Not the Marrying Kind

by Nicola Marsh

  Rather than thriving under the attention, she saw him slip a finger between his tie and too-tight collar, glance at his watch three times, and cut short conversations with a brittle grin.

  But the real surprise occurred when he neared the bar. One of his underlings she’d met in passing was juggling a cell in one hand and an iPad in the other, appearing stressed and frenetic simultaneously. Beck stopped, relieved the guy of the iPad, and started typing while the guy straightened like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, talking into his cell while dictating something to Beck.

  Fascinated, Poppy watched Beck smile and nod at the guy as they worked together, completely at ease in a way he hadn’t been with the rest of the crowd of his contemporaries.

  And at that moment, she realized she’d misjudged him. He wasn’t like the rich jerks in her past. He valued hard work and commitment, and tolerated the rest of the trappings for appearance’s sake.

  All the fake schmoozing? Something he did for his business, not something he enjoyed. She already knew how far he’d go for his business—marrying her was proof enough—but seeing him treat his underling as an equal went a long way to making her appreciate him in a new light.

  She didn’t want him to unveil a softer side, would rather hate him for blackmailing her into this situation than like him. But what she’d just seen could have pushed her a little past the like stage—and that freaking terrified her more than all the Gila monsters in the desert.

  …

  The moment Beck caught sight of Poppy lounging in the sun, incredibly tempting in an emerald string bikini held together by willpower alone, he knew he shouldn’t have come.

  One problem.

  He couldn’t stay away. He’d tried—Lord, he’d tried. For four days straight. He’d buried himself in work, getting up at five, working out for an hour—it did little for the sexual frustration making him edgy and moody and downright dangerous to be around—then hitting his desk and working until midnight.

  It didn’t help.

  He’d gone over every document for his meeting with Stan on Friday ten times, ensuring his proposal was rock solid. Besides, he had a feeling this meeting was a formality. Stan already knew what Blackwood Enterprises was capable of. He just hadn’t trusted their reputation.

  Which now, thanks to the stunning woman lying in the sun like some ancient goddess, had solidified in the eyes of the old-school investor. It irked Beck, not being trusted, especially when he’d put in the hard work to make this company the best in the business. But he, more than anybody, knew people only saw what they wanted to see.

  Kids in high school hadn’t seen his eagerness to fit in or his propensity for figures. They’d seen a scruffy kid in hand-me-down clothes with second-hand textbooks who lived in a trailer, and they’d treated him accordingly. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was condescension, and it had driven him every day through high school and beyond.

  Sad thing was, those same people sucked up to him whenever he visited Pa. And he pitied them. He’d once thought he’d lord it over those who had made his life in Checkerville a misery, but a small part of him felt sorry for them.

  Their lives were reduced to a fishbowl where their kids continued the bullying cycle, while he’d moved so far beyond all that it wasn’t funny. The fact that Pa now lived in a ranch-style house he’d always dreamed of, with a garage full of vintage cars he loved, was vindication enough he’d done good.

  Poppy shifted in her sleep, half turning onto her side, effectively pushing her breasts together with one half spilling out of its cup. His groin tightened and he gritted his teeth against the urge to barge over there and ravish her on the spot.

  She looked delectable, a dorky white straw hat shading her face, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her lips parted as she breathed deeply. She’d acquired a deeper tan since being out here, glorious expanses of golden skin on display just begging to be touched…

  He couldn’t wait any longer.

  Skirting the pool, he strode toward her, certain his footsteps against the flagstones would wake her.

  It didn’t.

  Even with his shadow looming over her she didn’t stir, so he bent down and brushed a soft kiss against her lips.

  Her eyelids snapped open and before he could react, she’d leapt up and simultaneously shoved him.

  Beck teetered on the edge of the pool for a second, long enough to see the dawning horror spread across her face before he toppled backward. He fell in, submerged, grateful for solar heating. Not so grateful he was wearing an Armani suit and a Rolex.

  He surged toward the surface in time to see her hovering on the edge of the pool, concern twisting her mouth into a grimace.

  “Nice day for a swim.” He frowned.

  She winced. “Sorry, I thought you were some sicko sneaking into the backyard.”

  “That’s what the alarmed walls are for, if you turned them on.” As he tread water, a glimmer of an idea shimmering into his subconscious. A very naughty idea. “You were pretty out of it.”

  “Working hard.” She jerked a thumb at her laptop. “What are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t want my wife pining away for me.”

  “As if.” She towered over him, hands on hips, utterly delectable.

  “Go on, admit it.”

  “What?”

  “You missed me.”

  She blew him a raspberry in response. “Your ego’s as big as your fortune.”

  “I was hoping you’d say as big as something else.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. “You’ve got a filthy mind, too.”

  “It’s a guy thing.” He swam closer, her dainty ankle within tempting reach.

  Something in his expression must’ve alerted her to his nefarious intentions, because she edged back a little. “I’m putting the finishing touches on Lou’s party. Why don’t you dry off and we’ll catch up later?”

  “Why don’t we catch up now?”

