Reckless Heat

by M. S. Parker

  At least it would be a small affair and I would be eased into meeting his family, I thought as I set my make-up on the counter. His parents would be there, of course, but out of his four siblings and their families, only his brother Samuel, sister-in-law Hannah, and their five children would be present. It still made me shake my head at the idea of nine people being less than half of a family.

  I had to admit, it wasn't the Westmores' money or position that made me the most anxious. It was the prospect of being a part, even for only three years, of such a massive family. Even before our parents' death, Katka and I had come from a small family. We had no other living relatives.

  I checked my make-up again, trying to be as critical as possible. I knew that Blayne's father already didn't approve of me and thought I was only in it for the money, but I wanted to make a good first impression on the others. Granted, I was getting married for the money, but not in the way Mr. Westmore was assuming.

  I took a deep breath and glanced at the boxes sitting in my bedroom. Blayne had told me to only pack a small carry-on for the honeymoon. I would be able to buy whatever else I needed. That bag had been picked up an hour ago by a man named Javier who'd introduced himself as the driver who'd be taking Blayne and me straight to the airport. The boxes contained the rest of my belongings and would be moved into Blayne's penthouse while we were gone.

  I didn't look at Katka's closed door. She had informed me on Friday that she would not be attending my wedding. She had to work. I knew that she purposefully scheduled herself to work, but I didn't argue with her about it. I knew she didn't approve, but I would've liked to have her there, if for nothing else but so I would have someone I knew. But, it wasn't like this was a real wedding, a day I would want her to be my maid of honor so we could celebrate the happiness together. I could not really be hurt by her refusal.

  The town car Blayne had sent was waiting for me and in the backseat was a small bouquet of flowers. A card was tucked between the red roses. The handwriting was surprisingly neat. For someone like Blayne, I'd expected a messy scrawl. The message was cleverly worded. To my beautiful bride on our wedding day: You changed my life the day you agreed to marry me. May our love never change. I could almost picture the grin as Blayne wrote it, knowing full well that every word meant something different to us than it would to anyone else who read the note.

  I tucked the note back into the bouquet, wedging it down so that it wouldn't spoil the look of the flowers, but I also wouldn't lose it. Just because I wasn't in love with Blayne didn't mean I didn't like him. I truly believed we would become friends over the next three years and that note would be the kind of thing we could take out and laugh over in the future.

  He was waiting on the courthouse steps, looking both cold and uncomfortable in what could only have been a tailor-made tux. I took the time to appreciate the lines of the jacket and pants as I made my way up the stairs to him. I shivered when I reached him and he put his arm around my shoulders. I almost pulled away, but then realized that any man who didn't try to warm his bride-to-be would either look like a fake or an ass. I didn't want him to look like either, so I allowed the contact as he led me toward the judge's chambers.

  Mr. Westmore didn't look happy, but Mrs. Westmore greeted me warmly enough. Her smile wasn't overly friendly, but she kissed my cheek and seemed sincere. Samuel was as large as Blayne and his hand swallowed mine. His wife, Hannah, was beautiful enough to have been a model had she been taller and the way she carried herself told me that she was definitely from the same class as the Westmores.

  I smiled at each of the children, shaking their hands as Hannah introduced them. Jonathan, then a set of twins Addison and Madison, Francis and Prudence. All with their father's blue-gray eyes and their mother's dark hair. I could see Blayne's affection for them as he greeted them and it made the knot in my stomach ease slightly. My instincts were right. He was a good person. I was doing the right thing.

  “Shall we?” The judge spoke from behind his desk.

  The ceremony was simple, sticking to the basics, and then it was over and it was time for us to kiss. Blayne's eyes met mine and I saw a variety of emotions swirling in the dark gray. I was all too aware of the audience we had and my heart was racing, but I knew I couldn't tell him to stop. It was too late. I was in this now.

  His hands were surprisingly gentle as he cupped my face and then his lips were on mine. His mouth was firm as he parted my lips. A flare of panic went through me as I waited for his tongue to force its way inside, but it didn't. He made it more real than a brush of mouths would have been, but never crossed the line. When he pulled back, I opened my eyes and I could see the question in his eyes, asking if I was okay. I gave him a slight nod and then smiled as I turned toward his family. I felt my cheeks burning and my mouth tingled. I told myself it was a natural reaction to the circumstances, but I couldn't deny that I didn't entirely dislike the feel of his hand on the small of my back.

  And that was exactly why I'd made the rule about no physical contact.

  I was worried that, because of the kiss, Blayne would have expectations for the honeymoon, but once we were on the plane, on our way to London, he put a respectable distance between us and kept the conversation impersonally pleasant.

  I actually enjoyed the honeymoon more than I'd anticipated. I'd always loved the cities we were visiting, but I hadn't expected to be allowed to do my own thing. It wasn't like I'd really had an idea of how things were going to go, but then Blayne pretty much went off on his own and left me with a credit card and the instructions to have fun, was definitely different. The few times I saw him, he wasn't cold or distant, but it was clear he was respecting our contract.

