by Maisey Yates
“Perhaps one of us should...”
“Me,” she said. The idea of Ajax calling Rachel was a bit much to handle. “I’ll do it.” She closed the laptop and stood, tucking her computer under her arm, ignoring the slight awkwardness of the position. “And then I’ll...get ready for tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Great.”
Something changed in his expression, a strange look in his eyes. “Tell her...tell her I said hi.”
She clutched the computer more tightly to her body, and tried to ignore the strange wave of sadness that crested and crashed over her. For him. For her. “I will.”
* * *
She shut the door to her new room behind her and took her phone from her bedside table. She clicked on the text her sister had sent yesterday and hit reply.
You ok?
She paced, the phone in her hand, and when it buzzed, she jumped a little before looking at the screen.
I’m good. Is Jax ok?
Her sister’s nickname for Ajax always made Leah bristle a little. Perhaps because it was a reminder of their special relationship.
He’s ok. Leah sucked in a sharp breath and typed the rest of the message. He married me, BTW.
She winced and hit Send. Then waited. Her sister’s response came quickly.
Holy crap. Just saw it on Google.
Leah waited for more. For anything, but there was nothing.
So she started a new message.
You’re happy? You didn’t love Ajax did you?
Her phone pinged.
Not like that. Not the kind you need to marry a guy. You know?
Do you love Alex? Leah sent the message.
The reply took longer than the ones before. I need to be with Alex.
No declarations of love. Or even of happiness. It made Leah feel heavy
You’re really okay?
I’m tougher than you think.
If anyone asks—Leah stopped typing and thought for a second before continuing—tell them that you and Ajax were marrying for the company. Tell them we fell in love and you let us get married.
Why?
Leah blew out an exasperated breath.
For his pride.
Tell him I am sorry. And I’ll tell the press and curious people whatever you want. I have my own problems to deal with.
I’ll tell him. And he says hi. She hit Send on it before she could delete the last part. She almost wanted to. Almost wanted to hide that bit of his vulnerability.
Thanks. I don’t know when I’ll be back. There are things that I need to take care of. I love you.
Leah sighed. Me too.
Leah threw her phone down onto the bed and let out a long growl. She noticed her sister did not return Ajax’s hi. Which she found annoying, for no good reason. She was trapped between feeling protective of him and feeling angry at him, and somewhere between that, she was just mad for herself. Upset about the entire situation.
Well, there was no time for that. It didn’t matter how she felt, not right now. She took a deep breath and stalked over to her closet, which had been all arranged for her over the course of the day by Ajax’s very helpful staff.
Nope. No sulking allowed. She had a dress to choose, and she had to look appropriately amazing. She had to get her mask on. Because no matter the story, she was still going to be Ajax Kouros’s backup bride.
Because it was going to be a high school flashback all over again. Instead of Who Wore it Better? It would be Who Hung on Ajax’s Arm Better?
Hmph. She was done with this.
If she had anything to do with it, she would be Ajax Kouros’s fabulously sexy backup bride, who didn’t flinch against the flashbulbs, or the comparisons. She only hoped her defenses held.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE WOMAN WHO walked downstairs to greet him that night was an entirely different woman from the one who had been on the couch in the study earlier.
Frizzy, mahogany curls had been tamed into softer waves, whiskey-colored eyes were lined with dark makeup, making them glow. And unlike her T-shirt and sweatpants, her black dress didn’t hang off her curves. The one-shouldered, Grecian-inspired gown molded to her curves, revealing no skin but giving everyone an insight into the figure beneath.
Her lips were painted cherry-red, the perfect accent to a showstopping ensemble. She was playing her part well. She looked every inch the woman in love, the woman trying to appeal to her new husband.
It wasn’t just the clothes that made her seem different. It was the way she looked at him. Or rather it was the way she didn’t look at him. Her chin was tilted up, her expression cool. Haughty. Always Leah Holt had looked at him with a special glitter in her eyes. No one else had ever looked at him that way. No one else had ever smiled at him as she had, with open affection and warmth. No one else had ever left chocolate on his desk, just because.
He’d lost that somewhere along the way. And it wasn’t until now that he missed it.
“You look beautiful,” he said. It was true. She did. He realized the truth of it as he spoke it. He’d always put up a block where Leah was concerned. She was too young for him to look at her like that.
And he had been looking at one woman for years, a woman who was wholly different in looks and personality, and it was not an immediate thing, to want to look at anyone else.
Though Leah’s transformation was startling enough that he had to look, was powerless to do anything else.
Startling, not necessarily welcome. It seemed to him that the chill emanating from her like mist over frost would be obvious to anyone who saw them.
