by Teri Wilson
She held her breath and waited for the minister to say it.
“Anders, you may now kiss your bride.”
His bride.
His bride.
His.
Chloe’s knees went a little weak as she lifted her gaze to Anders, peeking up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes. Right before she’d said her vows, he’d given her an out. He’d stopped looking at her as if she were a bride, and for a tentative sliver of a moment, he’d regarded her as something else—not quite a stranger, but not as a loved one, either. Not even a pretend loved one. But instead, more like someone he was destined to disappoint.
The moment had passed after she said “I do,” and now he was watching her in a way that no one ever had before. Not Steven. Not the boy whose lips first touched hers all those years ago at the ballet school while they danced Romeo and Juliet. No man who’d kissed her had ever gazed at her with such hunger in his eyes. Such need, such blatant desire, like he wasn’t about to kiss her, but to devour her whole.
It was almost frightening. Or rather, it should have been, considering it was a fake kiss to seal a fake marriage to her fake husband.
But as she draped her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth toward his—straining, seeking—she realized the fire skittering along her skin wasn’t a sign of apprehension. It was pure anticipation. Pure longing. The exact sort of longing she saw looking back at her in Anders’s moody blue eyes.
I am in so much trouble.
It was her final thought as her eyes fluttered closed in the excruciating moment before his mouth came down on hers—a moment that seemed to shimmer with promise, despite the ridiculousness of their situation. She wondered if he felt it, too, or if she was alone in the realization that this was a dangerous game they were playing, that it seemed impossible one of them wouldn’t walk away from their union in the days following Christmas and face the New Year with a heart in tatters.
She wasn’t alone. She could tell by the naked vulnerability in the tender way he touched her, so uncharacteristic for a man like Anders. A strong man. A careful one. The kind of man who put his faith in words on a page instead of in people. But there was no trace of that brand of detachment in the first brush of his lips. It was as forgotten as the contract he couldn’t seem to remember to have her sign. Instead, there was want and heat and a feeling so flush with desperation that her eyes filled with tears again. This time, they were too numerous to blink away. They flowed down her cheeks as she opened for him, letting him consume her...taking him in.
Bonded together.
The words echoed in her consciousness, her heart pounding in time with the sentiment.
That was what this was. More than a kiss, more than her mouth seeking his. This was a bond. A promise. A vow. I do. The words still lingered on his tongue as it slid against hers, so decadently sweet. And beyond the something borrowed and something blue, the kiss was another thing, too. It was an invitation engraved upon her heart. A question.
Do you want me?
Her fingertips tightened around the smooth collar of his tuxedo jacket as his hands slid up the back of her dress, burning her skin through the delicate lace covering her shoulder blades.
I do, I do, I do.
Somewhere in the periphery, a throat cleared. Chloe wasn’t sure who it belonged to. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to stay upright for the duration of that kiss, which somehow seemed to have lasted both a split second and an eternity.
Anders pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes twinkling with sapphire light.
“What was that?” she choked.
He brushed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, where all the nerve endings in her body had gathered into one delicious place. And then he smiled. “That, my darling bride, was a kiss.”
* * *
It was done.
The overwhelming sense of relief Anders expected to feel once the vows had been exchanged and the minister handed over the certificate of marriage never came. Instead, his heart brimmed with an emotion that felt suspiciously like joy as the short and simple ceremony gave way to a wedding reception. A party.
And why shouldn’t he feel happy at a party? Wasn’t that what parties were for?
Yet, as he shook hands with the partners from his office and accepted their congratulations, he couldn’t seem to let go of Chloe’s fingertips. Again, he told himself that was normal. Just part of the act. But he kept finding himself toying with the diamond on her finger, checking to make sure it was still there, that this day had actually been real.
And through it all—through the first dance and the cutting of the cake and the toast from Chloe’s brother that made an unprecedented lump lodge in his throat—he couldn’t shake the memory of the kiss.
It had rocked him to the core, that kiss.
If they hadn’t been standing inches away from a clergyman, in full view of all of Chloe’s nearest and dearest, he never would have ended it. If he hadn’t made a solemn promise to himself, and to Chloe, not to touch her, he’d be upstairs right now in one of the Bennington’s sumptuous king-size beds, tasting her again. Touching her...
Every tempting inch of her balletic body.
That couldn’t happen, obviously. But Anders was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the fact that they’d be sharing a bedroom for the next few weeks. By Manhattan standards, his apartment was massive. It had a panoramic view of Central Park, lush with cherry blossoms in the springtime and frosted with whirling snowflakes and Christmas spirit during the winter. But the vast majority of its square footage was taken up by the expansive living room and its floor-to-ceiling windows. He had a grand total of two bedrooms, which had always been double the amount he actually needed.
Until he’d become a family man overnight.
Mrs. Summers had helped him transform the spare bedroom into a room for Lolly. It was more of an oasis than a bedroom, like a little girl’s sparkly, pink fantasy-come-true, with a canopy bed and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Which left the master bedroom to Anders, just like always.
