Hitched: Volume Three

by Kendall Ryan

  Chapter Ten

  Noah

  Olivia’s been under an enormous amount of stress lately, even more so than normal. In addition to running a business, and tiptoeing around our fragile, still-healing relationship, she’s been faced with her father’s fading health.

  For a long time, we’ve all pretended he could plug on forever. But the truth is, he’s not fine. His prognosis is grim, and it’s possible he won’t leave the hospital this time. I wish more than anything that I could fix this, that I could steal Olivia away and shield her from all the pain to come.

  Between us, we’ve already lost three parents; this shouldn’t be new territory. But the thing is, you never get used to it. You can never truly prepare your heart for that empty space that will ache without any cure.

  I sigh and rise from the couch. Olivia will be home soon, and I plan to have dinner waiting for her. If there’s even a small way I can improve her day, of course I’m going to do it.

  I sauté tomatoes and garlic with white wine and have a pot of linguine boiling away when I hear the door open.

  “Hello?” Olivia calls.

  “In the kitchen.” I finish slicing a loaf of crusty bread and turn off the burners just as Olivia enters the room.

  She offers me a sad smile. I know that visiting her dad takes a toll on her. In that moment, I decide she won’t go see him again without me by her side. Even though she’s never admitted it, maybe being alone at the hospital isn’t so good for her. I should be there when she needs someone to lean on, someone to vent to.

  Her feet are bare, which means she’s a good seven inches shorter than me, and I pull her in close for a hug. After living together for the past couple of months, I’ve learned that she always immediately deposits those torture devices she calls shoes by the front door, to be carried lovingly to her closet later. She looks great in heels, but I make a mental note to give her a foot massage later.

  Olivia rests her head against my chest. “I was thinking . . . we should talk.”

  I nod. “Yes, but first, carbs.”

  She chuckles. “You know me too well.”

  Olivia grabs plates and napkins and sets the table while I drain the pasta and toss it in the homemade sauce, adding plenty of grated parmesan cheese.

  We enjoy dinner with a glass each of chilled white wine on the couch, while the TV plays softly in the background. It feels so domestic and normal.

  After we finish up, I watch Olivia carry the plates to the kitchen. She’s tossed her hair up into a messy bun atop her head, and though she’s still in her work clothes—a sleek black pencil skirt and cream-colored silk blouse with little buttons at the neckline—she looks casual and relaxed.

  As I watch her pour us each another glass of wine, two things hit me simultaneously—I’m in love with her, and I can’t continue like this. I can’t have her in bits and pieces, groveling for her attention, living and working beside her like I’m unaffected, and then fucking her in a frenzy when she deems it okay. I don’t want her scraps; I want her everything.

  When she sits back down beside me, I’m prepared to lay it all out on the line. To tell her that we’ve reached the end of the road, and it’s time for her to decide—all or nothing, winner take all. But Olivia beats me to the punch.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately,” she says, her voice unsure. She swallows and sets her wineglass down on the coffee table beside mine.

  “And what have you been thinking?” I turn toward her on the sofa, encouraging her to continue.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” She shakes her head as if she’s clearing an unpleasant thought.

  My stomach drops. Like I’m free-falling, plummeting toward disaster with no way to stop it.

  “I hate not knowing where we stand, what might happen next.” She twists her hands in her lap, looking uncomfortable.

  “And what do you want to happen next?” I almost hold my breath as I wait for her answer.

  “I just want . . . things to be better. Like they were before. I . . . I was falling in love with you, Noah,” she stammers.

  Love. My heart leaps. Not so long ago, it was a four-letter word that would have sent me running. But here and now, falling from Olivia’s perfect lips . . . I’ve never heard a sweeter sound. I want to seize her in my arms, kiss her hard, pleasure her right here on the sofa. Show her just how badly I’ve missed her.

  But I tamp down my excitement and force myself to tread carefully. We’re not out of the woods quite yet.

