An Improper Ever After

by Nadia Lee

  Looking into his earnest face, I know he isn’t lying. He truly believes he doesn’t care.

  “If it’s about the million dollars, don’t worry,” he continues. “It’ll be yours with or without the contract…although without the contract, I can keep providing for you and your sister.”

  The only thing I need for the courage to rip up the contract is his love. He’s too smart not to know that, but instead he’s offering money. It’s as though he can’t bring himself to offer me his heart, and that makes mine ache.

  He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I think we can be happy together. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

  I study him. I don’t know how he thinks he can be happy tied to a woman he doesn’t love…

  …and I can’t be happy tied to a man who doesn’t love me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Annabelle

  Elliot’s eyes narrow as he studies me. Grim determination radiates from him like a palpable energy field, and I hold my breath.

  He places his hands on both sides of my head, effectively caging me. The muscles in his shoulders shift and coil as he lowers his head until his nose almost touches mine. My mouth goes dry, and I flick my tongue over my lower lip.

  His eyes flare.

  I wait, shaky and unsure. Something’s shifted between us, and his proposal to rip up our contract is a huge step. But I can’t think when he’s this close, and his darkly masculine scent short-circuits my thought process. Tension stretches between us, and I—

  He dips his head, slants his mouth over mine. The tension snaps, and I kiss him back, suddenly relieved. Lust—this I understand. He’s taught me what to do when it hits both of us…and overwhelms me.

  This time he doesn’t limit himself to using just his tongue. His teeth scrape against the delicate tissue just inside my lips, gently, without breaking the skin. I return the aggression, pull his tongue inside and suck on it, while digging my fingers into his shoulders and back. The air around us feels thick with desire, and I breathe in his scent and sink deeper into the addictive kiss.

  His hand slips underneath the nightgown and skims along my calves and thighs. The calluses on his palms feel hard and rough. He pulls the gown off me, baring me to his gaze. I don’t have anything on underneath, not even panties. He hisses out a breath. “God, you’re perfect.”

  I know I’m not. But when he speaks so reverently, with such hot admiration glimmering in his lust-darkened gaze, I feel perfect.

  His lips travel over my body, kissing all the bruises. The gesture is so tender and sweet, I feel like my heart is about to break.

  “You have too many clothes on,” I murmur.

  A corner of his mouth quirks up, and he deftly shucks his shorts and throws them over a shoulder. He is stunning, naked or otherwise, but nude, the strength in his body is more evident. The lean, strong torso gleams under the soft light, his narrow waist…lean hips…the long, powerfully built legs. His heavy erection juts out and up, the head almost touching his tight, ridged stomach.

  I lick my lips, and his cock jerks as though I’m tonguing it. The sight is so hot that I push myself up to my knees, ready to take him into my mouth for a taste.

  “No,” he murmurs, holding me away. When I look at him questioningly, he shakes his head. “Oh, I want your lips around my dick, but this isn’t about that.”

  “Then what is it about?” I ask, my voice husky.

  “You.”

  Before I can demand clarification, his mouth is back on mine. This time it’s different. He ravages me, consumes me as though he wants to make me a permanent part of him. I kiss him back, my palm pressed against his cheek, helpless with wanting him. I’ve wanted him from the first time we met in that strip club, though I refused to admit it then. When we’re joined like this, it’s as though we’re puzzle pieces slotting together.

  His hand is on my breast, his thumb tracing the pale blue veins. He kisses my jaw, my chin, then nuzzles the sensitive skin on my neck, his breath scorching. Liquid heat throbs in my blood, making me pant for him. My hands twist the sheet, and he places wet, open-mouth kisses along the curve of my breast. I arch my back, unable to wait, and shiver with a need too painful to bear.

  He closes his mouth around my nipple, pulling it in hard, and suckles, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue flattening the tight tip. White-hot pleasure spreads through me from the contact, and I shift my legs restlessly against him, needing more. But he isn’t willing to give more. As though to soothe me, he runs his thumb over my other breast, and my hands fist in his hair. He finally lets go, and the cool air makes the wet nipple bead until I feel the tingling sensation all the way to my clit. He lavishes the same erotic attention to my other breast until I can barely breathe.

