by Teri Wilson
It was also ridiculous, considering she’d married a man and was now seeing his home for the very first time.
Their home. For the time being, anyway.
How on earth had she gotten herself into this predicament?
“Thank you.” Anders followed her gaze to the scene below, then turned his back on the window and raked a hand through his hair. He glanced around the massive master bedroom, looking at anything and everything, but not at her. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. It was silly, wasn’t it? They’d just made love the night before and now they weren’t even going to sleep in the same bed. Surely that wasn’t necessary. The bed was huge, a California king, big enough to spend an entire night side by side without ever touching one another.
Probably.
“You don’t need to sleep on the couch.” She shook her head, but it was too late.
Anders had already pulled a pillow and blankets from a sleek armoire and was busy arranging his makeshift bed.
Fine. If that was the way he wanted things, so be it. At least having him a chaste ten feet away from the bed would make sticking to the no-sex rule a realistic possibility.
And she was determined not to break that rule again. As wonderful as last night had been, it had also been thoroughly confusing. For a minute, she’d actually begun to believe that they were really and truly married. She’d liked that feeling far more than she should have. And the pang in her heart at the sight of Anders’s pillow on the sofa told her she’d done the right thing.
They were playing house. That was all this was, and she couldn’t keep forgetting how it would end. She needed to protect her heart at all costs.
As if to prove her point, Anders shook his head and said, “It’s for less than two weeks. I’ll be fine.”
“Right.” She nodded, and smiled so hard that her cheeks started to hurt.
Anders didn’t smile back. If anything, the furrow in his brow deepened as he strode into the expansive, spa-like bathroom and closed the door.
Chloe shimmied out of her dress and into her pair of black and carnation-pink polka-dot pajamas before he could emerge, and then pulled the covers up to her chin. The sheets were cold to the touch, and being in the enormous bed all by herself made her feel very suddenly, very acutely alone. She wished Prancer could curl up beside her. She’d broken every pet parenting rule known to man and let the puppy sleep with her after she’d brought her home, but now the little dog had taken up residence in Lolly’s frilly canopy bed.
Lolly had begged, and Chloe immediately caved. She didn’t want to think about what that might mean when it was time to pack up her things and take Prancer back home with her, so she didn’t. Instead, she aimed all her frustration at Anders as he exited the bathroom.
“Really?” She glared at his bare chest and the tight-fitting boxer briefs, slung so decadently low across his hips. “That’s all you’re wearing to bed?”
Her mouth dropped open, agog, before she could stop it, and for the first time since they’d left the Bennington and arrived at Anders’s penthouse, his lips curved into a grin. Not just a cocky half smirk, but a full-on knowing smile. It was beyond annoying and just mortifying enough for Chloe to snap back to her senses and force her mouth closed.
“Yes, really.” He planted his hands on his hips, drawing her attention even more directly to his chiseled abs—if such a thing was possible—and then lower, to the V-shaped muscle that disappeared below the waistband of his boxers. “Would you prefer I wear something else?”
Yes. Specifically, something more.
“Um, no. It’s none of my business.” Damn it, did her voice have to come out so breathy? She cleared her throat and continued. “It’s freezing outside, though.”
“Ah, so you’re worried I might catch a cold.” His smiled widened, as if he knew good and well that she was suddenly quite warm.
Damn him.
“Exactly.” She’d rather play along and pretend she was worried about his health than admit the simple truth that having him nearly naked in the same room was, ahem, distracting.
She understood why they needed to share a bedroom. The judge at the guardianship hearing might question Lolly, and how would it look if she said Chloe and Anders didn’t sleep together? Besides, the master suite was certainly big enough for the two of them. Although it seemed to be shrinking by the second the longer Anders stood there wearing next to nothing.
“Maybe you’re right. I should probably put on something warmer. Flannel, maybe?”
She nodded. Flannel was exactly what this situation called for.
“Too bad I don’t have any.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the flannel-pajama type of husband.”
Chloe’s cheeks blazed with heat. He was baiting her, and she probably deserved it after the abrupt way she’d handled things earlier this morning at the Bennington. She doubted he’d touch her again, even if she asked him to. And she definitely wouldn’t. But as she let herself remember what it had felt like to touch all that warm, male skin that was on such flagrant display in front of her, she couldn’t help the way her gaze lowered from his eyes to his mouth.
She licked her lips. “What type are you?”
Their eyes locked, and for a long, loaded moment, neither of them said a word. Neither of them had to. She knew precisely what sort of memories were running through his head, because the same ones were running through hers. She’d been doing her best to push them away all day, but it was impossible. She couldn’t look at him anymore without wanting him. Sleeping with him had been the worst possible mistake she could make. Why hadn’t she realized that before she’d practically begged him to make love to her?
Actually, she’d been aware of the danger all along. She’d known giving herself to him would lead to trouble, but she’d done it anyway. Because she just couldn’t help it. The more time she spent with Anders, the more attractive he became. He wasn’t the cold, distant puppy thief she’d originally thought he was. She wished he were. It would make not sleeping with him so much easier.
