Down and Dirty

by Crystal Green

  But she couldn’t live the rest of the year like this, not knowing if there was a chance with him, even a little one.

  Her pulse tiptoed through her as she took a breath, then spoke. “You know why I like being married to you?” she asked.

  His gaze clouded, and her fears rose up, looming. Had she pushed this man who didn’t believe in love because no one had ever shown him what it was?

  But then he smiled, going back to careless, flirty Ben. “You like the paycheck you’re getting.”

  Of course he’d say that—it was a buffer that kept their true issues at arm’s distance. Yet what was up with all those warm looks he’d been giving her tonight? Had any of them been real, or just part of their act, even if the two of them had been out of sight of his family?

  She had to find out, so she braved on. “Actually, I like being married to you because I can wake up in the morning and cook you breakfast. I like taking care of you just as much as you’re taking care of me. I know being happy isn’t a part of the contract, but that’s how I am. Happy.”

  He’d straightened, emphasizing a space between them that wasn’t so much physical as emotional. Her heart constricted because she knew he was about to remind her that they had a contract that didn’t involve breakfasts or affection.

  She braced herself for him to say it.

  But then he frowned, like there were thoughts going through his head that contradicted their arrangement. Or was she only imagining it because she wanted more from him so badly?

  Her heart sure hoped she was imagining things, because it was expanding in her chest, opening up for a sign from him. Any sign.

  After a minute of silence—God, her pulse was loud and so damned obvious, filling every second—he sent her a smile. But . . . was it a Friend Zone smile?

  Holy crap. She’d heard those kinds of smiles existed, but she’d never thought she’d get one . . . especially from a husband.

  “I like taking care of you, too, Liz.” Now his gaze misted into blue haze, like passion was gradually taking the Friend Zone over as he gave her one of those long looks she was getting so used to. “How about you let me take care of you tonight?”

  So he’d turned playful yet again, and her chest pushed into itself like it needed to force out the disappointment.

  But when he reached over to one of her feet, his fingers whisking over her pearled heels, then her ankles, teasing her heating skin, disappointment wasn’t exactly what was tumbling through her.

  He deliberately slipped off her shoes, just as he’d done in the limo a few nights ago. His voice lowered to a raw whisper. “I never knew how much I wanted to take care of someone, but with you, it feels so good. Does it feel good when I take care of you, Liz?”

  As he slid his hands under her gown, easing them over the outsides of her calves, she shivered.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He traveled his hands to her knees, lightly running his fingers into the damp, sensitive area behind them. Her pussy violently tightened, her clit twisting.

  “It makes me happy to hear that you’re happy,” he said, grit in his tone. “And that’s a nice arrangement, Mrs. Hughes.”

  It was like he was unknowingly mocking what she felt for him. Couldn’t he see that she wanted more, or at least the opportunity for it? And if she told him that, would he run for the hills?

  Time, she thought. I need to give him time. I need to show him how I feel before I tell him, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll see that love can happen to a Hughes.

  He was still stroking the ticklish spots behind her knees, making her bite her lip with anticipation, and the hunger in his gaze was turning her on even more, getting her wet, so wet . . .

  Then, without warning, he scooped her into his arms and stood, all strength and appetite, striding toward the hallway.

  Toward his bedroom.

  Last night, Liz had told herself to leave him wanting more, and it’d obviously worked. But tonight, it’d be impossible to hold back—not with the insane way she was swooning inside, her head swirling, her hormones on fire, her blood beating for him here, there, and everywhere.

  He kicked his half-closed door the rest of the way open, letting in a slice of light that angled over the shag carpet, partially illuminating the bed.

  Even though she couldn’t resist where this was going, she gave him one last hard-to-get comment. “What makes you think I don’t want to spend the night in my own room?”

  As he stood over the bed, he laughed. “Maybe it’s the way you’re clutching at my shirt, like you’re not about to go anywhere but here.”

  Okay, she was clutching, but she didn’t let go. And she didn’t try to control her quickened breathing, either, because it was useless to lie about wanting him.

  Show him there’s more, though, she kept thinking. Make him believe that you’re the one for him as much as you believe it.

  “At least,” she said in a soft voice, “you had to work for this.”

  “Wasn’t that the point of last night, when you left me in the hall all alone?”

  She only smiled, feeling a tremble building deep within her, the beginning of the end.

  He smiled, too, confident as hell. “And I’ll keep working for it,” he said with a growl. “Just watch.”

  Even if he was only giving her some foreplay banter, talking about the sex and nothing beyond, her heartbeat fluttered with hope. He was going to work for her. And when he tossed her on the bed, her gown spreading around her, she held out her arms to him, welcoming him home.

  His, she thought. I’m all his and always will be, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

  He climbed on the mattress, and her sex pounded with agonizing thumps, throbbing for his touch. As she wrapped her arms around him, he leaned down, burying his mouth against her neck, and a muted sound of pleasure escaped her.

  “My wife,” he said against her, then nipped at her throat, making her buck. “The best partner I could’ve ever asked for.”

