He used that exact word. Riffraff.
For fifteen minutes, as they ate their cake, Savannah listened to Lance’s father and sister treat him like an ignorant child who’d made too many stupid decisions in the past to be trusted with handling his own business and his own life. Soon she was having to twist her hands in her lap and bite her bottom lip to keep from snapping at them, telling them to shut the fuck up, or reaching over to give them the smacks they deserved.
Lance had told her on the way over that he didn’t want arguments or direct conflict tonight. It would upset his mother, and he didn’t want to risk that on her birthday. So Savannah kept her mouth shut. But it was hard.
Really hard.
Mrs. Carlyle was obviously worried, even occasionally beginning a pleading “Now let’s not...” But her murmurs always trailed off. She wasn’t going to stand up to her husband or daughter even though she obviously didn’t like them treating Lance this way.
Lance just sat there and took it. He wasn’t a particularly reserved man, so Savannah had never seen him so contained before. So utterly closed down. He would answer direct questions with brief replies, but he didn’t counter any of the criticism.
He just wanted to get through the dinner without a blowup. Savannah sat rigidly beside him and prayed the ordeal would be over soon.
Then Mr. Carlyle said in an offhand, rumbling voice, “Nothing to do about it now, but it would have helped if you’d married someone with connections.”
Lance’s body stiffened visibly.
“Nothing personal, of course,” Mr. Carlyle went on, turning to look at Savannah. “I’m sure you’re doing your best. But connections are important, and Lance doesn’t always remember that. How are your parents doing? Your father used to clean our pool, didn’t he?” There was a slight sneer behind the polite facade.
Savannah was frozen. It had been several years since anyone had treated her openly like trash the way this horrible man just had.
And he was Lance’s father.
“Stop it,” Lance gritted out, sounding angry for the first time.
Worried about Lance losing control, Savannah put a gentle hand on his sleeve. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“It isn’t fine.” He’d turned toward her, his jaw so tight she could see the muscles rippling. “He doesn’t get to talk to you that way.”
“Oh please, little brother.” Penelope’s tone was that same obnoxious saccharine. “Don’t get all defensive. We know you only married her to spite us. And to get grandma’s money.”
“Stop it!” Lance’s voice still wasn’t loud, but it snapped like a whip. He stood abruptly, causing his chair to wobble. Glancing down at Savannah, he murmured thickly, “Let’s go.”
She got up immediately, shaking from nerves. She normally wasn’t afraid of direct conflict, but this was different.
It wasn’t her getting hurt here.
“Now come on, don’t be that way. There’s no reason to go off in a pout just because—”
Lance didn’t even glance over at his sister. He walked around the table and leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mom. Happy birthday.”
He didn’t even look at the others.
Savannah wasn’t sure if she should say anything, so she murmured a happy birthday to his mother and then took Lance’s arm as they left the table and walked through the restaurant to the exit.
She was still shaking, but she was relieved to get away from them.
Maybe she’d made a mistake in volunteering to come to this dinner. She was afraid she’d just made it worse.
LANCE WAS SILENT ON the drive home.
She tried a couple of times to make conversation, but he obviously wasn’t up to it, so she sat without talking, searching her mind for something—anything—she could do to make him feel better.
His face was calm. Unreadable. But he still felt like the walking wounded to her, and she wished she were better at taking care of people.
She’d never been any good at it, but she wanted to take care of him right now.
When they got back to the condo, she went right to her room to take off her expensive clothes and makeup. They felt contaminated by the dinner they’d just had. Once she was in a soft pajama set, she went to find Lance to make sure he was okay.
He wasn’t in the bedroom, and he wasn’t in the kitchen. She found him on the leather sofa in the living area. He was still wearing his suit, and he was holding a bottle of Perrier that he hadn’t even opened. The television wasn’t on, and his phone was sitting neglected on the coffee table. He was just sitting stiffly.
Her heart twisted as she looked at him.
“Lance,” she said, coming over to sit beside him. She put a hand on his thigh. “Why don’t you just go to bed? It won’t feel so terrible in the morning.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, his blank gaze moving to her face.
She wasn’t sure if he even saw her. She made a helpless whimper in her throat. What the hell was she supposed to do with him? It felt like he was breaking right in front of her eyes. “Well, at least get more comfortable. You don’t need to still be wearing that suit.”
He didn’t respond, so she reached over to loosen his tie. “Come on now.” She was very close to him, and her voice came out soft and hoarse. “You’re going to have to help me get it off or I’ll strangle you again.”
She expected him to at least twitch his mouth at the reference to the first time they had sex. He didn’t. He obediently raised a hand and pulled his tie loose.
She dropped it on the coffee table and reached for the lapels of his jacket. “Now this.”
With a compliance that wasn’t at all like him, he straightened up and helped her take his jacket off.
His pale blue dress shirt was just slightly wrinkled. He hadn’t relaxed at all. She was chilled and breathless as she unhooked the buckle of his belt.
