by Ana Adams
The idea sounded ridiculous…but he liked the chance to prolong their nearness. Despite the bittersweet finale that would tear them apart. “You’re serious.”
“I am. Listen, you need some help. This is very clear. Not only are you launching a traditionally hard search, you’re doing it without love and with a time limit in the mix. This isn’t going to end well.”
He sighed tersely. Maybe she had a point.
“It would help to have a screener, of sorts.” She shrugged, buttering a slice of crunchy artisan bread. “I can do that for you.”
“You really would?”
“Yes. Let’s face it, you need me. And here’s the first rule: no springing the marriage idea on a lady post-coitus. Any woman you want to marry will run screaming for the hills after that.”
“Like you.”
A tight smile crossed her face. “Right.”
“And you’re expecting payment for your services, I presume?”
Clara lifted her brows. “Of course. Whatever you think is adequate. I’m not looking for half the royal fortune here.”
A sever arrived with a steaming plate of braised kales and seafood appetizers. They murmured appreciatively as they tasted clams, shrimp, and oysters.
“Oh my god.” Oyster juice dribbled down the corner of her mouth as she groaned. He wanted to lick it up on the spot, and then follow it with kisses all along the sharp curve of her shoulder. “This is too good. Already a five-star review from me on Yelp.”
He slurped his oyster back, her proposition making lazy circles in his mind. If Clara helped him pick a wife, it would be a strange bonding experience, but one that could keep them together while their numbered days slipped away. It was odd, but it worked.
Once they’d moaned and groaned about every appetizer on the plate, Adrien wiped his mouth and sat back in the chair, studying the tabletop.
“Are you preparing yourself for the main course?” She sipped at her wine. “I know I need some time to process what just happened.”
“I’m processing your idea, actually.” He watched her, waiting for her eyes to meet his. “I like it. Let’s do it.”
An unreadable expression crossed her face. “Game on, Adrien.”
They clinked glasses. As they tossed back a sip of wine, he swore he saw doubt written on her face, or maybe something more. Whatever it was, he had an idea it was the same predator stalking the back of his own mind. The confusion piling up like a heavy snowfall—the distinct sensation that he was walking in the right direction but had chosen the wrong path entirely.
Chapter Eight
Clara’s evening was a healthy mixture of red wine, seafood taste explosions, and sexually-charged conversations that left her reeling. As she and Adrien stood outside the restaurant, waiting for Mr. Pike, the heat of him at her side felt like a sultry whisper in her ear. One that she couldn’t possibly turn away from.
“So.” He checked his watch. “It’s about bedtime for you, isn’t it?”
She scoffed. “What am I, ten years old?”
“I just mean with all the work you have to do tomorrow.” He side-eyed her, a grin toying at his lips. “I’m being respectful, Clara.”
“Oh. Right.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.” Swinging her purse, she scanned the horizon, hoping Mr. Pike would be a bit longer. “I thought I might stay up late tonight. Get a head start on the princess search. I don’t know. What about you?”
“I have a lot of work to do. This Yelp review won’t write itself.”
“Do you need help?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” His hand appeared at the small of her back. Warmth zipped through her. “Will you come back with me so we can write it together?”
Her gaze slid up to meet his. “Oh yeah. You’re gonna need my perspective on the clams.”
“And the caviar.” His face grew nearer. Her lips tingled at the anticipation of kissing him again. Their night together, though delicious and fun, had been painfully bereft of kissing and fondling. Even though she’d demanded exactly that.
“And that unexpected bisque.” She pressed her lips to his before she could think twice. He kissed her hungrily, squeezing her hip and drawing her into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kisses, desperate to inhale his scent.
When the black sedan rolled up beside them, Clara had to force herself to pull away. “Ad-Adrien.” She jerked her head toward the car, unable to rip her gaze off his kiss-stained lips. “Pike’s here.”
He dragged a thumb across her cheek and swooped in for a small peck. “I’m glad you noticed.” He laughed, reaching for the back door to let her in. “I might not have.”
She bit back a smile as she got inside. The door shut softly behind her. “Hi, Pike.”
Mr. Pike nodded, his eyes meeting hers briefly through the rearview mirror. Adrien slid in on the other side. When the door clicked shut, Pike rolled into motion.
“Can we stop by my apartment?” She cast a worried glance toward Mr. Pike. “I just want to grab a few things.”
Adrien shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.” His hand reached for hers, squeezing it in the darkness of the back seat. “But I can get whatever you need at the penthouse.”
“A girl likes to have her own toothbrush and panties the next morning,” she said, lowering her voice. “If you know what I mean.”
Adrien shifted in the seat beside her. From the glow of the passing streetlamps, she sought out the telltale sign of a hard-on. It was too dark to tell, but just the thought of it made her wet. She focused on the passing blurs of light and dark as they headed south. Focusing on anything other than Adrien’s firm, warm body on top of hers was necessary if she wanted to last the car ride without screwing in the back seat.
The drive passed with lighthearted conversation and laughter. When Mr. Pike pulled up along the sidewalk of her dingy row, she sighed, grabbing the door handle. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”
“Let me come up with you.” Adrien got out of the car before she could protest. A moment later, her door was opened, his hand waiting.
