by Kat Cantrell
Eventually, she sought to cauterize her grief in other ways, which had led to even further estrangement. Was it possible that she’d erased years of disappointment with the one simple act of agreeing to Hendrix’s outrageous proposal?
“Of course.” She swallowed a brief and unexpected tide of emotion. “That would be lovely.”
Thankfully, her fiancé was already on board with planning an honest-to-God wedding with all the trimmings. She’d have to talk him into a longer engagement if they were going to have the type of wedding with an aisle, because she’d envisioned showing up at the justice of the peace in a Betsey Johnson dress that could support a corsage. The simpler the better.
But that was out the window. She had another agenda to achieve with her wedding now, and it included walking down an aisle on her father’s arm. Dare she hope this could be a new beginning to their relationship?
“I wasn’t sure you’d like the idea of me marrying Hendrix Harris,” she said cautiously, trying to gauge how this new dynamic was supposed to work. She’d left a message to tell him about the party and its purpose, effectively announcing her engagement to her father via voice mail so he couldn’t express yet more disappointment in her choices.
“I think it’s great,” he said with enthusiasm she’d rarely heard in his voice. “I’m happy that you’re settling down. It will be good for you.”
Keep her out of trouble, more like. It was in the undertone of his words and she chose not to let it sour the moment. She did have some questionable decisions in her rearview mirror or she wouldn’t have needed to marry Hendrix in the first place. The fact that her dad liked the move was a plus she hadn’t dared put on the list of pros, especially given that she was marrying a man her father and everyone else had seen in the buff.
“I think it will be good for me, too,” she said, though her reasons were different than his.
“I did wonder if this wedding wasn’t designed to eliminate the negative effects of that unfortunate photograph on Helene Harris’s campaign.” Her father sipped the scotch in a highball, deliberately creating a pregnant pause that prickled across the back of Roz’s neck. “If so, that’s a good move. Additionally, there are a lot of benefits to being the governor’s daughter-in-law, and I like the idea of being tied to the Harris family through marriage.”
That had not been a chance statement. “What, like maybe I could put in a good word for you?”
He nodded thoughtfully, oblivious to her sarcasm. “Something like that. I’ve had some thoughts about going into politics. This is an interesting development. Lots of opportunities unfolding as we speak.”
She shouldn’t be so shocked. But her stomach still managed to turn over as she absorbed the idea that her father only liked that she was marrying Hendrix because of how it benefited him. Did it not occur to her father that she didn’t have any sort of in with Helene Harris yet? Geez. She’d only met the woman for the first time tonight. And Roz might only have a certain number of favor chips to cash in. The first item on her list was Ms. Harris in white face paint with big floppy shoes.
What was going to happen if she couldn’t create the opportunity her father was looking for?
Everyone was expecting something from this union. Why that created such a bleak sense of disillusionment, she had no idea. It wasn’t like she’d ever done anything else her father liked. It was just that for once, she’d thought they were finally forming a relationship.
Of course that wasn’t the case. Fine. She was used to losing things, used to the temporary nature of everything good that had ever happened to her. It was just one more reason to keep everyone at arm’s length.
But Hendrix made that vow harder to keep almost immediately, cornering her in the kitchen where she’d gone to lick her wounds.
“Studying up on my pots and pans so you can cook me a proper dinner once you’re the little woman?” he asked as he sauntered into the room and skirted the wide marble-topped island that separated the sink from the 12-burner Viking range to join her on the far side.
“Unless you like your balls in your throat, I would refrain from ever referring to me as the little woman again,” she informed him frostily, not budging an inch even as the big, solid wall of Hendrix’s masculinity overwhelmed her. “Also, this is a private party. See yourself out.”
He had some nerve, waltzing into her space without invitation. All it would take was one slight flex of her hips and they’d be touching. Hell, that might even happen if she breathed deeper.
Instead of getting huffy about her command, he just watched her, his eyes darkening. He was too close, smelled too much like a memory of sin and sex.
“What?” she asked testily as a long, sensual thread pulled at her center.
She swallowed a yelp as he snagged a lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. But the touch was just an excuse to get even closer, of course, because once he had his hand on her, he didn’t stop there. His thumb cruised down her jaw, sensitizing her entire face.
In some alternate dimension, there was a Rosalind Carpenter with the will to slap this man’s hand away when he took liberties she hadn’t invited. In this dimension, her stilettos had been cemented to the floor and she couldn’t do anything but stand frozen as he tipped up her chin.
She braced for the crush of his lips on hers. Anticipated it. Leaned into it ever so slightly.
But then he shocked the hell out of her by tilting her head to the side and grazing her cheek as he murmured in her ear, “Wanna tell me what’s got you so upset?”
Oh, no he didn’t. How dare he make this about something other than sex and be dead on target about her reasons for hiding out at the same time?
