Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Tara Wylde

  259

  Alexis

  Half an hour later, freshly showered, my hair tugged back in a low ponytail, and dressed in designer jeans and a pretty cranberry colored sweater. I settle at the beautiful kitchen table where I’m surrounded by polished marble countertops and expensive appliances.

  A half-eaten turkey sandwich is on a plate that I've shoved to the side. The piece of paper Lucas gave me is spread out on the table in front of me.

  Lucas is right. It's a contract and in addition to both his and my signature, the vicar also signed it.

  All things considered, it's a pretty good deal. Lucas agreed to handle all my expenses for the duration of the marriage, I agreed to attend all formal functions with him, he'd provide me with everything needed to start the museum, including any additional antiques I might wish to acquire, while I agreed I would attempt to conduct myself in a manner fitting a prince. He'd find a place for Tessa to live, while I said I wouldn't sue for alimony when the two of us went our separate ways. I agreed that I wouldn't date or have any kind of intimate relations while married to him.

  All in all, it seemed like a sensible contract and I was pleased that Lucas had had the foresight to create it.

  What bothers me is the last item in the contact. It stipulates that we would officially start the process of dissolving our marriage after Lucas competed in the European Fencing Championships – which a quick Google tells me are just six months away.

  Six months.

  It's so soon. Already I'm aware of every second draining away. Before I know it, six months will have come and gone, at which point I'd be alone again.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I should be happy about the timeline, not distraught.

  I glance out the window. All the lights are burning in the barn I'd noticed when we first arrived at Lucas's villa, and that's where he is right now.

  I push my chair back and scramble to my feet.

  Six months from now I might be alone, but tonight I don't have to be.

  260

  Alexis

  There might have been a time when the barn was used for livestock, but those days are long over. Lucas has done a wonderful job of converting the space into a giant fencing practice areas. The ground is covered with hardwood floor boarding that gleams in the overhead lights that are threaded around the rafters.

  Every single wall is completely covered with a seven-foot mirror that not only reflects Lucas, allowing him to see what he’s doing, but also makes the already enormous space seem even bigger.

  The door closes behind me and I stand a moment watching Lucas, the man who has become my husband and who seems bent on making me insane, parry and thrust against an invisible partner.

  With each move he makes, the tension I first felt after he kissed me during the press conference grows.

  A lack of time and general self-consciousness stopped me from doing much dating in high school and throughout college, but that didn’t stop me from fantasizing. In my dreams, I’ve enjoyed the attention of a wide assortment of men, but they all have one thing in common. Each of them was exceptionally graceful. I’m not sure why, but men who move well turn me on.

  It’s a strange fetish. But I know one thing: the men who fit my extremely specific criteria are very rare.

  Lucas is one of the few smooth movers.

  I could watch him glide across the hardwood floor all day long and be perfectly happy watching how the effortlessness of each move. And his tight white outfit not only emphasizes the smoothness of his gait, but also perfectly showcases his lithe body.

  Lucas stops and turns to me. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  He sounds so formal, I can’t resist being just a little saucy. “Just enjoying the view. You’re quite good.”

  He pushes his facemask on top of his head and studies me with unfathomable eyes. “You fence?”

  “Oh God no. I’d cut off my foot or something equally stupid. But I’ve always liked the look of it. I made a point of watching the little bit of coverage the American TV channel gives the sport. At the Olympics, you know?”

  Suddenly I remember the something the broadcasters had spoken about during the event. I meet Lucas’s eyes.

  “You were there, weren’t you?” Strange that I hadn’t thought of it sooner, but then again, I’ve had a lot on my mind.

  A dark shadow crosses Lucas’s face. I instantly realize that I’ve said something wrong. Then again, how am I supposed to know exactly what when he refuses to share anything with me?

  My mind drifts back to the Rio Olympics. I try to remember what the broadcasters said. Something about a scandal and a big upset, but despite my best efforts I can’t remember exactly what they said or even if they made any real mention of what had gone wrong.

  Lucas’s steely gaze and tense body convince me to avoid talking about the Olympics. I walk over to the assortment of swords, no foils, displayed on of the few sections of the wall that isn’t covered with a mirror, and search for a distraction.

  “Pretty.”

  Conscious of Lucas standing behind me, I reach out and lightly run my fingers along the cool steel. They’re not antiques, but that doesn’t make them any less valuable.

  “About two years ago, I orchestrated the sale of a few old swords a theatre group had found. They weren’t especially valuable, but I fell in love with them anyway. I spent hours wondering if they’d ever been used in a battle or to a duel.”

  My hand falls back to my side. “Once, late at night, I even held one and practiced swinging it. It was heavier than I imagined.”

  “Here.” Lucas removes one of the swords from the rack and offers it to me. “This is a sabre. It weighs 500 grams.”

  I grasp the handle and hold it in front of me in what I only hope bears a passing resemblance to the en garde position with one hand holding the sword and the other resting on my hip. Five hundred grams doesn’t sound like much weight, but holding the sabre out in front of me, it feels like half a ton. My arm is already getting tired.

  Lucas walks up to me. “Not bad.”

