by Teri Wilson
If the circumstances had been different, he would have said more. He would have told her he’d been an idiot all those years ago. He would have admitted that this charade they’d both been dreading had been the most fun he’d had in ages. He might even have told her exactly what he thought of her breathtaking body...in terms that would have made her blush ruby red.
But circumstances weren’t different. They’d been pretending for weeks. He’d just have to pretend the words weren’t floating around in his consciousness, looking for a way out.
There was one thing, however, he definitely needed to say. Now, because come morning it would be too late. “Diana, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She shook her head as her hands found him and guided him toward her entrance. “No more words. Please. Just this.”
Then he was pushing into her hot, heavenly center, and he couldn’t have uttered another word if he tried.
* * *
What am I doing?
Diana’s subconscious was screaming at her to stop. But for once in her life, she didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to worry about what would happen tomorrow. Her entire life had been nothing but planning, practice, preparation. Where had all of that caution gotten her?
Nothing had gone as planned.
She was supposed to be on her way to the Olympics. And here she was—in bed with Franco Andrade. Again. By her own choosing.
On some level, she’d known this was coming. She might have even known it the moment he’d first strolled into Drake Diamonds. She most definitely had known it when he’d kissed her at Harry Winston.
But the kiss had been her idea, too, hadn’t it?
Oh, no.
“Oh, yes,” she heard herself whisper as he slid inside her. “Yes, please.”
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex. Hate sex.
“Look at me, Wildfire. Let me see those beautiful eyes of yours.” Franco’s voice was tender. So tender that her heart felt like it was being ripped wide open.
She opened her eyes, and found him looking down at her with seriousness in his gaze. He kept watching her as he began to move, sliding in and out, and Diana had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out his name.
After months and months of working so hard to stay numb, to guard herself against feeling anything, she was suddenly overwhelmed with sensation. The feel of his body, warm and hard. The salty taste of his thumb in her mouth. The things he was saying—sweet things. Lovely things. Things she’d remember for a long, long time. Long after their fake relationship was over.
It was all too much. Much more than she could handle. The walls she’d been so busy constructing didn’t stand a chance when he was watching her like that. Studying her. Delighting in the pleasure he was giving her.
“That’s it, darling. Show me.” Franco smiled down at her. It was a wicked smile. A knowing one.
He didn’t just want her naked. He wanted her exposed in every way. She could see it in the dark intent in his gaze, could feel it with each deliberate stroke.
This didn’t feel like hate sex. Far from it. It felt like more. Much more.
It felt like everything.
It felt...real.
“Franco.” His name tasted sweet in her mouth. Like honey. But as it fell from her lips in a broken gasp, something inside her broke along with it.
She shook her head, fighting it. She couldn’t be falling for him. Not again.
It’s all pretend. Just make believe.
But there was nothing make believe about his lips on her breasts as he bowed his head to kiss them. Or the liquid heat flowing through her body, dragging her under.
She arched into him, desperate, needy. He gripped her hips, holding her still as he tormented her with his mouth and his cock, with the penetrating awareness of his gaze.
This was all her doing. He knew it, and so did she.
They hadn’t been destined to fall into bed together. Not then. Not now. She’d wanted him. For some nonsensical reason, she still did. Every time he touched her, every time he so much as glanced in her direction, she burned for him.
She’d made this happen. She’d seduced him. Not the other way around.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be quick. Simple. But every time her climax was in reach, he slowed his movements, deliberately drawing things out. Letting her fall.
And fall.
Until everything began to shimmer like diamond dust, and she could fall no farther.
She began to tremble as her hips rose to meet his, seeking release. Franco reached for her hands and pinned them over her head, their fingers entwined as he thrust into her. Hard. Relentless.
“My darling,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers.
I’m not yours.
She couldn’t make herself say it. Because if she did, it would feel more like a lie than any of the others she’d told in recent days. Whether she liked it or not, he held her heart in his hands. He always had, and he always would.
The realization slammed into her, and there was no use fighting it. Not now. Not when everything seemed so right. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt like herself again.
Because of him.
He paused and kissed her, letting her feel him pulse and throb deep inside. It was exquisite, enough to make her come undone.
“This is what you do to me, Diana.” His voice was strained, pierced with truth. She felt it like an arrow through the heart. “No one else. Only you.”
In the final, shimmering moment before she came apart, her gaze met his. And for the first time it didn’t feel as though she was looking at the past.
In the pleasured depths of his eyes, she could see a thousand tomorrows.
Chapter Thirteen
Diana woke to a familiar buzzing sound. She blinked, disoriented. Then she turned her head and saw Franco asleep beside her—naked—and everything that had transpired the night before came flooding back.
They’d had sex. Hot sex. Tender sex. Every sort of sex imaginable.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe it had all been a dream. A very realistic, very naughty dream.
