by Maisey Yates
“Never, agape. Never.”
The evening wound down with more small talk, more champagne, more little touches that were dissolving her cool by inches.
And by the time they were driving back to his villa, she was just exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to endure this...this marriage. Two days in and she was sure she’d aged ten years.
It was tiring to have to cling to her armor so tightly. Over the years it had become a second skin. Effortless to wear. But now? Now it felt like she was clinging to it for dear life.
She closed her eyes and rested her head on the seat as Ajax maneuvered the car out of the city and onto the back roads. She tried to just breathe steadily. She tried the whole way back. She tried when he pulled the car up to the house and killed the engine. She tried as they walked inside, side by side, not touching at all.
It was dark in the house. She noticed that Ajax kept a minimum of staff, and that they all clocked out at the end of normal workday hours. Dinners were delivered. Ajax seemed to isolate himself as much as possible, and not by accident.
Weird that he’d wanted to get married at all, but then, that was love for you.
It was why she’d sworn off it so long ago.
Feelings. Feelings were stupid. Feelings were awful. She didn’t want to think about feelings. Not the emotional kind.
She turned to look at him, and the heat that had been on a low simmer in her blood all night started firing again, anger stoking the flame, sending the simmer into a rolling boil that she could hardly contain.
She curled her hands into fists as they passed through the entryway, both heading toward the stairs and to their separate rooms. And then she stopped.
“Ajax,” she said.
He stopped and turned to look at her, and then the world burned down to nothing but him. There was no time to think, to doubt, to worry. None of that stupid, aching emotion. Because this wasn’t desire anymore. It was need. The need to gain some control. To make him react.
To make him desire like she did. Because she couldn’t stand that he seemed so cool. Couldn’t stand that he was so unshaken.
She took a step toward him and planted both her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back against the wall at the same moment she rose up on her tiptoes to capture his lips in a kiss.
He was still for a moment, and then, with a feral growl, his arm came up to wrap around her waist.
Ajax Kouros was not an easy man to shock, and yet, he had been shocked more than once in the past two days. First by his runaway bride, then by his replacement bride, and now, by the kiss she was giving him.
A kiss that seemed to include her entire body. Maybe more than that. Not just skin and flesh, but her very soul.
It wasn’t like anything in his experience. It didn’t taste like booze and simple lust. It was passion given breath. And for a moment, there was nothing but the heat, the taste of her lips, the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. And the intensity that fueled each movement.
He held her close to his body, feeling the shape of her, every inch of her, against him. And then, because it seemed right, because it seemed natural, he raised his other hand and slipped his fingers deep into her thick, wavy hair.
It was like silk, sliding through his fingers, tangling around his hand. He made a fist, trapping the strands in his grasp, holding her to him, keeping her from stopping the kiss. Keeping her from moving away.
This was new. A taste of a woman in a way he’d never before experienced.
Sex, applied in the wrong way, was simply another vice. One he didn’t indulge, one he didn’t even flirt with. Not anymore. Not now.
But this...this was the shot of whiskey he hadn’t had on his wedding day. This was every glass of alcohol, every invitation to a hotel room, every line of cocaine he’d ever refused.
In his life, he’d had every sin laid out before him. And there had been a time when he’d indulged himself in them. But there was a point where he had made the choice to turn away. Not because he was a saint, but because in him lived the darkest of tendencies. To embrace temptation. To drown in excess.
And so he denied it. Because he knew that was the long, dark path to hell, and though he’d started his life on that path, he’d done his damnedest to find a new place to walk.
But for the moment, he was out of restraint. Because of Leah.
She parted her lips and kissed him deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. And because it seemed right, because he wanted to, he nipped her lush bottom lip, soothed away the pain.
The little sound that escaped her wasn’t one of pain but of pleasure, and the encouragement spurred him on. He was consumed with this new craving, to have his fill of her taste, sweeter than candy, twice as tempting.
Dark and sweet.
Holding her tightly, he reversed their positions, put her back against the wall, both of his hands now deep in her hair, holding her to him. Her hands were everywhere. His shoulders, his back, down farther. She pulled him in tightly, his growing erection pressing against her stomach.
