His laugh trailed after him as he got out of the car and headed for the doors. She scrambled to follow him, one hand holding her skirt, the other trying to smooth her hair. He still hadn’t answered her, so as the elevator doors closed, she rounded on him. “I said we aren’t doing this again. It’s not in my contract.”
Not looking at her, he leaned on the wall of the elevator. “I’m working hard on control right now, and I did have a few drinks too many. It’s not the best time to press your luck.”
She smacked his chest, and he shocked her by capturing her wrist. The dangerous look on his face, sleepy moments before, should have scared her. Not turned her on.
One second she stood staring him down, the next he’d pinned her to the wall, pressing into her, his face too close. “I’m not promising we won’t do that again.” He arched his hips against her, the press of him shivering everything she felt in the car back to life in a heartbeat. “I will promise to be careful what I start.”
She panted and the elevator dinged, warning they were at their floor and the doors would open in seconds. He released her slowly, the drag of his clothes against her body slow and sensual. “I—”
“Will beg me for more.”
He stalked out of the elevator and vanished into the apartment, leaving her quaking, a little lost…and, God help her, desperate for more.
Chapter Eleven
Usually, the darkness held some peace. His insomnia used to bother him, but over the years, he’d come to terms with his nature and almost looked forward to the quiet hours of serenity. Few people stateside emailed him at night, his staff slept, and no cameras flashed. He could read or walk and plan without interruption. His complex life broke down to simplicity—one driving force—when he found time to be alone. Avenge his mother, destroy his father, and control the company. The trifecta of goals.
Tides were shifting, his single-minded goal blurred because of the path of distraction one woman carved in his sanity.
No peace came with the glitter of city lights out his window that night. His bride-to-be haunted him, probably lost in dreams in her room, with no clue he ached for her. He imagined her laughing with the wife of one of the board members at the dinner earlier that night and found no escape from his memories.
The woman got under his skin, with her potent blend of innocence and blazing sensuality, savvy chameleon abilities and fierce loyalty, beauty and brains. So many contradictions all housed in a body he longed to touch again.
The episode in the limo shouldn’t have happened. If he’d said no to the whiskey, kept himself under control, he wouldn’t have seen her—spine bowed in pleasure, golden curls falling like a treasure chest overturned, breasts heaving as she panted for him—and could pretend she wasn’t more than an employee, hired to serve a purpose.
He might not be wondering what it would be like to take her on a bed, a table, bent over a couch, her deliciously responsive body shivering with passion as she cried out.
He could pretend he didn’t remember the feel of her, legs spread, hips pistoning into his hand as she shattered, leaving him in a thousand pieces he longed for her to assemble. He might even be able to forget her latest surprise.
A virgin. Who, in this day and age, makes it to their late twenties with their purity intact?
His bride-to-be, that’s who.
It made sense, when he considered her explanation of her life, piecemeal as it might have been. She’d given up everything when her father died, for the kid, Kaycee. Sacrificing her own education, dreams—what were her dreams?—and life, she’d become a mother to her sibling. From his time with the child, he could see she’d done a good job as an impromptu parent. Kaycee had bloomed, a funny and smart kid with a contagious belly laugh, secure in her world and oblivious to the fact her sister lived a lie for that security.
It didn’t explain how she’d made it into college and kept her virginity. The woman oozed sexual grace, gowned earlier that evening in a low-backed dress which drew attention to the curve of her rounded hips, the delicacy of her spine, the elegance of her posture. How could the woman he pretended to adore be untouched?
No one in the room would believe it if she claimed it. But in her helpless plea, her unrestrained and desperate submission to his touch, she’d revealed more in those stolen moments than in all of the arguments or conversations they’d shared to date.
Knowing it should have made her less desirable—Who wanted to try to train a virgin how to fuck? Who had time for that? Awkward sex was for teenage years, for fumbling and groping when your hormones were untamed enough not to care about clacking teeth and breaking hymens.