  He uses the side of one of his feet to move my right foot forward, before nudging my left foot backwards and changing the angle of my ankle. The position puts his own legs between mine.

  One of his big hands slides down my arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, until it reaches the sword’s hilt where it envelopes mine, surrounding it in heat.

  His other hand rests in the curve of my waist, just above my free hand.

  “The first move is a very basic lunge.” His breath caresses my cheek. It smells of the coffee he consumed on the plane ride over here.

  I swallow and try to concentrate on his words, and not on how my ass and his cock are aligned. My knees tremble. “You’re going to take one large step forward and make a short, sharp thrust at your opponent.”

  I’ve always thought fencing was beautiful, a demonstration in control, grace, and strength, but Lucas makes it sound … naughty.

  “The idea isn’t to disarm your opponent, or even get a strike against them. You just want to put them on the defensive. You want to control the match, not them. You want to always be on the offensive.”

  He’s so close I can practically feel the words vibrating in his throat. “Do you understand?”

  “Offensive.” My voice cracks.

  “Good.” Lucas’s hand squeeze mine. Suddenly I remember how his hands had felt on my breasts this morning. Had it really been a handful of hours ago? It seems like years.

  He uses his body to shift me to one side, away from the rack of swords until we’re in front of a mirror.

  Our reflected image mesmerizes me. The way his big body is bent over mine makes it look like he’s about to encompass me. The image calls to mind the stories I used to read about the young women during the Regency period who were seduced by their dancing masters.

  If those lessons were anything like this, those women never stood a chance.

  “Now,” his hand
slides back until his fingers encircle by wrist. “We’ll start with the basic arm movement. It’s one strong, determined thrust.” In the mirror, his eyes meet mine.

  “Focus on keeping the tip of your weapon moving directly towards your intended target.” He guides my hand forward, “like this. Speed isn’t nearly as important as keeping your thrust strong and smooth.”

  His voice deepens, growing increasingly seductive with each word. Every atom of my body is hyperaware of each brush of his body against mine. My knees tremble as I fight the sensation to nuzzle the side of his neck.

  His eyes darken. Good. I’m not the only one affected by this impromptu lesson.

  His grip on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t completely release me. “Now you try it.”

  Biting my lip, I force my nerves to fire. I take a moment to think about how each muscle needs to respond, the amount of tension needed to both move fluidly and hold the sword steady.

  “Remember, strong and smooth.” Lucas tilts his head. With each word, his lips brush against my ear lobe.

  I close my eyes, and order my body to stop fixating on him, to listen to my basic commands. Reluctantly, it obeys.

  “Well done,” Lucas growls. His thumb draws a slow circle against the inside of my wrist, sending a delightful tingling sensation zigging up my arm to settle in my chest. My nipples harden in response.

  I can’t take much more of this. I lack the strength and experience needed to resist the tidal wave of desire building within me. I’m not sure I want to. I want to lean back against Lucas’s body and trust him to handle everything.

  But I don’t.

  “Onto the footwork.” Footwork. That doesn’t sound erotic. I should be able to get through a speedy course on footwork without embarrassing myself.

  Hopefully.

  “The sword is nothing but an extension of your hand, and for the lunge, it provides the precision. Your strength, your speed comes from your feet, and from here.” He moves both hands to my hips. His long fingers rest on my pubis bone.

  I watch in the mirror and shiver.

  “Are you all right?”

  I lick my lips. “Fine.” I’ve never heard my voice sound so husky.

  Lucas slides his hand down until it cups my right thigh. “This is your front leg. When you lunge, brace your weight on our heel before you shift your weight onto the leg. At the same time, use your rear leg to push yourself up and into an erect position. Understand?”

  I nod.

  “Good,” his hand slides back up my thigh. “Shall we give it a try.”

  I follow his directions, shifting my weight from one foot to another. On its own, the movement’s difficult, it feels unnatural, but with Lucas’s hands inches from my throbbing pussy it’s nearly impossible.

  “Nicely done.” Lucas lowers his head and places a light kiss on the side of my neck. My pulse jumps. “Now let’s put it together with the sword.”

  I let my body drop back into the en garde position and raise the sword. It wobbles slightly.

  “Now. Concentrated and put everything you’ve learned so far together. Just take it nice and slow.”

  In the mirror, I watch as my hand slides forward and I transfer my weight. It’s not much movement at this point, but Lucas’s big body follows mine throughout the entire process.

  I drop back to the en garde position.

  “Wonderful,” genuine warmth and surprise warm his tone. “Better than I expected. You might turn out to be a prodigy.” His large hand squeezes my hip. “My prodigy. Do you want to try again?”

  I shake my head and the sword falls to the ground with a loud clatter.

  Ignoring it, I turn to Lucas. I tip my head back and look directly into his eyes. “No. All I want is you.”

  261

  Alexis

  Lucas doesn’t have to be told twice.

  He bends his head and captures my lips with his mouth in a kiss. Unlike the kiss at the press conference, which felt hesitant and exploratory, this one is hard and demanding. It leaves no doubt that Lucas knows exactly what he wants and he’s tired of waiting.