“I’m the pretend type,” he said. The rawness in his voice almost killed her. “Right?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded instead.
“Right,” he said quietly, turning toward the sofa.
She wasn’t sure what time she finally fell asleep. For hours she lay awake in that cold, lonely bed, listening to the rhythmic sound of Anders’s breathing and wishing things could be different. Wishing that, for once, she’d really be chosen by someone...by Anders.
This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life.
Chapter Twelve
“How’s married life?” Penelope sat across the conference table from Anders, leafing through the packet of merger and acquisition papers for a meeting that was due to start in less than fifteen minutes.
“It’s fine,” he said automatically, because how else was he supposed to respond?
Was he supposed to admit that he’d barely slept a wink in the week since he and Chloe had been married, because if he let his guard down for even a second he might give in to the impulse to toss the covers aside, crawl into bed with her and cover her exquisite body with his? Was he supposed to say that he woke up hard for her every day, but he hadn’t laid a finger on her since their wedding night?
“The ceremony was beautiful.” Penelope arched a brow. “Not at all what I expected, but certainly lovely.”
Anders looked up from the document in his hands. “What exactly did you expect?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, just something less...”
Less real? Join the club.
“...warm, I suppose. Celebratory.” She angled her head and studied him. “You’ve been awfully scarce around here lately. I’m beginning to think you found a
n actual bride after I turned you down.”
Anders’s jaw clenched. He was hoping they could forget the whole marriage contract thing had ever happened, and proceed with business as usual. He had enough relationship problems at the moment without adding Penelope to the mix.
Oh, so now you and Chloe are in a relationship?
“It’s the holidays,” he said with a shrug.
He’d spent a little more time out of the office than he usually did this time of year, but not enough to be noticeable. Or so he’d thought.
But things were different now. He had Lolly to think about. Plus, living with Chloe Wilde was like having one of Santa’s helpers under his roof. The woman seriously loved Christmas. The first day he’d left her alone in the penthouse, he’d come home from work to find a Christmas tree in his living room. Not an elegant, professionally decorated artificial tree like the ones he usually had delivered, but a real tree. A noble fir, covered with strings of popcorn and ornaments Chloe and Lolly had made out of construction paper, glue and glitter.
The tree was a disaster, as was his apartment. He’d never get rid of all the glitter; it was everywhere. But Lolly was besotted with the scraggly tree that refused to remain fully upright in its metal stand, no matter how many times Anders crawled beneath its branches and tightened the screws holding it in place.
Likewise, she’d practically glowed the next night when Anders walked in the door and found Prancer darting around the apartment in a Santa costume, complete with a tiny white beard strapped to her chin. Once again, it had been Chloe’s doing. The following day, he’d found himself coming up with an excuse to leave the office an hour earlier than usual. He’d been unable to concentrate as he sat at his desk wondering what he’d stumble upon next. A snowman on the terrace? A Christmas cookie bake-off in the kitchen?
Wrong on both counts. When he walked into the penthouse, Lolly and Chloe had been decked out in ugly Christmas sweaters, wrapping a package with his name on it. He was now the proud owner of an ugly Christmas sweater of his very own. It matched the one they’d bought the dog.
“Since when do you take any time off at Christmas?” Penelope rolled her eyes.
“What time off? I’ve been here until five every night this week.”
“My point exactly. You’re never out the door before seven.” She studied him for a moment and then shook her head. “Oh my gosh, it’s true, isn’t it? Your marriage to Chloe isn’t fake at all. It’s real.”
A pain flared in Anders’s temple. “It’s not. Can we get back to business, please? The client is going to be here any minute.”
Penelope waved a dismissive hand. “No, he won’t. Eric Johnson is never on time. He thinks it’s a display of weakness. You’ve been working with him long enough to know that.”
Indeed he had, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to discuss his marriage, fake or otherwise, with the woman he used to occasionally share a bed with.
Not that he’d given much thought to his ex. She didn’t even qualify as an ex, really. What they’d shared had been convenient, and now it was over. He couldn’t imagine picking things up with Penelope again, even after his marriage ended.
If it ended.
He swallowed. Of course it would end. They’d made a deal, and so far, nothing had changed. “It’s a contract marriage. Everything will go back to normal after the guardianship hearing and Christmas have passed.”
“Sure it will.” Penelope resumed flipping through the pages of the merger acquisition.
Anders knew better than to push. He’d wanted the discussion to end, and it had. But he couldn’t let it go. Not like that.
He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, as serious as if they were putting together a stock offering. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re fooling yourself if you think the two of you will walk away from this brief holiday union unscathed. Marriage means something, whether you want it to or not. I tried to warn you, remember?” She shook her head. “Besides, I was there. I saw the way you looked at her on your wedding day. I saw the giant rock on her finger. You’re not faking it, Anders. If you think you are, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
He opened his mouth to protest and then promptly closed it. They sat in silence while her words sank in and took root.