The buzzing sound started again, and she sat up. Something glowed on the surface of her nightstand. Her cell phone. She squinted at it and saw Artem’s name illuminated on the tiny screen.
Why was Artem calling her at this hour?
She couldn’t answer the call. Obviously. But when she grabbed the phone to silence it, she saw that this was his third attempt to reach her.
Something was wrong.
“Hello?”
“Diana?” Artem’s CEO voice was in overdrive...at six in the morning. Wonderful. “Why are you whispering?”
“I’m not,” she whispered, letting her gaze travel the length of Franco’s exposed torso. God, he was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Had her tongue really explored all those tantalizing abdominal muscles? Had she licked her way down the dark line of hair that led to his manhood?
Oh, God, she had.
She yanked one of the sheets from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. She couldn’t be naked while she talked to her brother. Not while the face of Drake Diamonds was sexually sated and sleeping in her bed.
“Diana, what the hell is going on?” She couldn’t think of a time when she’d heard Artem so angry.
He’d found out.
Oh, no.
She slid out of bed, tiptoed out of the room and closed the door behind her. Her confusion multiplied at once when she saw heaps of feathers all over the living room. The air swirled with them, like she’d stepped straight from the bedroom into a snowfall.
A tiny black flash bounded out of one of the piles.
Lulu.
The puppy had disemboweled every pillow in sight while Diana had been in bed with Franco. Now her life was a literal mess as well as a metaphorical one. Perfect.
“Look, I can explain,” she said, scooping the naughty dog into her arms.
Could she explain? Could she really?
I know I told you there was nothing going on between Franco and me, but the truth is we’re sleeping together.
Slept together. Past tense. She’d simply had a bout of temporary insanity. It wouldn’t happen again, obviously. It couldn’t.
Hate sex. That’s all it was. She’d made that very clear, and she’d stick to that story until the day she died. Admitting otherwise would be a humiliation she just couldn’t bear.
“You can explain? Excellent. Because I’d really like to hear your reasoning.” Artem sighed.
This was weird. And overly intimate, even by the dysfunctional Drake family standards.
“Okay...well...” She swallowed. How was she supposed to talk about her weakness for Franco’s sexual charms to her brother? “This is a little awkward...”
Lulu burrowed into Diana’s chest and started snoring. Destroying Dalton’s apartment had clearly taken its toll.
“As awkward as reading about my sister’s engagement in the newspaper?” Artem let out a terse exhale. “I think not.”
Engagement?
Diana’s heartbeat skidded to a stop.
Engagement?
Lulu gave a start and blinked her wide, round eyes.
“W-w-what are you talking about?” Diana’s legs went wobbly. She tiptoed to the sofa and sank into its fluffy white cushions.
She hoped Franco was sleeping as soundly as he’d appeared. The last thing she needed was for him to walk in on this conversation.
“You and Franco are engaged to be married. It’s in every newspaper in the city. It’s also all over the television. Look, I know I gave you free reign as VP of public relations, but don’t you think this is going a bit far?”
“Yes. I agree, but...”
“But what? The least you could have done was tell me your plans. We just talked about your relationship with Franco yesterday morning, and you never said a word about getting engaged.” Artem sounded like he was on the verge of a heart attack.
Diana felt like she might be having one herself. “Calm down, Artem. It’s not real.”
“I know that. Obviously. But when are you going to clue everyone else in on that fact? While you’re walking down the aisle?”
A jackhammer was banging away in Diana’s head. She closed her eyes. Suddenly she saw herself drifting slowly down a path strewn with rose petals, wearing a white tulle gown and a sparkling diamond tiara in her hair.
What in the world?
She opened her eyes. “That’s not what I mean. The announcement itself isn’t real. There’s been a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.”
“Are you sure?” There wasn’t a trace of relief in Artem’s voice. “Because the article in the Times includes a joint statement from you and Franco.”
“I’m positive. A statement? That’s not possible. They made it up. You know how the media can be.” But he’d said the Times, not Page Six or the Daily News.
The New York Times had fact checkers. It was a respectable institution that had won over a hundred Pulitzer Prizes. A paper like that didn’t fabricate engagement announcements.
Now that she thought about it, the weddings section of the Times was famous in its own right. Society couples went to all sorts of crazy lengths to get their engagement announced on those legendary pages.
Her gaze drifted to the closed bedroom door. Ice trickled up her spine.
He wouldn’t.
Would he?
No way. Franco would be just as horrified at this turn of events as she was. He wouldn’t want the greater population of New York thinking he was off the market.
You and I are monogamous.
She’d actually laughed when he’d said those words less than two weeks ago. But she’d never pressed for an explanation.
This can’t be happening. I can’t be engaged to Franco Andrade.
Sleeping with him was one thing. Letting him slip a ring on her finger was another thing entirely.
