by Joanne Rock
“Look at me,” he commanded, unable to soften the edge in his voice. Instead, he simply lowered the volume.
His gaze met hers. There were definitely shadows there. The light was dim, but he knew the nuances of those green eyes. Time hadn’t dimmed his memory of this woman’s moods.
“I want you,” she said simply. Urgently.
Was she running from her shadows by losing herself in this night with him? He was too amped up to figure out what might have upset her, but he knew she wanted him, too. She couldn’t hide that.
“That’s going to happen soon,” he promised, already clutching a condom in one hand. “But I never gave you the proper kiss to commemorate the day.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“There were kisses,” she argued, lifting her neck to plant another on his cheek, to one side of his mouth. “I was there for a lot of highly memorable kisses just now.”
“Not a ‘you may kiss the bride’ kind of kiss.” He let go of the foil wrapper, setting it beside the pillow near her head, where dark hair spilled in every direction.
She was so damn beautiful.
“I’m not sure how that kind is any different.” Frowning, she seemed appropriately distracted from whatever had bothered her a moment ago.
And that made holding back worth it, even if he throbbed as though a vise were clamped around him.
“I put it off before because I wanted to get it right.” He wanted her to be happy on her wedding day, and he wanted to be the one to banish those shadows in her eyes. Call him old-fashioned, but even if it was a temporary marriage, Lydia was now his wife. She deserved something to mark that occasion—something more than the courthouse visit. “It didn’t seem like the kind of kiss to share in front of strangers.”
Her eyes locked on his. Curiosity mixed with desire. And he was damn glad he’d taken this moment to remind them both what it meant to be together tonight. Digging under the covers, he found her left hand and held it, running his finger over the platinum band and square-shaped diamond there. He twisted it gently—back and forth a few degrees in either direction before resettling it right where it had been. Resting it there anew.
Then, his gaze lowering to her lips, he kissed her. Savored her. He felt the tension ease out of her as her arms went around him. She returned the kiss with a sweetness that almost made him forget everything else that had passed between them.
And before he let himself think about that, he retrieved the condom and rolled it into place. Never breaking the kiss, he made room for himself between her thighs and pressed deep inside her. Her fingernails scored his chest, scratching lightly as he found a rhythm that pleased them both. Heat flared all over, building gain until it roared up his spine with new urgency. He’d put this off too long. Forced himself to wait and wait. So now when the pressure built, it powered through him with an undeniable force.
He wrapped Lydia in his arms, rolled her on top of him so he could watch her. She bit her lip, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she moved in time with him, her narrow hips rocking in time with his.
He remembered so much about her and he used it to his advantage now, recalling exactly where to touch her to send her spiraling into ecstasy. He reached between them, fingering his way to where she was slick with heat. She arched back, still for a moment, before she collapsed over him, her body convulsing all around him. The soft, feminine pulses were his undoing, the feel of her pleasure spiking his own.
Their shouts mingled with the night birds and howler monkeys, a wild coming together that pounded through both of them. When the spasms slowed and stopped, Ian turned her in his arms so they lay side by side, breathing the same humid air of the Costa Rican jungle while the bamboo fan blades turned languidly overhead.
Their marriage was real now. The words they’d spoken in front of the county clerk were only a precursor to this, the ultimate bond that made it legitimate. He had been prepared to wait to consummate the marriage until she was ready, but maybe Lydia had seen that their union could have as many benefits as they allowed themselves.
Tonight might be a shadow of what a real marriage between them could have been like. But he could take a whole lot of pleasure from more nights like this. Whatever had driven her into his arms tonight, Ian wasn’t about to argue.
Nine
Seated at the polished stone patio table across from Ian two hours later, Lydia decided she preferred dining while dressed in one of the T-shirts and boxer shorts he’d packed for their trip. Wrapped in a cotton throw blanket that she’d found on the back of the couch, she tucked sock-clad feet beneath her while Ian filled their water glasses from the pewter pitcher, still cold all these hours after they should have eaten.
But the caterers had left several covered trays of food with small candles burning in the stands below them on the buffet, while other dishes had been placed on ice, so everything she’d put on her plate remained delicious. She helped herself to another bite of the baked pineapple that was so good she couldn’t wait to recreate it at home. Or maybe everything simply tasted better after multiple orgasms. She didn’t think she could shake the pleasurable feeling in her veins if she tried.
Even knowing her marriage was utterly unorthodox and it wouldn’t last beyond this time next year, Lydia was determined to savor the joy of the night. There would be worries enough when they returned to the real world.
For now, eating cold lobster at midnight overlooking the Pacific with a fascinating, handsome dinner companion, she couldn’t muster the energy to worry just yet. The heady scent of flowers wafted on the sea breeze, and she reveled in how her cooling skin was still warm from a shared shower with Ian.
She flushed just thinking about the things he’d done to her under the shower spray. But better to think about that than the moments when he’d toyed with her wedding ring and kissed her as though she would be his bride forever.
