by Sam Crescent
He steps closer so we are only an inch or two apart. “You are. We will be married tomorrow by Judge Federico on the balcony of the Gulfside suite at the Don Cesar. You can invite your parents, if you’d like. I’ll leave that up to you.” The timbre of his voice drops. I’ve seen him negotiate multi-million dollar deals with less resolve.
“You have lost your ability to think straight.” My voice doesn’t waver despite the tremble rolling over my body. I place my hands on my hips to mask the shake in my hands.
He lowers his face and stares at me. The corner of his mouth lifts, keeping his arrogance alive. “I’m thinking perfectly clear, sweetheart.”
“I don’t even like you, Mr. Walker,” I say through clenched teeth.
He chuckles. “You don’t have to like me.”
“This is outrageous. You can’t force me to marry you.” My nostrils flare and I huff out a breath. My pulse kicks like I’m on speed.
I don’t know if I’m angrier at Eric or my father at this moment. How dare he! I’m not a piece of chattel he can sell to rectify his poor decisions. I’m a human being, and bigger than that, I’m his fucking daughter. And Eric using me as a negotiating piece makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs.
Eric pinches my chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting my head. “You’ll either marry me tomorrow, Celia, or I’m adding my name to the company and will eventually ease you and your father’s stock options out. Then you can clean up your father’s mess. He didn’t just sell those properties for nothing. He sold them to one of Seth Malcolm’s companies. He undersold several pieces of property and put them in the hands of a criminal. It’s either this way, or you’ll be out.”
My stomach rolls. My father has made a mess. “Why? I don’t understand what being your wife has to do with any of this.”
“I want it.”
“You don’t even like me.” I jerk my head back to remove my chin from his hold and clear my head. His spicy scent melts my bones into liquid heat. If I don’t get space, I’ll become a puddle at his feet.
“I like you enough.” His voice drops a level.
A wooziness takes over. Am I drunk? Is this a dream? “You just want to fuck me. Can we barter with that?” Asking that question rattles me. I’m bargaining with sex like a prostitute. Even now, sex is a negotiating tool.
“I want more than between your legs for one night.” His fingers brush against my cheek and trail down my neck.
I’ve desired him between my legs for so long, my pussy clenches at the idea. My stomach flutters with the thought of him poised above me, thrusting into me with precision and vigor. I steel myself. I need to concentrate on the current situation. We aren’t talking about one night of bliss. He’s demanding that I marry him. This is completely absurd.
“Mr. Walker, I’m not marrying you. This is irrational and archaic.” I shove his hand off me because his touch clouds my train of thought. I step back.
“With your father out of the picture, his debtors can’t come after the company. They may come after his house or the nice collection of cars he has stashed away for the small amount he’ll still owe. But the company will no longer be his and not in play.”
“Small amount? I understand he owes in the seven digits.”
“He does. But I agreed to pay down a portion of it in exchange for him transferring the business to me and your hand. I’m forty-five, and it’s about time I settle down.” He sweeps a few strands of my hair behind my ear.
I shiver at the gesture. He’s acting like a lover, not the condescending, egotistical man who makes me want to deck him and fuck him at the same time. But I can’t acquiesce to this demand. I didn’t have some fairytale idea of what my wedding would be like, but it didn’t involve an arranged marriage to my nemesis-slash-fantasy to save my family’s business.
“That’s precisely my point. You’re forty-five.” I pucker my lips like I just bit into a lemon. “Why would I want such an old husband?” I say this even though everything about him, including his age, turns me on.
He grips my waist and pulls me flush against him, his chest and abs all hard lines and sinew. “This old man will show you what you’ve been wondering about and missing. You won’t be disappointed in my age because it comes with great experience.”
My heart races. “Ha. Right. You must have a prescription for the little blue pill, Mr. Walker.”
He snickers. “Not yet. But I have no problem asking for it if I do need it because I’ll want to fuck you well for decades.”
“Decades?” I blow out an exasperated breath. “You expect this sham of a marriage to last decades.” If I do this, I’m doing it for Daddy—until this all blows over. Sex with Eric may be a perk to this charade but that’s all this is—a farce.
“I’m glad to hear you’re coming around to the idea.” He lowers his head so our faces hover an inch apart. “Your compliance will keep Malcolm from coming after your father. As long as we’re married, I’ll hold up my end of the deal. I’ll pay off most of your father’s debt and keep the company in the Hawkins name and you as part of it. ’Til death do us part, sweetheart.” His warm peppermint breath cascades across my cheeks.
I push on his chest, trying to create some space between us, but his hold tightens. Being this close to him jumbles my thoughts and causes my body to react in a traitorous manner. Heat floods me and settles low in my core. If he touched me between the legs right now, he’d find me wet and ready. How can I desire and despise a man at the same time?
“You’re insane,” I bite out.
“Perhaps.” He dips closer.
Is he going to kiss me?
“Wear something sexy under your dress tomorrow.” He winks. “Also, no need for the dress to be white.”
He releases his hold on me and exits my office. His absence leaves me bereft, and a chill runs down my spine.