Except now, Chloe would be coming home with him, and he couldn’t very well ask her to sleep on the sofa. He would have gladly made himself at home on the living room couch, but he wondered what kind of example that set for Lolly. At the very least, it would prompt questions. Grant and Olivia had always been affectionate with one another. He couldn’t see Grant spending many nights sleeping on the sofa.
But as it turned out, they wouldn’t have to deal with the awkward matter of sleeping arrangements at his apartment. Not quite yet, because when the wedding reception wound down to a close and the purple New York twilight deepened to a velvety, inky blue, the Christmas shoppers lining the bustling sidewalks of Park Avenue found their way home and Zander Wilde tucked a card key into the inside pocket of Anders’s tuxedo jacket.
“The honeymoon suite,” he said, handing Anders yet another glass of sparkling champagne. “It’s yours for the night. My treat.”
“I can’t accept,” Anders protested, as visions of a heart-shaped bed and a bathtub built for two danced in his head.
Not likely, considering the Bennington was a five-star hotel. Still, even without the stereotypical romantic trappings, he wouldn’t last five minutes in a honeymoon suite with Chloe. Not after that kiss.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can. I own this hotel, remember? And you’re family now.” Zander’s gaze narrowed. “Just promise me one thing.”
Anders’s jaw clenched. “What’s that?”
“Keep making my sister happy. I’ve never seen Chloe glowing like she is today.” Zander gave his chest a pat, right where the key to the honeymoon suite rested against his heart. “Don’t worry about a thing. Julian and Tessa are taking Lolly and Prancer until tomorrow morning. Wild horses couldn’t keep your niece away. Tessa is a principal dancer at t
he Manhattan Ballet, and she’s promised Lolly a serious dress-up session in some of her old costumes. Let’s all meet on the top floor for brunch tomorrow at Bennington 8.”
Then he was gone, and Anders could only stand there with the key to the honeymoon suite in his pocket like a lead weight as he watched Chloe hugging her family members goodbye just feet away.
He wanted her. No question. He wanted her so badly that he couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he longed to do to her in that lavish hotel suite. Most of all, he wanted to kiss her again. He needed it, just to see if the first time had been a fluke. Surely it was just the product of their unique circumstances. The past few days had been a wild ride, and he was running on some crazy mixture of loss and adrenaline. His mind and body were playing tricks on him, making him believe ever so slightly in the fairy tale they’d concocted.
Deep down, he knew he was fooling himself. It didn’t matter why he wanted to kiss Chloe again or why he wanted to unfasten that delicate confection of a dress she was wearing and watch it fall into a pile of fluff at her feet. He just did. He wanted it with every broken part of his soul.
But Zander’s words echoed in his head.
Keep making my sister happy.
They reminded him all too much of who he was, what he was—a monster, according to his own flesh and blood.
No sex. He’d made her a promise, and he intended to keep it.
Chapter Ten
“Wow, can you believe this room?” Chloe spun in a slow circle, taking in the pale gold paneled walls, the creamy white crown molding—as abundant and extravagant as icing on a wedding cake—and what had to be the most massive bed she’d ever set eyes on. The honeymoon suite. Oh God. “I mean, have you ever seen anything like this?”
She attempted a light and carefree laugh, but it came out strained. Forced. “What am I saying? Of course you have.”
Stop. Talking. What was wrong with her? She’d been babbling nonstop since they’d crossed the threshold. There was no telling what kind of nonsense would come out of her mouth next.
Anders folded his arms across his chest and gazed impassively at her. “Why would you think I’d spent any time whatsoever in a honeymoon suite before?”
“I don’t.” She shook her head. “I just meant you’re probably used to nice surroundings. Sorry, I’m not sure what I’m even saying. I’m just...”
“Nervous?” He arched a brow in amusement.
“Yes, actually.” She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I am.”
“Don’t be. You can relax.” He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, slipped out of it and tossed it onto the opulent silk sofa in the suite’s luxe sitting area. Then he walked toward her and gave her a little tap on the nose. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, love. I made you a promise, remember?”
She swallowed. “Of course I remember.”
No sex.
Whose terrible idea had that been? Oh yeah, hers.
He gave her a tight smile, raked his hand in his hair and meandered back to the sofa as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Seriously?
Chloe was suddenly livid—livid at Anders for kissing her like he had and livid at herself for liking it so much. She’d thought it had meant something. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, but she knew it didn’t involve Anders sleeping on the couch.
She stared daggers at him as he kicked off his shoes. His eyes narrowed, and then the corner of his mouth lifted into a half grin. Moving as slowly as possible, with the languid grace of some kind of predatory animal, he reached for one of the French cuffs of his shirt and unfastened the cuff link. Without tearing his gaze from hers, he dropped it into a little tray on the table beside the couch. It pierced the strained silence with a tiny clang. Platinum on china.
Chloe’s face burned, but she didn’t dare fan herself. If he could be happy sleeping on the sofa, she could be just as unaffected by his billionaire bachelor striptease. Except he wasn’t a bachelor anymore, was he?