“More wine?” he offered, lifting the decanter of pinot grigio.
With his jaw shadowed by stubble and his dress shirt unbuttoned to his waist, Ian still managed to look completely at home at the formal dining table, his blue eyes hooded from the glow of the candelabra that had remained burning thanks to the glass globes around the tapers.
“No, thank you.” She took another drink from her water glass. “Being in Miami and now here, I’m thirstier than usual from the heat.”
Or else she was thirstier than usual from the unaccustomed physical activity. Sweet, merciful heaven, but the man could do incredible things to her.
“Do you usually stay in Manhattan over the summer?” he asked as he bit into a slice of fresh mango. It was an innocuous question but one that reminded her of the differences in their worlds.
“Unless a client hires me for a job outside the city, I’m always in Manhattan.” She shifted the cotton throw on her shoulders and tucked closer to the table. “I can’t afford to get used to the McNeill lifestyle.”
All around the deck, tiki torches still burned. The animal life had quieted some so she could hear the roll of waves onto the beach below along with the ever-present swish of palm fronds in the breeze.
Ian frowned. “We have a house in the Hamptons. You could go there on the weekends if you’d like to escape the heat.”
“That’s just what I mean.” She remembered how many times her mother had dragged her to Newport in the summer, couch-surfing with any potential acquaintance while she tried to wrangle an invitation from Lydia’s father to stay at the Whitney mansion. “I don’t want to get in the habit of living beyond my means.”
He wiped his hands on a linen napkin and set it aside, then moved to take the seat next to her at the round table. Just his physical nearness affected her, spiking her heart rate the same way it had every single time he got close to her. It had been this way last year when she’d fallen for him. It had stayed that way even when she’d been ang
ry with him and told him they were finished. Right to the last minute when he’d walked out of her hotel room in Rangiroa, she’d felt the hum of response to his nearness.
“Lydia, we’ll be sharing my home in New York. You need to be comfortable there.” He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Our marriage needs to be believable.”
She stared down at their interlocked hands, wondering what was for show now. His touch? His kiss? She needed to remember that they had a relationship based on mutual needs. Ian’s legal need to keep the family business in family hands, and her need to protect the secret of Mallory West so she could continue her more lucrative side business of matchmaking to help struggling mothers. Simple.
And yet it would be so easy to let the chemistry she shared with this man distract her from her goals.
“I don’t need to start spending weekends in the Hamptons to have people believe our marriage is real.” She plucked a plump berry from a bowl of fresh fruit and took a bite. “Even if we were wildly in love and planning our forever, I wouldn’t suddenly quit my job and give up my work with Moms’ Connection.”
“But you can expand your role there now.” He leaned back in his seat, keeping her hand in his and resting their joined palms on his knee while the candelabra candles burned down a little more, dripping wax on the linen tablecloth. “Maybe chair your own fund-raiser for the group when we return to New York.”
The possibility shimmered like a beautiful mirage. Help her favorite cause? Aid the women who had given so much to her those weeks when she’d been thinking she would be a single mother to Ian’s child? She could do so much good there.
Except that it wouldn’t last. Her time as a New York socialite would be short-lived.
“That’s what I mean, Ian. In twelve months’ time, I won’t have the kind of social standing needed to chair Manhattan charity events. If anything, my reputation might very well be in a worse state than ever, and that’s saying something considering my past.”
“Then take a one-year position on their board. Do what you can to further their goals in that time. All I’m saying is, it would be good to get involved at the level people would expect of my wife.” He turned her shoulders toward him so she faced him head-on. “You might as well work with a group you support anyhow.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t deny the idea intrigued her. “It’s generous of you to suggest.”
He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal to write a substantial check to a group that struggled for every dime. “You’d be doing the legwork, not me. Besides, I’d like to find ways for you to be happy over the next year.” A wicked grin slid over his face. “Outside of bed, I mean. Because that much I believe we have covered.”
He drew her forward, his eyes intent on hers before he closed them at the last moment. He nipped her lower lip, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, sending a shiver of pleasure all over her body.
He hadn’t been kidding about making her happy in bed. Ian McNeill had that power locked down.
“What about when we go back to the real world?” she asked, her eyes fluttering open. “I’m concerned you may have underestimated the level of interest the press will take in this marriage. Not to mention the interest my mother will have.”
“We’ll deal with that as it comes,” he said firmly. “For now, if you’re finished with dinner, I’d like my dessert.”
The heated look in his eyes turned her blood molten.
“What about mine?” She pushed the words past lips gone dry.
“You’ll get yours, Lydia McNeill,” he whispered in her ear before licking along the lobe, his hand already seeking the hem of the T-shirt she wore and tucking underneath it. “That much I promise you.”
* * *
An hour later—after much taste-testing of the dessert menu and his wife—Ian counted himself a lucky man. The marriage might be fake, but Ian was confident he was having as rewarding a honeymoon as any groom on the planet.
