by Kendall Ryan
“We’re not staying here. Come on.” Sterling grabs his wallet and cell phone and heads to the door.
“Where to?”
“We’re going out. To where I should have taken you in the first place.”
Soon we’re at our favorite gentleman’s club, seated along the bar with a view of the stage, two pints of beer in front of us.
“Now this is somewhere to drown your sorrows,” Sterling remarks coolly.
My gaze drifts over to the center stage, where a petite blonde makes the stripper pole her bitch. But I think my cock must be broken, because despite the show she’s putting on, there’s not even the slightest bit of interest. Nada. Nothing. I look down at my lap. Urging my cock to do something. Waiting to see if it moves, if it twitches, anything to make me see that it’s not broken. She couldn’t have broken my cock when she broke my heart, could she?
Sterling leans forward on his elbows to give me a pointed look. “You want to know my grand unified theory of life?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to give it to me anyway, so sure.” I flash him a tight, fake grin and take another sip of my beer.
“Why get yourself all spun up over one woman, one difficult woman, when there are so many flavors to sample?”
He turns, gazing over at the action on the stage. All shapes and sizes of naked women shake their goods for us to enjoy. This is the biggest gentleman’s club in the city, and the choices are endless. From lean runner types with pert breasts and firm butts without dimples, to curvy goddesses whose huge breasts sway when they walk. From redheads that you instinctively know are trouble, to platinum blondes who are probably wild in bed, to demure brunettes who are every man’s perfect girl-next-door fantasy. But none of them appeal to me. Like, at all.
“Not interested,” I choke out, my throat feeling tight. What the hell has happened to me? I was Noah fucking Tate—master of my own domain, professional charmer and booty-call provocateur.
“Come fucking on,” Sterling says on a groan. “Not a one?”
I shake my head. “Nope.” None of these women hold a candle to the classy, sophisticated woman who used to warm my bed at night and keeps me on my toes all day. She makes me work for every inch of ground I gain with her. The feeling is addicting. Any of these woman would happily go home with me if I asked. Where’s the fun in that?
Sterling makes a low, tortured growl of frustration. “You’re impossible.”
I cut my gaze over to his. “Right, because your life is so perfect and full. If it was, you wouldn’t be at a place like this.”
I know I’m on to something. Sterling doesn’t open up much, but from what he has shared, I know his job makes him miserable much of the time, and living here while his entire family is still back in Great Britain is hard.
But he holds up his hands, taking no offense. “I was only trying to help. Chill.”
There is no helping me. There’s only an unmet need raging through my body and soul. I need to get Olivia back. I need to be inside her. To claim her. To make her see that she is my wife. Till death do us part.
I take another sip of my beer, knowing I’ll get my chance tonight.
Chapter Five
Olivia
The charity gala is beautiful. The finest, most mouthwatering cuisine is laid out on long tables along one wall of the opulent banquet hall. A tailcoated band plays lively smooth jazz on the stage set up at the other end.
Throughout the rest of the huge room, hundreds of upper-crust guests mingle and laugh and dance. White-shirted waiters slip fluidly through the crowd with silver trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. The high bay windows stand open, letting a crisp breeze ruffle my chiffon evening gown and play over my bared shoulders and back.
And I can’t enjoy any of it, because the heir clause is still hanging over my head, casting a dark shadow over everything.
Even just a week ago, I would have been proud to stroll in here on Noah’s arm. And unfortunately he does look devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo. But after what he did, I don’t want him near me. I don’t want to pretend to be the lovey-dovey young couple, all picture-perfect smiles. Because I can’t simply erase what I saw from my brain.
That one tiny moment in the bathroom threw our whole relationship into question. It’s almost like we’re back to square one. Before I got to know him, before I saw him as anything more than an annoying, lazy playboy. Before I (almost) fell in love. I have to decide all over again whether I can trust him.