And then she smiled, red lips parting, and he could see how false it was.
“Let’s go then,” she said, extending her arm.
He took it, drawing her close to his side and leading her out the front door where the car was already waiting.
She leaned into her step, her body coming into fuller contact with his. He paused, and for a full second, he was unable to look away from the lush outline of her breasts. Fire kicked through him, a quick burst of it, like kerosene being thrown on a match. It was like nothing he’d felt for years. Nothing he’d let himself feel.
Nothing he’d felt since he was a boy. Surrounded by all of the women he could have. No one to tell him no. Until...
He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No. He wouldn’t think of that. He wouldn’t look at her that way.
He gritted his teeth and moved away from her, rounding the car to open her door for her before going to the driver’s side and getting in.
They might have been a couple who’d been married for years. They were comfortably silent on the ride, Leah keeping her eyes on her phone while he kept his eyes on the road, taking the time to enjoy the way his car handled the turns.
It was one of his few indulgences. Cars. He liked different cars. The way they handled, the rate at which they accelerated. Driving was the one time he could keep a blank mind. The one time he could loosen his focus on the plan and simply see what was in front of him.
He was almost feeling relaxed by the time they pulled up to the front of the hotel where the event was being held. This could work. This sort of side-by-side existence.
It was only when he got out of the car and rounded to her side, when the flashbulbs started going off, and when he reached in and took her hand, helping her out, when he saw the frost in her eyes, that he felt the ease slip.
The blast of light from the camera revealed a flatness in her gaze. And tomorrow everyone would see it. They would have to be blind to miss it.
It took him a moment to realize she was smiling. Because he had only been looking at her eyes. And there was no smile there.
“Ready, darling husband?” she asked, the b
rittle steel in her voice carrying over to her posture, her body rigid, tense.
“Ready, agape mou.” He slid his arm around her waist, pulled her up against the side of his body. He’d held her close yesterday, kissed her lips. But then he’d been high on adrenaline, completely disconnected from his body. He’d been focused only on one thing: getting out of the wedding venue before questions had started pouring in.
And he’d succeeded. But there had been no time then, to think of her lips, of her curves, how soft and warm she felt up against him.
Suddenly it was the only thing he could think about. From shouting at her this morning, to the wave of lust he was battling with tonight, Leah seemed to make a mockery of his control.
Marriage had been intended to make everything easier, but so far, his was just making things more difficult. Made him feel like he was being dragged backward. Back to the place he’d started. Back to the man he’d been.
Back into hell. Where he wasn’t one of those suffering eternal damnation, no. That would be too kind. In his hell, he was the one meting it out.
He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out the camera flashes. Blocking out the memories.
He led her up the steps and into the hotel, all the while smiling, at her, not at the photographers. It would look much better in the photos. Make a better headline.
He would close it off. The desire. The heat. He moved his fingers, gently, over the indent of her waist. He was used to going places with Rachel like this, with his arm around her like this. But Leah was different. Her waist nipped in a bit more, her hips flaring out wider, where Rachel was flat and slender.
An observation, that was all. And yet he did find it interesting. He moved his hand down slightly, to the rounded curve of her hip. Yes, very interesting.
“Do you have to do that?” she said, her voice choked.
“Do what?”
“Touch me like that?”
“You are my wife. And if I’m not remembering wrongly, you told me yesterday that you wanted me in your bed. Every night. In light of that I should not think my hand on your clothed body would be an issue.”
“I didn’t think we were worrying about our personal relationship until after we got our public one under control.”
“This is our public relationship, agape.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Felt like personal territory.”
“And it disturbs you?” he asked. God knew it disturbed him. This entire change in her physical appearance disturbed him. She wasn’t conforming to the box he’d put her into, and he didn’t like it in the least.
They passed through the double doors that led to the glittering antechamber of the hotel ballroom. The white marble floor was edged in black, the design echoed on the walls. White pillars were stationed throughout, a nod, albeit a highly glossed one, to an ancient Grecian temple.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“You are prepared to sleep with me and yet personal disturbs you?”
“Will you stop bringing that up?” she hissed. “This is not about our personal lives. This is our public life, right?” She smiled at a passing photographer.
“Unless our personal life starts to affect the public facade, which was the entire point of us leaving it as it is for now.”
“I don’t know, seems like it was never the best idea. I’m not sure our personal life is all that great.”
“I’m not sure we have one.”
He felt her go stiff beneath his touch. “No. I daresay that is what you’d think.” Her words were as stilted as her posture. “After all, I’ve never been to your house. When you practically grew up living in mine.”
“Your father’s.”
