by Sierra Rose
“I’ll tell you what...” As he spoke, he picked me up and carried me over to the windowsill and set me down on the high ledge. “Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the view. Keep an eye out for renegade golf carts. Meanwhile, I’ll just busy myself down here.”
Before I could stop him, he sank to his knees and began running his fingers all the way up my thighs as his head disappeared beneath my dress.
“Nick!” I whispered, pressing my shoulder blades against the cool pane of glass. “What the hell are you doing?! We have to leave in, like, two minutes.”
“I only need one,” he mumbled, and while I couldn’t see his face, I could practically hear the smirk.
In the next second, my underwear was gone. A second later, a rush of warmth blossomed through me as his tongue snaked between my thighs.
If I was going to make a confession, I would have had to say I knew we should stop. Logistically, it was a terrible idea, but with Nick Hunter’s head between my legs, logistics had no place. It was truly impossible to stop him.
A breathless gasp ripped through me, and the next thing I knew, I was reaching for the top of his head, pressing him tighter against me through the fabric of my dress. He responded instantly, picking up speed as his tongue whirled faster and faster, just biting, sucking, kissing, and licking to his heart’s content. My head fell back against the cold window, and it wasn’t long before every logistical thought sailed right out the window.
I didn’t care about being late to dinner, if we even went at all. All I cared about was the dinner he was making out of me. I wanted him to stay on his knees forever, to just keep doing exactly what he was doing, panting and caressing me until I fell to pieces in his hands and lips.
There was a knock on the door, but I ignored it, and so did Nick. Only when another, more urgent knock came did I force in enough air to let myself speak.
“Just...just a minute!”
“Abigail?”
“Shit! Harold!” I whispered.
“Abigail, are you and Nick almost ready? I do hope so.” He paused for a second, and I imagined him pressing his ear against the door. “If you like, I can walk you both down.”
A deep chuckle came from somewhere beneath my dress.
I gasped again as the warmth of his laughing breath grazed my most tender parts. It was a struggle to steady my voice when I called back, “Yeah, we’re uh... We’re almost ready.” A stinging bite brought tears to my eyes. “And no, Harold, we don’t need an escort. Thanks though.”
He muttered something inaudible and stomped away.
Nick finally released my thighs and slowly ambled to his feet. His handsome face was flushed almost as much as mine, and an arrogant sort of pride animated all his features.
I looked at him for a moment, and he looked back at me. Then, maintaining direct eye contact the whole time, he slowly unzipped his pants.
At first, I didn’t know what he wanted me to do. I watched with wide eyes as he slid his pants down past his hips, then all the way to his ankles. My breath caught in my throat at the sheer size of what was in front of me, and in an instant, I scooted off the windowsill and sank to my knees.
Nick caught me before I hit the floor and pulled me gently back up to my feet. “What are you doing?” he asked softly. “Don’t wrinkle your dress.”
I blushed to the roots of my hair, staring hesitantly at his face before dropping my eyes hastily to the carpet. “I thought... Don’t you want me to, uh...return the favor?”
He laughed quietly, tilting my chin up so he could look me in the eyes. “Abby, I’ll never expect that, at least not this way, with some kind of formal invitation. It’s not my style to take off my pants and just stand there waiting.” He laughed again, shaking his head at the absurdity of it, but then his face abruptly took on a serious expression. “But I do want to fuck you...hard.”
What!? How the hell can he just say those kinds of things? Who the hell talks like that?
His eyes twinkled at the look of astonishment that floated across my face. “With your permission, of course, Mrs. Hunter,” he teased.
It was the playful little afterthought that broke me out of my trance. My face melted into a huge smile before I cocked my hips and tilted my head coyly to the side. “And how would you like me?”
“Trick question,” he murmured as he spun me gently around. “I am not sure what you want to hear. I suppose you need to be in the precise position that will not allow for the knocking loose of one precious bobby pin.”
It was suddenly quite obvious that he was far better at the games than I was. The second he turned me around, pressing me up against the glass, I forgot we were even playing, so I answered with complete honesty, “I want you to fuck me...hard.”
Nick Hunter was never one to be told twice.
He was inside me the next moment, clamping a hand over my mouth as my lips fell open while I let out a low-pitched moan to welcome him. I really didn’t think my body could withstand it, didn’t think I could survive both the pleasure and pain of such an assault. When Nick spread my legs wider, kicking apart my ankles for a deeper angle.
Fuck!
It felt so damn good.
“Hey,” he whispered in my ear, timing his words perfectly to accommodate every exquisite thrust, “I love you. I love you so damn much, Abby Wilder.”
“I love you, too.”
I came almost at once. Whether it was a result of his savage rhythm, his tender words, or his delightfully devilish tongue, I would never know. As my body tightened around him, he came as well, burying his face in the back of my hair with a quiet moan.
We stood there for a moment in absolute silence, both desperately trying to catch our breath, staring with various degrees of amusement at the handprints on the fogged-up glass.
Then, as if nothing remotely out of the ordinary had happened, Nick reached down and pulled up his pants. We both cleaned up and made ourselves presentable.
Nick offered me his arm and a casual smile. “Shall we?”