  “Please…” I whisper. “Don’t tease me.”

  “Oh, I intend to deliver,” he murmurs against my skin.

  His finger strokes my clit then glides down the slick folds. I whimper at the incredible bliss of being touched by him, spreading my legs wider. Sweat mists over my heated skin. I’m beyond shame, beyond inhibition. If he doesn’t take me soon, I’m going to die.

  He kisses downward over my belly and to the wet junction between my thighs. His breath fans hotly over me, and I moan.

  “I love the way you smell,” he whispers. “The way you sound…the way you taste.”

  My eyes prickle with emotion. Until him, I’ve never felt this—that I am enough, that I am what he desires, nothing else. And it makes me want to be more for him…

  Rip up the contract.

  The thought ripples through my mind, and I almost freeze. I don’t think that I can. The contract sets the parameters of our relationship. Once it’s gone, I won’t know what to expect anymore.

  His eyes meet mine. For a fraction of a second, his eyebrows pinch, forming a tight V. I know he can see thoughts jumbling, piling up in my head even if he can’t read them.

  “No,” he says. “No more brooding.”

  He dips his head. At the first touch of his lips on my clit, my back arches, electric pleasure chasing away all my thoughts. His tongue licks me all over, the touch light, deft and expert. A series of little fireworks seems to go off inside, but it’s just a prelude to where he’s about to push me. He’s too deliberate, too driven.

  Cupping my ass, he tilts my pelvis and drives into me with his tongue. My nerves are strung so tight it only takes a couple of shallow thrusts before I’m climaxing all over his face. I cry out, my head thrown back. He doesn’t let up. He increases the intensity, overloading my senses. I twist and turn, but I’m helpless in his grasp.

  “Stop, I can’t…” I sob.

  He gives another deliberate lick. “Your taste… God, I can do this all night.”

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  He chuckles darkly, the sound unbearably seductive. “We can kill each other.”

  That’s the last thing I comprehend before another orgasm barrels through me, hits me like a locomotive dropped from space. It buries me, and I feel like I’m going to faint.

  When I can finally drag air into my lungs again, Elliot is positioned between my legs, his face over mine. He’s sheathed in a condom, and I can feel his cock throbbing against me.

  “Now,” I whisper.

  He sinks into me, slow inch by slow inch. I start to close my eyes at the amazing fullness.

  “Don’t,” he orders. “Look at me.”

  I blink, then stare up at him. His face is flushed and stark. Lust and something I’ve never seen before dilate his eyes. His arms and shoulders shake with tight control, and I place my feet flat on the mattress and tilt my hips, pulling the rest of him into me.

  Breathing hard and our hearts beating like hummingbirds’ wings, we gaze into each other’s eyes. “Elliot,” I whisper.

  “Annabelle.”

  Shock stiffens my body. He said he would never call me that because of his ex…

  His forehead touches mine, followed by hi
s lips. “Annabelle Reed. My wife.”

  A huge knot forms in my throat, and it’s all I can do to swallow it. “Elliot… I thought—”

  He places a finger over my mouth. I can taste myself on it. “I know. But I was wrong.” He kisses me with aching tenderness. “It doesn’t matter what your name is. You’re the one. You’ll always be the one. It just took me too damn long to figure that out.”

  Tears flow freely. He kisses them away as he moves within me. Each stroke is deeper and hotter than the one before, and it doesn’t take long before I’m consumed with need and love for this complicated man in my arms. Every time I think this is the end, he does something to utterly shatter me.

  He raises himself up and looks at my face. His breathing is shallow and rough, emotion inflaming his beautiful face. A scorching erotic tension coils inside my gut so tightly that it’s almost painful.

  “Come, Annabelle,” he coaxes. “Come for me.”