He sure as hell had a hotter wife than anyone else.
He had convinced Lydia to join him in the oversize hot tub off the master suite, another space that was mostly open to the elements. The sinks and bathroom had been situated on an interior wall, but the shower and hot tub could be partially exposed to the villa’s private patch of forest on the steep mountainside that led down to the beach. With no other accommodations for miles, the Honeymoon House was the perfect blend of seclusion and luxury, with services available from the local resort.
Ian had shut down all the outdoor torches now that it was well past midnight. The house was quite dark except for the moonlight spilling across the hot tub’s surface and the spa light underwater.
He watched as Lydia stripped off her T-shirt. His T-shirt, actually. He liked seeing her in his clothes. And he really, really liked seeing her out of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her now as she looked back over one shoulder before slipping a thumb into the band of the boxer shorts she’d folded over and tucked to fit her slender frame.
It didn’t matter that the shadows were thick around them. He could see the shape of her hips as she wriggled free of the cotton. And, damn, he could see her even better as she faced the tub and hurried—naked—into the bubbling water.
Her high, firm breasts hid just beneath the surface. For a moment he wondered why he’d suggested this since what he really wanted was to bury himself inside her all over again and the hot tub was only going to slow him down. But then, this was her honeymoon, too. And he wanted to make sure he made their time here unforgettable for her.
She was already worried about returning to the real world and facing their families, which reminded him what a good, generous woman she was. He didn’t want her to worry about any of that when he could take care of everything. She was his to protect now. He planned to erase all those concerns tonight before they slept.
“It’s your turn,” she called from the water, her glossy, dark hair spilling around her like a mermaid in the clear bubbles.
“Just admiring the view.” He stripped off his shirt that he had hadn’t even bothered to button, tossing it onto the wood planks of the deck.
“So am I.” She leaned back against one of the neck rests of the molded spa. “Feel free to take your time.”
“You saying things like that makes it all the tougher to take my time. I hope you know that.” He eased his shorts off, his body ready to go again from just looking at her.
Though her playful words only amped him up more.
“Maybe I like cracking that legendary McNeill control.” She watched him as he stepped down into the tub beside her. Her pale skin was a liquid shadow in the water.
“Legendary?” He gathered up the hair floating around her and laid it over her shoulder. “You overestimate me.”
“Do I? I’ve heard you’re as coolheaded in the boardroom as you are on the job site—never rattled, utterly restrained, and it’s impossible to guess what you’re thinking.”
Is that how she saw him?
He studied her pretty face washed clean of any makeup, her lips still deeply pink without any added color. Her eyelashes were dark and spiky from the water. And she studied him as thoroughly as he did her. It amazed him they didn’t understand each other better.
“I’m actually more of the negotiator of the family. The link between my two brothers, who make a habit of taking the opposite views on just about everything.” If he and Lydia were going to spend this year together, it might help if they knew each other better outside the bedroom. “Far from being the guy with legendary control, I’m the one most likely to do the compromising.”
She arched her eyebrows and smiled. “Ian McNeill? Compromise? I can think of a whole host of independent contractors working on the luxury hotel in Rangiroa who would have been astounded to hear it. For that matter, most of my colleagues at work o
n the Foxfire are already nervous about the possibility of budget overruns.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” He wondered if she was overstating the case. “I respect deadlines and budget constraints. I expect the people who work with me to follow suit.”
“And they rush to do just that. All I’m saying is that you’re not the easiest of bosses. I can’t picture you as the one in your family who compromises.”
That bugged him, actually. He forced himself to lean back against the seat though, unwilling to let her see as much.
“My whole life, I’ve been the one in the middle. In age as well as temperament.” He reached for her, lifting her legs and laying them across his lap so she was now sitting sideways in her corner seat. “When Quinn wants a highbrow hotel launch and Cameron thinks we could hit the youth market with a launch during Comic-Con, I’m saddled with finding the halfway point. And that’s been true since the time Quinn was old enough to build a soap box derby car and spent all day painting it black with silver stripes, only to wake and find Cameron had used decoupage to paste ‘artful nudes’ all over the body.”
She only half smothered a laugh. “I’d love to hear your compromise on that one.”
“Before or after Quinn broke Cam’s nose?” That had been the first of some ugly fights. They’d learned to work around each other—and respect their very different approaches—since then. But the learning curve hadn’t been pretty. “I tried repainting the car, but since I was only eight at the time and had to paint over decoupage, it lacked the cool refinement of Quinn’s version.”
Lydia was quiet for a long moment. Feeling that he’d failed to bring the right touch of humor to the story, Ian wished he’d kept it to himself.
“Perhaps not getting your own way in the family dynamic made you all the more disposed to dictating the terms in your life.” She tipped her head up to the moonlight for a moment, giving him a tempting view of her long neck and damp shoulders.
But her words had distracted him even more than her body. Did she have a point?