I grunt as the door closes behind him and pinch the skin on my forearm. Did this conversation really happen? Can I marry Eric Walker? More importantly, will I?
Chapter Five
Eric
I stand in the living room of the Don Cesar Gulfside Penthouse, staring out the open French doors. The tiled balcony extends far and wide and overlooks St. Pete Beach. An L-shaped dark wicker couch stretches along one side and a long outdoor dining table set for the dinner I ordered poses near the other side. A party of fifty could easily congregate on the terrace with room to spare.
The white wedding arch, wrapped in white tule and ivy, perches at the edge, framing the start of the setting sun. I didn’t ask for the decoration. There’s nothing traditional about this wedding except for the arch.
I’ve never been a part of a normal family. I don’t know what a typical marriage should look or feel like. I didn’t believe I’d ever marry. To be honest, the thought used to raise the hair on my arms and the back of my neck. But I’d blurted out this proposal to John, surprising myself. Now I want nothing more than making Celia mine.
Jorge Federico stands at the corner of the terrace, chatting with a couple of friends he brought as witnesses. Because I wasn’t sure if Celia would even show, let alone bring her family to witness the exchange, I asked the judge to bring a couple of companions. No technicality would ruin the end result of this ceremony—making her my wife.
The penthouse door snaps closed and my heart kicks at my ribs. Is it Celia? There’s a short hallway from the door to the living area. The click of heels sounds on the marble tile. I hold my breath. My palms sweat and I rub them on the front of my navy-blue suit pants. I don’t know why this moment feels like it’s a defining one, but it does.
The flutter of silver sequined lace first catches my gaze and I grip the back of the armchair. When she turns the corner, my knees buckle. I’m thankful for my hold on the chair. God damn! This must be what it feels like to strike gold or oil or hit the mega lottery—not that I need any of those things.
She sashays into the room, looking like a mermaid that has just emerged from
the sea. The dress is silver lace and sequins, almost the same color as her eyes. The material flares from the knees down but hugs her thighs and hips like a second skin. The spaghetti strap top plunges to mere inches above her belly button, revealing cleavage that has my mouth salivating.
She stops near the sofa table and poses, one hand on her hip. Her gaze travels over me from head to toes and back again.
Her blonde tendrils are swept up in a loose knot with wisps fluttering around her face. Barely-there makeup accentuates her cheekbones. Between the color of her dress and light sweep of eyeshadow, her gray eyes bewitch me. I’m so enamored, I almost miss the cocky twitch to her plush lips. She knows she’s snared me.
“Mr. Walker, have I rendered you speechless?” She chuckles.
I blink. I need to gain my wits. I demanded this union. I can’t drop to my knees and crawl to her. She’ll snatch me by the balls and never let go. Though the idea of her hands on me there has great appeal.
I stalk toward her, feeling like a panther on the hunt. I want her to wear this dress every day and yet, I want to tear it off her. I cup her jaw and glide my thumb over her cheek. “You are stunning,” I say. “But you already know that.”
She places a hand on the lapel of my jacket. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” Her hand brushes down the front of my jacket before tugging on my silver tie. “We match.”
“I tried to match your eyes, not your dress.”
She bats her eyelashes in a shy manner, something I’m not used to seeing in her. “You told me the dress didn’t have to be white.”
“It’s perfect.” And I mean it. Standing here before me, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Thank you.” She leans into my touch. “Is Judge Federico here?”
I lift my chin in the direction of the balcony. “He’s waiting for us.”
“Let’s get this show started.” She pulls back from me. Her expression changes. Her lips straighten into a thinner line and her eyes lose the twinkle. The magic of those first minutes of seeing each other is gone.
“Will your parents be joining us?” I give her my elbow to lead her out onto the terrace.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t tell either this was happening right now. My mother has enough to deal with in forgiving my father.” A bit of sadness causes her voice to quiver.
My chest squeezes. For one tiny second, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Forcing her into marrying me is rather antiquated. If I want her, I could do it the old-fashioned way. I could take her out, sweep her off her feet. My inner caveman disagrees. I have the woman I want within my clutches. Take woman.
“Let’s do this.” She squeezes my arm, bringing me out of my hesitancy.
We walk out the French doors onto the terrace. The judge turns and smiles, waving toward the arch. The two women he brought with him turn as well and move with the judge.
Celia stops, so I do, too. She pushes up on her toes. “Remember how you told me to wear something sexy under my dress?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Did you listen?”
“No.” Her hot breath hits the shell of my ear and sends a wave of heat up my spine. “I wore nothing at all.” A satisfied smirk twists her lips like she knew sharing this tidbit would torture me.
And it does. I swallow hard before looking at her. Jesus Christ. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. I want to drop to my knees and make her come with my mouth right here, right now.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to reward you later for this moment.” I smile at her, enjoying the anticipation.
She puffs out a quiet chuckle. “Already trying to bribe me with sex?”
“Amazing sex. And you want it as much as I do.” We’ve played this cat-and-mouse game so many times. I may have questioned whether she liked me as a person, but I never doubted her desire. I still don’t.