  I interlace our fingers and tug her closer. “Then don’t stop.”

  Olivia’s gaze lifts to mine. “I’m scared.”

  “I am too,” I admit. We both understand that whatever happens next, we’re in this together. And it will be with two hearts fully on the line, instead of just our jobs. That seems so much more fragile and real that I imagined it would.

  “What does this mean?” she asks.

  I pull her even closer, so she’s practically in my lap. Stroking her cheek with my fingertips, I press a soft, chaste kiss to her mouth. “It means that we’re in this together, for real this time, as husband and wife. No do-overs, no matter what. I don’t care what happens to the company . . . all I want is you. I want your days and your nights and everything in between. I can’t bear the thought of not having you. I want to be the man to hold you through all of life’s ups and downs.”

  And there will be plenty, make no mistake. We’ve weathered a lot of storms together already, but we’re both mature enough to know we’re probably not through the worst of it yet. But that’s exactly why I want to be her safe and steady place.

  A sad smile forms on her lips. “I want that too.”

  “And I’m so fucking sorry about not telling you about the heir clause. I swear I never—”

  She holds up her hand, waving off my umpteenth apology. “I know, Noah. Please don’t. We don’t need to rehash it. If we do this, if we move forward, I want you to know I promise not to bring up your mistakes and hold them over your head.”

  I nod. “Thank you. That’s more than I deserve.” And just one more reason why she’s the perfect woman, though I don’t like that she said the word if. For me, there are no ifs. I’m already too deep in love to hold anything back. She cradles my heart in her hands, and all I can do is wait for her decision.

  “But this baby business . . .” She chews on her lower lip, her eyes searching mine. “A baby is something we’ll have to talk about. It’s something that won’t come until later. Much later . . . if at all. I’m still processing that.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. The thought of Olivia round with my child makes me feel almost dizzy. Knowing that there’s a possibility down the road, that it’s a choice we might make together . . . that’s everything to me.

  “That’s fine,” I say, trying to keep cool. “I just want us to be a couple. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—a real shot with you. I know we entered into this marriage under unusual circumstances, but to me, it’s not a fake marriage. It never was.” I lean in and give her another kiss, tender and soft.

  “What are you saying?” She pulls back to gaze at me quizzically.

  I shrug. “When Sterling expected me to be freaked out about getting hitched, I wasn’t. And when everyone thought I’d get cold feet, I didn’t. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. The one girl who seemed to be immune to my charms, the one person who could keep me on my toes, debating with me for hours. The most beautiful woman who I always desired, yet never got a shot with. You’re mine now, and now that I’ve got you, I won’t mess this up. I promise you.”

  “Noah . . .” She makes a soft sound of approval.

  “From now on, everything is going to be fifty-fifty. I promise to communicate with you openly and honestly. I promise to include you, no matter how unpleasant the situation. We’re partners in crime. Till the end. Please, you can’t go. I love you.”

  She chews on her lip, keeping me in agony. Then she smiles. “I’m not going anywhere.
I love you too.”

  My lips crash down onto hers. I’m so full of every emotion all at once—love, lust, happiness—I feel like I could burst. I lift her from the couch and carry her to our bedroom.

  The room we’ve shared in stony silence for the past three weeks is silent no more, because the moment Olivia’s placed in the center of the bed, I pull her skirt and panties down in one quick tug, and a surprised gasp pushes past her lips. Next comes her shirt, followed by her lacy bra.

  “Hey there, tiger.” She grins at me with a hunger that makes my cock twitch. “Let’s even things up.”

  I strip my shirt off over my head while Olivia’s deft fingers go to work on my belt. And then I’m lying beside my wife, her warm skin on mine, her kisses on my throat, and everything is right with the world.

  We kiss for a long time. I feel like I can’t get enough of her, enough of her honeysuckle scent, her soft breathy moans. But the need to be closer to her—to be inside her, to possess her—wins out.