Yeah, that settles it. When it comes to games, he wins.
Chapter 12
The family dinner was not really that, but it came as no surprise, since we were not really family in the truest sense of the word. At that point, though, Mitchell didn’t even try.
The awkward lunch and introduction session had spooked him, and he was worried about Nick’s reaction. He didn’t know how much more emotional whiplash his son could possibly take, how many more underhanded slights he could possibly endure, and how much more liquor he could possibly consume before Harold had to fire up the helicopter and jet him off to the hospital to get his stomach pumped.
While most people would have handled the situation on a personal level by talking to the fiancée and the son, the Hunter family had always been a little more extravagant than that. Instead of basic problem-solving, Mitchell called up half the U.S. Senate.
When Nick and I were told that dinner was being moved from the smaller dining room to the banquet hall, we should have known something was up. When a butler stepped forward to announce our names, we should have run for cover. Unfortunately, when the door pushed open and we found ourselves face to face with the majority of the United States government, we could only freeze in the heat of their stares.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Hunter!” the butler screamed it at the top of his lungs, then rang what looked like a miniature gong.
My teeth chattered with the vibrations, but before I could even process what was happening, Nick and I were swept away on a conversational tide, passed from person to person as everyone in the room clambered closer to get their fill.
People whose faces I had only seen on TV swept past me, smiling as widely as possible before we were grabbed by unknown forces and shoved toward the next. It was like standing on a spinning sidewalk as a parade of magazine covers danced around us, each more animated than the next.
It wasn’t until we got to a stern-looking man with darker hair that we were finally a
ble to stop long enough to catch our breath. He turned around just as I was unceremoniously shoved toward him, and while he had a hard time tearing his eyes off me, it was obvious that he couldn’t have been more delighted to see Nick. “Nick, my boy!” he boomed. “How the hell are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer and simply clapped Nick on the shoulder before lifting my hand for a leisurely kiss. “So it’s true? You got married then?”
It was fortunate that Nick needed only a moment to find his equilibrium; I, on the other hand, wasn’t used to any of the fanfare, so it took me much longer to adapt. The second the man roped us into his little corner, he was back on his game, flashing a tight smile and almost wary in its precision. “Senator Lennox.” He nodded his head politely before drawing back with an inquisitive gaze. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were still in Stockholm, meeting with Prime Minister Löfven about those steel refineries.”
I followed his gaze with polite curiosity, only to find that Lennox was the one who looked surprised. His eyebrows shot into his hair while he discreetly scanned Nick up and down, as if he had brought a cheat sheet or scribbled talking points on his hands.
In the end, Lennox merely threw back his head and commenced with a loud, long laugh that caused several people around us to smile. When he finally stopped his obnoxious chuckling, he took Nick again by the arm. “Don’t you worry about that, young man,” he replied indulgently, as if billionaire playboys couldn’t possibly be expected to understand such things. “I’d much rather hear about your trip to St. Lucia. I saw the photographs in the paper.”
My face clouded with a small frown as Nick stiffened imperceptibly under his hand. In my two years of working with him, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen such a patronizing dismissal, and, truth be told, I doubted it would be the last.
There were stereotypes at play, cruel ones that Nick had to battle every day of his life, simply because of who his father was. I was sure it was quite frustrating for him most of the time. He walked into those fancy rooms knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was brilliant, the smartest person there, only to be condescended and talked down to by everyone else, simply because they assumed he was what the tabloids made him out to be. Yes, he was beautiful, an attractive adventurer, but they also believed him to be mindless and careless, with a vocabulary just broad enough to lure silly women and gold-diggers into bed.
When I tuned back in, Nick was nodding silently as the senator gleefully expounded upon his latest expedition to British Columbia. My eyes glazed over instantly, and I wished I was allowed to drink.
Suddenly, I heard the quiet sound of someone’s throat clearing just over my shoulder.
I glanced around and found myself face to face with the one person I certainly did not want to see. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked me up and down before her face widened into a charming smile, one she flashed to both Nick and the senator before taking me by the arm.
“Nick, do you mind if I steal your beautiful wife for a moment?” Claudia asked, stretching her smile wider still, revealing every one of her perfect, porcelain smile that probably cost some unlucky idiot a fortune. “I promise to return her in one piece.”
No! Say no! Don’t leave me with this woman!
Nick, still held hostage by Lennox’s dull lecture, knew his hands were tied. All he could do was flash me a helpless smile and an unspoken apology before I was led away from the rest of the party, choking all the while on a suffocating cloud of perfume.
When Claudia opened a glass door that led out to a balcony, I followed with relief. I sucked in silent gulps of air as she gazed over the grounds. I thought it was odd that she wasn’t saying anything, since she was the one who’d kidnapped me, but I was certain the solace of silence was not something she would afford me for very long.
“So... Mitch finally told me the truth,” she said, disturbing the peace. “I know you and Nick aren’t really married.”
My stomach dropped into my shoes as my mouth simultaneously ran dry. I certainly didn’t expect her to say that, and I was sure Mitchell would never tell her. Then again, why does she even care? After all, it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that her marriage into the Hunter family was nothing but a complete and utter sham, so it made no sense that she would have anything to say about mine being a similar fabrication.