And even if I do trust him . . . what then? Let him put a baby in me? Sacrifice my body, my future, in exchange for a company that might end up drowning no matter what we do? I won’t be forced into having a child. If and when I have a baby, it will be because I’m ready to parent. And I’m a long way from believing that the person beside me in those fantasies is Noah.
My grim thoughts derail when Noah rests his arm around my waist, his hand on my opposite hip. I stiffen at his touch. The line between his brows deepens; he definitely noticed my flinch.
“Christ, Snowflake, try to loosen up,” he mutters under his breath.
“I’m still angry with you,” I say out of the corner of my mouth, still smiling brightly. The strain of keeping up our happy facade is already taking its toll on my nerves.
Noah’s expression darkens despite his trying to repress his frown. “Be angry all you want, just don’t act like it. We have to make this look good. The last thing the company needs is the media starting rumors that our relationship is on the rocks.”
“I know that, I just—”
Noah cuts me off. “Don’t look now, it’s the CEO of Acentix Telecom.” He inclines his head toward a silver-haired gentleman walking our way. “Act natural. Touch my arm or something.”
“I’ll pass,” I hiss just as the man claps Noah on the shoulder.
“Noah Tate, you son of a gun.” He laughs, louder than necessary—the room isn’t that noisy. “How’ve you been lately? Is this lovely creature your wife?”
Noah’s gaze flicks toward me, too fast for anyone else to see. I know what he’s thinking: For now, anyway. But he responds smoothly, “I’m proud to say she is. Olivia, have you met Caleb Tyrell?”
I nod at Mr. Tyrell. “Yes, at all of our client meetings with Acentix.” And yet this idiot still managed to forget me.
“Ah yes, of course. How could I forget such a pretty face?” Caleb winks at me.
Normally I would play along with his corny old-fart flirting. But I have no patience left for putting up with men tonight. I just nod and smile, more stiffly than before.
“Sweetheart, your hand is empty. Let’s go get you a glass of prosecco.” Noah steers me away from Mr. Tyrell under the pretext of us going to the bar.
I set my jaw. Why did he have to jump in like that? Intervening so obviously only makes the situation more awkward than it already is.
Fortunately, Mr. Tyrell doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “As much as I’d love to shoot the breeze, I should get back to my own wife before she gets jealous.” With another obnoxious wink in my direction, he ambles away and disappears into the crowd.
“What the hell is your problem tonight?” Noah growls under his breath as soon as the client is out of earshot.
“You just have to be in control of everything, don’t you?” I snap right back. I could have handled myself smoothly in that situation, if he’d only given me a chance. Just because I needed his help with Brad doesn’t mean Noah has to be my white knight all the time.
“Okay, that’s it. If you want to fight, let’s at least take this somewhere private. Then you can make as big a scene as you fucking want.”
I match his dark glare. “Great idea.”
Noah stalks through the banquet hall’s entrance. I follow him as he turns down a seemingly random narrow hallway. Even from behind, he looks almost as pissed as I feel—his shoulders are tense and his stride is even longer than usual, forcing me to hurry after him.
Gradually the
buzz of chatter from the banquet hall fades, leaving only the clack of our shoes on the marble floors. When we reach a coat closet, he yanks the door open. “After you.” He follows me inside and shuts the door behind us, plunging us into shadows.
I launch into my tirade as if there had been no interruption. “What the fuck do you think my problem is? I can manage faking a happy relationship for the press, but don’t expect me to enjoy it.”
I can just barely make out Noah shaking his head. “We both know that’s not the whole story. You’ve been freezing me out for days now. If you’ve got something to say, say it. I’m listening.”
What is it with men and not understanding basic communication? “I’ve already made my feelings very clear. You just don’t like the messages you got.”
“Oh, come on.” He sighs. “Throw me a bone here. I know I fucked up royally, and I’m sorry, but things between us have been going nowhere lately. Can I at least get a hint about where I stand? Am I going to stay in the doghouse forever? Just let me know what I should do, how I can fix this.”
