by Jennie Lucas
He was hard and thick inside her as his large hands gripped her backside, spreading her wide. She gasped, tossing back her head.
Then slowly, instinctively, she began to move her body against his, feeling the deliciously exquisite tension rise and build inside her as she slid against his flat, muscular belly. She felt his rough fingertips gripping into her hips as she began to ride him, harder, faster. Her breasts bounced against the swell of her belly as she rode him, soft and slow, then hard and deep. She rode him until her whole body started to tremble and shake.
As she cried out, she heard his low roar join hers, rising to a shout as he filled her so deep she exploded with joyful ecstasy. Her cry became a scream she didn’t even try to contain, and he screamed with her, his body jerking and pulsing as he spilled himself inside her.
Exhausted, she collapsed beside him, and he held her. He cuddled her close, gently kissing her sweaty temple. But as she closed her eyes, she heard his dark whisper, so soft she wondered if she’d imagined it, like a whisper of her heart’s deepest fear.
“You’re mine now.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE LIGHTS OF New York City were dazzling and bright, but in the deep canyon between skyscrapers, Belle could no longer see the sky.
Sitting beside Santiago in the chauffeured black Escalade, with bodyguards following in another SUV, she’d felt numb as they traveled from the airport in New Jersey through Midtown, passing within blocks of the Broadway and Off-Broadway theaters that had rejected her so thoroughly.
As the saying went, if you could make it in New York, you could make it anywhere. But Belle hadn’t made it here. She’d thought if she could be an actress, if she could earn a living by pretending to be someone else every day, she could be happy. Instead, the city had laughed in her face.
And Santiago expected her, a small-town girl who’d never gone to college, to know how to be a socialite in this wealthy, ruthless city?
All she’d ever done was work as a waitress and raise her brothers. If Santiago had needed her to remember six different dinner orders with special instructions and sauce on the side, and serve it all at once balanced on her arms, no problem. If he’d wanted her to rustle up a double platter of brownies for ten hungry teenage basketball players in no time flat, Belle could have handled it.
But knowing how to blend into high society? Knowing how to swan around being chic while making small talk to the highly educated and fashionable glitterati he mingled with?
It was all Belle could do not to hyperventilate.
She glanced mutinously at Santiago sitting beside her in the SUV. “I’m not going to do it.”
He didn’t even bother to look up from his phone. They’d been having this same argument since before they’d left his Texas ranch that afternoon. “You will.”
“I’d only embarrass you. I don’t know how to talk to rich people!”
This time, Santiago did look up. His dark eyes flashed with amusement. “You talk to them like people.”
She sat back sulkily against the soft black calfskin leather of the luxury SUV. “You know what I mean.”
“They’re not people?”
“Not normal people. They all have advanced degrees from places like Oxford and Princeton. They’re billionaire entrepreneurs and ambassadors and famous artists. They all grew up in castles with a full staff of servants...”
“You really are a romantic, aren’t you?”
“The point is, we have nothing in common.”
“You do.” His dark eyes gleamed. “Me.”
She stared at him, stricken. Then she turned away, looking out silently at the dark, sparkling city.
Last night, Santiago had brought her to the heights of ecstasy in bed. But he’d also proven how thoroughly he commanded her body, even when her heart tried to resist.
He’d given her deep pleasure, made her feel things—do things—she’d never imagined. But that morning, she’d once again woken up alone. Only now, she had a big diamond ring on her left hand.
She’d surrendered to his marriage demand, both for their child’s sake and because he’d left her no choice. She’d given up any hope of love. She looked at her engagement ring, glinting beneath the city lights. So hard. So cold.
Like the man who’d given it to her.
Alone in the ranch’s master bedroom that morning, she’d gotten dressed in an old stretchy T-shirt from high school, the faded words Bluebell Bears emblazoned over the picture of a bear that stretched over her big belly, and a pair of loose khaki shorts and flip-flops. She’d found him sitting at the breakfast table drinking coffee, wearing a sleek black button-up shirt and black pants, more sophisticated than she’d ever be. She’d trembled in the doorway, still feeling last night’s kisses, wondering how he would greet her now they were engaged to be married for the rest of their lives.
“Good morning,” he’d said, barely looking at her. “I trust you slept well. We will be returning to New York today.”
That had been it. No warmth. No friendliness. No acknowledgement of the night they’d spent in each other’s arms. No matter how exhilarating, amazing, explosive the lovemaking, it was empty, with no love to fuel the fire.
And now he’d dragged her back to the fairy-tale city that had broken her heart.
Belle whispered in the back of the SUV, “I can’t possibly be your hostess in New York society.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“They’ll laugh in my face. Society people are even meaner than casting directors. I saw what they did to Letty, ripping her apart just because her father went to jail...”
“That was different.”
“They’re meaner than rattlesnakes.” Belle looked down, feeling a lump in her throat as she stared down at the gorgeous, obscenely huge diamond engagement ring. “And they’ll all think the same as you did. That I’m a gold digger who tricked you into marrying me, by deliberately getting knocked up.”
