One Night Stand Bride

by Kat Cantrell

  That was what she wanted? His gaze narrowed as they stared at each other. “That’s easy. Too easy. You must not want me to figure out that you’re really panting to get back into my bed.”

  Her long silky laugh lodged in his chest and spread south. She could turn that sentiment back on him with no trouble at all.

  Which was precisely what she did. “Sounds like a guilty conscience talking to me. Sure you’re not the one using this ploy to get me naked without being forced to let on how bad you want it?”

  “I’m offended.” But he let a smile contradict the statement. “I’ll tell you all day long how much I want you if that floats your boat. But this is a business proposition. Strictly for nonsexual benefits.”

  Any that came along with this marriage could be considered a bonus.

  She snorted. “Are you trying to tell me you’d give up other women while we’re married? I don’t think you’re actually capable of that.”

  Now, that was just insulting. What kind of a philanderer did she take him for? He’d never slept with more than one woman at a time and never calling one again made that a hundred percent easier.

  “Make no mistake, Roz. I am perfectly capable of forgoing other women as long as you’re the one I’m coming home to at the end of the day.”

  All at once, a vision of her greeting him at the door wearing sexy lingerie slammed through his mind and his body reacted with near violent approval. Holy hell. He had no problem going off other women cold turkey if Roz was on offer instead, never mind his stupid rules about never banging the same woman twice. This situation was totally different, with its own set of rules. Or at least it would be as soon as he got his head out of her perfect cleavage and back on how to close this deal.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re such a dog that the only way you can stay out of another woman’s bed is if I’m servicing you regularly?” She wrinkled her nose. “Stop me when I get to the part where I’m benefiting from this arrangement.”

  Strictly to cover the slight hitch in his lungs that her pointed comment had caused, he slid over until he was perched on the desk directly in front of her. Barely a foot of space separated them and an enormous amount of heat and electricity arced through his groin, draining more of his sense than he would have preferred. All he could think about was yanking her into his arms and reminding her how hot he could get her with nothing more than a well-placed stroke of his tongue.

  He let all of that sizzle course through his body as he swept her with a heated once-over. “Sweetheart, you’ll benefit, or have you forgotten how well I know your body?”

  “Can you even go without sex?” she mused with a lilt, as if she already knew the answer. “Because I bet you can’t.”

  What the hell did that have to do with anything?

  “I can do whatever I put my mind to,” he growled. “But to do something as insane as go without sex, I’d need a fair bit of incentive. Which I have none of.”

  Her gaze snapped with challenge. “Other than getting my name on a marriage license you mean?”

  The recoil jerked through his shoulders before he could catch it, tipping her off that she’d just knocked him for a loop. That was uncool. Both that she’d realized it and that she’d done it. “What are you proposing, that I go celibate for a period of time in some kind of test?”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.” She pursed her lips into a provocative pout that told him she was flat-out lying because she’d intended it to be exactly that. “That’s a great deal. You keep it zipped and I’ll show up at the appointed time to say ‘I do.’”

  His throat went dry. “Really? That’s what it’s going to take?”

  “Yep. Well, that and Helene Harris for Governor in a clown suit. Can’t forget the children.”

  Her smug tone raked at something inside him. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, my mom would be happy to do the clown thing. It’s great publicity for her, too. But no sex? Not even with you? There is literally no reason for you to lay down such a thing except as cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “Careful, Hendrix,” she crooned. “It’s starting to sound like you might have a problem keeping it in your pants. I mean, how long are we talking? A couple of months?”

  A couple of months? He’d been slightly panicked at the thought of a week or two. It wasn’t that he was some kind of pervert like she was making it sound. Sex was a necessary avoidance tactic in his arsenal. A shield against the intimacy that happened in the small moments, when you weren’t guarded against it. He kept himself out of such situations on purpose.

  If he wasn’t having sex with Roz, what would they do with each other?

  “I think the better question is whether you can do it,” he countered smoothly. “You’re the same woman who was all in for every wicked, dirty escapade I could dream up in Vegas. You’re buckling yourself into that chastity belt too, honey.”

  “Yeah, for a reason.” Her eyes glittered with conviction. “The whole point of this is to fix the problems the photograph caused. Do you really think you and I can keep ourselves out of Scandalville if we’re sleeping together?” His face must have registered his opinion on that because she nodded. “Exactly. It’s a failsafe. No sex—with anyone. No scandals. Or no ‘I do.’”

  The firm press of a rock and a hard place nearly stole his breath. If no sex was important to her, how could he refuse?

  “Six weeks,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll be engaged for six weeks. Once we’re married, all bets are off.”

  “We’ll see. I might keep the no sex moratorium. You and I don’t make sense together, Hendrix, so don’t pretend that we do.”

  She swallowed that sentence with a squeak as he hauled her out of that chair and into his arms for a lesson on exactly how wrong she was. God, she fit the contours of his body like the ocean against the sand, seeping into him with a rush and shush, dragging pieces of him into her as her lips crashed against his.