“It’s not that easy. Do you think you can just buy me some flowers and I’ll forget all about what I saw that night? The heir clause will disappear out of the contract, we’ll inherit the company, and live happily ever after?”
“You said you were giving up. Quitting the company, or quitting our marriage, or maybe both—I couldn’t exactly ask for clarification while you were tearing ass out the door. But then why are you still here?” Noah’s silhouette throws its hands up. “If you hate me so much, why haven’t we gotten a divorce yet? Are you giving this another chance or not? I’ll stay by your side, or I’ll leave if there’s really no hope left, but I won’t hang around just to be your punching bag.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat, fighting the urge to cry from sheer anxiety and frustration. “I don’t know, okay? Even if I believed everything you said—about how you’d never get me pregnant without my consent—what’s next? What are we going to do? No baby means no inheritance.”
“If you believed me?” He releases an exasperated scoffing sound. “You don’t even know that for sure? Wow, I guess I really am on your shit list.”
I doubt he can see me roll my eyes, but I do it anyway. “Gee, I wonder why. There’s no reason on earth why a woman should distrust a man who lied his ass off about things that could make or break her whole future.”
“I said I was sorry. I made a big fucking stupid mistake, okay? I didn’t speak up when I should have, because I was so scared of losing you and ruining the company and—”
“The company is going to be ruined anyway!” I explain for what feels like the hundredth time. “If you had said something earlier, we could have figured this out together. Instead you waited until the last possible second.”
“Is saving Tate & Cane the real reason why you’re so tense? Because I’m here to help with that.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re hitting on me,” I reply in my driest, coldest tone.
“No, that’s not where I was going.” His voice drops slightly, taking on a silky note. “Although if you want me to . . .” He leans against the wall, trapping me between his arms.
I turn my face away from his. Having him this close makes it hard to think. “Ugh. No thanks.”
“Fair enough. All I meant is that we’re partners—we can think of a way out of this problem, if you’ll just let me help you.”
Why hasn’t he backed off yet? His spicy cologne is slowly filling my head with fog. “I think I have the right to be a little skeptical of a man who I caught with a fucking needle.”
Noah makes a quiet growling huff. “See what I mean? You bring that up again, and I already apologized and explained what happened. We’re just going in circles.” His voice smooths out again into an imploring, seductive tone. “Please, Snowflake. Don’t shut me out. I’ll do anything. Just tell me. Say the word and I’ll be on my knees—begging forgiveness, at your service, ready and willing to make it up to you.”
His warm breath fans ticklishly over my cheek as he speaks. That voice is pure sin, licking at my self-control like flames.
I try to retort, “Y-you’re ready and willing for that anytime. With just about any woman too.”
“You know that’s not true. Maybe I was that way once, but now . . . I’m a one-woman man. You’ve caught me for good. I’ll never be satisfied with anyone but you ever again.”
And suddenly, his hands clasp my bare shoulders and his lips press hot against mine.
I gasp into his mouth. My eyes slide shut helplessly. I didn’t realize how much I needed this contact, this closeness, until Noah’s touch lit my nerves on fire. But now I’m painfully aware of every minute it’s been since he last made love to me.
I’m still pissed at him. Damn his sexy smirk, damn his wickedly skilled kiss, more intoxicating than anything I’ve drunk tonight . . . I don’t want to want him. But I do want this. Dear God, I might even need it.
And so I let myself give in.
It’s okay as long as he doesn’t talk. As long as he doesn’t remind me that we’re Noah Tate and Olivia Cane, heirs to a failing company, with the board’s impending decision hanging over our heads like a guillotine blade.
Right now, under cover of darkness, we’re anonymous. Just a man and a woman, a pair of animals who are starving for each other. I can pretend that this is only sex, only blowing off some steam, and it’s not because I’m still addicted to Noah despite everything that’s happened between us. I can come back to my senses—to my waking life, my anger and hurt and worry, all the crushing responsibilities of my family name—after my body is satisfied.
