Chloe picked up her purse and cell phone, then shot him a final look as she exited the car. “I only agreed to this because of how I feel about you, and if you weren’t so damn blind, you’d know it.”
She didn’t slam the door.
She just walked away, crossing the garage and disappearing into the house.
Knox stared at the space Chloe had vacated, a knot in his chest. The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt her, yet it seemed as if it was the only thing he ever managed to do.
Maybe Toby had been right. If Knox had found an anonymous someone willing to look pretty, play the part, and remain closemouthed over the whole marriage agenda, things would be simpler now. He wouldn’t have a care in the world.
No emotional entanglements.
No-strings sex.
But he was kidding himself. He’d never been a casual-sex kind of guy—if for no other reason than he couldn’t risk becoming the next tabloid scandal—but he hadn’t even dated since Chloe. Not really. He’d showed up at an event with a plus one when necessary, but any interaction had begun and ended at the front door. He wasn’t blind—he knew an attractive woman when he saw one—but there’d been no brush with passion. No real desire.
Not like he felt for Chloe.
The woman had him on fire. No matter how determined he was to keep his hands and his dick to himself, he couldn’t stop wanting her. And he couldn’t help believing she wanted him, too. She wouldn’t fall apart so easily in his arms if she didn’t.
She wouldn’t be so damn hot and wet all the time.
Then it hit him. They were both thinking too much. They didn’t need less sex. They needed more. She needed to be distracted. When he got past those ironclad defenses of hers and kissed the sweat from her skin and took the breath from her lips, that was when she was happy.
He couldn’t give her her version of a happily-ever-after, but he could sure as hell do happy.
The knot in his chest loosened, and he had a feeling he wore a stupid grin as he stared through the doorway through which she’d disappeared. Maybe he could give her a wedding night after all.
Chloe wouldn’t know what had hit her.
He had a bet to lose.
…
Chloe decided to wait until Knox left the house to go through his files. Even though giving her access had been his idea, digging into his personal space felt like an invasion of his privacy. It was awkward enough without doing it in front of him. She figured she couldn’t very well shoo him away if she was in his office going through his stuff, so despite raging curiosity, she stayed on her own turf and tapped out a story on the season’s most celebrated container plants. It was easy enough…she had most of them in the room with her. But finishing the story didn’t supply her with the usual feeling of accomplishment—to the contrary, it filled her with a sense of impending doom. As easily as she’d managed that article, it was painfully clear anyone could do that job. She wouldn’t keep her position with the paper long if she didn’t make herself invaluable, and fast.
She needed a scoop.
After sending the document to her editor, she picked up the guest list Knox had provided. Over a hundred people, and aside from Knox, his mother, and his campaign manager, she personally knew exactly three of them: her parents and Lila. Chloe was surprised her parents had agreed to attend. Her mother had been livid about the marriage, but at least she’d remained quiet. She hadn’t admonished Chloe or berated the Hamilton clan, but she hadn’t needed to. When Chloe dated Knox the first time, her mother had made it known how she felt about Rex’s rumored philandering. Though she hadn’t been quick to judge Knox personally, she’d offered plenty of warning via the whole apple-doesn’t-fall-far-from-the-tree spiel.
Chloe wanted now to defend Knox, but how? She was bound by the terms of their contract, but even if she could talk, did it really sound that much better to say he just wanted her in his bed for a little while? She pushed the questions out of her mind. The clock was ticking.
She needed her story, and she wanted Rex. She had little to go on beyond her gut, but she had reason enough to be suspicious. Pactron Energy Corporation’s proposal to put up a new power plant had gotten everyone’s panties in a knot. The location they’d chosen was at the edge of a protected marshland, and the environmentalists had gone nuts over the encroachment, to say nothing of the inevitable pollution. The community was outraged, and the anger spread downstream to the affected tributaries of the Chesapeake Bay, then to supporters of the Bay itself. Rex, ever the voice of his constituents, had led the charge against Pactron, even landing a couple of national headlines in the process.
Convenient.
Despite the threat against her grandmother’s land, Chloe had almost relaxed. The odds were overwhelmingly against the energy plant’s approval. As part of the application process, three independent environmental-impact studies were required. Because the site not only sat directly adjacent to waterways that fed the bay, but also under a migratory-bird flight path, the likelihood of passing any kind of study was almost nonexistent…or so she’d thought.
All three commissions had approved.
Chloe had been stunned.
Pactron’s only obstacle was in buying up enough of the land around the site—land that included her grandmother’s farm. Fortunately, family farms were the cornerstone of the rural community and few landowners were giving in without a fight. Those who had wouldn’t close until deals were secured on all the land. That was Chloe’s saving grace…that, and a couple of rather suspicious moves on Rex’s part.
When he’d been paired with one of the Pactron board members in a charity golf tournament—something that could have been coincidental—they’d gotten on like old friends, despite their public feud. Chloe might have chalked it up to letting bygones be bygones, but she’d been unable to brush off the fact that the situation felt odd. On a hunch, she’d hunted down the Tribune photographer assigned to the event and studied the photos that hadn’t made the paper.