  Her taste exploded under his mouth as he kissed her senseless. But then it was his own senses sliding through the soles of his feet as Roz sucked him dry with her own sensual onslaught. For a woman who’d just told him they didn’t work, she jumped into the kiss with enthusiasm that had him groaning.

  The hot, slick slide of her tongue against his dissolved his knees. Only the firm press of that heavy desk against his backside kept him upright. The woman was a wicked kisser, not that he’d forgotten. But just as he slid his hand south to fill his palms with her luscious rear, she wrenched away, taking his composure with her.

  “Where are you going?” he growled.

  “The other side of the room.” Her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a marathon as she backed away. Frankly, his own lungs heaved with the effort to fill with air. “What the hell was that for?”

  “You wanted that kiss as much as I did.”

  “So it was strictly to throw it back in my face that I can’t resist you?”

  Well, now. That was a tasty admission that she looked like she wished to take back. He surveyed her with renewed interest. Her kiss-reddened lips beckoned him but he didn’t chase her down. He wanted to understand this new dynamic before he pressed on. “You said we didn’t work. I was simply helping you see the error in that statement.”

  “I said no such thing. I said we don’t make sense together. And that’s why. Because we work far too well.”

  “I’m struggling to see the problem with that.” They’d definitely worked in Vegas, that was for sure. Now that he’d gotten a second taste, he was not satisfied with having it cut short.

  “Because I need to stay off the front page,” she reminded him with that funny hitch in her voice that shouldn’t be more affecting than her heated once-overs. “There are people walking by the window as we speak, Hendrix. You make me forget all of that. No more kissing until the wedding. Consider
it an act of good faith.”

  The point was painfully clear. She wanted him to prove he could do it.

  “So we’re doing this. Getting married,” he clarified.

  “As a partnership. When it stops being beneficial, we get a divorce. No ifs, ands or buts.” She caught him in her hot gaze that still screamed her desire. “Right? Do we need to spell it out legally?”

  “You can trust me,” he grumbled. She was the one who’d thrown down the no-sex rule. What did she think he was going to do, force her to stay married so he could keep being celibate for the rest of his life? “As long as I can trust you.”

  “I’m good.”

  He thought about shaking on it but the slightly panicked flair to her expression made him think twice. It didn’t matter. The deal was done, as painful as it would ultimately end up being.

  It was worth it. He had to make it up to his mom for causing her grief, and this was what she’d asked him to do. And if deep inside, he craved the idea of belonging to such an old-guard, old-money family as the Carpenters, no one would be the wiser.

  All he had to do was figure out how to be engaged to Roz without trying to seduce her again and without getting too chummy. Should be a walk in the park.

  * * *

  Being engaged was nothing like Roz imagined. Of course she’d spent zero time daydreaming about such a thing happening to her. But her friend Lora had been engaged for about six months, which had been a whirlwind of invitations and dress fittings. Until the day she’d walked in on her fiancé and a naked barista who was foaming the jackass’s latte in Lora’s bed. Roz and Lora still didn’t hit a coffee place within four blocks of the one where the wedding-wrecker worked.

  Roz’s own engagement had a lot fewer highs and lows in the emotion department and a lot less chaos. For about three days. The morning of the fourth day, Hendrix texted her that he was coming by, and since there’d been no question in that statement, she sighed and put on clothes, wishing in vain for a do-over that included not flying to Vegas in the first place. Or maybe she should wish that she and Lora had gone to any other club besides the Calypso Room that night.

  Oh, better yet, she could pretend Hendrix didn’t do it for her in a hundred scandalous ways.

  That was the real reason this engagement/marriage/partnership shouldn’t have happened. But how could she turn down Helene Harris in a clown outfit? No hospital would bar the woman from the door and thus Clown-Around would get a much-needed lift, Roz’s reputation notwithstanding. It was instant publicity for the gubernatorial candidate and the fledgling charity in one shot, which was a huge win. And she didn’t have to actually ask her father to use his influence, which he probably wouldn’t do anyway.

  Plus, and she’d die before she’d admit this to Hendrix, there had to be something about being in the sphere of Helene Harris that Roz’s father would find satisfactory. He was so disappointed about the photographs. If nothing else, marrying the man in them lent a bit of respectability to the situation, right? Now Roz just had to tell her father about the getting married part. But first she had to admit to herself that she’d actually agreed to this insanity.

  Thus far it had been easy to stick her head in the sand. But when Hendrix buzzed her to gain access to the elevator, she couldn’t play ostrich any longer.

  “Well, if it isn’t my beloved,” he drawled when she opened the door.

  God, could the man look like a slouch in something? He wore the hell out of a suit regardless of the color or cut. But today he’d opted for a pair of worn jeans that hugged his hips and a soft T-shirt that brazenly advertised the drool-worthy build underneath. He might as well be naked for all that ensemble left to the imagination.

  “Your beloved doesn’t sit around and wait for you to show up on a Saturday,” she informed him grumpily. “What if I had plans?”