Despite her brazen attitude, her decision to be here wasn’t easy. I’m sure she’s agreed to this arrangement to save her father and the business. Whereas, I’m doing this because I’ve realized I want her as my wife.
She schools her expression. Always a battle of wills. I walk forward with her at my side.
We stand in front of the arch. Jorge recites the vows. We repeat after him. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. ’Til death do us part. We exchange the rings I purchased.
“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife,” Jorge says. “Eric, you may now kiss your bride.”
I’ve thought about this moment since I announced to her we’d be married. Should I peck her lips? We’ve never kissed, despite my numerous fantasies of doing so. Or should I take her mouth like I’ve been dreaming of for years and show her just how much I want her? I do want her to look back on this day when we’re celebrating our ten-year anniversary and smile.
I cup her face in my hands. Her brows raise and she blinks her gray eyes at me. Lowering, I brush my lips over hers. She exhales audibly and closes her lids as she trembles. I move my mouth over hers, licking at her lips and tasting her for the first time. She’s sweet like honey, and I can’t help myself. My mouth opens over hers and I deepen the kiss. Our tongues slide against one another.
She grips the lapels of my jacket and pulls me closer. Our bodies touch. I wore nothing at all. Her words roll through my head, teasing me. I moan. She smiles against my lips and I want to back her against the table fifteen feet away and make a meal out of her.
A throat clears and I’m brought back to our current situation. We aren’t alone here. I pull back from the kiss. My chest heaves. But for the quick beat of her pulse at the base of her neck and a little smear to her lipstick, she appears in complete control.
I take her hand, intertwine our fingers, and face Jorge. “Thank you, Your Honor.” I reach out with my free hand to shake his. “I truly appreciate you doing this on such short notice.”
“Forego the formalities, Eric. We’ve been friends since college.” He chuckles and shakes my hand. “You know I’m always here to help.” He pulls a folded document out of his breast pocket and waves it at me. “Let’s get this signed so things are official.”
Celia looks at me, and a flutter of emotion scurries behind her eyes. I can’t decipher quite what it is, so I squeeze her hand and lead her to the table.
Jorge spreads the document on the surface and retrieves a pen from his pocket. He scribbles his name on the line entitled Name and Title of Person Performing the Ceremony.
“Seneca.” He hands the pen to the darker-skinned woman with honey-colored eyes. She smiles at me before signing the document on the witness line. Then she passes the pen to the fiery redhead, who signs on the second witness line. Jorge folds up the document and slips it back in his pocket. “I will turn this into the clerk’s office Monday morning. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I shake his hand again.
“Yes, thank you, Judge Federico.” Celia’s voice is soft but confident. She leans forward and kisses his cheek.
“I’ll walk you all out.” I place a peck on Celia’s forehead and release her hand. “I have dinner ordered for us. I thought we could eat on the terrace.”
“Sounds lovely.” She stares out at the horizon, avoiding my gaze.
My chest pinches. For a tiny moment, she looks lost. Then she glances at me with a saucy smile and the Celia I know has returned.
I can’t stop myself. I lean forward and kiss her mouth. “Be right back, Mrs. Walker.”
I feel like a fucking king.
Chapter Six
Celia
Mrs. Walker.
The name bounces around inside my head like a ping pong ball. I did it. I said I do and became Eric’s wife. My skin tingles. My stomach flip-flops. I feel a little dizzy, so I grip the back of one of the outdoor dining chairs to keep my balance.
Everything happened so fast. In a matter of a couple of days, my life veered down a completely uncharted and unexpected course.
I always love
d Robert Frost’s Road Less Traveled but I don’t appear to be on a road at all. I’ve wandered off and into some thick jungle—one where I need a machete to make my way through. I guess I’ve always been good at cutting my own path.
But Hawkins Holdings will remain intact. Eric may be CEO, but as his wife, I will help to steer the company into the future without fear or worry that Daddy’s mistakes will destroy his legacy.
I take a deep breath.
I’m married. I stare down at the beautiful white gold ring inlaid all around with diamonds. Eric knows how to pick out jewelry. I shake my head, still in disbelief.
The man I’ve lusted after for years, the man who’s taunted me at every turn, is now my husband. Handsome, arrogant Eric Walker. Am I lucky or completely insane?
I feel his gaze on me. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I look up. He’s standing in the doorway, staring at me with his hands in his pockets. He’s removed his suit jacket. His white button-down pulls tight across his chest. He’s loosened his tie. A small smile curls his lips and his blue eyes swarm with heat.
My nerves hum with adrenaline.
This may be the handsomest I’ve ever seen him. And he’s mine. At least on paper. We haven’t talked about how this relationship will work. Will this be strictly a business venture with side benefits? Though we’re attracted to one another, we barely know each other. And yet, my body reacts to him like it has known him forever.
“I have something for you.” He prowls toward me.
My heart kicks. The way he looks at me sets me on fire, but his gaze smolders even more than usual. And I’m more than on fire. I’m a bomb waiting for the final seconds to tick off.
He pulls his hand from his pocket and opens his palm. A gorgeous princess-cut diamond ring lays in the center. It’s easily two karats, if not more.
