“I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Her thumb brushes against my palm, a gentle acknowledgment of my offer. “Thank you.”
We head toward the draped tables in the center, grabbing champagne glasses along the way, and study the offerings. A trip to Paris, season tickets to the Yankees, a New York Harbor sunset cruise. It’s all the standard fare, nothing I haven’t seen before. And nothing I couldn’t buy already.
I put in a bid on a few random things, not caring if I win or not. It’s more the gesture than anything else.
“Did you want to take a weekend getaway to Vermont?”
“What?”
She motions to the sheet I wrote on. “You bid on it. Two nights at the-” She bends down to inspect the paper. “Woodstock Inn.”
“Oh. It’s just so people see my name.”
“Would you even take off work if you won this?” she asks, her lips tilted up, amused.
For a weekend alone with her in a hotel room? Nothing to do but lie in some giant king-sized bed together, a fireplace crackling in the corner, maybe with one of those buckets of strawberries and champagne? This time not so cramped in an office chair, plenty of room to lay her out and show her what a man can really do to-
What? No. What am I thinking? That’s not happening.
Last night was a fluke. Like I said, just releasing some steam. It happened so quick, I was barely even cognizant of what I was doing, reacting on pure instinct. Not considering the ramifications, the consequences. I have to live with her, get along, play a part. And introducing a sexual side to the tentative partnership we’ve already formed? That could get messy fast.
“I haven’t taken a vacation in a long time.”
“That’s why your shoulders are always so tight.” She smiles, letting go of my hand to briefly caress the back of my neck. I sway toward her, unable to help myself as the pads of her fingers dig in the slightest bit, releasing the tension there. “You need to take more breaks.”
“I’m here tonight, aren’t I?”
She rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a break. This is more work.”
I grin to myself. Gabriel never understood that when I complained the same thing to him about these events. “Well, how about we find something we actually want then?”
“Challenge accepted.” She studies the next few stations, triumphantly pointing to one a couple of feet down. “A professional masseuse to come in your home for a private massage. You need it.”
“But I have you.”
The words slip out, but she doesn’t seem to take them seriously, laughing instead. “I’m not a professional.”
“I… I don’t want a stranger touching me.” Sure, I considered hiring one last week, but the idea of it now doesn’t hold the same appeal.
She takes a step closer, a sultry look entering her eye. “But it’s okay when I touch you?”
I stare at her, unsure for the first time if what she’s doing is an act or real. We’re in public, but no one’s outright paying attention to us. And no one was watching last night either…
I shake my head. Of course it’s an act. Even if others aren’t close enough to hear us, they can still read our body language. And she’s on her A-game, signaling her interest.
I mimic her pose, getting closer, reaching out a hand to brush the backs of her fingers. “That’s different. You’re my wife.”
A smile curves over her lips, and I find myself leaning in, actually wishing all these people weren’t surrounding us. Small amounts of PDA are acceptable, sure, but what I want to do to her right now shouldn’t have any witnesses.
“Archer,” a nasally voice sounds from a man approaching us. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
I lean back, tugging at the lapels of my suit jacket, thankful for the interruption. Why is my mind going to such extremes lately?
As the man gets closer, I recognize him as some lower level executive in our advertising department at Bishop Industries. Michael? Miles? There are too many managers in the company to keep them all straight.
I give him a nod, wrapping my arm around Serena’s waist. “Good to see you. This is my wife, Serena.”
He gives her a perfunctory shake of the hand. “Micah Keating.” Micah, that’s right. “Could I have a word with you, Archer?” He motions behind him, expectant for me to follow.
Serena’s body stiffens next to me, though her face remains impassive.
“Regarding…” I prompt, needing a damn good reason if he expects me to leave.
“The budget meeting yesterday. I wasn’t invited, but I wanted to pitch you-”
“If it’s work related, schedule a meeting with my assistant.”
He blinks at me. “You can’t talk about it now?”
“I’m here with my wife.”
The tension slowly releases from her, and she hides a smile as she takes a sip of her champagne.
“Right.” His gaze flicks between us, finally seeming to recognize the position he’s in. Lower level manager trying to dictate to the Chief Financial Officer? Yeah, I don’t think so. And if no one invited you to a meeting, there’s probably a valid reason for that. “My apologies. Have a good night.”
He makes an awkward bow and leaves us, Serena curling further into my side. “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear, her breath warm on my neck.
“I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”
“I can’t believe you turned down the chance to work,” she teases.
“I’d rather spend the night with you.” It takes me a moment to realize how my comment sounds. “I mean, like you said, this is also work.” I gulp down the last of my champagne and set it on a passing server’s tray. “Our job is to play a part. It defeats the purpose of coming here if I leave you.”
Her eyes lose their playful edge and I immediately regret these words too. “Wait, that came out wrong.” Somehow, in just over a week, she’s crept her way under my skin. I’ve never put so much thought into how others interpret me. “Forget about the act we’re putting on. You said you have trouble talking to people you don’t know well. So I’m obviously not going to leave you to fend for yourself in here.”
