How to Lose a Fiance

by Stefanie London

  “I bet you do, Sophia mou.” He teased the folds of her sex, finding her wet and ready. She made a slow, sexy hmm sound as she circled her hips against his hand. Beneath the fly of his suit pants, Dion was hard, and he ached for her. “I bet you’ll be ready to go again the second the first one is over.”

  She let out a throaty chuckle. “I get more than one?”

  “One is a warm-up.” He used his free hand to brush her hair away from her ears so he could tug on her earlobe with his teeth. “Two is for practice. And three…”

  She raised a brow. “Three?”

  “Three is when the fun starts.”

  “Well, husband, I guess I should stop talking and let you get to work.”

  He loved this playful side of her, the side that let go and embraced uncertainty. Even more, he loved how open she was. How responsive and communicative. As he moved his hand against her sex, curling his fingers at just the right angle, she dropped her head back to his shoulder and let out a long, breathy yes.

  “You’re going to make me embarrass myself, Sophia.” He growled when he slipped a finger inside her, fighting the urge to come on the spot at how tight she was.

  Her body trembled as he pushed her close to climax, switching between sliding a finger inside her and withdrawing to rub against her clit. He worked her body perfectly, watching her reflection for cues so he didn’t push her over the edge too quickly. The crease deepened between her brows, and her lips were glossy and open as she panted, incoherent pleas and demands falling from her mouth.

  “Almost there,” he whispered into her ear, never taking his eyes off the mirror. A slight sheen covered her skin—the room was air-conditioned, but they were making fire. Preparing to burn each other alive. “Almost…”

  “Please, Dion. Please, I want it so bad.”

  He made her wait a fraction of a second more, and then he took her clit and squeezed it ever so gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving her the extra pressure she needed to tip over. Moisture coated his hand as he worked her through the orgasm, her cries bouncing around in his head while he did everything in his power to preserve the moment forever.

  He never wanted to forget this.

  She sagged back against him, so he scooped her up in his arms, disentangling the dress from her feet, and carried her to the bed. The staff had scattered rose petals on the covers—a gesture they must have decided on themselves, since he hadn’t asked—and he brushed them to the floor before laying Sophia down. The sexy, pencil-thin heels glinted in the light. A row of stones ran over the tops of her feet, highlighting her fine bones and her delicate ankles.

  “You’re a goddess, Sophia. That’s why you belong in Greece.”

  She smiled and looked up at him, her makeup slightly smudged. Hell, it looked even better like that than how it had at the start of the day. By the end of the night, her eyes would be dark and sooty with the stuff.

  “Does that make you Zeus?” She grinned. “Can I see your thunderbolt now?”

  Dion rolled his eyes. “Here I am, trying to be romantic, and you’re only interested in getting me naked.”

  A rosy flush filled her cheeks, but he kissed her before she could say anything defensive back to him. Her hands went immediately to the belt at his waist, tugging and pulling until the chink of metal on metal sounded, and she pulled it open. Then her hands were on his zip…feeling inside his fly…wrapping around his cock.

  He cursed.

  “Good?” She worked her hand up and down, squeezing just the right amount to make his balls feel tight and achy.

  “Too good.” He pulled back and toed off his shoes before ditching his pants and underwear.

  “Zeus, indeed,” she whispered, propping herself up on her forearms.

  He felt like a god, that was for damn sure. A god who had everything he could possibly want—power, success, a beautiful woman who looked up at him like he was her world.

  Stop that right fucking now. You are not her world. You’re her husband, and that’s the best it will ever be.

  He reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself while she watched, mesmerized. Then he reached into the bedside table and pulled out a condom. Love wasn’t part of the deal, and that meant kids weren’t, either.

  After he’d worked the protection down his length, he came over her, lips eagerly seeking her out. Her body was warm and pliable beneath him, her gentle curves fitting against him like their bodies had been made with each other in mind.