“I’m not upset.” Her pulse tripped all over itself, scrambling to sort his dominating presence from his uncanny ability to read her. “Maybe I like the kitchen.”
And sure enough—with each breathy catch of her lungs—their bodies brushed and the contact sang through her.
“You can’t snow the master of winter,” he advised her so softly that she had to lean in a little closer to hear. Or at least that was her excuse and she’d cling to it as long as she could. “So lie to your friends, your dad. Anyone other than me. We’re in this together and I need you.”
Her knees went a little mushy. Mushy. The one person she had zero intention of letting under her skin had just demonstrated a remarkable ability to blaze right past every barrier she’d ever constructed. And it didn’t even seem to matter that he hadn’t meant those words the way they’d sounded, like he cared about her and had her back.
No. He wanted her to stick to the deal and stop being such a big baby about the fact that her father expected favors from this union. Weren’t favors the whole purpose of this marriage? For God knew what reason, the fact that Hendrix had figured out all the subtle nuances of her mood hooked something inside her.
That pissed her off. He wasn’t supposed to be good at handling her. He wasn’t supposed to be anything but a means to an end.
“Yes,” she purred and let her hips roll forward just a touch until she hit the thick, hard length she’d been seeking. “I can feel how much you need me.”
“Careful.” His lips feathered against her ear, sending shafts of need deep inside her. “Or I might think you’re trying to entice me into breaking my promise. The Roz I know wouldn’t play so dirty. So I’m going to assume it’s a distraction from what’s really going on with you and roll with it.”
Before she could blink, his arm snaked around her waist, shoving her firmly into the cradle of his body, exactly where she wanted to be.
What did it say that he knew that about her too without being told?
“Put some of that sass where it belongs,” he said into her ear as their embrace got a whole lot more intimate. He pressed her back against the counter, one leg teasing her thighs like he might push
between them but he’d give her a minute to think about it. “Don’t let a stray comment cramp your style. Be the life of the party because no one else’s opinion matters.”
Her eyes burned all at once. Oh, God, he was going to make her cry. What was wrong with her that a couple of compassionate phrases from a player like Hendrix could yank loose tears?
Except he wasn’t just a creep looking to score. They were engaged, as unbelievable as that was to reconcile, and he needed her to pull it together.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I’m letting crap that doesn’t matter get me down.”
What was she doing skulking around in the kitchen when there was a party going on? More importantly, he’d given her the perfect excuse to step out of his arms as everything settled inside.
She didn’t move.
“Of course I am,” he told her and she could hear the smile in his voice even as she absorbed his heat through her little black dress. “Roz, this is practice for the wider swath of society that we have to wade through an exhausting number of times over the next few weeks. They’re not going to be any more forgiving. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere and I’ll be holding your hand the whole time.”
“PB&J for the win,” she murmured and dang it, her arms fit so well around his waist that she couldn’t do anything but leave them there. “Although I have to ask why we couldn’t have had this conversation without you wrapping yourself around me like an octopus.”
“Oh, we could have.” He nuzzled her ear. “This was strictly for me. You’re driving me insane in that dress and all I can think about is that I don’t get to take it off at the end of the night. I deserve something for my suffering.”
That shouldn’t have made her laugh. Especially since the whole of his body pressed into hers felt more like the opening act than the finale.
“Also,” he continued, “I didn’t think you were in the mood for an audience. If anyone came through that door right now, they’d exit pretty quickly for fear of intruding on a moment between lovers.”
Did the man ever miss an angle? She did not want to appreciate any of his qualities, let alone the nonsexual variety.
Neither should she be recalling with perfect clarity what he’d said to her on his front porch. He’d never been shy about using his mouth in whatever inventive way came to mind, and he had a really great imagination, especially when it came to talking dirty.
That was enough to jump-start her brain. This wasn’t the start of a seduction, never mind how easily it could be. It was a Come to Jesus at the hands of her partner and she was the one who’d taken sex off the table. For a reason. The man made her forget her own name and she needed to keep her wits about her, or she’d never survive this. She had to get Clown-Around off the ground and Hendrix was nothing to her except a ticket to achieving her goals.
“The moment is over,” she informed him through sheer force of will.
“I disagree.” But he stepped back immediately, taking all his delicious heat with him.
Even in that, he’d read her expertly, extracting himself as soon as he sensed her consent had changed. His gaze burned hot and she had no doubt he’d sweep her back into his arms if she gave the word.
And that put the steel in her spine that had been missing. She had equal power in this partnership. He wasn’t going to slip through her fingers when she wasn’t looking because they weren’t a couple basing their relationship on fleeting feelings. They both had goals, none of which would be accomplished when one of them moped around poking at old bruises.
Hendrix was a smart choice. Obviously. He got her in ways no one ever had and she refused to examine how much she liked that.