  “Need to make love to you,” I murmur against her lips. It’s the first time I’ve spoken those words to a woman. Make love. But, I realize, that’s exactly what this is.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  Reaching over toward the nightstand, I grab a condom from the drawer. Then, upon further consideration, I go back and grab a second one and toss them on the bed beside us.

  Olivia chuckles. “Someone’s ambitious tonight.”

  Damn straight I am. I’ve waited too long to have her. If I’ve done my job properly, she’ll be sore and tired come morning.

  I rip open the package but Olivia takes over the task of sheathing me, her hands gentle and much softer than mine would have been. My need to be closer to her overtakes every other instinct, as if this union is more significant than all the other times she’s given herself to me combined.

  Our previous intimate encounters were all born out of deceit. Yes, she was willing, but tonight she’s committed. She’s given me her heart, forgiven all my transgressions, and the desire to show her just what that means to me is an unmistakable need. She’s not my girlfriend or fake fiancée or the other half of my arranged marriage. She’s my wife. And I have a feeling that getting her to understand that fact is going to take more work, but in this moment, all I’m interested in is making her feel good.

  I pull Olivia up so she’s straddling my hips. And then I guide her up, aligning myself with her. When she sinks down, it’s heaven. Heaven. Her head drops back and she releases a slow, low moan.

  “Forever.” I groan, gripping her hips tight as I control our pace. Nice and slow, so I can savor every breath, every moan, every squeeze of her inner muscles.

  “Noah,” she whispers, placing her hands on my abs as she urges me to pick up the pace. “Faster. More.”

  “Give it to me.” I thrust up, claiming her.

  “It’s yours.” She presses back down on me, so deep.

  My chest fills with love for this amazing woman, and I’m overcome by emotion. Burying myself in her over and over again affirms everything that is right about our union.

  “Mine,” I growl out.

  “Always.” She sobs, already breathless from pleasure.

  Always.

  Chapter Eleven

  Olivia

  “In summation, it would be in the best financial interests of the board to retain Tate & Cane Enterprises,” I finish breathlessly, glancing at Noah. “How was that?”

  “Great. I think we’ve got this.” He gives me a weary smile. “Like I said after our last two practice runs.”

  I chew my lip, which I’ve already bitten raw over the course of the night. “Should we rehearse one more time? I don’t know if my delivery is as convincing as it could be. And maybe I should make those extra slides I was talking about earlier. Our argument could always stand to be stronger—”

  Noah reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, both to interrupt me and to reassure me. “Snowflake. Calm down. Our presentation is fine. And it’s one in the morning—I’m exhausted and I’m sure you are too. At this point, getting a good night’s sleep will do more to help our argument than a hundred graphs.”

  “Okay, okay.” I sigh in defeat. Just the mention of the word sleep triggers a yawn.

  “See? Let me take you to bed.”

  My lips quirk and I raise my eyebrow at him slightly. “What’s with that tone? I thought you wanted sleep.”

  He smiles back. “Don’t worry; I do. Sex can wait until tomorrow night, after we’ve kicked ass with our presentation and saved the world.”

  Another yawn interrupts my chuckle as Noah leads me to bed.

  • • •

  That night, still laughing in triumph, we pile through our penthouse’s front door like a couple of college kids who just graduated.

  “We did it! We saved our whole fucking company!” I whoop aloud, kicking off my heels. Even after all our hard work, I can still barely believe we convinced the board to let Tate & Cane live. Although the unfulfilled heir clause lost us our shares, we still have our jobs as the head of the company. We can still live our legacy, and really that’s all we ever wanted.

  “Damn right we did. We were unstoppable in there.” Noah lifts me by the waist and spins me around the entry hall, making me squeal in surprise and delight. “And it was your brilliant party idea that saved our asses, Snowflake.”

  “Don’t even try to act so modest. I couldn’t have managed that horrible mountain of work without you.” I playfully slap at his shoulders—the only part of him I can reach in this position. “Now, put me down so you can pour us some drinks.”