  “You still want this?” he asked, nipping at her jaw.

  She shivered and wound her hands around his neck. A smile played on her lips, her eyes glittering in the lamplight. “Do I want my sexy husband to fuck me senseless on our wedding night after he’s promised me at least three orgasms?”

  “Minimum.”

  “Hmm, let me think about that…” She dragged his head down and pressed the sweetest, most gentle kiss to his lips. “Uh, yeah, I still want this.” Her voice was tinted with darkness. It was raw and sensual, and it lit a flame inside him. “I want it so badly I think I might burst.”

  Dion slid an arm underneath Sophia’s back and drew her up to him, enough that he could tear the covers back. She clung to him, face pressed to his neck and arms like a vice. If this was only pretend, then she was doing a hell of a job making it feel real. Because he’d had sex before. A reasonable amount of it for a man in his thirties.

  And nothing had ever made him feel like this.

  He guided them under the cover, against the cool thousand-thread-count sheets, and delighted in the her body beneath his. Words clogged the back of his throat—he wanted to say something meaningful, something to show her that even though this might not be what she always wanted, it still could be good. That, on some level where it felt safe, he cared.

  But his brain wouldn’t produce the right words.

  “Now,” she said, her thick lashes fluttering.

  When he pushed inside her, a feeling of rightness rocketed through him. His ears rang with her pleasured gasps; his skin burned where her nails dug in. Bracing himself on his forearms, denting the pillow on either side of her head, he watched her.

  “I could watch you make that face forever,” he said. He pumped his hips in long, steady strokes, giving her time to adjust to him.

  Sophia locked her legs around his waist, urging him on. Taking what she wanted. Good. Let her take. He wanted to give her this pleasure. When the slow rhythm didn’t satisfy anymore, he pushed harder. Faster. Her fingers bit into his ass, and he drove his fingers through her hair, plundering her mouth with his tongue.

  Claiming her.

  “Yes.” Her moan was lost in another kiss, one that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

  He couldn’t get enough of her. When her thighs started to tremble, he slipped a hand between them to help her along. One climax rolled into another, and eventually he let himself chase her over the edge.

  Afterward, when the moonlight spilled through the slats of his blinds, creating glowing bands across the bed, he listened to the sound of her breath—even and relaxed. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring or how long it would be before their passion stopped masking what brought them here. He had no idea how she would feel when he dismantled the company on which their marriage had been a condition. Would she want to leave? Would she be happy? He had no idea.

  …

  Married life proved to be more pleasant than Sophia had ever anticipated, at least based on the poor example her parents had set. After the initial unpleasantness of having her father come around to the house to sign the paperwork for Dion to buy the company out—with all Cyrus’s many terms and conditions—Sophia fell into an easy routine. Each night, she went to bed with Dion, wondering if that would be the night he grew tired of her—or her of him—but that was yet to be the case.

  In fact, the more she spent time with Dion, the more she found herself craving their routine. He’d go to work early, and she’d go along with him, spe
nding the days growing her business and loving how she could help her clients organize themselves. Then they’d come home and eat dinner on the couch—steadily working their way through the entire Hitchcock catalogue.

  Sometimes they’d only make it halfway through before his hands would find the inside of her thigh, drifting up higher and higher until he found her pulsing and wet. Then they’d have to attempt that movie all over again the next night.

  One morning, two weeks after the wedding, Sophia woke. Not even bothering to fight the smile growing on her lips, she looked over at Dion. Her husband. She’d never woken up beside a man before him, and now she knew why it seemed to be such a big deal in the movies. He looked like an angel who’d gotten lost and ended up in bed with her. Shaggy, dark hair was scattered across his face, a lock resting on his forehead. A delicious shadow coated his jaw, and his bare chest showed flat, bronzed nipples and a dusting of hair.

  It was funny—she’d never thought of a chest with hair as being something sexy before. But on Dion, it worked. She especially loved the trail from his belly button down to where the crisp white sheets failed to cover the outline of his impressive erection.