  Before she could move, his hand snaked out, grabbed her ankle, and tugged. She shouted an obscenity—several in fact—as she toppled into the pool beside him. Her hat floated to the surface a second before she did, sputtering and coughing.

  “You play dirty.” She shoved him away as he reached for her, and he laughed.

  “You love it.”

  “Smug bastard,” she muttered, her glare softening when his hands spanned her waist and tugged her closer.

  “I love it when you call me names.” He claimed her mouth before she could respond, the latent heat between them igniting in a fiery instant. His hard-on twitched as she wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her in tantalizingly close contact.

  She kissed him like she’d missed him and the feeling was entirely mutual.

  Heading for the shallows, he waited until his feet found the bottom before backing her up against the side of the pool. They came up for air, gasping, her wide-eyed gaze mirroring his terror at how damned good they were together.

  “We should get you out of those wet clothes,” she said, her hands already pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

  “Later.” He released her long enough to unzip his pants and fish a soggy wallet out of his back pocket.

  “Lucky foil’s waterproof,” she said, her decadent smile making his fingers fumble. “Let me.”

  While he shrugged out of his sodden jacket, kicked off his shoes, and wriggled out of his pants, her fingers slid off the slippery foil several times before finally ripping. When she reached for him, he was ready to plunge into her, protection be damned. Yeah, he was that crazily out of control.

  He almost came when she touched the head of his penis and he couldn’t watch as she unrolled the condom along his shaft with deliberate slowness. The second she was done, he tugged off her bikini, hoisted her up and slid into her on a loud groan.

  She propped her arms behind her on the top step, opening herself to him beneath the scorching sun. Water droplets clung to her skin, and as he dr
ove into her repeatedly he watched them run in tempting rivulets between her bouncing breasts.

  He touched her clit, circling it with his thumb, varying the pressure until she fell apart on a yell, and he joined her a second later, shooting into her with a cataclysmic climax that blew his mind.

  It took at least ten seconds for rational thought to return, and when he summoned the energy to lift his head, her satisfied smirk made him incredibly glad he’d made this impromptu visit.

  “That was freaking unbelievable.” She reached up and touched the dip between his collarbone, trailing a fingertip downward. “Maybe next time you should stay away for two weeks?”

  …

  Mount Charleston was only thirty-five miles northwest of the Vegas Valley, but for Poppy, it might as well have been the moon.

  She was sure she was having an out-of-body experience as Beck steered the Maserati up the mountain. While he’d waxed lyrical about the Joshua trees at the lowest level, giving way to cedar and eventually the bristlecone pine in the alpine forest at the top, she’d been completely blissed out, her body still languid from their reunion.

  They’d done it three times yesterday morning, twice in the afternoon, and a record four last night. Was it legal to have so many orgasms in one day? Too bad if it was. Arrest her now.

  If Beck wasn’t so bent on showing her some of the local countryside he seemed to love so much, they could’ve been holed up in his house right now trying to top yesterday’s marathon effort. Then again, she’d spied the king-size picnic blanket in the trunk. All they needed was a secluded spot among all these trees…

  “You’re awfully quiet.” He shot her a quick glance as he pulled over and she stretched, enjoying the way his gaze zeroed in on her T-shirt stretching taut across her chest.

  “I was waiting for you to cough up that encyclopedia you must’ve swallowed. I couldn’t get a word in.”

  The Beck she’d first met a few weeks ago would’ve frowned. But the new, improved Beck, the one who seemed to have enjoyed yesterday as much as she had, shook his head with a tolerant grin. “It’s good for you to see there’s more to Vegas than bright lights and Elvis impersonators.”

  She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “I know there’s more.” Her fingers sneaked upward. “A lot more.”

  “You’re a maniac,” he said, clamping down on her hand before she hit the jackpot. “But we’re not going to make it out of the car if you keep doing that.”

  “Your point is?” She tried a fake pout for good measure.

  “Later.” He laughed and unsnapped their seat belts. “I want to show you something.”

  “Better be special.”

  She earned an amused glance as he vaulted out of the car and grabbed the picnic basket from the backseat. “Can you get the blanket?”

  “Sure thing, scout master.”

  He popped the trunk and she hoisted the heavy blanket onto her shoulder, not fathoming his furtive expression when she slammed the trunk shut.

  “It’s not far,” he said, heading off on a small trail that seemed to rise vertically, leaving her with a tempting view of his butt in faded denim.

  “Spoken like a true exercise junkie.” She trudged after him in the same way she’d attended every gym class at high school. Reluctantly.

  The incline rose rapidly for five minutes before flattening out, leaving them on a secluded plateau with views to die for: rolling hills dotted in greenery, sloping valleys, and a distant lake.

  “Wow.” She shook out the blanket and spread it, waiting for it to settle before plunking down in exhaustion. “You were right, it was worth it for the view alone.”

  He didn’t answer and when she glanced up, he was looking at her with the strangest expression—half-fear, half-awe.

  “If you’re thinking of proposing, too late,” she said, chuckling at her lame joke.

  He didn’t laugh.