“How many Christmas parties have you been to at my penthouse in New York?” she asked.
“A few,” he said.
“Yes, and yet I had never been to your house once until yesterday. So of course you don’t think we have a personal relationship. I guess I’m the one who thought we did. The one who thought we at least had respect between us. I won’t be so stupid again.” She pulled a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and took a few fortifying sips.
A couple of businessmen stopped them and started talking about the new acquisition of Holt with an enthusiasm that only those in the acquire and assimilate game could convey over that kind of topic.
Normally, Leah would have got in on the conversation. She was interested in business and particularly in Holt. Right now though, all she could really do was nod along while she forced champagne down her throat. A delicate balance. Don’t drink too much, inhibitions might lower. But a certain amount was required to weather something like this.
She knew this game, this game of putting on armor. Playing polished and playing tough. But things were slipping when she was with him. And it sucked. Old feelings were getting stirred up, getting a second life thanks to all of the close proximity. And she didn’t want that.
I want you. In my bed, every night.
Yes, she’d really said that to him.
She kept on smiling. Why was she doing this now? Why was she breaking down now? With him on her arm and people all around them?
She sucked in a breath and held it. She was fine. She would be fine. She’d spent her life proving herself. She hadn’t excelled in school, but she’d been able to shine in business, and shine she had. No, she wasn’t the most beautiful Holt heiress, but she had her own charisma. And she had business savvy. And she’d done whatever was necessary to get herself to the point where the media no longer called her an ugly duckling, but a socialite turned businesswoman.
She hadn’t done those things by being sweet and open and leaving candy on people’s desks. She’d changed. She’d learned to protect herself. And she would keep on doing that.
But she would have him. Because she wanted him. Because there had to be a perk to being trapped in this marriage with him, and if access to his body was the perk? She was more than happy with that.
Yes. She was. Indeed.
It wasn’t about emotions. It wasn’t about the ache in her chest that had shown up the day before the wedding and had insisted on sticking around.
Sex wouldn’t hurt. It would feel good. At least, she imagined it would.
It was probably best they were waiting. She needed to get hold of her virginal nerves and beat them into submission. She’d shown him enough of her vulnerability when she’d been a lovelorn teenager. No, he didn’t get any more. She was taking now.
So there.
The men, who had been droning all through her drinking and nodding along and fake smiling at whoever passed, were done now and were headed away from them. She was pretty sure she’d forgotten to say goodbye, but she’d been too lost in her own thoughts.
“So what now?” she asked. “Make more small talk? Smile for the camera? Do a dance for all of our admirers?” She gestured out toward the dance floor.
“I don’t dance,” he said, straightening his shoulders.
Just looking at him hurt. He was the epitome of masculine beauty in his tux, dark hair short and neat, not a hair out of place. And yet, there was something about him, no matter how contained he looked, that hinted at something darker beneath the surface. Something frozen in a block of ice. All it would take was a little heat and...
“We should dance,” she said, lifting her chin, feeling defiant. Feeling angry. At herself mostly, for being such a stupid...girl where he was concerned. A look at his powerful physique and she got all fluttery. If he flashed ab she’d probably die.
Pathetic, woman. Pathetic.
“I already told you,” he said, his voice hushed, “I don’t...”
“But I do. And you deprived me of a dance on our wedding day since you were so eager to have me alone.” She arched a brow. “You wouldn’t
deny your bride her first dance with her husband, would you?”
Something, she didn’t know what, compelled her to push further, harder. Maybe it was the fact that he was acting like the wounded party. Like this wasn’t a major deal for her. Like it was okay to just turn her down in front of all these people. She took a step toward him, placed her palm flat against his chest.
He didn’t feel like ice. No, not even close. He was fire against her skin, and with very little trouble she knew he could melt her.
“Dance with me,” she whispered, keeping her eyes trained on his.
He caught her wrist, a strange look in his eye, one of curiosity. Detached, but present. He bent his head, his eyes never leaving hers, and lifted her arm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the sensitive underside of her wrist.
It sent a shiver over her veins, back to her heart, which jolted in response. Her stomach tightened to the point of pain, breathing a luxury her body couldn’t afford. Not at the moment, not when all of her was focused on Ajax’s lips against her bare skin.
“I think it would be best if I waited to hold you like that until we’re in private,” he said, his tone intimate, husky, and yet, she was aware of the people that were standing close, potentially overhearing. “I do not trust myself where you’re concerned.”
Everything in her shook. Breathing becoming impossible. “All right then,” she said, her voice a choked whisper. More weakness. She hated it. “But you’d better make it very worth my while when we’re in private. Don’t make promises you can’t back up.”