“No one will think that,” he said firmly, and his arrogant expression made her roll her eyes. Santiago really thought he could control everything, even the thoughts of strangers. She shook her head.
“You’re just not the kind of man who marries a girl like me. And this ring...”
“What about it?” he said shortly. He sounded on edge. She wondered if she’d offended him.
“It’s beautiful, but it looks weird on my hand. I’ve spent my life working. This ring should belong to a princess who’s never had to lift a finger.” She looked down at her casual shorts and high school T-shirt over her baby bump. “Your trophy wife should be an heiress or supermodel or movie star or something. Not a short, dumpy waitress.”
“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” His jaw tightened, and his dark eyes turned hard in a way she didn’t understand. “And movie stars are highly overrated.”
Belle frowned, looking up at his handsome face. “Did you ever date one?”
He blinked, then abruptly turned away, looking at the bright city lights sliding past their chauffeured SUV.
“Romantic love is a dream of lust and lies,” he said in a low voice. “It all turns to ash in the end.” He turned to her. “Be grateful it’s not part of our relationship.”
Belle started to protest, then remembered how she’d felt when Justin dumped her right before their wedding. How she’d felt when she’d found out he was not only getting back with his ex-wife, but they were also expecting the baby she could no longer conceive. Love hadn’t felt so great back then.
“It’s not always like that,” she tried.
His cruel, sensual lips twisted. “Give me an example of a romance working out.”
“Um...” She tried to think, then said triumphantly, “Letty and Darius.”
“That just proves my point. They didn’t marry for love. T
hey got lucky. Or else they decided to make the best of things.”
She bit her lip and said in a small voice, “Maybe we can do that, too.”
He rewarded her with a smile. “My executive assistant has already planned a meeting with the most exclusive wedding planner in the city.”
“You will meet with this planner?”
“No, you will. You’re the bride. I have a company to run.”
“I didn’t realize you were so old-fashioned, with the gender roles.”
He flashed a grin. “I know my place. The wedding day always belongs to the bride.”
The dread in Belle’s stomach only intensified. “I don’t need a big wedding. We could just go to City Hall...”
“Like Letty and Darius?”
That shut her up. Though Letty and Darius were happy now, their wedding had been awful, no matter how Belle had tried to put a positive spin on it. “Fine,” she said in a small voice. “Have it your way.”
Reaching out, he touched her shoulder. “At least we know what we’re getting into. Our marriage will last. No delusions of hearts and flowers. You won’t expect me to fulfill your every girlish fantasy.”
Pulling away, she tossed her head. “You couldn’t, even if you tried.”
Santiago gave her a sideways glance, his eyes suddenly dark as he murmured, “I could fulfill a few.” As she shivered at the huskiness of his voice, the SUV stopped.
“We’re here, sir.”
“Thank you, Ivan. Come.” He turned to Belle. “The staff is waiting to meet you.”
“By staff, do you mean that butler I met?” she said nervously.
“Yes, but Jones isn’t the only one. We have three live-in staff members. Four others live out.”
“Just for you?” she said in dismay. He smiled.
“For us.”
The door was opened by their driver, Ivan. As he and Kip, a bodyguard who had tattoos on his neck and a mean stare, brought in their luggage, Santiago helped Belle out of the SUV. Looking up at his brownstone mansion, she gulped.
When she’d first come here a few days ago to tell Santiago she was pregnant, she never could have imagined she’d return as his fiancée and mistress of the house!
Inside the front door, seven uniformed members of staff stood waiting in the enormous foyer beneath the skylight. At the head of the line was the butler who’d been so cold to her when she’d last visited the house. Looking at her, the man narrowed his eyes in a scowl.
Nervously, she tried to draw back, but Santiago held her hand securely.
“Good evening to you all,” he said gravely. “Thank you for waiting for our arrival.” He glanced at Belle. “I’m pleased to introduce you to my future bride, Miss Belle Langtry.”
“Hello, miss.”
“Welcome.”
“Lovely to meet you, miss.”
As each staff member introduced themselves to Belle in turn, she felt embarrassed. She felt like a fraud. Like she belonged in the staff line herself. What did she know about being the lady of the manor? Her friend Letty had been born to it, but Belle didn’t have a clue, and she was sure it showed. She ducked her head bashfully.
“As my wife,” Santiago continued, “Belle will be in charge of the house, so please teach her everything she needs to know.” He glanced at the butler. “I’m relying on you, Jones.”
“Of course, sir,” the butler intoned, but the sideways glance he threw Belle was far from friendly. I’m sure we’ll be friends in no time, she told herself, but she felt more ill at ease than ever.
“That’s all for now. You may go,” Santiago said. After the staff departed, he looked down at her and said softly, “I’ll show you around your new home.”
He drew her down the hallway of the mansion. The ceilings were high, with molded plaster and chandeliers. Their footsteps echoed on the hardwood and marble floors, walking past walls with oak paneling and stone fireplaces. “How old is this house?”
