off the spray and fumbled for a towel on the wall behind him. He wiped his face and blinked at her, his expression bordering on everything and landing nowhere.
Despite the fact she had him naked and dripping with unease, she didn’t crack a smile. “You just cost me my job.”
“What are you talking about?” To his credit, he looked bewildered. He made no attempt to cover himself, however, and the fact her gaze caught on his package irritated her—even more so when she looked up from his goods and saw he was watching her…and grinning.
Not a good time to push buttons. She kept the warning to herself. “My editor sent me an email mere hours after our engagement went public. Apparently there’s a conflict of interest. It seems the paper doesn’t want to appear as if it has lost its objectivity with the upcoming special election.”
“You were fired?”
“No, but I might as well have been. I’ve been reassigned as a staff writer for the Home and Garden section. Home and Garden, Knox, you ass.”
He held up his hands, though he’d have been wiser to protect himself. “Hey,” he said. “Wait a minute. I didn’t do this.”
“The hell you didn’t.” She reached and unleashed the cold water. The spray didn’t hit him as completely as it had the first time, but it hit him where it counted. “Enjoy your shower.”
She spun around, only to find herself pulled backward, soaked and sputtering, her body turned and fully pressed against his. “I think I will,” he said. He turned up the hot water until the spray was remotely tolerable. “I happen to be quite fond of cold showers.”
Though she was fully clothed, officially drenched, and her knees a mass of Jell-O, she didn’t bat an eyelash. “I bet a man like you doesn’t have to take many.”
His eyes had darkened to a rich chocolate hue. “And why would you believe a thing like that?”
“Because, as you so clearly stated while in the throes of wooing me, you have quite the playboy reputation.”
“And you know as well as anyone that reputation doesn’t necessarily correlate to fact.”
“Yet it always seems to come from a place of truth.” She tried to take a step back, but his grip on her arm tightened.
“Where are you going?”
She shivered, and it had surprisingly little to do with the lukewarm water cascading from the shower head. “I think we’re done here.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think we are. First of all, I had nothing to do with your reassignment, though I can’t blame them for the move. They’re protecting their credibility—and, I might add, yours. Besides, this will only help you.”
“How? How is being labeled an expert on houseplants going to help me?”
He graced her with a shit-eating grin. “Because when I introduce you to the highbrows, not one is going to feel threatened by a writer with an affinity for houseplants. You’ll be so far off their radar, you won’t have any trouble breaking your big story.”
Damn him, he had a point. She moved away, but his grip on her arm tightened, reeling her in until there wasn’t room for water to run between them.
“As for my second point,” he said, his focus intent upon her. “I’m only going to say this once more, so make damn sure you’re listening.” He increased the hot water, eliminating her chill, but he didn’t draw away. Instead, he planted his other hand on the wall, effectively caging her between the cold marble and his every hot, unending inch. “There hasn’t been anyone since you. No. One.”
She swallowed. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Careful what you say,” he warned, peering at her from darkened eyes. Though the water had turned blissfully warm, he remained still a rigid, powerful mass of man. “I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. A casual affair wasn’t something I wanted in my life then, and it still isn’t.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again.
Though for a moment she’d thought him angry, he seemed to have softened somewhat. His attention drifted from her eyes to her mouth. “You’re wet,” he said.
“That would be the water.”
No one.
She shivered again, despite the steam assaulting her. It’d be easy to attribute blame to the cold wall at her back, but that wasn’t it. The shaking that had started at her core and crept down her limbs to her extremities couldn’t be caused by mere cold. It was Knox.
It was always Knox. But why? Clearly she had no desire whatsoever to be happy in life—she couldn’t have chosen a bigger complication if she’d tried.
Droplets gathered on her lashes, but her clouded view didn’t obscure the dreadfully heated look in his eyes. He could tear her apart without trying, and rather than protect her, her misguided urges begged her to open herself to him and take whatever he’d give.
“I’ve developed a bit of a habit lately,” he murmured, “of removing your clothes.”
She said nothing. Just stood there, trembling in the hot water. Trying to process his words.
