The photographer cleared his throat. “The photos, Mister and Missus. They are done.”
Chloe wound her fingers into Knox’s hair, gasping when he tightened his hold on her. The kiss didn’t end. God help her, she didn’t want it to.
“Okay, we talk later.” The man’s clipped accent ended on a chuckle.
Knox broke free a little, nibbling her lip. “Sorry,” he murmured, though the words felt like a smile. “Got a little lost in the moment.”
“Yeah.” Chloe tried to reel herself in, but it was no easy task. It was worth the effort, though, because she was going to walk away from him. Walk…not limp.
“So, what’s next?” she asked.
He turned and raised a hand to the photographer who, with the help of an assistant, was carting cases of equipment off the sand. Everyone else—the officiant and their witnesses, Toby and his date—had already left. The bypassed huge wedding not only sped up their nuptials…it also authenticated the claim that they wanted privacy. That was Knox’s go-to answer for why they’d not been seen together, and she’d quickly adopted it—not that Lila had bought it, nor had Chloe’s mother. She’d spent the majority of the week convinced Chloe would come to her senses and not marry Knox.
Chloe would be a lot less tortured if she had.
She pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and the faint light glinted on her wedding bands. In addition to the three-stone, diamond engagement ring, she now wore a diamond-studded band. She’d probably never touched so much money in her life.
“Do you like them?” Knox asked. He wore a matching platinum band with a diamond inlay.
She wanted to ask if he was always so concerned with the feelings of his employees, but she bit back the snark. He’d done everything in the world to create a breathtaking wedding, even if it was for show. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.
He still watched her, waiting for an answer.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. Not a shred of untruth there.
He reached for her hand, then laced his fingers with hers and drew her next to him as he set off at an easy pace along the shoreline. “I didn’t want to get the traditional solitaire. I thought you might want to save that for…for it to be special. In case you moved on and… found someone.”
What a thoughtful ass.
“We’ve been married less than an hour,” she said. “I’m guessing most couples at this point are still expecting it to last.”
He drew her to a stop. A wave tumbled ashore, the surf flirting close to their feet. And then he kissed her.
No photographer. No ceremony. Just a man and the woman he vowed not to love and the impossibly soft touch of his lips to hers. “I can give you that,” he murmured of the kiss. “I will always give you that.”
She could have pushed him in the ocean. She should have pushed him in the ocean. But before she regained her equilibrium, his mouth was again on hers. And it was she who was drowning. The wave that finally did soak the bottom of her dress had nothing on his ability to pull her under, or the way he drove a new surge of sensation with every gentle, sweeping movement of his kiss. She was one misfired hormone away from ripping yet another shirt from his chest.
Hormones. It was lust. It had to be. Because she could not be so stupid as to allow herself to love him.
They were still standing there, feet buried in wet sand. He touched her cheek, chasing a stray lock of her hair from her face. “Are you sure your mom’s not upset?”
“My mother? This is where this moment takes you?”
He laughed. “Not exactly. I just feel a little bad about what you missed. Your father walking you down the aisle…our mothers sobbing in the front row.”
“Oh, she’d be sobbing all right.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Can you blame her? Most of what she knows about your family she learned in the check-out lane of the supermarket.”
He frowned. “I hope she’ll be willing to look past that.”
“Does it matter? She doesn’t normally get a say-so in matters of my employment.”
Even in the growing twilight, the flash of pain in Knox’s eyes was palpable.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “You’re not what those magazines say, and I know you care about me.”
She waited for him to argue. To explain for the umpteenth time why he couldn’t love her.
He didn’t.
“Is that why you didn’t insist on having them here?” he asked quietly. “Because this isn’t real?”
“In a way, I guess. My parents want to be happy for me. They want me to be happy. They taught me by their example that love comes first, always. How would I stand in front of them and take vows that go against that?”
“I guess I didn’t think about how it would affect your family,” he said.
“Well, there’s some good news.”
“How is that good?”
“Total focus on the result and consequences be damned? Maybe you’ve got some politician in you after all.”
Chapter Ten
Knox had never given much thought to the wedding night he never thought he’d have, but any glancing associations had always included sex. Now, after sharing an exquisite dinner with the most amazing woman he’d ever known, the reality of not closing the deal was sinking in like a rock. But even worse was his growing and persistent knowledge that sex wasn’t all he wanted.
Clearly, he’d had a glass too many from the bar.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Chloe said, turning from the window of their honeymoon suite.
Though she’d been first on his mind, her voice still startled him. “Yes, it is,” he said, locking his eyes with hers.
She was stunning.