  Smirking, she leaned over and placed a featherlight kiss on his cheek. Dion slept like the dead, apparently. At least, that was, after a night of endless exploration…which was every night with them.

  Just as she was about to doze back off to sleep, a sharp vibrating noise startled her.

  “Dion?” She was already so close to him, having curled into his side in the middle of the night. “Your phone is ringing.”

  “Hmmrph.” He sat up and pushed the mop of dark hair from his eyes.

  True to his promise on their wedding night, he enjoyed keeping her awake until the wee hours of the morning, until she demanded rest. Last night, she’d collapsed into his side and had fallen asleep with her face pressed to his chest, his arm cradling her shoulders.

  Would the honeymoon period be over soon? She sure hoped not.

  “Hello?” Dion’s voice was sexy as hell in the morning. Usually it was smooth and deep, like dark chocolate and fine wine. But in the mornings, it had this unpolished edge to it, a slight growl that did incredible things to her insides.

  She watched as he got out of bed, totally naked and not the least bit shy. The man had an ass that deserved placement in a museum. His back was long and lean, the muscles honed through his daily runs on the beach.

  “When?” Suddenly, those muscles turned rigid. His shoulders tensed, and he spun around, brows knitted and his mouth set into a grim line as he yanked the drawer next to the bed open. “I’ll leave now.”

  Sophia was almost afraid to speak as he hung up the phone. “What’s going on?”

  Dion swallowed, his Adam’s apple working as he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and yanked a T-shirt over his head. It was creased from being on the floor overnight.

  “He’s dead.”

  Sophia sucked in a breath. She didn’t even need to ask who—the crack in Dion’s voice was enough. But his face remained impassive. There were no tears in his eyes, no quiver in his lips. Just hard nothingness all over.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He stormed around the room, getting ready with all the grace of a robot. “I need to go to the hospital.”

  “I’ll come.” She got out of bed and quickly located something appropriate to wear.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Dion tucked his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and grabbed his phone and keys from the bedside table.

  “I know.” She pulled the dress up over her hips and fastened the buttons at the front. It, too, was a little wrinkled, but she didn’t have time to go digging through the closet. He needed to be at the hospital now, and she needed to be by his side.

  “You barely know him.” Dion had stopped in the middle of the room as if reality were catching up with him. “Knew him.”

  She had no idea if he would explode or shut down. This was the first time she’d seen him in a situation that really tested him. And it was the worst possible kind of test.

  “I’m not going for Elias.” Sophia leaned forward and slipped her sandals onto her feet. “I’m going for you.”

  He looked at her long and hard. This was a moment that would be trying for a real marriage, let alone for two people who’d been pushed together for the sake of a business deal. They had amazing chemistry, sure, and Sophia could admit that she liked Dion as a person. But they didn’t have the bonds that a real husband and wife had. They didn’t have the history or the emotional reservoir to draw on.

  But she’d be damned if she let him down in this dark moment.

  “Come on. We don’t want to keep them waiting.” She grabbed her bag and slung it over one shoulder, choosing to act like this was totally normal behavior instead of encouraging either one of them to wonder about what it meant.

  He barely said a word all the way to the hospital. The second they walked into the ICU, they were greeted by a doctor, and Sophia gave her husband space. She had no idea what she was supposed to do, and she couldn’t understand a word since everyone around her was speaking Greek. But her gut told her that being here was enough. Dion hadn’t broken yet, but he would. This man might not have been his biological father, but his influence and love had been real. They’d seen Elias only two days before, to check on him. He’d seemed fine—tired, as usual, but fine.

  Sophia blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. Why was she even crying? Dion was right, she didn’t know Elias that well. But she felt Dion’s pain as if it were her own. The more composed he appeared to be, the more torn up she felt inside. Her mind raced, wishing that she could do something to give Dion some comfort.