Her face takes on a panicked edge and she backs up, bumping the table behind her.
What? I thought I said the right thing that time.
She grabs my arm, steering me over to the east side of the room. “Come on. Let’s go over here.”
Okay, then. “Where are we going?”
“The, um-” She points ahead, waving her hand aimlessly. “There’s more stuff to bid on here.”
She stops in front of an all expenses paid trip to Bora Bora, her breaths a touch faster than they should be. I glance behind us, but I can’t tell what I’m looking for.
“Are we running from something?”
She swallows, picking up the pen on the table, hand shaking slightly.
I reach out to cover her hand with my own. “Serena, talk to me.”
“It’s so stupid,” she mutters.
“Not if it’s making you act like this.”
“It’s my mom and my… ex.”
My brows raise. “Together?”
“No, not together. But standing near each other.” She holds a palm against her stomach, her nails digging into her dress. “I don’t want to speak to either of them.”
Her ex I can understand, but her mother? “Okay, where are they?”
“By the front table,” she says, turning away. “The one with that trip to Paris.”
I make a show of appearing to casually glance around, my eyes locking on a tall, willowy blonde who looks to be in her early fifties. The resemblance is too similar to mistake her for anyone else. She’s on the arm of a man with a thick head of silver hair who’s very clearly not Greg Montague.
“Who’s that she’s with?”
She glances down, picking at her nails. “Her husband.”
Interesting choice of words. So she doesn’t consider him her step-father? Wait. “She was
n’t at the wedding, was she?”
“No.”
There’s a clear finality in her tone, and I make a mental note to talk to her later about it. If she’s estranged from her mother, I need to know in case someone brings her up.
I search next for who this ex could be, but there’s no one else around them. “I don’t see anyone-”
“Serena. How are you?”
She looks over my shoulder and steps in close to me, almost like she’s seeking my protection. “Fine.”
I turn, discovering a familiar face. “Parker.” I just saw him the other week at Gabriel’s bachelor party going wild for the girls on the stage.
He shakes my hand, giving us an easy smile. “Congratulations on the wedding. Craziest one I’ve ever been to.”
That’s right, he was there. His dad is a member of the Metropolitan Club along with my own. “Thanks.”
Next to me, Serena is silent, that bored expression back on her face from when we walked in.
“You bid on anything good?”
“A few things. Nothing too important.”
She shrinks further into my side, and that’s when it dawns on me. Parker is the ex. I didn’t realize I would actually know him. I went to high school with the guy. Well, I guess she did too. I keep forgetting she remembers me from back then.
But if she’s uncomfortable around him, we’re not staying. “If you’ll excuse us, I just saw someone we need to speak with.”
His brows lift faintly as he watches us walk off. “Another time then.”
Yeah, I don’t think so.
“That was him, right?” I whisper as we cross the room, avoiding the area her mother’s in.
“Yes.” Her hand finds mine, gripping it firmly, and I squeeze it back, a secret part of me reveling in being the strength she draws from.
I lead her out of the ballroom and into the hallway, plenty of people still mingling about. Too public.
We keep going till there’s an offshoot corridor, and I pull her down it, turning to face her once we come to a stop. “Are you okay?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, shoulders hunched forward. “Yeah.”
Not one of her more convincing performances.
She peeks up at me and just as quickly brings her gaze back down. “I told you, it’s stupid. Seeing him brought up some old memories is all. Especially after-” She pauses, swallowing heavily. “Last night.”
An electric thrill passes through me at her reminder of our encounter. Not at the part where she was upset, but where she basically said I was the only guy to ever get her off.
Not that we should have been doing anything like that, I remind myself. But with how sensual she is, how responsive, how is it possible I was her first?
“Thank you for getting us away.” She rubs at her arms, still not meeting my gaze. “I think the last time I was out with him, it was at an event like this actually.”
“Was it serious between you two?”
“No.”
My fists unclench before I even realize what I was doing. What do I care if she had a serious relationship before?
“But I’m guessing it ended badly? If you don’t want to see him?”
“No one likes getting dumped,” she replies softly. “But it’s in the past. Whatever.” Her back hunches further, at odds with her words.
“What happened?”
She shrugs, but I wait her out, needing to know for some reason.
“He wanted someone on his arm for events,” she eventually says. “And when that got old, I wasn’t needed anymore. It happens.”
My mind makes the connection instantly. “Is that what you think will happen? That I’ll dump you when I get what I need from you?”
She shrugs again, tightening her hold on her arms, but she’s not getting out of answering the question.
“Serena, please.”
She finally looks up at me, tears swimming in her eyes. Oh, fuck. I had no idea it was as bad as that.
“I know you didn’t ask for this,” she whispers hoarsely, like she can’t get anything louder out. “Getting stuck with me and all.”