The laughter hadn’t been for the camera. In every shot, the men were relaxed. Candid. Smiling.
Chloe had dug deeper. She hadn’t found anything earth-shattering, just more casual meetings with no obvious official mandate. Her instincts screamed something was off about Rex’s playdates with Pactron board members, but she’d hit a wall.
Until she’d accepted Knox’s deal.
She had no idea if she’d ever be able to prove anything with her suspicions, but now that she had insider access, she had a chance—one she didn’t want to ruin by keeping her search too narrowly focused on Rex. She was still looking for a needle in a haystack, but at least she knew which haystack…and there was no better place to start than with the list for her reception. After searching each invitee, she ended up with about twenty who were newsworthy enough to warrant further investigation. She poked her head around and, assured Knox’s car remained absent from the garage, headed to his study to check the files. Cross-referencing names proved tricky—most were labeled by corporation or organization—so she worked back and forth between her laptop and the paperwork.
Then she hit pay dirt.
Pactron Energy Corporation—a whole file dedicated to them.
She went to the website and clicked to the page listing the board members—nothing she hadn’t done a dozen times before—and focused on one. Harold Levenworth, CFO. The chief financial officer was on her guest list, but why? As far as the general public knew, he and Rex were bitter enemies. Anyone who bothered to read up on local charity golf might suspect otherwise, but Chloe was probably the only person on earth who had given the unpublished photos more than a passing glance.
Pactron’s inch-thick file was more robust than the rest, but the contents seemed standard. She skimmed over a number of financial reports, unsure of their significance, before landing on a newspaper clipping: “Environmental Impact Studies Clear Way for Carbon Energy Plant.”
There were a number of other clippings, but nothing stood
out.
Chloe wondered briefly if Rex’s vehement opposition to the site was the reason there was so much information on the company. Perhaps he’d been watching, waiting for a misstep—something, undoubtedly, to wave around to prove he’d been right all along—but the documentation seemed standard. Something like a shareholder might own? She didn’t know if the company was publicly traded, but even if it was, she didn’t think Rex would own shares. Not after the way he’d fought against them. That information could be too easily traced, and she felt certain he wouldn’t draw such obvious scrutiny.
But Knox hadn’t specifically said the files had come from Rex. Chloe had assumed as much, since they detailed the family business and their affiliations, but she would have to verify with Knox.
She had just lifted the pages and tapped them on the desk to neaten the stack when a small card fell to the floor. It lacked personalization or anything else to identify its author, save for a set of initials.
Thank you for pushing us through. H.L.
Harold Levenworth? She checked and found he had been on the Pactron board from the beginning. Moreover, he was the only one there with the initials HL.
Interesting. If the files were indeed Rex’s, why would anyone with Pactron thank him for anything? He’d fought them tooth and nail—a scenario that stood in stark contrast to “pushing through.” “Pushing through” sounded like…assistance. She frowned and stared harder at the card, as if her scrutiny would reveal anything more.
She thought about making a copy, but she didn’t see anything in Knox’s study resembling a copier. Her all-in-one machine was still at her apartment, but she had her cell phone. She took a quick picture of the note for future reference, then tucked the paper back in the stack. Carefully, she reassembled the file and returned it to the drawer.
She had a hunch she was on to something, and if she wanted to blow the lid off a story Pactron would be a great vehicle for cementing her career. Her spidey senses were going haywire, but first thing’s first.
She had to get through her wedding reception.
Chapter Fourteen
Even through the limousine’s tinted windows, the Wyndham Club glowed white. Designed on the outside to mimic a sprawling Southern mansion, it boasted a grand ballroom, a five-star dining experience, spa facilities, and three full stories of covered verandas overlooking an award-winning, eighteen-hole golf course…or at least that’s what the website said.
Until the night of her reception, Chloe had never been allowed past the gates.
The limo drew to a stop outside the front doors. Chloe halfway expected a red carpet and throngs of people, but the privately owned club kept the photographers away. That, and most of the attendees were probably as loaded as Knox, albeit sans the fame and notoriety that came along with the Hamilton name. They likely weren’t prone to gawking.
As Knox predicted, his mother had managed to throw together an event suitable for royalty, and in record time—probably not hard when every vendor in town had surely fallen over themselves for the chance to impress Katherine Hamilton and her blue-blooded friends. The whole thing still felt surreal to Chloe. While she and Knox had been together months in their previous relationship, to say it was low-key would be an understatement. He didn’t exactly loathe the press—wooing the press was in the job description—but he had been quite open with her about his wish for privacy. She’d respected that. Even preferred the casual version of Knox, not that he wasn’t something to look at now in his tux. And his wedding ring. She still couldn’t believe he’d married her. The man could quite literally have his choice of gorgeous socialites who could handle their stilettos, and he’d chosen the plainest one of them all.
She, who hadn’t a clue how to play the expected part. She hadn’t grown up in his realm and certainly hadn’t known wealth. She was out of her league, and the stakes were unbelievably high. Hanging out in the house all week was one thing…performing in front of people was another.
She was scared to death she’d let him down.