She took it, stepping uneasily out of the car. This man and his world seemed so out of place here. But he had no hesitation in seeing her world, which somehow made him even sexier. At the door leading to her stairwell, she didn’t even need to push on it to know the latch was broken.
“I can’t believe this is still open,” Adrien muttered, swinging it open. “Have you ever been robbed before?”
She gulped, hurrying up the stairs. She had, but admitting that seemed like it would stain the evening. “I’m fine. The landlords usually fix it within a few days.”
“Do you want a security detail?”
She jiggled her key in the front door. “What?”
“I can send someone here to watch over your apartment. It’s no problem.”
“Adrien.” The door swung open but neither stepped through. “That’s…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” He pressed his lips to hers, pushing her at the hip when they parted. “Go get your things.”
She stumbled inside, eyes blurry from the passionate kiss. Adrien was dangerous. He made it difficult to walk straight, see straight…and this was after two days. What could possibly come of this if she kept seeing him? Total paralysis? Would she become brain dead? Abandon her hunt for a job and just froth at the mouth whenever he came around?
She flitted past the tapestry hung on the far side of the room, used as a partition between her bed and the rest of the studio apartment. Adrien followed her, eyeing the walls curiously. As she rifled through her underwear drawer, he scuffed his way closer. Just as she snagged the pair of undies she wanted—the black lace thong she thought he might particularly enjoy—his hands appeared at her hips.
She drew a sharp breath. “Well, hello.”
He flipped her around to face him. His eyes were dark and desirous in the dimly lit apartment. “Almost ready?”
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Not at all.” His lips found her cheek, then smoothed down along the line of her jaw. “In fact, I thought you should take your time.” He pulled her close to him, hooking his hands behind her thighs.
She giggled. “I can go as slow as you’d like.”
“Can you?” He caught her lips in a kiss. “Let’s see.” He hoisted her by the ass up onto the surface of her small dresser. His fingers crept up the sides of her thighs, goose bumps erupting in their wake.
“Oh, Adrien.” She laughed throatily as he showered her neck with kisses. Her mind was spinning. In all her years on her own, she’d never once realized this dresser was the perfect height for fucking. Or maybe that was only with Adrien’s height. His fingers reached her panties and he yanked them down and over her heels. He drew a low breath as he pocketed them.
“So we don’t lose them,” he growled into her ear, nipping at her earlobe.
She moaned, leaning back against the wall as his fingers stroked her hardened clit, tightening her grip on his bicep. “Good thinking.”
Adrien slipped a finger inside her. Her eyes shot open at the unexpected warmth of him filling her. He felt so good, so right when he was inside her. Like nobody else before in her life.
He’s dangerous.
Burying his face in her neck, he drew a low inhale. “You drive me crazy, Clara.”
“In a good way, I assume?”
“I wanted to bend you over that lobster display and fuck you right there in the restaurant.”
She giggled through a kiss. “We would have scarred the poor things.”
His thumb grazed her clit, made her tense against him. He slipped another finger inside her, working them in and out of her and making her desperate.
“You like that?”
She jerked her head into a nod, swallowing a moan. “Don’t stop.”
He pinched her clit, rolling his thumb against the tight nub. She shuddered, belly clenching with need. He slid his fingers out of her slowly, never breaking their gaze. His belt clanked as he undid it and slid his pants to the floor.
“Do you have a condom?” Her chest heaved as he reached for his wallet.
“Of course.” He revealed a foil wrapper, tearing it open deftly with his teeth. He rolled it over the tip of his swollen cock, the head bulging bright and purplish. He let out a low growl once it was sheathed, then swooped in for a feisty kiss.
Locking eyes, he eased himself into her, inch by languorous inch, breath catching in her throat as the sensations stormed her. The heat of his body was almost painfully good—intoxicating and sensuous enough to drive her to climax just from prolonged contact.
When he was buried to the hilt, he grabbed handfuls of her ass and flexed against her, finding another centimeter of space. She moaned and slumped against the wall, desire unfurling hot and needy inside her.
“Clara,” he murmured, his voice coming out raw, unhinged. “You feel…”
He didn’t need to finish his sentence. She clutched at his arms, clenching her pussy around him, desperate for him to fuck her brains out. “I know, babe. Give it to me. Come on.” Her voice broke with desperation.
He grunted and moved against her, taking her ass into his hands, flexing slow and measured at first, then giving it to her hard—forceful pounds that made the dresser bang against the wall. She whimpered, digging her nails into his shoulder and hooking her ankles around his back.
Adrien’s pace quickened, his eyes dark and commanding on her as he fucked her, wisps of hair falling from his pompadour. She gulped, the intensity of his gaze pushing her closer to the edge. The man could make her come with those eyes, alone.
“Harder,” she begged, bringing their bodies closer.