But the knowledge didn’t stop him from having barbarian-variety thoughts about teaching her how to make love, of showing her the world of carnal pleasure one tasty nugget at a time and watching her come to terms with her very sexual nature.
A soft knock disturbed his reverie, and he turned to see her peeking in. “Hey,” she whispered.
Turning back to his study of the city, he wished she hadn’t come to him—not at night. He didn’t like to pretend when darkness should shroud him from public consumption. “You should get some sleep. It’s late.” He didn’t attempt to keep the harsh command out of his tone.
The soft whisper of fabric alerted him to her disregard of his advice and his body, attuned to her, vibrated like someone twanged a string deep inside him in response to the delicate scent of her shampoo.
“I can’t sleep. Neither can you, obviously. When do you sleep? When I get up in the morning, you’re already dressed and going. When I turn in at night, you’re still up. Do you ever sleep, rich kid?” Her voice, pitched low in deference to the sleeping household, seemed intimate somehow.
“I prefer to be alone at night. Your services are not required. The library is extensive, however, and you’re welcome to find a book of your choosing.” Distance. If he kept his distance, she might not realize he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering at the mysteries she refused to reveal.
“Well, sir high and mighty, you can play lord of the manor with any number of your employees, but it doesn’t work with me. You can’t shove your tongue down my throat all day long and hide behind your mask at home. It just doesn’t work like that.” He turned to see her, legs folded under her in a soft chair, green gaze turned to the view out the bay windows. “It’s pretty in here at night. I can see why you’d choose this for your lair.”
He chuckled and scrubbed his hands across his face. Exhaustion tugged at him, teasing him with the prospect of sleep he knew would elude him. “Lair? You make me sound like some evil villain from a comic book.”
She tilted her head. Her night robe parted just enough for him to glimpse, in the barely lit room, the peaches and cream of her flesh under silk. “Aren’t you? Plotting and scheming, trying to take over the world. But when do you rest, Camden?”
He didn’t have answers, and she’d invaded his space, so he returned the gesture, lifting her and settling her into his lap. Warm, sweet smelling, her tiny gasp curled his lips up in a smile. “No rest for the wicked, sweetheart. Surely you’ve heard that one.”
She didn’t resist him, never resisted him, instead relaxed into his arms as if she belonged there. “Are you wicked, Penthouse Prince?” Her head rested on his shoulder and snuggled him as if they’d been married for years, and she was simply seeking respite from bad dreams.
His body reacted to her—he always responded to her, regardless of the situation—but he smoothed her hair before rubbing slow circles on her back until she sighed. “Sometimes I think I am.”
Burrowing deeper into his embrace, her breathing slowed. He wondered if she could fall asleep with him, trust him that much, and suddenly wanted her to. Encouraging her to relax further, he sprawled out his legs and rested his head against hers so he could feel her breath feather his face.
“I don’t think you’re evil, prince charming with a credit card. I wish I knew what drove you, why you’re so willing to
hide behind a pretend fiancée when you could easily do what your dad wants—fall in love, live happily ever after in your tower overlooking the empire.” Her chuckle was a whisper of sound, drowsy, suggesting sleep might overtake her soon.
“Maybe I like my pretend bride better than the real ones I’ve met?” He phrased the question as if it were a joke, but the more time he spent with her, the more he wondered. What would it be like to wake with her each morning? To know he could make love to her whenever he desired it, laugh with her, grow old with her? Would the fierce protective nature she extended to the child cover her husband, too? Would she stay vibrant, teasing, or become less fascinating as the years wore on?
Her breathing evened further, her body fully loose and boneless, and he hugged her closer. The peace he searched for out the window and couldn’t find seeped in from the scent of Jeanie, the warmth of Jeanie, and his jaw stretched and popped with a yawn.
Resting his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of pretend. She was his, would stay in his arms, and he could just hold her until the sun crept over the skyscrapers and lit the sky in reds and yellows.