Forget Franco. Forget Artem. Forget Drake Diamonds. This was her life, and she shouldn’t be reading about it in the newspapers.
She took a calming breath and told herself there was nothing to worry about. There had to be a reasonable explanation. She didn’t have a clue what that might be, but there had to be one.
But then she remembered something Franco had said the night before. Right before he’d entered her. She remembered the rare sincerity in his gaze, the gravity of his tone.
I need to tell you something.
The engagement was real, wasn’t it? The statement in the Times had come from Franco himself. He’d even tried to warn her, and she’d refused to listen.
She hadn’t wanted words. She’d wanted to feel him inside her so badly that nothing else mattered.
And now she was going to kill him.
“Artem, I have to go. I’ll call you back.”
She pressed End and threw her phone across the room. She glared at the closed bedroom door.
Had Franco lost his mind? They could not be engaged. They just couldn’t. Even a fake engagement was out of the question.
Of course it’s fake. He doesn’t want to marry you any more than you want to marry him.
That was a good thing. A very good thing.
She wasn’t sure why she had to keep reminding herself how good it was over and over and over again.
The tightness in Diana’s chest intensified. She pressed the heel of her palm against her breastbone, closed her eyes and focused on her breath. She was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack. All over an engagement that wasn’t even real. If that didn’t speak volumes about her attitude toward marriage, nothing would.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Maybe she was losing it over nothing. Maybe whatever Franco had wanted to tell her had nothing at all to do with the press. Maybe the Times wedding page had, indeed, made an unprecedented error.
She looked at the dog, because that’s how low she’d sunk. She was seeking validation from a puppy. “Everyone makes mistakes. It could happen, right?”
Lulu stretched her mouth into a wide, squeaky yawn.
“You’re no help at all,” Diana muttered, focusing once again on the closed bedroom door.
There was only one person who could help her get to the bottom of this latest disaster, and that person didn’t have four legs and a curlicue tail.
* * *
Franco slept like the dead.
He opened his eyes, then let them drift shut again. He hadn’t had such a peaceful night’s rest in months. He forgot all about the Kingsmen, Luc’s ultimatum and the overall mess his personal life had become. It was remarkable what great sex could do for a man’s state of mind. Not just great sex. Phenomenal sex. The best sex of his life.
Sex with Diana Drake.
“Franco!”
He squinted, fighting the morning light drifting through the floor to ceiling windows of Diana’s bedroom.
Someone was yelling his name.
“Franco, wake up. Now.” A pillow smacked his face.
He opened his eyes. “It’s a little early in the morning for a pillow fight, Wildfire. But I’m game if you are.”
“Of course you think that’s what this is. For your information, it’s not.” She stood near the foot of the bed, staring daggers at him. For some ridiculous reason, she’d yanked one of the sheets off the bed and wrapped it around herself. As if Franco hadn’t seen every inch of that gorgeous body. Kissed
it. Worshipped it. “And I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that.”
“Not last night,” he said, lifting a brow and staring right back at her.
What had he missed? Because this wasn’t the same Diana he’d taken to bed the night before, the same Diana who’d cried his name as he thrust inside her. It sure as hell wasn’t the same Diana who’d told him how much she’d needed him as she unzipped his fly.
“I’m being serious.” She tugged the bedsheet tighter around her breasts.
Franco pushed himself up to a sitting position, rested his back against the headboard and yawned. When his eyes opened, he caught Diana staring openly at his erect cock. That’s right, darling. Look your fill. “See something you like?”
Her gaze flew upward to meet his. Franco was struck once again by just how beautiful she was, even flustered and disheveled from a night of lovemaking. He preferred her like this, actually. Fiery and flushed. He just wished she’d drop the damned sheet and climb back in bed.
“Cover yourself, please,” she said primly.
“Sure. So long as I can borrow your tent.” He stared pointedly at her bedsheet-turned-ballgown.
“Nice try.” She let out a laugh. Laughter had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “But I’ll keep it, thank you very much.”
Franco shrugged. “Fine. I’ll stay like this, then.”
Her gaze flitted once again to his arousal. If she kept looking at him like that, he might just come without even touching her. “Suit yourself. Naked or not, you have some explaining to do.”
“What have I done this time?”
“I think you know.” She titled her head and flashed him a rather deadly-looking smile. “My dear, darling fiancé.”
Fiancé.
Shit.
The engagement announcement. He’d meant to tell her about it before it hit the papers. He’d even tried to bring it up the night before, hadn’t he? “So you’ve seen the Times, I presume?”
“Not yet. But Artem has. He’s also seen the Observer, Page Six and the Daily News. It’s probably the cover story on USA TODAY.” She threw her hands up, and the sheet fell to the floor. But she’d worked herself into such a fury, she didn’t even notice. “Explain yourself, Franco.”