  “Another great idea. I’ll crack open a nice cold bottle of champagne.” Noah sets me back on my feet, shucks his suit jacket, and tosses it over the back of a chair.

  “You already have one chilled?” I ask, following him into the kitchen.

  “Last night I figured if we won, we’d want to celebrate, and if we lost, we’d want to drown our sorrows.”

  “What a vote of confidence. You should have told me that you were sure we’d win.”

  He shrugs, giving me a crooked smile. “Yeah, but we did win, right?”

  I take two flutes down from the cupboard while Noah gets the champagne from the fridge and uncorks it. There’s something magical about the sound of a champagne bottle popping—it feels like a mini celebration in and of itself. Noah pours both our flutes full to the brim.

  “To success in business, to victories hard won . . . and to unstoppable couples,” he says, raising his glass into the air.

  “To all that stuff.” I pick up my flute, clink it against his, and take a long sip, relishing the sweet bubbles bursting over my tongue.

  “Now, where’s my congratulatory kiss?”

  Rolling my eyes, I lean in and give him a peck on the lips. He lets out a low murmur of appreciation and tries to pull me in closer, but I draw back.

  “That was it?” he protests.

  “Let me at least get through a single glass of champagne first. I’m not done savoring our triumph yet.”

  When we polish off our first glasses, Noah pours us both another round. “What should we toast to this time?”

  “Hmm,” I say thoughtfully. “You covered a lot in our first toast. How about . . . to marrying well?”

  Noah blinks at me, then nods, a grin slowly spreading over his face. “I like that one.”

  I clink glasses with a smile of my own. I guess I surprised him. But he, and all the joy he brings me, surprised me first.

  Noah ends his drink by heaving a satisfied sigh. “This is great.”

  I nod emphatically. “I know. God, it feels so amazing not to have the board’s decision hanging over our head anymore.”

  “Well, that too.” He beams at me. “But I was also talking about spending time at home with you. I can’t think of the last time we just hung out and had fun like this.”

  Our separation wasn’t only because we’ve been so busy with work. I also wasn’t sure quite where w
e stood, and struggled to get my footing under me with this relationship. But all that pain is in the past—we talked over our feelings, we said all the things we needed to say, and now we’re trying to leave the whole ugly episode behind us.

  Sensing my hesitation, Noah reaches out to lace his fingers through mine. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a buzzkill there. I just meant that . . . well, I’m glad to see you happy again.”

  Holding my gaze, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles with a smile, just like he did on the day I first agreed to date him. That fateful meeting wasn’t even three months ago, but it feels like a lifetime—maybe because I’ve become a different person. Whoever could have thought that our relationship would blossom like this? If someone had told me then that I’d fall ass over teakettle in love with Noah Tate, I might have slapped them. I’d have been scandalized.

  In a huskier tone, Noah adds, “Speaking of having fun . . . Come here, beautiful.”

  The heat in his dark eyes chases all other thoughts out of my head. “Okay, but I want to try something new tonight.”

  His interest deepens. “Oh?”

  I reach out to grasp his necktie. His breathing quickens as I undo the knot and slip the long ribbon of wine-red silk from his shirt collar.

  “I want you to blindfold me,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn a little pink despite myself. I’ll have to get used to talking about stuff like this if I’m going to be married to a sex god.

  His eyes widen, in disbelief as well as excitement. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I trust you.”

  And I want to show him that I trust him. I’m not nearly as good with words as he is, but with this act—putting my body and my pleasure squarely into his hands—I know my meaning will come through, more strongly than just telling him that I forgive him.

  When Noah kisses me, hard and deep and so heartfelt, it makes my eyes sting with happy tears. It’s clear that he understands.

  We’re both a little breathless by the time he pulls back. Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. Once we’re in the bedroom, he turns again to face me, still holding my hand.