He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Then, while the room spun, he pulled her dress up and over her head, leaving her standing there in her underwear.
Her chest threatened to implode under the pressure. “Knox,” she stammered. “You’re not being fair.”
“You’re probably right,” he murmured. “Do you want me to stop?”
Of course not. What sane woman would want him to stop? Me. But then again, she’d probably lost her claim to sanity when she’d agreed to marry a man who vowed he’d never love her. “That depends on what you’re planning on doing.”
“What is it you don’t want me to do?”
Do anything you want. I’ll figure out how to breathe again in the morning. God, she really was a walking stereotype. Put her in the shower with a absurdly attractive, naked guy, and she fell apart.
Not this time.
She brushed past him and snatched the only towel off the back wall. She wrapped it around herself, and paused just long enough in her exit to answer his question.
She had to force herself to look at him, but the words came easily. “That’s an easy one, Knox. Just don’t do anything you can’t take back.”
Chapter Nine
A week. A week of trying…and failing.
She’d wanted to stay mad at Knox, but he had a bad habit of having coffee ready in the morning and sleeping a little too close to her side of the bed. He’d brought her tacos twice. Chocolate daily. And despite what she’d determined to be a rather cruel streak of kindness, he refused to spill one detail about the ceremony, citing a desire to surprise her. The only thing on which he consulted her was the guest list, or the lack thereof. With just the two of them attending, intimate promised to be an understatement.
And now that she knew what he’d planned, she could have killed him.
He couldn’t have known she’d always wanted to get married on the beach, but for some godforsaken reason, the universe had turned against her, and there they were. Her dream wedding, but all wrong. No family. No friends. No groom who would rather die than live without her. Instead she had him, utterly devastating in yet ano
ther tux, looking perfect enough to have been plucked from the top of a grossly overpriced wedding cake. And a white dress simply gorgeous in its simplicity. And their carefully worded vows all hinged on technicality.
To cherish and respect, to greet with tender care, to honor with fidelity…to split the difference on the thermostat. Okay, maybe not that last part, but without mention of love, they might as well be discussing the mundane topics of cohabitation. Nor had the words “forever” or “’til death do us part” made the script. It was just as well—now she didn’t have to live with herself for uttering untruths in their ceremony.
She had far greater issues to tend. Like the issue of the photographer, hell-bent on torturing her.
“Now, arms around each other. Like you’re dancing—that’s it! Very close. Closer. Now kissing!” He punched the last word like he’d invented the lip lock.
“Better do what he says,” Knox whispered. “The sun will be down soon, and Mr. Enthusiasm over there is liable to drag us to another time zone for a do over if we don’t get it right.”
She laughed, much to the photographer’s glee. “That’s it! Beautiful! Now the kiss!”
Knox grinned and lowered his mouth to hers, and no matter how much she tried to remember he didn’t love her and she wasn’t about to fall for him again, she couldn’t escape the brutal honesty of his touch. He held her with reassuring strength, yet with a tenderness simply not borne of legal documents. She recognized that the slight caress of his fingertips against her skin wasn’t because he didn’t want to touch her, but because he longed to. He didn’t have to admit that desire with words—she could see the raw emotion in his eyes. The months apart had done nothing to erase what she’d known so intimately in the time they had spent together, and no amount of paperwork would change it now.
The sinking sun pulled the last pink rays of light from the sky, while a gentle onshore breeze carried with it the last of the warmth. But Knox was solid and strong, and the only chills Chloe experienced were from the perfection of the moment. She expected their silent dance to end when the last pinch of light fell to the waves and the photographer began to pack his gear, but it was then Knox tasted her one more time. And when he sought to deepen the kiss, she welcomed him, breathless, as was he. His hand slipped to her bottom and pulled her tightly against his happy place, which was ripe with enthusiasm from the feel of things. With the other arm, he cradled the small of her back, traced her spine, and finally, his fingers tangled in her hair with slow, sensual caresses, each one drawing her deeper against his body.
The Marriage Agenda Page 7