“You’re wrong,” he finally said quietly. Chloe had drawn a line in the sand, and he wasn’t about to cross it again. His entire life had been turned upside down. He certainly didn’t need to invite any more chaos into it by trying to throw their arrangement out the window and asking her to marry him for real.
Besides, that was not what he wanted at all. Sure, he might like the throaty sound of her laughter and the silly, high voice she used when she talked to Prancer. He might spend long minutes at his desk thinking about the softness of her skin or remembering how the scent of her hair on their wedding night mirrored the blooms in her bridal bouquet. But that didn’t mean he wanted to love, honor and cherish Chloe for the rest of his life. Did it?
Hell no, it didn’t. He wasn’t thinking straight, that was all. He was still grieving the loss of his brother, and everyone knew grief made people crazy. That was why the experts in such matters always urged grieving people not to make any major life decisions. Getting married—or, in his case, staying married—definitely qualified.
Penelope held up her hands. “I stand corrected, then. After Christmas, you can stick to the terms of the contract the two of you signed and go your separate ways.”
He looked away. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d never drafted a contract. Penelope would have a field day psychoanalyzing that little tidbit.
“But I hope you don’t, because I know one thing for a fact.” She gave him a knowing smile. “You never once looked at me the way you look at Chloe.”
“Penelope...”
She held up a hand to stop him. “If you’re about to apologize, save your breath. I’m not jealous. I could have been Mrs. Anders Kent myself. I’m just saying you might want to consider the possibility that you’ve been given a precious gift, something that a lot of people spend a lifetime hoping for, before you throw it all away.”
A precious gift, just like all the wrapped packages Chloe had been piling underneath their pitiful tree.
No. His teeth clenched, and he tightened his grip on his Mont Blanc. He and Chloe were pretending. She’d be gone and his life would be back to normal before that Christmas tree dropped its needles.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he said. Penelope’s opinion on the matter didn’t mean a thing to him, so he wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince her she was wrong.
Maybe you’re not. Maybe the person you’re really trying to convince is yourself.
The unwelcome thought hit him like a ton of bricks as Mrs. Summers appeared in the doorway to the conference room.
“Mr. Kent.” She smiled at him, and then her head swiveled to Penelope. “Ms. Reed.”
“Yes?” he said, grateful for the interruption. Short of the entire firm crumbling into ruin, he would have been thankful for just about anything to get his mind off of the woman who’d been sleeping in his bed, by herself, for the past seven nights.
“Your client is here. Shall I send him in?”
He nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Thank God.
Work was precisely what he needed at the moment. He could handle work. He was good at it, unlike everything else in his life.
But as the day wore on and he guided Eric Johnson through the terms of his pending acquisition, his mind kept wandering. And when the meeting wrapped up shortly before four o’clock, he put away his things and strode past the receptionist’s desk without bothering to tell her where he was headed.
He’d had enough commentary on his personal life for one day.
* * *
Chloe glanced at the
time on her phone as she stepped off the elevator in the lobby of Anders’s posh building and hastened her steps.
Emily wasn’t expecting her at the studio until six o’clock, which meant she’d be nearly an hour early, even navigating the subway during rush hour. But Lolly wasn’t home, and Chloe had been doing her absolute level best not to spend any time with Anders alone in the penthouse.
It was a desperate plan, made all the more desperate by the fact that, thus far, hanging out with both Anders and Lolly hadn’t lessened her attraction to her temporary husband at all. Even the ugly Christmas sweater had backfired. She’d never seen a man look so insanely hot in garish plaid with tiny little stockings hanging from his chest.
Watching him interact with Lolly was even worse. He was so patient with her. So kind. It killed Chloe to think he could end up losing her. The thought of Lolly being taken away from him was the only thing keeping her from packing her bags and pulling the plug on their excruciating arrangement. Every night she spent in Anders’s bed without Anders was another exercise in self-torture. But she couldn’t bring herself to walk away, not if it meant leaving him high and dry on the date of the guardianship hearing.
One week down, one to go.
She could do this. She could definitely hold out another seven days now that she’d begun overhauling the Wilde School of Dance. Anders had wired half the money he owed her into her account on the day following the wedding, and she’d wasted no time lining up all the necessary improvements. The new lobby furniture wouldn’t be delivered until after the holidays, but she’d managed to schedule the floor installation for the upcoming weekend. Come Christmas Eve, Baby Nutcracker would be performed on a gorgeous new dance surface. If that didn’t increase enrollment in the New Year, nothing would.
An extra hour or so at the studio wouldn’t kill her, especially if it meant she could avoid the ridiculous breathless feeling she always got when Anders walked in the penthouse door at the end of the day and scooped Lolly into his arms. Even Prancer had gotten in on the honey-I’m-home action, running circles around Anders and nipping at his designer shoes while Chloe stood there like a third wheel.