He blinked at her, looking almost dazed. “Did you want to have sex?”
“No! Of course not. I’m just trying to get some of your clothes off so you’ll be more comfortable. I want to help, but I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’m fine.” He covered his eyes briefly with one hand before he lowered it.
“No, you’re not fine.” She pulled off his belt and then undid a couple of buttons on his shirt. “Are you sure you don’t want to just go to bed?”
“I’m fine.”
She let out a raspy exhale and took the sparkling water out of his loose grip. “Did you want some of this?” She unscrewed the top for him and handed it back.
He gulped down a couple of swallows.
She set the bottle on the side table. At her wit’s end, she reached over to rub the back of his neck. His hair tickled her skin. “Lance, please try to let go a little. You can talk to me, you know.”
“I’m...”
Fine.
That was what he would have said had he finished, and it was nothing but a lie.
She had no idea what it felt like to have a family who made it clear they didn’t love you, didn’t value you, didn’t care about your well-being.
Evidently it felt like this.
She kept rubbing his neck until he let out a slow, thick sigh. She glanced down and saw he’d closed his eyes.
She adjusted her position, folding her legs up on the couch so she could get better access to his neck. She continued the massage with a little more force.
He sighed again.
At the sound of his responses, something started tightening in her belly. It wasn’t arousal, but it was similar. Like some kind of emotion had coiled down inside her and was growing every second until it might simply consume her.
After a minute, something happened to Lance’s body. It buckled strangely, and he kind of fell in her direction.
The sudden collapse scared her. She drew him toward her shoulder instinctively, changing the neck massage to a back rub since most of his back was su
ddenly exposed to her. But she felt awkward, uncomfortable, like she was underwater. Having to do something she was completely unprepared for and would never be good at.
They held the position for a minute, his head leaning against her shoulder. But his body was bent awkwardly, and she was sure he wasn’t comfortable. So she finally tried to adjust their positions.
He was too big for her to move.
“Carlyle.” She gave him a little push so she’d have the freedom to move. “Hold on a minute. Just let me—”
“I’m sorry.” He was straightening up, blinking like he was waking himself up. “I didn’t mean to lie on—”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I just think we’ll be more comfortable if we lie down on the couch. Can we try that?”
It took some bumbling around, but they finally managed to both stretch out on the large couch. She was on her side, trapped between his body and the back cushions, and he was facing her. Her arms were around him tightly, and she wrapped one leg around him too.
This was better. More comfortable. And closer. She felt like she was holding him together.
He hugged her back, tucking his face in the crook of her neck. She rubbed his back with one hand and held on to him with the other.
When she pressed even closer to him, he mumbled, “We can have sex if you want.”
“I don’t want to have sex, Lance.” She moved a hand to rub his scalp through his thick hair. “I just want to do this.”
His body grew still for just a moment. “What did you say?”
She frowned in confusion. Was he really that far out of it? “I said I don’t want to have sex. I just want to do this.”
“Okay.” His body slowly started to relax, which meant she could finally start to relax too.
She held him, caressed him, for a long time. She had no idea how long it was. Although her nerves eventually settled, that clench in her gut never did.
It was strong. Coiled tight. Emotional.
And completely focused on Lance.
SHE EVENTUALLY FELL asleep, although she wasn’t aware of doing so. But it was quite a while later when she vaguely became conscious of Lance moving. Pulling away from her.
She didn’t want him to leave her, so she reached out for him instinctively, grumbling wordlessly at the loss of his big, hot body.
“Hold on,” he said softly. Even in her half-sleeping state, she was aware he sounded far more like himself than he had earlier in the evening. “I’m just trying to get you to bed.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s after two. And you’re really going to regret it if you sleep on this couch all night. Come on, baby. Let me get you to bed.”
It felt like she was hearing the words through a cloud, so she had no idea what was happening. But somehow she was being lifted up. Cradled in strong arms.
She clung to him automatically and buried her face in his shirt. He smelled like effort and the faint remnants of aftershave. Like Lance. “You’re carrying me?”
“Yes. I’m carrying you.” He hefted her slightly in his arms, giving her a little bounce before he started to walk.
“No one carries me.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s likely to be a common occurrence. If you were all the way awake, you probably wouldn’t let me.”
She didn’t know what to make of that and was too sleepy to figure it out. It felt like she was drugged. Like she could barely get her eyes open.
The walk to her bedroom seemed to take forever, and the next thing she knew, Lance was lowering her carefully onto her bed. She pushed the covers farther out of the way so she could lie on the sheet. The bed was nice and cool, and she stretched her cramped arms and legs.
Lance leaned over and pulled the covers up over her. She could smell his closeness, so she reached out for him.
Then he was there. His face right against her. He pressed a kiss on one of her cheeks. “Thank you for tonight, baby. Get some sleep.”
She liked his hoarse murmur. She liked the smell and feel of him. When she felt him withdrawing, she grabbed for him with a whimper of objection.
“I’m going to bed too,” he said, moving one of her hands from his shoulder.