  I took leisurely strolls through the parts of the cities I hadn't gotten to see when I'd been modeling, appreciating the architecture and the history. I visited art galleries and museums, letting the beauty stimulate my own creativity. I went into all of the best shops, loving that I was able to not only browse, but buy. I was conservative when it came to my wardrobe, but Blayne had insisted I buy whatever I needed and make sure that it was pricey. I'd protested until he'd said his father would never believe a woman could go to any of these places and not shop, especially on her honeymoon. The only thing he'd said I had to buy for appearance sake was lingerie. I'd done as he asked and found myself even enjoying that even though I knew no one would be seeing these particular items.

  I called Katka every night in London, but then stopped when it became clear all she was going to do was ask what Blayne was doing. Was he hitting on me, pressuring me into sex? When I said no, she'd ask if he was cheating on me. I finally told her that if she couldn't refrain from being rude, I wouldn't call her. I knew she didn't think I'd stop, but I did. I had work to do and beautiful places to see. It pained me to not speak with her, but she had to respect my choice.

  As for Blayne, I didn't know where he was or what he was doing, but he always came back to the room at night, never tried anything and was pleasant to be around when he was there. I had to trust that he wouldn't do anything stupid. I had my fifty thousand dollar check and no matter what happened, that was mine. I was looking forward to the rest of the money over the years, but in reality, he stood to lose a lot more than I did if he screwed things up. I would play my part and I believed he would play his. We would make this work.

  13

  Blayne

  Those were the two longest weeks of my life.

  London, Madrid, Paris and Venice. All gorgeous places with beautiful people. Exquisite food. Fine weather. I had a gorgeous wife, been on my honeymoon and stayed in the finest hotels some of Europe's best cities had to offer.

  And I'd been miserable.

  It wasn't Livie's fault. She was just as nice as I'd thought she was. She never complained that we didn't go out together. Never nagged me to take her sight-seeing or buy her things. She'd gone clothes shopping like I'd told her to, but I'd seen the bags and checked the account online. She hadn't even come close to what
most women would've spent when not given a spending limit. I had to admit, I was a little curious to know what she'd bought at some of the lingerie stores. I was only human, and she was hot.

  I'd actually considered spending more time with her, getting to know her. We were going to be living together for the next three years and would have to pretend to be a real married couple, after all. I hadn't realized just how little I still knew about her until I saw her with a sketchpad and didn't know why she had it. It had taken me a couple hours thinking about it to figure out that she was probably using it to design clothes. She'd said she wanted to start a fashion business. I hadn't realized she drew things old school.

  No, I'd spent my two weeks in Europe with my former model wife in the hotel gym and pool. I hadn't been able to get laid, so I'd needed some sort of physical activity to burn off the sexual tension that just kept growing. I hadn't had sex in three weeks, not since the stripper the night everything went to hell. The moment I'd told my father that Livie and I would be getting married, I'd known he'd have people watching me. Dad had eyes everywhere, some paid, some who just wanted to get in good with him. Worst were the ones who were loyal, who saw me as big of a disappointment as everyone else did. Being out of the country didn't matter either. The hotels had been paid for by my parents. A wedding gift, they'd claimed, but I'd known better. Dad had connections that would make sure that even the slightest hint of impropriety would get back to him.

  I was sure my father would have a few choice things to say to me regarding the fact that I'd spent most of my time away from my new wife rather than going around the city with her, but it hadn't violated our agreement, so he couldn't cut me off. What I had needed to avoid was other women and alcohol. Granted, he hadn't completely vetoed drinking, just me doing stupid things, but I'd known that drinking while in Europe was a bad idea. There were far too many hot women and I'd known that if I drank just a little too much, I'd hit on someone, we'd end up back in her room and my dad would get a report.

  So I'd lifted weights. I'd run. I'd spent hours swimming laps.

  And I'd taken quite a few long showers and tried to give myself some stress relief.

  It wasn't until we'd been back for a full day that I realized there was something else Livie and I hadn't talked about that we needed to.

  Sex.

  Obviously, I knew sex was off the table with Liv.

  And my brain automatically went to images of sex on a table with Livie. Those long legs. Curls spread out beneath her head.

  Fuck.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. This is exactly why I needed to talk to her about sex.

  There was no way in hell I was going three years without sex. Drugs, I could do without. It had actually been easier than I'd thought to stop the drugs. Actually, there really didn't seem to be a point to the drugs without the sex or the drinking. I basically used the drugs as a supplement to partying, and if I wasn't partying, what was the point? Getting pass out drunk wasn't something I was really going to miss either. I rarely wanted to forget. It was, again, more of hanging out with my friends and going to clubs. I'd never been a stay at home and drink kind of guy.

  I couldn't go that long without sex. I didn't know many people who could, and definitely not someone who hadn't gone more than a couple days without getting laid since losing his virginity at fifteen. I knew there was no way my father would relent on the no cheating thing, and I supposed I could try to seduce Livie, but she seemed too nice for that. Well, too nice and I didn't think sleeping with my wife was a good idea.

  I snorted a laugh. There was a sentence I'd never thought I'd hear, let alone think.