For the first time in a very long time, Camden lost himself in the dream until the darkness swept over him…
And he slept.
Chapter Twelve
Kaycee dumped her milk, again, and Jeanie leaped to sop it up before it dribbled onto the floor.
Sophia, one of the maids, brushed her hands aside. “I have this, Miss Jeanie.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to clean up after her. I keep telling all of you that. It’s my job. You weren’t hired to keep up after a five year old and—”
Dark eyes serious, Sophia caught her arm. “The fact you don’t need us to makes it more of a pleasure. Sit down, eat your breakfast.”
With a sigh, Jeanie obeyed. “I meant to ask you…who got the dollhouse? Toys keep appearing in her room.” Breaking a piece off the still-warm croissant, she rolled her eyes at how awesome it tasted. When she got back to the real world, she really needed to find a way to include warm croissants in their budget.
“Mr. James sent that piece up, ma’am.” Sophia cleared a plate away, and Jeanie dropped the soft bread onto her plate in annoyance.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Camden swept into the room, eliciting a squeal from Kaycee, who leaped up and ran at him full speed.
“Kaycee! You can’t keep running at people. Not everyone is going to catch you.” Jeanie watched in frustration as Camden did just that, scooping the little girl up and twirling her before settling her back on her feet.
Avoiding her gaze, Camden found a place at the table, waved at the help to dismiss them, and sat down like he owned the place.
Which, of course, he did. Usually, he didn’t interrupt their breakfast routine, though, mostly pretending to respect Jeanie’s wish for him to stay away from her child.
“Good morning, Jeanie.” Finally willing to make eye contact, he pinned her with an expression so intimate and comfortable, she decided it was her turn to avoid looking at him.
“Camden.” Fiddling with her fork, it took her a second to remember her annoyance over the toys. “You can’t keep buying her stuff. For one, it’s not in our contract. For two, you’re going to spoil her. If you make every day Christmas—”
“If you make every day Christmas, then every day rocks. Kids are only kids for a minute. It might as well be fun.” Accepting a cup of coffee from Sophia who’d reentered the room, he smiled at the woman before dismissing her again.
“But—”
“My vacation has been more fun with the toys,” Kaycee inserted. Dunking a slice of toast into an egg yolk, the child was oblivious to the adult tensions circling above her blond curls.
“Vacation?” He seemed interested, his dark brows arched toward his hairline. “You’re on vacation, Kaycee?”
Opening and closing her mouth, Jeanie tried to figure out how to tell him about her cover story to the little one.
“Yes, Mommy says this is our vacation. We didn’t go anywhere though, but here.” Thunks sounded from under the table as she swung her legs, feet knocking into the chair. “My friend, Jessica, she went on vacation and she saw an elephant. I’m hoping Mommy takes me to see an elephant before our vacation is over.”
Camden spoke very seriously. “She probably will. Your mama is probably a hundred times cooler than Jessica’s mom.”
Kaycee giggled, and Jeanie smacked the table. “Camden…”
“Yes, right, we have work to do. Kaycee, do you mind if I borrow Mommy for the day?”
“Sure. Make sure she comes home for my bedtime story.” The thunking paused as she carefully reached for her milk glass, nearly toppling it again.
“Will do.” He pulled Jeanie’s chair out. “Ready to hit the road?”
Sighing, since arguing with him didn’t seem to get her anywhere, she stood and followed him out of the room. “I really wish you’d respect my wishes and stay away from her.”
“I’ll write you up a list of my wishes, and when we can accomplish any of them, I’ll start work on yours. In the meantime, we have a problem.” He strode through the maze of hallways and led her to the elevator. His long legs ate up ground, making her almost jog.
“We do?”
“Yes, we actually do.”
He paused, and now he had her attention. What was such a big deal that the Penthouse Prince would hesitate to tell her?