She’d pulled back her long, dark hair, though a few pieces escaped to caress her face. The contrast between those sky-blue eyes and rich chocolate strands belonged on a long-and-growing list of things he found increasingly difficult to resist. He longed to plunge his fingers in her hair, wreck that updo or whatever she’d called it, and explore with his mouth every delicious inch of her exposed skin.
And what a place to strip her to nothing and dive into her again and again—the honeymoon suite with its plush everything, complete with candlelight and a heart-shaped tub, which the room servant had offered to fill with champagne. To some, that might sound romantic, but to Knox—deep pockets notwithstanding—it sounded like a sticky waste of cash.
The room also featured an entire wall of glass, which offered a panoramic view of the ocean waves rolling ashore across an expanse of moonlit sand. The sky in its endless black seemed to spin with its tiny, ubiquitous bursts of starlight.
Everything should have been perfect. Only it wasn’t.
She turned from the window, and his breath caught. The candlelight reflected in her eyes, mimicking the dance of moonlight over the water. She’d changed from her dress into shorts and a tee, and her bare legs seemed to go on forever.
“You thinking about losing that bet?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m thinking more about making you lose it.”
“Go ahead and try,” she challenged. “I can guarantee you’ll lose first.”
He cleared his throat and tried to swallow past the lump that didn’t belong there. “Is this you upping the ante?”
“Not at all. In fact, I hereby vow to keep my hands to myself.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
One of her eyebrows rose, probably in an effort to evade the blatant skepticism running rampant over her face. Chloe was no kitten, and the narrowed eyes matched with a playful smile made for one hell of a reminder.
He’d backed himself into a corner, and it looked increasingly to be a sexless one. If she wanted to find a way to torture him, she’d nailed it. “Maybe we should…rethink…” The last word was little more than an afterthought. Chloe had stepped out of her shorts to reveal a teeny, lacy thing t
hat looked like another pair of shorts, with only a quarter of the fabric.
“What?” she asked, dragging his attention from her derriere. Her demure tone spoke not of innocence, but of something more along the lines of Game on. “They’re called boy shorts. Cute, huh?”
“Please tell me that’s just a name. They didn’t come from the men’s department, did they?”
“Just a name,” she said. And proceeded to take off her shirt. The bra underneath matched the boy panties, but he didn’t get to consider it long before it, too, was gone.
His manhood leaped for her, but the effort within the confines of his pants was useless, though under her coy scrutiny, it was the only part of him not withering. So much for the lack of sexy wedding-night lingerie.
“Which side do you prefer?” she asked.
Gesturing toward the bed was probably supposed to clarify her meaning, but it had the opposite effect. His brain had calculated a few dozen positions before he reined it in.
“No preference,” he said.
“Perfect.” She turned and bent at the waist—a bit more so than necessary—to pull back the covers. He half hoped she’d crawl under the blankets and offer him a little respite in the process, but instead she grabbed her bag off the table and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him to pulse an involuntary phallic salute to every sway of her hips.
He forced himself to look at the bed. King-size. Plenty of room. Too much.
Deciding he could taunt just as well as she, Knox stripped out of his clothes. Down to his boxer briefs, he blew out the candles and reached to shut the drapes. But the ocean splintered with silver moonlight made for a stunning display and, after a quick glance in either direction indicated a deserted beach, he decided to leave the curtains open.
He could give her the view.
Feeling somewhat empty inside, he went to the bed, choosing the side nearer the window. It was opposite the side he normally slept on, but if there was any way in hell someone managed to get a lens pointed deep into their fourth-floor suite—an angle that was extremely unlikely based on their proximity to the ocean—they’d see him before her.
They’d have to face the press with the news of their marriage sooner or later, but damned if she was going to do so in those man shorts of hers.
On cue, a swath of light swept the room, into which she appeared briefly before the glow disappeared. She stood, eyes trained on the view, for a few precious seconds.
He lived in that moment to study her, all sleek and toned and his. Her bare skin offered a visual feast, and not just because she was topless, though the latter certainly didn’t hurt. What really got him was the fact she’d cleared her face of makeup.
No pretensions—nothing to prove and nothing to hide.
Beautiful.
Real.
“I haven’t seen many women without makeup,” he said.
“What, you’ve never been to a grocery store? Life exists outside of that shiny office of yours, you know.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
Her eyes widened, painting her face with surprise. As if he’d said something profound.
Maybe he had.
She stood there, more than half naked, staring at the bed.
“It’s different now, isn’t it?” he asked. Then, seeing her face darken, he added, “Unless you’re just afraid you can’t control yourself around me.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just not sure if there’s room for me alongside you and your ego.”
He feigned offense. “Is that really my biggest attribute? My ego?”
“I think you just proved my point. As for your point, you can keep it to yourself.” She tossed him a lopsided grin and crawled under the covers.