He was hers.
Sort of.
“You might want to turn around.” He unfastened his other cuff link, slid his bow tie off and undid the top button of his immaculate white shirt. His fingertips paused at the next button down. Then his half grin morphed into a wide smile, with a touch of smolder for good measure. To her complete and utter mortification, he made a little spinning motion with one of his pointer fingers.
Two could play at that game.
Obediently, she turned around to face the wall. Then she ran her fingers through her hair and twirled it into a high bun, so her new husband-who-wasn’t-really-her-husband could have a clear, unobstructed view of her back. A lifetime of being a dancer meant she could secure a ballerina bun with nothing but a twist of her wrist. She spent more time than necessary tucking the loose waves into place and then slid the tips of her fingers lazily down the side of her neck.
She knew he was watching her, even before she heard his sharp intake of breath. She could feel the heat of his gaze, as warm and sultry as a hot summer day. It felt like tiny little fires breaking out all over her skin, and it made her want him even more, if such a thing was possible. What was it about him that made her feel this way? So adored...so seen, when he’d never so much as touched her. He’d kissed her once, only because he had to, and she was a goner. It defied logic.
Deep down, though, she knew why. She wasn’t a prop to Anders. She was a person. He knew all about her toy soldier fiasco, and he didn’t care. He saw her and he wanted her, purely for who she was.
A tiny voice sounded in the back of her head, so tiny she almost didn’t recognize it as her own. Isn’t this all supposed to be pretend?
She pushed it away. There was nothing make-believe about the pounding of her pulse, nor was it an illusion when she reached behind her neck and unclasped the fastening of her dress. Only one thought spun through her mind as she paused and let the gown fall away, pooling at her feet in a whisper of dreams and lace. This....this...is real.
“Are you sure about this?” Anders’s breath was hot on the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, or when he’d gotten up from the couch. All that mattered was that he had.
She peered at him over her bare shoulder. “That’s the second time you’ve asked me that question today, Mr. Kent.”
“And?” His eyes were unfathomably dark—darker than she’d ever seen them. Glittering pools of indigo blue. “What’s your answer, Mrs. Kent?”
Dressed now in nothing but her lacy panties and her wedding rings, she turned to face the gloriously handsome man who was now her husband.
“The same as before.” The same as it had been since that very first day at the animal shelter, whether or not she wanted to admit it. “Yes, please.”
He kissed her, and it was a different kind of kiss than the wild, untamed one that had sealed their vows. This kiss was slow and reverent—tender in a way that made her insides flutter, even as her body went molten.
Her hands slid over his crisp white tuxedo shirt, and she became excruciatingly aware of the fact that he was still dressed while she was almost entirely naked. If she’d been with someone else, she might have been embarrassed. But with Anders, she didn’t feel an ounce of shame, nor a bit of the awkwardness that she’d always experienced with a new lover. She hoped it wasn’t because Anders was her husband, since that would mean the lovely wedding and the romantic vows had gone straight to her head, when she knew better than to let that happen.
This man whose hands were now cupping her breasts, and whose mouth was making a decadent trail of kisses along the curve of her neck, wasn’t her soul mate. He wasn’t the love of her life, no matter how good it felt when he touched her or how quickened her breath became when his lips dipped lower and his tongue brushed softly against her nipple.
But the words they�
��d said to one another in front of their families and friends were heavy with meaning. They were the most intimate words of all, and whether she and Anders had meant them or not, it was as if their bodies had heard those words.
His hands slid to her waist, fingertips brushing lightly, gingerly, against her skin.
To have and to hold.
He dropped to his knees, his mouth moving lower, and lower still, until her panties were on the floor and he parted her thighs ever so gently, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss between her legs.
To love and to cherish.
Her head fell backward, and in the moment before she shattered, a sound came out of her mouth that she’d never heard herself make before. It was as if she’d become another person entirely—Chloe Wilde had ceased to exist and Chloe Kent, wild and romantic, had taken her place.
Till death do us part.
* * *
Anders carried Chloe to the bed and she mewed like a kitten into the crook of his neck. The cat who’d gotten the cream.
“Easy, love. We’re just getting started,” he murmured into her hair.
They had all night—a night to explore one another, to learn all the little ways to give each other pleasure. He wanted to know all of them. He wanted to memorize every inch of her balletic body and kiss every tantalizing curve. He needed to know her, really know her...this ethereal beauty of a woman who now shared his name.
He placed her gently on the smooth silk sheets and started to undress, but then paused, unable to move a muscle as he looked down at his wife, bare and beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he wondered if it would always be like this...if looking at her would forever make him ache with need, if touching her porcelain skin would fill him with an emotion he couldn’t name, one that almost made him forget that they weren’t really man and wife. They were still just pretending.
He slid out of his clothes, and as she reached for him, the diamond on her finger shimmered in the darkness. He watched, mesmerized, as her elegant hand closed around his erection, making him moan.