  And I do, unable to resist. I arch my body, pressing against him. He drives into me once…then again and again and again before letting go with a guttural cry.

  Making sure not to crush me, he levers himself off and lies to the side. I clutch him to me. I’m unable to bear an inch of separation from him even as desire dissipates and my head starts working again.

  I lay my hand over his heart. It’s knocking against his chest hard and fast. He has to feel something for me. Maybe it isn’t love—not yet—but it’s something deeply emotional and strong, because he has no reason to want to rip up our perfectly fine marriage contract or call me Annabelle.

  “What are you thinking?”

  I hesitate, then murmur, “Nothing.”

  He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. “When a woman says nothing, it’s always something.”

  I flush. “Sometimes us women say exactly what we mean.”

  “Sometimes…but you hesitated.”

  Touché. “Okay. I was wondering… I’m curious why you really want to rip up the contract.” When he tries to talk, I put a finger over his mouth. “You made your proposal because you want your grandfather’s painting, plus you want my body. You have me now. And I don’t think you’re going to want the body after a year, not without a deep emotional foundation.”

  He nips my finger, then licks the sting. “You’re right about my initial…plan. But that doesn’t mean what I want can’t change.” He stops. A look of fierce concentration comes over him, and he continues, “You remember the work I did with Lucas, right?”

  “Yes. Your algorithm.” I give him a rueful smile. “I’m not exactly certain what it’s supposed to do, though.”

  “Basically, it predicts people’s future actions based on their interests and previous behavior. So naturally the impression is that someone who can put something like that together is good at emotion and”—he waves a hand—“all that stuff…but I’m not. We were looking at aggregate data and how people who fit certain profiles behaved. But on an individual level, well…it’s pretty useless.”

  I nod, not entirely sure why he wants to tell me this.

  “You…defied my expectations. At an aggregate level, the women around me—except Elizabeth—want a fun time in bed, access to my money…and maybe some exposure and a chance to meet Ryder and his agent. And I’m comfortable with that because I know how to handle it. But you…” He shakes his head. “You didn’t want to want sex, you’ve never been terribly impressed with my money and you couldn’t care less about Ryder or what knowing him could do for you. And when you told me you loved me…” His eyes take on a faraway look. I feel like he’s somewhere in distant space, even though he’s right next to me, his warm, bare skin flush against mine. “I wanted that love. It gutted me when I thought you said that to manipulate me. Annabelle Underhill often told me she loved me when she thought I was onto something. If she hadn’t, I might’ve found out what she was up to sooner.”

  I caress his cheek with my fingertips, hurting for him and hating that bitch with a passion. And she hasn’t paid for what she’s done. Being dumped by Julian after he used her is nowhere near enough.

  “But you stopped saying it, and I can’t tell you the kind of panic it created. Then Elizabeth made a point of mentioning that sometimes love can turn into indifference.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  He shrugs, but a certain stiffness of movement betrays his discomfiture. “We were talking and it came up. But she’s right. Love can turn into something else in the face of cruelty.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingers one by one. “I’m not the type to stay panicked. I went back and thought things through, then realized we never had the right beginning. The contract… It limits what we have, reducing it to a monetary transaction. I don’t want that anymore.” His hand tightens around mine. “Even though that’s what you want.”

  “Elliot…”

  “Everyone learns from watching others and mimicking them. I’ve never learned how to love. The kind of love you want isn’t something I ever saw growing up.”

  My heart breaks. The skin around my eyes turns hot, and I blink away tears. I thought he hadn’t offered his love because he didn’t think I was worthy of it. Now I see I was wrong. He promised money because that’s the only thing he believed he had to give.

  He continues, “I know what I’m asking for is unfair—”

  I kiss him to shut him up. I can’t listen to this gorgeous, brilliant man feeling like he’s less because of his past. “I love you.”