He left her alone for precisely two seconds before he dragged her across the mattress, caveman style.
She shrieked his name, laughing and pushing playfully against his shoulders as he caught her in his arms. But all pretense of resistance ended when his mouth landed on hers. Her lips were already parted, and he took immediate advantage by pushing his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her like a man starved. The hands she’d pressed to his shoulders looped around his neck, drawing him in and holding him there, and still he feasted. He pushed one of his knees between her thighs, grinning at the soft whimpers the pressure elicited.
He was desperate to touch her. Desperate to fill her. He settled for plunging his fingers in her hair, cradling either side of her head while he found ways to deepen the kiss. The staccato of her breaths drove him farther against her until he was cursing clothing and stupid bets and the absence of a neon-colored condom. He’d been too damned determined not to lose the bet to bring them along, but it was just as well. He’d never get past the application phase. She had him that turned on, and judging from the way her long, lithe body writhed against him, he wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life and dangerously close to losing…and not entirely sure the bet was the only thing at stake.
Breathless and nearly trembling, he broke the kiss. His arms shook with the effort to put distance between him and, this woman, his Kryptonite.
She was looking at his mouth—or maybe not seeing anything at all. Her chest heaved, her perfect breasts swaying with every inhale. Her arms were still draped around his neck, and his willpower held on by a single frayed thread. His dick pointed. Begged. Strained. It was a full-on phallic tantrum, and it was all Knox could do ease from the circle of her arms, his teeth accidentally grazing one of her rock-hard nipples.
She drew a sharp breath, but when their eyes met, she merely offered a serene smile. Here he was, torn to pieces, and she looked as content as a basketful of puppies.
Damn. He rolled over to his side of the bed, landing flat on his back with a sigh born of frustration. His pulse raced, and there wasn’t a drop of blood left in his brain. All he could think about was diving into that sweet, hot body until he shattered, then laying there while the pieces knit back together. Maybe then he’d be whole.
Maybe then he’d know how to love.
He turned his head toward her and immediately felt the heat of her gaze. The warmth drew him in. Made blue his favorite color.
“’Night, Knox,” she murmured.
“Good night, Chloe”
For the longest time, he didn’t move. He reached for her hand. When he found it, their fingers laced together of their own volition, as if they’d done it a thousand times before.
As if they were meant to be that way all along.
He told himself for the umpteenth time he didn’t believe in love, but this time something was different.
This time he wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.
Chapter Eleven
Despite the bright light of a new day, Knox was so far beyond screwed, he couldn’t see straight. And he wasn’t sure what bothered him most about it—that he’d lost control or the fact that Chloe clearly had. He’d known she was different the moment they’d met, but in spite of their months together, he’d failed to consider one thing: she’d never been a part of his ordinary life. She’d been a separate part of him—a part he desperately craved, but separate nonetheless. She was what happened after he shed the suit and tie and propped his bare feet on the table and ate pizza out of a box. She was losing control in a hotel room where he’d never have to wake up without her—where everything they had existed in a singular place that never threatened his everyday world.
He’d completely underestimated the effect of having those two worlds collide. Thoughts of her consumed him. They’d been back together a little more than a week, but any hopes of the novelty wearing off were lost by the fact he grew more insatiable with each passing day. And though on some level, he knew he was a jerk for wanting her, he also knew he wasn’t imagining what they had between them. And now this stupid bet…he wanted to throw her down on the bed and dive into her until his limbs gave out, but the idea that doing so would ease the sexual tension betwee
n them was laughable. He was a wreck, and he didn’t see an easy way around it.
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Toby frowned and peered at him over a leaf of papers. He was always frowning over a leaf of papers.
“Yeah. Jackson is a dick. You said that last week.” Knox pressed his lips together. If looking at his campaign manager’s ugly mug didn’t eradicate thoughts of plunging balls deep into Chloe, nothing could.
Dropping the paperwork on his briefcase, Toby asked, “Why do I work for you?”
“Because I wanted the best.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
Knox grinned. “You’ve known me long enough to know not to take these things personally.” They’d been friends since college, where they’d shared a major and a dorm room. Knox’s trust was hard won…it had probably taken every bit of those four years, but Toby had earned it. He also earned his salary—he was one hell of a political strategist. The only downside was that in spending that time in such close proximity, Toby probably knew more about Knox than he should have. Overall, Knox had been pretty well-behaved, but he could think of a couple of incidents that were better kept under wraps. Of course, Toby had been right there with him. But of the two, only Knox had the kind of aspirations that could land him on the wrong side of a smear campaign.
Toby cleared his throat. “As I was saying, there have been some questions as to the timing of your marriage, but I think you’re getting some points for not making it a power play.”
The Marriage Agenda Page 8