At the exploring swipe of Noah’s tongue, I open up and return his kiss savagely. He gives a little surprised noise, then a growl of satisfaction. His lips curve against mine in a smug smile.
Does he think he’s won me over? Then he’d better fucking think again, because I’m going to make him fight for every inch of ground. I crush my mouth against his, and when he gently nips my lower lip, I answer with a harsh bite. He moans and matches my intensity right back. Soon our kiss is little more than a dance of dueling tongues and soft murmurs of pleasure.
Still devouring my mouth, he leans into me, walking me backward until my lower back hits a shelf. I jolt at the brush of cold metal on bare skin. Then he pushes a little more for good measure, forcing me to arch my spine and raise my chin, exposing my neck. The shelf’s chill soaks through the thin fabric of my dress and spreads goosebumps over my arms. But I’m already so hot, I barely notice any of it. My senses are too completely consumed by Noah’s touch and taste and smell.
He hikes up my evening gown’s skirt and gropes me, his fingertips tracing up my bare thighs until I can’t stand it. I know exactly where his destination is, and I want him there now.
Lifting the elastic edge of my panties, his fingers glide over my center in one easy stroke. “No matter what, Snowflake, you’re always wet for me.” His voice is rough with need, but his movements are controlled.
“Sh-shut up and do something about it,” I gasp.
“As you wish.”
He gently pets my clit, my blood racing, heart pounding as I rock my hips forward. It’s too slow. Torturous.
Finally, need wins out over pride, and I beg. “More.”
“I hope you’re ready.” And with that, Noah’s control snaps. He yanks down my damp panties and shoves three fingers inside me.
My head almost hits the wall as it falls back. I dig my nails into his shoulders, urging him harder, harder. He plunges his fingers in and out with rough jerks of his arm. It’s still not quite enough; I want his cock, long and thick. But I’m not so far gone as to forget that we’re in public. So I make do.
And in a way, this rough fingering is better than fucking. It’s all for me, all about my pleasure. I can feel his steely erection against my inner thigh, twitching with eagerness, but he doesn’t get jack shit until I decide he deserves it. I reach under his movi
ng arm and grab his crotch through his pants, just to feel how hard he is and to hear him groan in frustrated need.
And he does. The sound is harsh and needy. It makes my pussy grip his fingers hard, quivering as his desperate growl washes through me.
His hand is a surprisingly decent substitute for his cock. Every thrust rubs the ball of his thumb against my clit and strikes the spot inside me that shoots hot lightning through my veins, making my toes curl in my Manolo Blahniks. All the bare hangers on the shelves around us rattle with his force.
“Faster, dammit,” I grunt out between thrusts. He’s pounding the breath out of me in sharp, guttural bursts—stifled growls reminding us both that I’m still angry as hell.
“You asked for it.” His arm pistons faster and I bite my lower lip hard enough to bruise.
He suddenly breaks our kiss, leaving me with nothing to stifle my whimpers, and his mouth descends to suck and bite at my neck. I want to tell him that he’s a dead man if he leaves a hickey, but I can’t form words anymore. All I can do is cling to him, clawing at his shoulders. I arch my hips up and spread my knees to urge him even deeper inside me. He fucks me as hard as he can into the wall while I hang on for dear life, gasping and trembling as the pleasure rises higher.
My thighs clamp around his forearm as I finally tip over the edge. No longer able to thrust with his arm’s full strength, Noah crooks his fingers to massage my G-spot and grinds the heel of his hand into my clit. I shudder violently, my mouth opening in a silent scream, wave after wave of white heat pulsing through my entire body. Noah keeps working his hand to let me ride out my climax to the end.
Floating slowly down from my high, I can feel myself still spasming around his fingers, my inner walls gripping tight and relaxing and then gripping again, weaker and weaker each time. I flush deep red at the thought of just how much Noah can feel. He could tell the moment I started to come and the moment my orgasm finally faded away. There’s nothing I can hide from him when I’m like this.