She felt almost frantic at the idea of losing him, and she had no idea why. “No, no, no. Don’t go. Sleep here with me.”
His body grew briefly still.
“Stay with me,” she added, still trying to get her eyes open all the way.
He let out a long exhale as if he’d let go of his resistance. “Okay. Okay, I will.”
There was some rustling beside the bed, and she peered at him through her eyelashes until she figured out he was taking off his shirt and trousers. He got under the covers beside her, still in his boxer briefs and undershirt, and she immediately cuddled up beside him.
He held her against his side with one arm.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked, her voice muffled by the fabric of his undershirt.
“Yes. I’m comfortable. Now go back to sleep.”
It felt like he’d pressed a kiss into her hair, but she wasn’t in a fit state to figure out such things at the moment.
She closed her eyes, relaxed, and went to sleep.
Seven
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Savannah woke up knowing it was a Saturday. For a minute she enjoyed that leisurely freedom of sleeping in without the pressure of getting up for work.
Slowly the previous night started coming back to her until she remembered Lance carrying her to bed.
Her eyes popped open at the flood of warm feeling evoked by the recollection.
Had it even been real?
She turned her head and saw Lance lying in bed beside her. Yep, real. He was awake, propped up on a couple of pillows and resting his eyes on her.
“Mornin’,” she mumbled with a slightly sheepish smile.
His face softened. “Good morning.”
“Y’okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” When she searched his face for any sign of the angst he’d been dealing with last night, he added, “I’m better. Thank you.”
She rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers up over the skin bared by her tank top. “Good. I was worried.”
“I know you were. I’m sorry about that. But I’m better now.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. It was terrible. I mean, I knew it’s always been hard with your folks, but I didn’t expect...” She swallowed hard and tried again. “I didn’t know it would be so painful. I didn’t realize. I don’t know how you do it.”
“That’s why I try to avoid them as much as possible. Even my mom can’t do much without getting on my dad’s bad side.”
She couldn’t resist the impulse to reach over and smooth down his riotous curls. When the gesture moved her in arm’s reach, he eased her closer so she was tucked in the crook of his arm.
She had no objections to the position. Settling at his side, she moved her hand from his hair to his chest, playing absently with his nipples and chest hair. She vaguely recalled him getting in bed in his undershirt, so he must have gotten hot and taken it off sometime during the night. “Well, you did good. With them, I mean. I don’t know how you held out as long as you did before you gave up.”
“Thank you for going to dinner with me.” His tone was so unlike him that she looked up. His eyes were serious, slightly heavy. “And for afterward. It... it really meant a lot to me. The way you helped me.”
She gulped and glanced down. She wasn’t used to Lance being so earnest, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
An earnest Lance Carlyle might have been the most terrifying thing she’d ever faced.
“You’re welcome,” she mumbled. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was a big deal to me.”
She wrapped one arm around him in a brief squeeze and hoped it would convey her understanding and appreciation without using words she didn’t have it in her to say.
Evidently Lance interpreted both the
gesture and her emotional discomfort accurately. He chuckled softly, brushed a kiss into her hair, and changed the subject. “Do you have any jobs today?”
She only rarely made studio appointments on weekends, but she often had other jobs—parties or weddings to film. “Nope. Not today. I have two whole days off, if you can believe it.”
“That’s good. So what are you going to do with all that free time? Have some fun, I hope.”
“Definitely. I’m planning to find a show on Netflix that I can binge.”
Lance huffed. “Surely you can do better than that for fun on a Saturday. The weather is supposed to be great today.”
“Binge-watching sounds like plenty of fun to me. Let me guess, your plan for the day is to hang out on one of your boats and drink beer.”
“Exactly. I’m planning to take the catamaran out—the weather looks good for it. But it’s a lot more than drinking beer, which you’d know if you ever did it.”
She frowned up at him, more out of habit than out of any real annoyance. “Some of us don’t own two dozen boats, you know.”
“I only own two.” There was a warm smile in his eyes that threatened to go to her head. “Although your point is well taken. But there’s no reason for you not to try it now since my boats are at your disposal.”
He was serious. His tone was light, but she could see he was genuinely asking. So her tone was gentler than normal as she replied, “I do appreciate the offer. And I’m not entirely opposed to it. But I don’t find the idea of drinking beer with your buddies all that relaxing.”
“Ah. I see the confusion. There wouldn’t be any buddies there today. Just me.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And hopefully you.”
Her heart burst into ridiculous flutters. She kept her eyelids down as she said, “Oh. Okay.”
“Okay you’ll do it? We could go out on the lake this morning, and we’d still have all afternoon to binge on Netflix.”
She shot him a quick look. Did he really want to watch Netflix with her after spending all morning on the boat together?
At her hesitation, he added in a familiar dry tone, “Unless you’re afraid you’re going to get seasick and embarrass yourself.”
A Wedded Arrangement (Convenient Marriages, #3) Page 12