“Oh...” I bowed my head to my chest and stared at the ground, searching for some sort of viable response. “Yeah, I suppose we should have told you ourselves at lunch. It’s kind of complicated, so—”
“No, I think it’s good,” she interrupted suddenly, nodding to herself and staring at something just over my shoulder, as if she either couldn’t or wouldn’t force herself to meet my gaze. Her voice was no less commanding when she spoke again. “Yes, it’s good. It’ll be good for him.”
Wait. Good for him? Gosh, she’s really taking this whole stepmother thing pretty damn seriously.
“You calm him,” she said quietly. “You make him...gentler, turn him into a better person. He needs to learn those skills before he takes control of the company, and he certainly needs to master them before he finds a real wife.”
Yeah, he needs to... Wait. What!?
My face paled, and my mouth fell open in shock. I was sure I couldn’t have heard her right, sure there had to be some other explanation. I searched her eyes frantically for any sort of wiggle room, any other interpretation, but in the end, I came up blank.
In an instant, her plastic smile faded, and the breathy, girlish quality of her voice sharpened into something lower, something hard and almost sinister. “Don’t look so surprised, Abby. Did you think you are the only one playing the game?”
“I’m sorry?” I shook my head slowly, legitimately trying to keep up. “What are you—”
“In a way, you should actually be thankful to me,” she continued, speaking plainly for the very first time.
“Thanking you? For what?” I demanded.
“Who do you think is responsible for you guys getting together? Who do you think hired that photographer in the first place?”
My eyes widened even more, but this time, I was temporarily speechless. When I found my voice again, I could only speak one word: “You?”
For an answer, she just grinned at me and nodded.
“You hired the photographer?” I said, my voice trembling more with every syllable.
When she said nothing to deny it, my head jerked sharply to the side.
“No! That’s impossible. I mean, how would you even—”
“Oh, come on,” she snapped sharply. “You were a publicist, Abby. Did you really think a lone cameraman could have sneaked through all the security Nick hired for the event? You know better than that. It never would have happened without help, not a chance in hell.” Before I could say anything more, her eyes softened suddenly as she considered her own words. “On that note, I have to hand it to him. The guy is much more careful now that you’re in the game, even protective. I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Who the fuck is this woman? I wondered, completely lost in her little world. Is it possible that she, not Mitchell, has been causing all this heartache, all this pain?
“But why?” I shook my head desperately, considering calling for help, screaming out for Nick to rescue me. “Why would you do that? Who are you?”
Again, she refused to answer. Instead, she looked me up and down, her sharp eyes taking in every detail before narrowing with dislike. “I surely didn’t expect Nick to enjoy himself. I assumed he might feel...trapped, in time, but I should have known he would fall for you,” she muttered, almost to herself. “You happen to be exactly his type.”
“Nick doesn’t have a type,” I answered in a whisper, inching my way back to the door. I had no idea why the psychopath felt the need to unleash her confession on me, but I wasn’t a priest, and I had no obligation to stick around there long enough to find out.
She threw back her head and led out a cold
laugh that was the stuff of every nightmarish evil stepmother in every child’s fairytale. Casually, she stepped into my path and argued, “Of course he has a type, dear, and a very specific one at that. Nick likes beautiful women—not just sexy and hot but beautiful, delicate, a woman he can hold on to, charm, and protect.”
“But I—”
She spoke in a soft monotone, sounding oddly practiced, as if she’d thought about it many times before, even though they supposedly just met. “Yes, he likes girls like that,” she continued, still looking me up and down, “but he can only love a girl he considers his equal, and since he’s never stayed with anyone else, he obviously feels that equal is...you.”
I took another step back, desperate to create a little distance. The soles of my bedazzled flats pressed against the stone balcony, and I let out a silent prayer. Please, Nick, come and find me. Mitchell? Harold? Gosh, please, please send someone here to rescue me from this crazy woman! I didn’t care who it was; I just hoped someone in a need of a little fresh air would wander onto the balcony at that moment.
When that prayer was not answered, I dared to ask, “Why are you telling me all this?” My voice trembled again, despite my attempts to make it strong. “Why did you bring me out here?”
She cocked her head suddenly to the side, gazing hypnotically at me the way a cobra might look at its prey before striking. “Isn’t it obvious?” Her eyes dilated almost completely black as they stared me down in the darkness.
“No. If it was, I wouldn’t have asked.”
She laughed, a laugh that ironically formed a knot in my stomach. “Because Nicholas Hunter ended up with the wrong girl.”
“And so now you’re punishing me? Because you couldn’t have him?”
“I’m a little drunk, I suppose. And part of me wants Nick to know that I’m the one who set him up! I can’t feel avenged if he doesn’t know why it happened. He needs to know what he did to me and how much it stung. He needs to know that I wanted him to pay dearly.”
“But what about me?”
“You’re just a causality of war, that’s all. I have no hard feelings against you. Nick embarrassed me, and now I must do the same back. Then we’ll be even, and I can treat him like family.”