“What is it?” she said.
Finally he said, “My father announced that we’re getting married this weekend. That the engagement party would be Friday. He did so at a very important gala last night, with most of the major press watching, and it’s gone viral.”
She raced to keep up and slipped into the elevator right before the doors whispered closed. “So, have your lawyers found their loophole? Or what is your plan?”
He met her eyes for a second, then his gaze slid away. “No plan. No loophole…it looks like we have an engagement party to attend.”
Last night, she’d felt so close to him. Like maybe they were from different worlds, nothing in common, but maybe they had a connection.
Maybe he was more than his sum parts, and so was she, and together…
But it was all a game to him, and who knew how far he would play it to get what he wanted?
Swallowing, feeling stupid for almost allowing herself to get wrapped up in the illusion, she searched for the right words. “Maybe…”
The elevator dinged, and he buzzed out, apparently using his extra energy from his night’s rest to become even more erratic than normal. “Come on. We need to hustle.”
She raced to keep up with him, but once at the car, she stopped to allow him to open her door, then slid inside.
“We’re late,” he added, climbing in on his side.
“Maybe the solution is easier now.”
“Huh?” He put the car in gear, backed up, and then sped out of the parking garage.
“Maybe—”
Her phone buzzed. Annoyed at the interruption, she thumbed it to life and read the texts.
Quit ignoring me. I know where you are. Meet me for coffee, right downstairs from your little love nest, noon. Or I could come up…your choice. Don’t be late.
She swallowed hard, then replied. I’m not sure if I can meet you there. Give me some time. We’ll meet, I promise. I’m not sure if I’ll be at the building at that time, though. Can you give me another day or two?
The response came back in seconds, or a lifetime, Jeanie wasn’t sure. She focused so hard on the phone, she didn’t know.
Fine. But soon, very soon. You know what happens if you let me down.
Exhaling in relief, she pocketed the phone and concentrated on remembering how to breathe, slow and steady.
“Who’s texting you?” He leaned over, as if he would peek over her shoulder.
“None of your business.” The snapped response wasn’t deserved, nor was it fair, but she couldn’t let
him find out.
Not with so much riding on this working out.
He nodded, not looking her way. “So, you were saying—about the other problem?”
Closing her eyes, she pushed the words out on a rush. “Tasha is here now. You know, your real fiancée? So, basically, you don’t need me anymore.”
Chapter Thirteen
Telling. His response—or lack of response, in this case—to her bringing up Tasha’s reappearance on the scene spoke volumes.
She knew the job would end, that she’d find herself back in the real world and only be able to glean what she could about the rest of his story from the glossy pages of a magazine, but she didn’t realize she’d be hurt when it happened.
Not that she blamed him. His fiancée could only be described as stunning—black hair, gold skin—a perfect, gleaming bookend for his dark hair and blue-eyed handsomeness. Tasha belonged in this world, a poster child for the rich and elite, while Jeanie could only fake it.
Appearing at her side with a paper cup of coffee, Lowe studied her. “What did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you.”
Laughing, she accepted the caffeinated offering and sipped. “What makes you think there’s trouble in paradise? Am I that transparent?”
“I think that’s what I like most about you, Jeanie. You would suck at poker, but your face doesn’t lie. Spend enough time around these goons and honesty becomes the rarest gem.”
“Jaded, much? No, honestly, nothing is wrong. I just foresee the end of my stint as Mrs. Penthouse Princess-to-be and I’m planning how to land on my feet when he shows me to the door.” Blinking fast, she swallowed a larger gulp of the sweetened java, hoping he’d think the money ending made her a bit sad.
His hand clasped her shoulder, his eyes soft and full of understanding she should rebuke. “No one is that good of an actress. You feel something for him. Why don’t you try something novel—you know, tell him? What could it hurt? Besides, as his best friend, I can tell you a little insider secret…” Leaning closer, he whispered, “He might like it.”
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