  Her heart didn’t even have time to falter at his words, because he was already kissing her throat, taking off her necklace. He slid her gown strap down one arm, then lazily kissed her collarbone, her chest, stopping right above her strapless lace bra. He nuzzled her while easing down the opposite strap, then skimming over to dip his finger inside the bra, teasing her nipple until it peaked.

  “I always thought,” he whispered against her skin, “that it’d be hell to introduce a woman to the family, but you made it easy tonight. Real easy.”

  He pulled her gown down to her waist, and she wiggled, helping him, then going still as he reached around to unhook her bra. He tossed it away.

  “I guess,” he said, “a high-stakes event like showing off your wife isn’t so hard when the marriage isn’t real.”

  Her stomach knotted, a tie of loneliness that she shouldn’t have felt in her husband’s arms. But, soon, he wouldn’t be able to help but notice how she felt for him, how he could feel for her. . . .

  He pressed kisses on her breasts, taking his sweet time, exploring every inch of skin until she was reduced to agitated sighs.

  “God,” he said, raising his head to look at her, his hands braced on her ribs, fingers spread, almost like he owned her. “You’re perfect, Liz. You’ve got these perfect breasts . . .”

  He touched his lips to one tip, slowly, sensuously. Then he kissed the other nipple, too, lingering before he continued his carnal exploration by sliding down, coming to her upper stomach.

  “A perfect torso . . .”

  He kissed her again, once, then twice, then made his way to her waist, his lips running over every streamlined muscle she’d worked so hard to develop during all her classes, all her hours at the barre and in front of the mirror, dancing by herself.

  He arrived at her hip, murmuring against it. “Perfect legs . . .”

  More kisses, sprinkles of delicate adoration. And when he turned her over so that she was stomach-down on the bed, gripping at the covers, he continued
his erotic games, working off her undies.

  When he was done, he threw the material away, then cupped her ass, kneading her skin, his thumbs trailing between her legs every so often. She jerked and gasped every time, an orgasm blooming inside of her, already threatening to burst into full color and noise.

  He kissed one cheek. “This is perfect . . .” Then the other. “And that’s perfect.”

  She was dying, in so many ways, too. He was bringing her to the brink, and she was pulling herself away, determined that this wouldn’t be just sex.

  But as he bit gently at her flesh, she winced, holding in the soft cry of near surrender.

  “Liz,” he said. “When’re you going to come for me?”

  “Not until I want to,” she said on a gasp.

  Still just sex. Still just Mrs. Contract Hughes to him. And, dammit, now was the time to change that.

  She pushed off the bed, turning around, and before he could do anything, she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her, pressing her mouth to his with such desire that she wondered if she was actually giving in to the “just sex” instead of showing him how much she cared for him.

  At first, he seemed surprised that she’d taken over, but when she slowed the kiss, trailing her fingers down his face with all the tenderness she was feeling, he responded, taking her into his arms and nearly crushing the breath out of her with a passion he’d never let loose before. A wanting. A yearning that went beyond anything they’d had with each other.

  Fireworks exploded in Liz, a sizzling explosion of joy. It wasn’t just sex after all! This could work. Would work.

  And as he kept kissing her with such emotion, such need, she let herself believe wholeheartedly that things had turned for them.

  He wasn’t only ravenous for her as he stripped off his shirt and all the rest, including her gown; he was desperate. She could tell by the way his hands possessed her, by the way he touched her like he’d never touched her, like she was a discovery he’d just made and couldn’t believe he’d found.

  In the midst of it all, he paused, holding her face in his hands, looking into her eyes.

  It was semidark, but she thought she could see something there—something beautiful and right—and the fireworks exploded again, deep in her chest, shimmering all the way through her.

  He kissed her, long and languorously and thoroughly, then, body to sweat-misted body, laid her down. They fit against each other like a husband and wife should, just the way Liz had always imagined it back in the days she’d danced those romantic dances by herself in a studio, dreaming of a life she’d never gotten.

  When he put on a rubber, she almost told him that they were married, so screw protection. But she could say things like that soon enough, after he was ready to get rid of all the layers between them. And when he entered her, she took in a long, tight breath, holding to him, his clean citrusy scent overwhelming her, his skin hot and damp against hers as they moved together, joined like the circle of the ring she was wearing.

  Everything spun around in a circle, too, time chasing itself, getting faster, more forceful, blurring until all she saw was gold and sparkly diamond and the melding of the two until—

  When she came for him, a bang of showering diamond chips slashed into her with delightful pain. And after he finally climaxed, too, neither of them let go of each other.

  Was it because something wonderful had just happened? Something real that he hadn’t expected?

  After what seemed to be a stretch of slowing heartbeats, Ben finally did sit up, turning his back on her and leaving the bed to take care of his condom. Liz held her breath, still afraid to move, even though she ultimately did, reaching for some tissues near the bed. When he came out of the bathroom, she sat there, wondering if he was going to tell her how great banging her was and start kissing her again, never admitting that things had changed.

  But . . . hadn’t they?

  He pulled back the bedspread and sheets, silently urging her to get under them. After she did, he covered her up and climbed in, too, pushing her damp hair back from her face.

  “Told you I’d take care of you,” he said, pulling her against him until she was pressed to his chest.