  I am too.

  Lucas’s tongue probes my mouth, exploring the secret interior as his hands slide lower to cup my ass. His thumbs rub back and forth as he applies pressure, drawing me into the cradle of his hips. Despite our clothing, I feel the steady pulse of his cock.

  My pussy spasms in response.

  Lucas catches my lower lip between his teeth and tugs at it. Every nerve in my body comes alive as I moan into him. My hands twist into his shirt, trying to pull him even closer.

  I’m dimly aware of a sound. Steel against hardwood. It isn’t until Lucas pushes me backward, slowly lowering both of us to the floor that I realize the sound was the sword being kicked out of the way.

  Nothing about Lucas strikes me as him being the kind of person who generally abuses his equipment. The fact that he is now, indicates he wants me as badly as I want him.

  My shoulders connect with the hardwood floor at the same time Lucas breaks the kiss. He sits beside me, a hand braced on either side of my head, and stares deeply into my eyes. This is it. The moment of truth. Either I surrender myself to him or I walk away.

  The fact that he’s giving me this moment to decide charms me. Something deep inside of breaks of emotions, too complicated and unfamiliar to identify, much less comprehend flood me.

  I want to laugh, I want to cry and I can’t decide which I should get to first.

  Instead I extend both my arms, until my hands rest on the floor above my head and stare up at Lucas, surrendering myself to both him – and to whatever else the future holds.

  His hands rest on my stomach, the touch causing my tummy to do a delighted back flip.

  “I don’t love you,” he says.

  I flinch. It’s the last thing I expected him to say. Even while the words cause something inside me to die a little, I appreciate his honesty. Does that make any sense? Maybe it does, and maybe not.

  “Okay,” I murmur in a shaky voice, my mind spinning. Boy, you need to learn a thing or two about women!

  He looks at me with worry in his eyes. “It only seems … fair to warn you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I … couldn’t bear it.”

  You sure don’t sound like a player. But what the heck do I know?

  “It’s fine. My eyes are open. “I don’t expect anything from you. I only want what you’re willing, what you’re capable of giving me. Nothing more.”

  I don’t know what Lucas makes of my response, but he must accept it because he stretches out beside me. I don’t know how to take this man. Spending time with him is like riding a rollercoaster.

  But I don’t want to get off.

  One of his big hands finds my left breast and he squeezes it, the sudden pressure sending points of pleasure radiating to my most intimate areas. My breath shudders as his mouth rains light kisses along the side of my neck and along my jaw.

  I’ve never felt anything like this.

  I squeeze my eyes closed as Lucas’s free hand finds the hem of my sweater and slides beneath it. The light calluses he’s developed from working out without gloves scrape at my skin. Pressure builds inside me. I squirm on the sweat-slicked floorboards, desperately seeking a moment’s relief from the onslaught of sensations – even as I crave more.

  Lucas’s thumb makes a slow circle around my belly button before his fingers curl around the bottom of my sweater. In one long, smooth motion, he slides it up my torso and over my head and tosses it to some unseen corner of the barn.

  I lay still, enjoying the feel of the night cool air on my passion dampened skin. Lucas looks down at me with smoky eyes, seemingly taking in the way my skin glows in the soft light from overhead.

  He leans close, his breath fanning across my skin, eliciting a shiver even before his lips find my collarbone and place feather light, toe-curling kisses upon it.

  A split second later, my bra follows my shirt and Lucas rains kisses over the slight c
urve of my belly.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers as his fingers explore my waist band.

  His thumb slides beneath the denim while another finger manipulates the button. I hold my breath as the button slides free of the hole and the denim slides down my legs.

  Except for a small scrap of electric blue silk that barely covers anything at all, I’m naked.

  Lucas Nikolay the crown prince of Moravia – and my short-term husband – is now seeing more of me than any man ever has. The realization both frightens me and turns me on more than I’m prepared to admit.

  Lucas shifts his position and rains light kisses on my body. Pausing only long enough for his tongue to make an intimate exploration of my belly button before sliding lower, not stopping until he encounters the elastic waistband of my last piece of clothing. I close my eyes and focus on the incredible pressure building in my pussy.

  I expect Lucas to rid me of my panties in the same smoothly efficient manner he dealt the rest of my clothing, but he doesn’t.

  He plays with the elastic. Pulling it a few inches away from my body only to let it snap back, resulting in a tiny pinch that sends jolts of pleasure/pain zinging through my body. His fingers slide beneath the silk, creeping downward until they almost brush my clit, only to slide free of the elastic again.

  Moaning, I arch my back and thrust my hips in his direction, silently begging him for more – even as I worry that the expanding sense of anticipation and desire will tear me apart.

  Finally, he tires of the game and slips the panties free of my hips. With incredible slowness, he guides them down my legs, using the opportunity to explore every single inch of my thighs, locating an unexpectedly sensitive spot behind my knee that causes my breath to hiss and my body to jerk, before gliding along the graceful curve of my calf.

  The panties slide free of my body, but Lucas holds on to my left foot. He studies my toes.