  “You do have plans,” he returned, his grin far too easy. “With me. All of your plans are with me for the next six weeks, because weddings do not magically throw themselves together.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb in a blatant message—you’re not coming in and I’m not budging, so... “They do if you hire a wedding planner. Which you should. I have absolutely no opinion about flowers or venues.”

  That was no lie. But she wanted to spend time with Hendrix even less than she wanted to pick out flowers. She could literally feel her will dissolving as she stood there soaking in the carnal vibe wafting from him like an invisible aphrodisiac.

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

  The way his hazel eyes lit up as he coaxed her should be illegal. Or maybe her reaction should be. How did he put such a warm little curl in her core with nothing more than a glance? It was ridiculous. “Your idea of fun and mine are worlds apart.”

  A slow, lethal smile joined his vibrant gaze and it pretty much reduced her to a quivering mess of girl parts inside. All the more reason to stay far away from him until the wedding.

  “Seems like we had a pretty similar idea of fun one night not too long ago.”

  Memories crashed through her mind, her body, her soul. The way he’d made her feel, the wicked press of his mouth against every intimate hollow an unprecedented experience. It was too much for a Saturday morning after she’d signed up to become Mrs. Hendrix Harris.

  “I asked you not to kiss me again,” she reminded him primly but it probably sounded as desperate to him as it did to her.

  She could not get sucked into his orbit. As it was, she fantasized about that kiss against her desk at odd times—while in the shower, brushing her teeth, eating breakfast, watching TV, walking, breathing. Sure it was prudent to avoid any more scandals but that was just window dressing. This was a partnership she needed to take seriously, and she had no good defenses against Hendrix Harris.

  He was temporary. Like all things. She couldn’t get invested, emotionally or physically, and one would surely lead to the other. The pain of losing someone she cared about was too much and she would never let that happen again—which was the sole reason she liked sex of the one-night stand variety. What she’d do when that wasn’t an option, like after she said I do, she had no clue.

  “Wow. Who said anything about kissing?” He waggled his brows. “We were talking about the definition of fun. That kiss must have gotten you going something fierce if you’re still hung up on it.”

  She rolled her eyes to hide the guilt that might or might not be shuffling through her expression. “Why are you here?”

  “We’re engaged. Engaged people hang out, or didn’t you get the memo?”

  “We’re not people. Nor is our engagement typical. No memos required to get us to the...insert whatever venue we’re using to get hitched here. Until then, I don’t really feel the need to spend time together.” She accompanied that pitiful excuse of his with crooked fingers in air quotes.

  “Well, I beg to differ,” he drawled, the North Carolina in his voice sliding through her veins like fine brandy. “This partnership needs publicity or there’s no point to it. We need to be seen together. A lot. When people think of you, they need to think of me. We’re like the peanut butter and jelly of the Raleigh social scene.”

  “That’s a nice analogy,” she said with a snort so she didn’t laugh or smile. That would only encourage him to keep being adorable. “Which one am I?”

  “You choose,” he suggested magnanimously and that’s when she realized she was having fun. How dare he charm her out of her bad mood?

  But it was too late, dang it. That was the problem. She genuinely liked Hendrix or she wouldn’t have left the Calypso Room with him.

  “I suppose you want to come in.” She jerked her head toward the interior of her loft that had been two condos until she bought both and hired a crew of hard hats to meld the space into one. They should probably discuss living arrangements at some point be
cause she was not giving up this condo under any circumstances.

  “I want you to come out,” he countered and caught her hand, tugging on it until she cleared the threshold on the wrong side of the door. “We can’t be seen together in your condo and besides, there are no people walking past the window. No photographers in the bushes. I could slip a couple of buttons free on this shirt of yours and explore what I uncover with my tongue and no one would know.”

  He accompanied that suggestion with a slow slide of his fingertip along the ridge of buttons in question, oh so casually, as if the skin under it hadn’t just exploded with goose bumps.

  “But you won’t,” she said breathlessly, cursing her body’s reaction even as she cursed him for knowing exactly how to get her hot and ready to burst with so little effort. “Because you promised.”

  “I did.” He nodded with a wink. “And I’m a man of my word.”

  She’d only reminded him of his promise as a shield against her own weaknesses, but he’d taken it as an affirmation. He would keep his promise because it meant something to him. And his sense of honor was doing funny things to her insides that had nothing to do with desire. Hendrix Harris was a bad boy hedonist of the highest order. Nothing but wicked through and through. Or at least that was the box she’d put him in and she did not like the way he’d just climbed out of it.

  She shook her head, but it didn’t clear her sudden confusion. Definitely they should not go into her condo and shut the door. Not now or any day. But at that moment, she couldn’t recall what bad things might happen as a result. She could only think of many, many very good things that could and would occur if she invited him in for a private rendezvous.

  “I think we should visit a florist,” he commented casually, completely oblivious to the direction of her thoughts, thank God.

  “Yes. We should.” That was exactly what she needed. A distraction in the form of flowers.

  “Grab your handbag.” The instruction made her blink for a second until he laughed. “Or is it a purse? I have no clue what to call the thing you women put your lives into.”