“Not very. It was built in 1899.”
“That’s older than my whole hometown,” she replied in awe. “And three employees actually live here? Doesn’t that feel weird, having your butler around when you’re slacking on the sofa in sweatpants, eating chips and watching football on TV?”
He gave a brief smile. “The staff have their own quarters in the evenings. On the fifth floor.”
“The fifth? How many floors are there?”
“Seven, if you include the basement.”
“This isn’t a house, it’s a skyscraper!”
His smile spread to a grin. “Come on.”
Belle’s eyes got bigger as he showed her the rest of the house, from the wine cellar and home theater in the basement, to the ballroom—“but it’s small, for a ballroom”—on the main floor, through five guest bedrooms and nine bathrooms.
“Why so many bathrooms?” she said curiously. “Is it so when one gets dirty, you don’t need to bother cleaning it, but can just move on to the next one?”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “That’s not necessary. The staff takes good care of us. Let me show you my second favorite place in this house.”
He led her onto the elevator, causing Belle to exclaim in wonder, “You have your own elevator?”, and pressed the button for the roof. As she walked out into the warm, humid July night, she gasped.
A rooftop pool was illuminated bright blue, with lounge chairs and cabanas surrounded by flowers and plants. But the real star was the view. As they stood on the rooftop, fifty-floor skyscrapers surrounded them, shining brightly.
Going to the edge of the railing, Belle saw, far below, the noise and traffic of the street. There was only one dark spot, directly to the left: Central Park.
“Wow,” she breathed, then looked at Santiago. “If this is only your second favorite part of the house, what’s your first?”
His eyes were dark, his voice low. “I’ll show you.”
He led her back to the elevator, and pressed the button for the third floor, which she realized she hadn’t seen at all yet. The elevator door opened on a small foyer. Beyond that was a single door.
“What’s this?” she asked.
His hooded eyes looked at her. “Open the door.”
Hesitantly, she obeyed. Behind her, he turned on the light.
She saw an enormous spartan bedroom, bigger than even the one in Texas. It had an enormous bed and a wall of windows covered with translucent curtains. There was a sitting area with a reading chair, a vanity table, a wet bar and a small library of books. Peeking into two side doors, she saw a large wood-paneled walk-in closet filled with dark suits, and an en suite bathroom in chrome and marble. The bathroom was so expensively minimalist that even the towels were tucked away.
Though this bedroom suite was huge and elegant, she didn’t see what could possibly make it more spectacular than the rooftop pool. Frowning, she turned back in puzzlement. “Your bedroom?”
He nodded.
“What do you love so much about it?”
Coming forward, he put his hands on her shoulders, his eyes alight. “That you’ll be in it.”
Belle shivered, remembering the heat and passion they’d shared at the Texas ranch. She wasn’t hypocritical enough to pretend that the thought disgusted her. She bit her lip. “What would the staff think?”
He looked amused. “That I’d share my room with my pregnant fiancée? You think this will shock them?” He gave a low laugh. “Ah, querida, you are such an innocent. The servants think what I pay them to think.”
She snorted, then paused. “Is that what you’ll expect of me, too? That I’ll just do what you tell me to do and think what you want me to think?”
His dark eyebrows lowered. “No.” He pulled her into his arms, and ran his hand softly along her cheek. “You are
not my servant, Belle. My expectations are different for you. I expect you to be yourself. And say what you actually think.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You do?”
“Of course.” His lips curved upward. “So I can convince you around to my way of thinking. The correct way.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right.”
“I have no interest in a silent doormat as a wife. I would rather have sparks between us, and yes, hatred at times, than be married to a ghost. I expect you to tell me when you are angry, rather than hide from me. You will be my wife and soon, the mother of my children...”
“Children?”
“Of course.” He tilted his head. “You know how important siblings are. I was an only child. My life might have been very different if I’d had a sibling. Imagine how your younger brothers’ lives might have turned out if they’d not had you to take care of them.”
The thought gave her a chill. Her brothers would have been separated, sent to foster care. Or an orphanage, even, like Santiago. She bit her lip. “Of course it’s important, but...”
“But?”
“This is all just so new to me. I feel like my life is already becoming unrecognizable. Planning a society wedding? Have more children? I don’t know anything about running a mansion, or managing a staff.”
“You will learn.”
“I don’t know about designer clothes, obviously—” she looked down at her stretchy Bluebell Bears T-shirt and shorts “—or elegant manners or...”
“I’ve arranged an appointment for you tomorrow at eleven with a personal stylist. Ivan will take you. Kip will go with you.”
“Why would I need a bodyguard?”
“Consider him an accessory. You certainly won’t be the only one with a bodyguard. Your stylist is...” He named a celebrity stylist so famous that even Belle had heard of her. “She’ll provide you with clothes and everything else.”
“Bodyguard. Stylist.” She gave an incredulous, half-hysterical laugh. “I’m not some celebrity!”