“We’re a power couple.” She held out her hand to him. “Let’s go act like one.”
Four
Hendrix nursed a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks as he hung out near the fireplace on the east end of the house and wished like hell he could blame the whiskey for the burn in his throat. But that pain was pure Roz.
And maybe some leftover crap from the discussion with Jonas and Warren, where his so-called friends had made it known in no uncertain terms how weak they thought he was when it came to women.
He could go without sex. He could. Hadn’t he walked away from Roz when she’d said walk? If that wasn’t a stellar test of his iron will, he didn’t know what was. And he’d passed.
So why was he still so pissed? His skin felt like a hundred ants were crawling over it as he failed yet again at keeping his eyes off his fiancée. She lit up the room as she talked to his mother. So what if anyone caught him staring? He and Roz were engaged and he was allowed to look at her. In fact, he’d say it was expected.
The unexpected part was how...fierce the whole encounter in the kitchen had made him. Someone had upset Roz and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like how fragile she’d felt in his arms as he did his best to beat back whatever was going on with her internally. But she’d snapped out of it like the champ she was and he’d had a hard time letting her go when what he really wanted to do was explore that lush mouth of hers. That wasn’t what she’d needed. Wasn’t what he needed, either.
Okay, it was what he needed all right. But he also needed to prove to everyone—and maybe to himself—that he had what it took to reel back his sex-soaked lifestyle. If he’d learned to do that when his mother had asked him to, Vegas wouldn’t have happened and there’d be no photograph of Hendrix’s bare butt plastered all over the internet.
Paul Carpenter loomed in Hendrix’s peripheral vision and then the man parked near him with a lift of his glass. “Haven’t had a chance to speak to you one-on-one yet.”
“No, sir.”
Hendrix eyed the older man whose wealth and power in the retail industry eclipsed almost everyone in the world. Certainly a smaller chain like Harris Tobacco Lounge had nothing on Carpenter Furniture, nor did people get vaguely distasteful looks on their faces when talking about the business Roz’s father had founded. Tobacco wasn’t in vogue any longer, not the way it had been in the late eighties when Helene had partnered with her brother to build a string of shops from the ground up. Hendrix had joined the company almost a year after Uncle Peter died and then worked ninety hours a week to pull miracle after miracle from thin air to increase revenue over the past decade as he gradually took over the reins from his mom.
But Hendrix didn’t assume for a moment that a man like Paul Carpenter respected one thin dime of Harris tobacco money, regardless of how hard he and his mom had worked for their fortune.
Mr. Carpenter eyed Hendrix as he swished his own amber liquid around the ice in his highball. “I suppose soon enough you’ll be my son-in-law.”
“Yes, sir.” Why did it feel like he’d been called to the principal’s office? He’d bet every last dollar of Harris money that Carpenter didn’t think Hendrix was good enough for his daughter. “Roz is pretty important to me.”
Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe this conversation. Hendrix shifted his stance. Didn’t help.
“She’s important to me, too,” Paul said with a small smile. “It’s just been the two of us since she was eight, you know.”
“Yes, she mentioned that her mother had passed away.” It was something they had in common—a missing parent. But Carpenter hadn’t thrown that tidbit in for anything close to the same reason as Roz had. At the time, they’d been playing truth or dare and doing Jell-O shots off each other’s bare stomachs. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
The memory of Roz’s hot body decked out on the bed with the little circle of raspberry gelatin covering her navel slammed through his senses with far more potency than he’d have expected given that he’d just had the woman in his arms less than fifteen minutes ago.
Problem was that she’d been dressed. And off-limits. And probably even if he’d had permission to boost her up on the
counter so he could get underneath that black dress, he’d still want her with a bone-deep ache. That had happened in Vegas, too. He couldn’t get enough of her skin, her abandon, the way she was always game for whatever he did next.
And that was a conviction of his crimes as much as anything else. He had few memories of Roz that didn’t involve her naked. That was the way he liked it...and lent entirely too much credence to everyone’s certainty that he was a walking boner, panting after the next piece of tail he could get his hands on.
God, what was wrong with him? He was having a conversation with his future father-in-law and all he could think about was casting the man’s daughter in the dirtiest sex scenario imaginable.
Something that might have been a blush if he’d been a girl prickled across his cheeks. But embarrassment wasn’t something he did. Ever. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Except for the handful of scandals he’d managed to fall into over the past few years—Roz had certainly not been the first. She was just the one that had been the most worth it.
He sighed as Paul nodded his thanks over Hendrix’s condolences. Maybe if he thought about something else, like cars, he could pretend the hard-on he’d been carrying around since Roz walked through his front door would eventually go away.
“I’m not one to pry,” Paul said in that tone people used when they meant the exact opposite of what they’d just claimed. “And it’s none of my business. But I wanted you to know that if you’re marrying Roz to eliminate the scandal, I approve.”