  When he finished talking to the doctor, he came over to where she sat on a hard plastic chair against a wall. He dropped down next to her.

  “He had a pulmonary hemorrhage.” Dion braced his forearms against his knees, dropping his head into his hand. For a second, Sophia saw him as a little boy, lost and lonely in the orphanage, desperate for someone to love him. “He’d coughed up some blood and had a tight feeling in his chest, so they called the ambulance, but…”

  Tears plopped onto her cheeks, and she brushed them away angrily. It wasn’t her time to feel sad.

  “I’m so sorry.” She felt as useless as anything. Worse than useless. “I know how much you loved him.”

  He looked at her, his face like stone. “He was my mentor, not my father. I didn’t love him.”

  They both knew it was a lie. But if he needed to say that now to help him get through the day, then fine. She wouldn’t argue. Grief needed time, and when he was ready to talk, she would be there.

  “You should go.” He didn’t look at her. “There are things I need to take care of.”

  “Dion, I’m here for you. This isn’t something you have to do alone.” She reached for his hand. “If all I’m good for is just to sit here and be quiet, fine. But you are not alone now, even if it feels like it. I’m your wife, and I’m going to hold your hand.”

  A tired half smile drifted over his lips. “Literally?”

  “And figuratively.” She knocked him with her elbow. “Smart-ass.”

  After a moment, he closed his eyes. “I knew it was going to happen soon. I just… It wasn’t supposed to happen yet.”

  “You’re never prepared for it, no matter how much you know it’s coming.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  They sat together in silence, leaning back against the wall with hands entwined. She remembered losing her grandmother ten years ago, the pain that had felt like nothing else she’d ever experienced. It had been at that point that she understood mortality and loss and what it was like to truly love someone and know you could never see them again. Her grandmother had been her lifeboat at times—her home away from home. She’d been a buffer between Sophia and Cyrus, been the only person who could pull Dorothy from one of her spells. When she died, Sophia felt like the b
ottom had fallen out of her world.

  “It doesn’t get easier,” she said.

  Dion let out a humorless laugh. “Thanks.”

  “I know that sounds bad, but it’s not. You don’t forget them, which means you never really get over it. But I’d rather feel the pain than lose the memories, you know?”

  He looked at her as if seeing her for the very first time. “You continue to surprise me, Sophia.”

  “You, too.” And she meant it.

  The peace was shattered when the doors were thrown open a few feet away, a dark figure storming into the ICU. Theo. His hair was wild, but his eyes were wilder. A feral snarl pulled his lips back as he charged toward them.

  “Were you going to tell me?” Theo was on them so quickly that Dion barely had time to get out of his chair before the other man’s hands curled into his T-shirt. “It should be me getting that call!”

  “Stop!” Sophia tried to grab Theo’s arms, but he knocked her back as if she were no more than a mosquito buzzing around his head.

  “I had to find out by accident because I decided to visit.” Theo looked like he was about to spit fire. “Why are you even here? He’s not your father.”

  “Please, stop,” Sophia begged.

  Dion said nothing—his grief had morphed into something dangerous. Something glinting-edged that twisted his face in a way that made Sophia’s stomach roil. “I’m here because I’m next of kin.”

  “You’re not blood.”

  “I’m here because he wanted me here. Can you say the same?”

  Theo pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into Dion’s face. Sophia screamed, clawing at Theo’s arm as two security guards came rushing into the room. It took them plus another doctor to get Theo off Dion.

  It all happened so fast, Sophia hadn’t even realized that she’d slammed her wrist against the wall when Theo had pushed her. She cradled it against her chest, her heartbeat thundering so loud it distorted her hearing.

  The security guards shouted something in Greek and held the two men apart. Then they were all ushered out of the ICU and into the foyer. Theo was enraged, yelling at the guards and at Dion. When his eyes locked on Sophia all of a sudden, she felt a chill run through her.