  Dumping the picnic basket nearby, he knelt next to her and reached into his pocket. When he pulled out a small purple velvet box from one of Vegas’s premier jewelers, her heart backflipped.

  “I know you said you didn’t want an engagement ring to add to the phoniness, but I think you should have one.” He raised the lid and her mouth dropped open as sunlight reflected off the exquisite two-carat princess-cut diamond. “Not many women would have the guts to agree to my crazy scheme, let alone marry me, and you deserve this.”

  He slid it onto her ring finger where it nestled against the white gold band. “If you don’t want to call it an engagement ring, consider it a thank-you gift for being so damned amazing about this whole marriage thing.”

  She gawked at the stunning diamond, wanting to thank him, wanting to make light of their pretend marriage, but when she finally looked at him, the gratitude clogged in her throat.

  For in that moment, this marriage felt far from pretend and all too scarily real.

  Tenderness lurked in the shadows of his eyes as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckle above the ring. “You’re incredible. I just wanted you to know it.”

  Now was the time to make a joke about yesterday, and how this was the sex talking. But he couldn’t have organized this ring since yesterday, not when they’d been wrapped around each other twenty-four-seven, which meant he’d brought the ring with him.

  And it held far more value than she’d given him credit for.

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I love it.”

  “Good. Now let’s eat.” Suddenly brusque, he set out the picnic while she hugged her knees to her chest, unable to tear her gaze away from the ring.

  It shouldn’t mean so much. That little twist of metal and diamond adorning it signified he felt it, too. A tentative bond fast developing into something deeper—something that terrified her so much she’d rather take a flying leap off this mountainside than acknowledge it.

  “Dig in.”

  She made a grand show of selecting morsels of ricotta and leek tartlet, char-grilled calamari and salmon terrine, shoving them around her plate. But she could barely eat.

  He didn’t call her on it, considering his plate resembled hers after ten minutes.

  “Not hungry?” She pointed to his plate while placing hers on the ground.

  “Maybe I lost my appetite. You’ve worn me out.” His bashful grin made her heart twist with the same unusual sensation as when he’d slipped the ring on her finger.

  “In that case you better eat to keep up your strength.” She scuttled closer to him until their thighs touched. “You’ll need it for later.”

  She half expected him to kiss her, maybe strip her and use sex as a way to ease the awkwardness that had descended since he gave her the ring. Instead, he slid an arm around her waist and hugged her tight, leaving her no option but to snuggle.

  “I discovered this place my first six months in Vegas.” He wrapped his other arm around her when she rested her head on his shoulder. “The hacienda wasn’t built yet and I needed to escape the city on weekends, so I started exploring. Lake Mead, Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon, here… I scoured every inch.”

  “Closet greenie, huh?”

  “I like the open spaces. They soothe me.” He paused and she stayed silent, sensing he had more to say. “I lived in a trailer when I was a kid. Then my folks headed to Vegas for a while and we lived in this squalid single-room apartment downtown.”

  Beck inclined his head at the view stretching for miles in front of them. “When you live in confined quarters, open spaces become important.”

  His honesty made her eyes burn with the sting of unshed tears. She’d never expected him to open up emotionally and hot on the heels of the ring, it was almost too much. An intimacy she hadn’t expected, an intimacy she feared.

  “When they OD’d, Pa took me in and while we lived in a trailer, he understood the need for space. He took me hiking and we camped out in the desert, where I’d stare at the stars for hours.”

  Beck tipped his head back and gazed at the cano
py above, and she imagined a young boy doing whatever it took to survive, hanging onto the dreams of one day exploring the open spaces.

  “You must think I’m a sad case, using a fake marriage to get ahead in business, but I had a gutful of people looking down on me growing up, people judging me, forming wrong opinions.” He hugged her tighter, like a kid with a security blanket. “I won’t tolerate it now, which is why I need to make this deal happen using whatever means at my disposal.”

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed he’d refocused on what he did best: business. “It’s that important to you?”

  “I dragged you into this mess, didn’t I?” His bark of laughter was devoid of humor. “That’ll tell you how far I’d go.”

  “Hey, we all have our motivations for doing what we do.”

  “Your sister?” He eased off on the hug, sliding a hand up her back to stroke her hair.

  “Yeah, she’s a mess. Her husband”—Poppy made air quotes—“fell out of love, apparently, and walked out on her. She had no idea it was coming. The jerk bought a red sports car and cruises around Provost like he has a new lease on life, while Sara…”

  “What?”

  “She spiraled into a deep depression. Been on heavy meds, and she’s in a rehab clinic trying to recover. She’s improving, but the business is all she has left, and if anything happened to it—”

  “It’s why you started the divorce diva, isn’t it? Inject new life into her business?”

  “Yeah, but that’s the irony. Sara would have a fit if she knew I was doing it. She said as much when I went to tell her we were getting married. She despises the idea, probably because she’ll be going through it shortly, hence the anonymity.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” He kissed her on the top of her head and she sighed.

  “She practically raised me. My folks were too caught up in their careers and each other to care about us.”