Knox put a hand on her leg. “You’ll be fine,” he said as if he’d read her mind. More likely, the worry played all over her face, which was just something else to worry about.
“One can hope,” she said. Of course he wasn’t worried. He probably hadn’t spent an hour trying to memorize the purpose of four glasses at a single place setting.
He touched her chin, drawing her to look at him. “One can hope for absolutely nothing more, Mrs. Hamilton. You are absolutely beautiful.”
She averted her eyes from the sincerity raking his achingly handsome face.
“I have something for you.” He released her, but the feeling lingered.
Her fingers drifted to her throat, where a gorgeous diamond-pendant necklace hung, which—along with matching earrings—had arrived that afternoon via special courier in a box from Tiffany & Co. They paired beautifully with her simple white gown, which was similar to the one she’d worn for their wedding, and together with her wedding rings made for a jaw-dropping ensemble. As it was, she was scarcely able to walk under the weight of the diamonds.
“What else could you possibly have for me?”
He grinned and reached down to the floor of the limo. When he straightened, he held a potted plant.
“In what universe is it a good idea for you to remind me of this right now?” She was still irked over having lost her title.
Knox offered a soft smile. “I believe flowers are a rather gentlemanly gesture.”
“Flowers, yes. Houseplant number thirteen… Oh, God. Thirteen. Are you kidding me? Tonight of all nights—”
He laughed. “Relax. Besides, I happen to think thirteen is a great number.”
Easy for him to say. He hadn’t just been hexed.
Despite the fact they were sitting directly in front of the brilliantly lit venue, Knox appeared in no hurry to leave the car. “Do you know why I married you?”
“Because I said yes?” She gave a short, humorless laugh and brushed at the front of her dress, picking at spots she didn’t actually see. What had she been thinking, getting herself into this?
He didn’t return the laugh. Instead, he traced her cheek with a fingertip. “That helped, yes. But before that, what I…what attracted me to you was how real you are.”
“Was I preceded by a line of blow-up dolls?”
“I’m serious,” he said. But he smiled anyway. “You’re spectacular. They won’t know what hit them.”
Her breath hitched, and she got another whiff of that deep, citrusy scent of his, which she adored. It was the last conscious thought she had before his lips touched hers. In that brief instant, she’d expected something formal—something for show, just in case anyone was watching—but there was no formality to be found in the softness of his kiss. One minute he was sitting next to her with his hand on her thigh, and the next he’d cupped her face with both hands and his mouth had met hers with a tenderness that turned her inside out. His tongue tangled with hers, tentatively at first, but the more she moved against him, the more fiercely he claimed her.
The kiss might have lasted seconds or hours—she’d been that lost to him. And when it ended, he didn’t just break free. He caught her lip between his own and smiled, the sensual tenderness enough to break her. The Wyndham Club ceased to exist, and she saw only him. For a moment they sat frozen, and when he brushed her mouth the second time, her lips were already parted. If only he would dive in and put his hands everywhere and prove himself to be a brute, she could pull away and fuss about her hair and her dress and what people would say, but that wasn’t Knox. His touch was so light she barely felt it, yet it consumed her.
The kiss that followed was impossibly leisurely and deep. It was as if time stilled and left them suspended in that moment of twinkling lights, she and Knox immersed in the rich scent of leather and the plush seats, Chloe lost to feelings she had to convince herself didn’t exist.
But no such convincing would happen in that moment. Not when
the fragile hunger of that kiss overwhelmed her. Not when she couldn’t breathe from her want of him and not when he swept her mouth with the kind of deep-seated desire that ought to be illegal from any man who wasn’t already buried between her thighs.
Passion flared hotly and burned slow, a raging ember, if such a thing could exist. All she knew was the taste of him and the furious tempo of her heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they needed to be somewhere else, but all she wanted was to see him out of that tux, naked and sweaty and pounding mercilessly into her.
She slid her arms under his jacket at the same time he reached for the small of her back and pulled her close, her dress inching to mid-thigh. His other hand flirted with the hem, then slid to her soaked center. The heavy scent of her arousal permeated the car.
“Dammit, Chloe.”
“What?” She practically panted the word. She might have been embarrassed if not for the hitch in his breath. The last time she’d seen that look on his face, they’d been so tangled up she couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose, and in that moment she’d have given almost anything to go back there, lost in a conflagration of all-consuming passion.
“I’m sorry. This is not the time or the place,” he said. But he didn’t let go.
Chloe sucked in a shaky breath. She should push him away, straighten her dress, and learn to live without him, but it was a hard sell with the taste of him still on her lips. It would be so easy—and so, so incredible—to let him follow through on that desire. Her dress was already bunched around her thighs. The only thing between them was his zipper, and she’d take it down with her teeth if it meant he’d drive into her until she couldn’t breathe. He was hard, the evidence pressed deliberately against her thigh, and she couldn’t remember when she’d been so lit with desire. Maybe it was that she could never really have him, or maybe it was knowing there was a stable full of blue bloods anticipating their arrival, but it didn’t matter.
The Marriage Agenda Page 11