  Vulnerability and tenderness flare in his eyes. “Annabelle…”

  “And you don’t have to call me Annabelle.” I give him a soft smile, stroking his brow with gentle fingers. “I actually like it when you call me Belle. You gave me that nickname.” I breathe in deeply. I am so, so scared—terrified, really—but if I don’t take this step, then we have no future. And I want one… Oh how I want a future with Elliot! “Okay. No rules, no limit to what we can have.”

  The smile he gives me is blinding.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Annabelle

  The next morning, I get up later than I intended. Elliot is already up. I shake my head. In addition to good looks and a super brain, he also seems to be blessed with inhuman stamina. My brain is still foggy with sleep. He kept me up a good portion of the night. It was for a pleasurable cause, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worn out.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he says, his voice extra cheery. He’s in a pale green shirt that clings to his perfectly sculpted body. It makes me warm just from looking. His denim shorts are artfully faded and frayed, and he has a bright pink mug in his hand.

  “You’re too cheerful.” I start to bury my head back under the sheets, then smell coffee. “Wait. For me?”

  “Who else?” He flicks my nose.

  I sit up. A man who brings me a fresh brew in the morning is a prince, even if he did keep me up the night before. And, appropriately enough, the mug reads The Person Drinking Out of Me Is a Princess. Inhaling the rich aroma, I take a long sip and sigh. “This is so good.”

  He kisses me on the mouth. “So are you.”

  “Mmm.” I blink away the sleep. The caffeine helps. He turns around, the expertly cut denim shorts showcasing his tight butt. Something clicks into place in my brain. “You don’t have your ass tattoo anymore.”

  He looks at me over a shoulder. “What?”

  “FU.”

  “Oh, that? I got rid of it last year, not that I told anybody.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “I got it while drunk. It was my ‘fuck you’ to Dad, but then I decided I was through with it. By the way, erasing a tattoo hurts like a bitch.”

  I giggle. “Good. Then you should let Nonny know.”

  “She wants a tattoo?”

  “Uh-huh.” I take another sip of coffee. “One that professes her undying love for your brother.”

  Elliot makes a face. “Ryder’s not worth getting a tattoo over.”

  “My feelings exac
tly.” I finish my cup. “Is Nonny still here?”

  “Leaving in five.”

  “Okay.” I shrug into a robe and we go downstairs to the kitchen, hands linked.

  Nonny is just rinsing her cereal bowl and putting it into the dishwasher. She looks fresh and adorable in a sunflower-yellow maxi dress. An elegantly thin silver chain with a piccolo pendant hangs around her neck.

  “Morning. Nice necklace,” I say.

  “Hi.” She fingers the piccolo. “It’s new.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “You know. A gift.”

  “From a boy?”

  Pulling her lips in, she shrugs. From the sudden tinge of red on her face, it’s got to be from a boy.

  I sense Elliot tense through our linked hands. “Who?” he asks.

  “Just some guy.”

  “The boy from history class?” He scowls. “Algebra too, if I recall.”

  “Don’t you ever forget anything?”

  “Nope. I also remember you not telling me how many classes you have with this kid.”

  Nonny rolls her eyes. “Because it’s none of your business. It’s not like we’re serious.” She grabs her backpack from the counter. “Gotta go. Love you.” She gives me a tight but super-quick hug and dashes toward the main entrance.

  “That necklace looks pretty serious to me!” Elliot calls out as she shuts the door behind her.

  I elbow him in the ribs. “You’re horrible. Stop embarrassing her.”

  “I just want to know who it is.”

  I rinse out my now empty coffee mug and reach for a box of cereal and some milk. “I worry about her too, but I have to believe that she’ll be careful or I’ll never let her out of my sight.” I pour myself a bowl and put everything away. A spoon in my mouth, I settle on a stool at the counter, feet curling over the bottom rung.

  “That’s why I need to be the bad cop. You won’t do what’s necessary.”

  I smile. “I’ll play good cop later and talk with her.” I want to believe that the kids in her current school are great, but my high school wasn’t exactly awash with problem teens, and my parents thought I was safe there…