“I’m not stuck with you.” I reach forward and wipe under her eye where a tear has dropped. What happened to the girl from earlier teasing me about working too much? “You’re my wife.”
“In public.”
My gaze narrows. What is she saying?
“When does this end?” she asks. “What’s the point where we say we’ve done enough to convince everyone?”
I don’t have an answer for her. I have no idea myself. But telling her that will only make things worse.
“Listen, I’m not worried about that right now. We’re in this together. You said that yourself last week.”
She nods, but I’m not convinced.
I take hold of her shoulders as gently as I can, the urge to soothe her the only thing on my mind. “You don’t have to worry about me dumping you. That’s not happening.”
She studies me, gaze darting back and forth between my eyes. Who’s hurt her to make it so hard for her to trust?
On second thought, who hasn’t? Her dad pawned her off on me and took her things, something bad enough must have happened with her mom that she actively avoids her, not to mention these ex-boyfriends that didn’t measure up.
“I promise.”
She sniffs and nods once more, giving me a shaky smile. Maybe she can trust me at least. “Okay. I believe you.”
Some unidentifiable emotion bursts in my chest and I wipe under her eyes again, cradling her jaw afterward, unwilling to let go just yet. She parts her lips and my thumb instinctively sweeps over the bottom one as I step closer, unsure what I’m doing, but wanting to do it all the same.
She leans in, and I meet her halfway, both of us silent as our mouths join, my hand traveling to the back of her neck to hold her more securely, her palm coming up to rest on my chest. This isn’t merely a kiss of comfort, though. Even I can’t convince myself of that.
The only thing is, I’m not sure exactly what it is.
And why it keeps happening.
“Will all bidders please rejoin us in Ballroom A at this time?” a voice announces over an intercom system. “We’re announcing winners in five minutes.”
We break apart, her gaze focused on my lips for a moment before she looks up.
“We should get back in there,” I say, closing my eyes briefly. If she studies them too carefully, she might see something I don’t want her to.
“Maybe you won that trip to Vermont.” She smiles hesitantly at me, sounding more like her normal self.
“Maybe.”
And again, my mind is back to where it shouldn’t be. The single bed, a cozy fireplace, champagne and strawberries. But this time the image goes farther. Me and her up until the wee hours of the morning, talking and connecting. About our families, our jobs, anything and everything. I want to know everything about her.
And I want her to know about me.
I take a step back, holding my arm out to guide her into the ballroom, loosening my tie the slightest bit from where it’s gone too tight, ignoring the strange fluttering sensation in my stomach.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just leftover adrenaline from getting her away from her ex, talking about her situation, coming to a better understanding between us.
That’s all it is.
Chapter Thirteen
Serena
We get home late with no more incidents, the proud owner of a wine and cheese gift basket Archer has no recollection of bidding on.
“Are you going to bed?” I ask, setting the basket on the kitchen counter.
He loosens his tie, rolling those big shoulders back. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
There’s a pause as neither of us move to leave, staring at each other.
“I’m not really tired,” I say eventually.
He scratches at the back of his neck.
“Me either.”
“We could watch another episode of The IT Crowd.”
He gives me a half smile, one side of his mouth quirking up adorably. “All right.”
I suppress the urge to do a happy dance and head toward my room, an odd smell filling my nose the closer I get. Maybe Lori forgot to take out the trash?
As I open my door, there’s the faint sound of water from the bathroom and my foot squishes on the carpet.
“What the hell?” Archer mutters, squeezing past me in the doorway to enter the en-suite bathroom. “Oh, fuck.”
I gasp as I look over his shoulder to find the room flooded, water trickling from a busted pipe in the shower.
He holds an arm in front of me, blocking my way. “Don’t go in.”
I try to push past him anyway, but he’s too bulky. “We need to turn the shower off.”
“The shower’s not on. It’s coming from the wall.”
What? But that shower shares a wall with my closet.
I cross the bedroom, discovering a spreading stain on the closet wall, right behind my hanging dresses. The carpet’s also saturated where I keep all my shoes.
No, no, no. Is everything ruined? Can I dry clean the dirty water smell out of them or something?
I step back into the bedroom, Archer on his phone already with what sounds like the building superintendent asking him to shut the water off and get someone out here.
I sit on the bed and take off my heels, the bottom of them along with the hem of my dress soaked. I barely have anything, and now this?
Archer hangs up a minute later and holds a hand out to me, signaling to me to get up. “Come on. They’re coming by soon to inspect the damage and clean up what they can. They’ll start repairs in the morning.”
I take his hand and let him guide me into the hallway. “Where are we going?”
“My room.”
His room? “Until the plumber leaves tonight?”
He turns to me, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not going back in there. We don’t know what kind of damage there is, if your things are contaminated, if it’s even safe. That wall could completely bust out anytime.”
Okay, that sounds a little far-fetched. “But all my stuff-”
Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2) Page 11