  What I meant was that I didn't think it'd be a good idea to try to get in Livie's pants when there was a possibility that things could go badly. Sex with her didn't seem like it'd be worth the risk. She could get pissed at me afterwards and want to end things. Then again, if my dad caught me cheating, I could lose everything anyway.

  I could find a way around this.

  I picked up my phone and texted Livie. She'd gone out to do something this morning even though it was a weekend, but I didn't know what. I had a feeling it was business, not pleasure. Even the little bit I knew about Liv, I knew she was a seriously focused woman. Eventually, I'd need to know what she was focused on, and maybe I'd ask her tonight. After we came up with a plan that kept us both from spending the next three years getting ourselves off.

  I didn't want this to be a discussion we had here. It would be awkward enough discussing having sex with other people. I didn't want to do it in the place we were living. Besides, it would probably be a good thing for my dad's spies to see Liv and me together in public, and I really wanted to go to a club.

  I'd originally thought I'd need to talk her into it, but I got a text back fairly quickly saying she'd meet me at a club for drinks. Maybe, I thought, now that she wasn't tending bar, she'd be more likely to relax at one. Maybe the realization that she didn't have to worry about saving money for her business would make her more likely to have fun.

  I got to the club first and took a table at the back. Hopefully, anyone reporting to my dad would think I was trying to be romantic. I figured it would be easier for us to have a private discussion if we looked like we were being cute newlyweds.

  I was skimming the crowd, looking for her, when I did a double-take. I'd actually missed her the first time because the woman walking toward me wasn't the buttoned-up serious bartender I'd met a couple weeks ago. Her dress was modest by club standards, but she looked good in it. A deep green that matched her eyes and a neckline that gave her just a hint of cleavage. She always dressed well, but this was the kind of outfit that made heads turn. It helped that she had her hair down, her curls tousled and wild.

  “Liv,” I called out, waving her over.

  She smiled at me, a wider smile than I'd seen.

  “Good evening, Blayne.” She slid into the seat next to me. “Have you ordered drinks yet?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What would you like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  And that was how it started.

  Over the next couple drinks, I brought up the subject of hook ups. Surprisingly, she was pretty easygoing about the idea. We nursed our drinks, letting the alcohol ease the tension until it became a moot point. It certainly made it much less difficult to set up some basic rules for either of us having some 'social time’.

  No bringing anyone back to the penthouse. That was home.

  No actual relationships while we were still married. Way too many complications.

  And, of course, be discreet. We couldn't go out on public dates or be out dancing with strangers. No checking into hotels with our real names or credit cards. We would, essentially, be having affairs, but it wasn’t each other we would be hiding them from. We didn't have to talk about them, but we didn't have to deny them either.

  “Sex only,” she said. Her words weren't slurred, but the edge that she usually had was gone. “I can, as they say, get on board with that.” Her fingers brushed against mine as she reached for a pretzel.

  Shit. Was she flirting with me? What had happened to her whole 'no physical contact' stance?

  I reached out and let my fingers touch hers, and held them there, waiting for her to be the one to pull away. Her eyes flicked down to our hands and then back up to me. She smiled, a slow, sultry smile that made my blood rush south.

  Dammit. If I'd known a drink could get her loosened up enough to be like this, I would've had champagne for us both on the plane and more in our suite in London.

  I knew I said it would be a bad idea to hook up with my wife, but she was so hot and it had been so long that I couldn't stop myself. I reached out and wrapped my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her toward me. Unlike our first kiss, I didn't hesitate, wondering if it would be okay. This time, I trusted her to push me away if necessary.

  And I went for it.

  I felt her surprise, her body stiffening for a split seco
nd, and then she was kissing me back.

  This wasn't some soft, sweet thing, a kiss to satisfy my parents. That hadn't really been a bad kiss, but this was something else. There was fire and heat as she opened her mouth and curled her tongue around mine. The instant she pulled my tongue into her mouth and sucked on it, my cock went from mildly interested to almost painfully hard.

  I broke the kiss, but not because I wanted it to stop, but because I wanted more. A hell of a lot more.

  “Want to go home?”

  14

  Blayne

  She didn't say much on the drive back to the apartment, but the fact that she snuggled up against me and kept her hand on my thigh made me pretty confident that she wouldn’t freak out in a couple minutes and go lock herself in her room.

  As soon as we stepped onto the elevator, it took every ounce of my self-control not to grab her and take her right there. I was so hard it almost hurt and I could finally admit to myself how attractive I found her. If I wasn't careful, I would lose it early and completely embarrass myself. I fully intended to make tonight amazing. I had a reputation to keep, after all.

  And she wasn't doing a damn thing to help matters either. Running out the tip of her tongue to wet her lips. Leaning against the wall so that she showed off her assets.

  I took a step toward her and she shook her head, holding up a single finger. The smile said she wasn't shutting me down, but I glared at her anyway.

  “I do not want anyone in the building thinking I am one of those cheap girls you brought home before.”

  As we stepped off of the elevator and walked toward the door, I moved so that I was right behind her. When she paused at the door, I slid my arms around her waist and put my mouth to her ear.

  “I don't bring girls home.” It was true, technically. I didn't count the handful of times I'd gotten too drunk to remember asking them over. Intent was what mattered... right?