  As his breathing evened out, Liz closed her eyes, loving the feel of him, but wondering if he’d only been talking about taking care of just the sex . . . and nothing else.

  ***

  All night, Liz wondered and wondered until she fell asleep, only to be woken up by something wet and sniffy against her face.

  She startled at the clammy sensation, her eyes opening. When she saw Poppy nosing at her, nudging her to get up, she laughed, squinting at the light that peered from under the orange-striped curtains. But the biggest shock came when she looked up to see Ben sitting in bed next to her, the covers draped around his hips, leaving her with a view of his broad back and a hint of his sigh-worthy butt as he leaned his forearms on his knees.

  Smiling down at her and Poppy, he said, “Morning, sparkles.”

  They were still in bed. His bed, and she’d obviously been sleeping here all night. And he was still smiling at her with adoration as the dog licked at her face and stomped on her tummy with puppy paws.

  He laughed and made a grab for the little Irish Setter. “I think she’s got to go outside.” He ruffled Poppy’s fur, kissed her, and slid her back down on the mattress while he left the bed and started to put on his pants.

  Liz’s thoughts sang as she remembered how he’d taken off his clothes last night, how they’d made love—not sex. And how she was here with him and not down the hall in the guest room.

  She nearly laughed to herself, appreciating everything about him: his notched abs, the happy trail of silky blond hair that disappeared into his pants. Him. “I didn’t hear Poppy jump on the bed this morning.”

  “You were really out. Little Miss Eager here decided to hop on up and give me a tongue bath, so I was the early riser. I thought maybe you’d like the privilege of the same wake-up call.”

  “Very thoughtful of you.”

  He stood there, pulling his shirt over those broad shoulders, looking like he had something else to say.

  Please, Liz thought. Don’t be thinking second thoughts about what happened. Don’t apologize for . . .

  Doing what? Loving her like he meant it?

  Then he grinned, going back to the old Ben, ignoring last night and making her hopes go dark.

  He grabbed Poppy and moved toward the door. “You stay put while I take her out. Breakfast is on me today—and it’s in bed.”

  So he was going to keep taking care of her in the only way he’d ever known how—spoiling a woman. But she couldn’t lose all her hope because they were at square one again.

  Give him time, she thought again. Patience.

  “I hate to tell you,” she said, keeping the mood light, “but the pantry’s still pretty bare. I never did have time to shop.”

  “Ye of little faith. I have a cell phone and I have the Internet. I can get anyone to deliver anything you want—or I can ask Kat to rustle something up at the saloon. Any requests?”

  Yes, you. That’s all I need. “How about one of those salads from the general store when they open?”

  “Are you serious? A salad for breakfast?”

  “Just keeping the girlish figure.” She smiled.

  His gaze flared, like he was picturing her without the bedcovers. But there was something else there, too, like he hadn’t forgotten the undercurrents of last night.

  He cleared his throat, jerked his chin toward the door. “I’ve got to . . .”

  “Take Poppy outside. Sure.”

  He left, and Liz stayed in bed, hearing the patio door slide open and shut as Ben tended to the dog.

  So he wasn’t falling all over himself because last night had shown him the light. But there was something different between them now, something she couldn’t exactly put her finger on, although she was praying she knew the reason for the slight awkwardness of
their morning after.

  He did know something had changed.

  When a sound dinged through the morning silence—a generic ring from her cell phone coming from the family room—she glanced at the old clock radio on the nightstand. A little after seven on a Sunday morning.

  Liz grabbed the bedcover, pulled it around her, and rushed out of the room. She usually didn’t get calls this early on the weekend, so it might be important.

  She got to her beaded clutch purse, which she’d left on the coffee table between a kitschy King Tut statuette and a pile of Boomer’s Field & Stream magazines, and dug in to find her phone. She didn’t recognize the number, but she answered anyway, putting the caller on speaker out of habit.

  “Hello?” Outside, she could see Ben watching Poppy toodle around the patio, clearly still searching for a place to do her business. He was cracking up at her.

  A laugh welled up in Liz’s chest. Happy. She’d never been so happy.

  A deep voice came from the other end of the line. “This is Jameson Hughes.”

  She didn’t respond. Why would he be calling her and not Ben? But she quickly regained her senses—especially her sense of humor. “I know who you are, Jameson. No need to be so formal in the future.”

  He forged ahead, ignoring her jibe. “Are you with Bennett?”

  “He’s outside with Poppy.”

  “All right. I wanted to tell you privately that an Internet tabloid broke news of your marriage. The Eye on U site came out with it an hour ago.”

  Even though she’d known this would happen, a jolt of adrenaline still split her as she watched Ben outside. He was smiling at the dawn sky now, his hands in his pockets, his hair bed-tossed. He looked happy, too.

  Something like a rock had lodged in her throat, and she turned around, slowly walking toward the hallway as Jameson continued.

  “They’re mocking Bennett in their story.” It sounded like his jaw was clenched. “Mocking the family, saying that the marriage will be over in two weeks since Bennett is his faithless father’s son and the only reason he tied the knot was because he was horny and drunk.”

  Well, wasn’t that the truth? But it didn’t have to be.