He grunted, fucking her harder, the dresser banging against the wall with abandon. A moan escaped her; her pussy tightened around him, preparing for the explosion of pleasure. Knock, knock, knock. In the back of her mind, the noise of the dresser registered as a type of metronome, the rhythm of their desperate lovemaking. She tensed and moaned low, her orgasm uncoiling from deep within, tendrils of pleasure snaking through every limb as the ecstasy diffused inside her. Adrien let out a gruff moan and pressed himself hard against her, stilling his body between her legs as he came.
Chest heaving, Clara clung to him, her pussy throbbing around his cock as they rode the final waves of their pleasure. Blinking lazily at him, she smiled.
Crrack.
With a jolt, the dresser gave way beneath her. Adrien clutched her, steadying her as the left side fell to the ground. She gasped, slipping off the dresser, feet meeting the ground hastily.
“Oh, shit.” She bent down to assess the damage. The dresser feet on the left side had snapped off at the base. “Looks like we got a little too rowdy for this thing.”
He grinned mischievously, brushing his nose against her cheek. “I’ll replace it. It was my fault.”
“Our fault,” she corrected. After a moment, she added, “Well…mostly yours.”
They shared a grin that made her feel like they’d been together for years.
Chapter Nine
Adrien cracked open an eyelid. Sunlight poured through gauzy fabric from the window nearby, framing the broken dresser as though an art feature at a museum. He shifted and felt empty space beside him. Turning over, Clara was gone. Light tapping sounded from beyond the worn tapestry dividing the apartment.
He swallowed, tongue finding a sour taste in his mouth. They’d whiled away the night giving and receiving orgasms, so much that they never even made it beyond her bed. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d had such an explosive sexual chemistry, not to mention all the fun and laughter that accompanied their sex.
He groaned as he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. After so much physical exertion, the extra sleep was necessary.
Pulling on his boxer briefs, he pushed past the tapestry. Clara sat cross-legged on the couch in the middle of the room, bent over her laptop. She looked up at him, smiling.
“Morning, champ.” She shut the laptop, placing it aside.
“Good morning.” He bit back a yawn. “Is it still morning?”
“Got about another hour left.” She patted the couch beside her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Surprisingly. I normally don’t sleep well in new places.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She tucked her knees into her chest as he sat on the couch. The springs creaked beneath him.
“How long have you been up?” He draped his arm along the back of the couch, dragging his fingertips along the exposed part of her neck. Goose bumps erupted in their wake.
“A couple hours.” She shrugged, yawning. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to get started on the hunt.”
“You’re that eager to marry me off.” His eyes wandered along the curve of her neck, over the lines of her jaw. She cast him a wry glance.
“Well, it’s my job now. I have to earn my paycheck.”
“You never told me how much it will be.”
“Whatever you think is adequate.” She fingered a stray fiber on the couch.
“Is this how you’re going to negotiate pay raises when you start working at the academy?” He gave her a wry smile. “Come on. What are your services worth? I’m a venture capitalist. Convince me to part with my money.”
She bit back a grin, color flushing her cheeks. “Fine.” She took a deep breath, studying the ceiling for a moment. “I promise to find a consistent group of potential wives on a weekly basis. At least 4 blind dates per week, ranked on categories such as profession, awards and recognition, attractiveness, etc.”
“Go on.”
“Four new women each week, for a period of four weeks. Then we can extend the period, if needed. I’ll arrange everything—I’ll set up the dates, the places, the reservations, all of it. I’ll send you the information as I arrange it, based around your schedule once you tell me what times are generally good for you throughout the week.”
“Okay. Price?”<
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She bit her lip as she studied the ceiling again. “Five to seven hours a day…maybe up to seven days a week…I’d say my base price is fifteen hundred dollars per week.”
He nodded, impressed by how she’d stepped up to bat. “Very good. You lowballed yourself, though. Always give a higher price and negotiate downward. Don’t start with the minimum that you’ll accept. I’ll give you twenty-five hundred a week.”
Her eyes shot open. “Are you serious?”
“Of course.” He pinched her arm. “Now let’s have breakfast somewhere.”
“That’s like, fifty dollars an hour.”
“I know.” He stood, stretching. “This is an important task. I’ll give you a bonus for finding the right match, too.”
She nodded, reaching for her laptop. “That sounds appropriate. I like that.”
He grinned, sauntering toward the bedroom. “Good. Think of a new place for us to eat this morning. I want something American.”
Adrien grabbed his phone from the nightstand before he made his way to the bathroom. New messages awaited him, mundane updates from the security detail and work colleagues. A couple missed calls greeted him, all with the Luxembourg area code. He sighed, tossing the phone on the bed. Turning to leave for the bathroom, the phone vibrated against the rumpled comforter.
Luxembourg. Calling again. He gritted his teeth, debating on ignoring it once more. If there were this many repeated calls, it was something serious. His parents almost never called his personal phone anymore. He snatched it up, answering before he could think twice.
“Hallo?”
“Adrien.” His father’s rich tenor rumbled jovially from halfway across the world. The good mood was another red flag. “Comment allez-vous?”
“Trѐs bien.” He paused, unsure where to begin. “Why have you called so many times?”
“La bonne nouvelle.” The good news. His stomach sank. “Your wedding date has been chosen. The plans have been made. You will marry the Archduchess Francesca in five weeks.”