He was no detached observer to this kiss. He was drowning in it. Overtaken by it.
Shaking with it.
“Ajax,” she whispered his name, her breath on his cheek.
Leah. He had Leah pressed up against a wall. Leah who had only agreed to marry him to save her business.
Leah, who made his defenses weak.
Leah, his wife. And yes, he would have an intimate relationship with her. At some point. But when he did, it would be on his terms. Not with him shaking like an addict denied his fix.
He pulled away from her, looked at her lips, swollen, red, not from the lipstick anymore, but from his kiss. He wanted to trace her lush lips with his thumb, follow the line with his tongue. Kiss her again.
Instead he dropped his hands to his sides, curled them into fists to disguise the tremor in them.
“That is enough for tonight, I think.” He backed away from her, headed to the stairs.
“You think so?” she asked. “Because I think it was only the start.”
He should give in. He should pull her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, take her to his room and throw her on the bed. Give them both what their bodies wanted now.
Because it shouldn’t matter to him. He shouldn’t feel edgy and beyond himself. Shouldn’t feel like he was about to lose himself, his control, utterly and completely.
He had been prepared to sleep with Rachel, after all, and the idea hadn’t made him feel like he was losing his mind.
He tried to conjure a picture of the woman he loved. And he found it was hard. Tried to pick a fantasy he’d had of her, and realized there wasn’t one. There had never been fantasies of Rachel, not like that. He’d known they would sleep together, and that had been enough. Because it would happen in the right time, according to the plan.
Because then...then everything would be complete. It would be right. But there had been no fantasies.
Even when working his body to the point of exhaustion before bed didn’t keep sleeplessness or arousal at bay; when he took himself in hand, he never imagined a specific woman. No, he did his best to banish images, for fear that he would call up the wrong ones. Images of a past stained beyond the point of ever washing clean.
In those moments he imagined softness, heat, a breathy sound of desire in his ear. Like Leah had made tonight.
No. He wouldn’t do this. He wasn’t a slave to his body.
Then why the hell can’t you stop shaking?
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start with you, Leah,” he bit out. “And when I do, you had better be certain, because when it happens, there will be no stopping.”
If he let it go, if this feeling roaring inside of him ever slipped its leash, he
knew there would be no way he could stop.
Flashes of memory went through his mind. Women’s hands on his body. Practiced kisses. And then a girl, crying in the corner of the bed as though a monster were after her.
He had to stop now. He had to get his control back.
If he didn’t, he would become a slave to it.
CHAPTER SIX
AJAX DIRECTED EVERY curse he knew, and there were many, at the media the next morning. Were it not for the media, he could escape his new bride for a little while, since pressing business demanded his presence at Holt Headquarters in New York.
But the media prevented it.
Though, in truth, it was not just the media. Leah would be badly missed by everyone on staff, from the woman at front desk reception to the man who cleaned the wastebaskets at night, if he showed up, newly married to the beloved heiress, without her in tow.
Yes, he was well and truly stuck.
He needed distance, a chance to regain a firm grip on himself, and he wasn’t getting it.
He stormed into the study to find Leah, legs curled up beneath her, her laptop in front of her, a piece of red licorice dangling from her lips.
The combination of items brought him straight back to last night. Candy. Red. Lips.
The kiss.
He ran through another string of multilingual curses in his mind.
“We have to go to New York,” he said, his words harsher than intended.
She arched her brows and sucked the piece of candy into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “Do we?”
“Yes. It seems your quality control issues weren’t the only ones. Nothing like starting the takeover of a business with serious problems. So, I have to go and figure out where the weak link in the chain is, personally, or there will be no more Holt to worry about.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“A little,” he said. “But I do not want to lose ground within my first week of ownership, and preferably not ever. Wouldn’t Christofides love that?”
“I’m sure.”
“That means I need to be there now. And you need to come with me.”
“I suppose it would look wrong if I didn’t go.”
“Almost as bad as not showing up for a wedding. It would start to appear I couldn’t do anything but repel women.”
She laughed. “I doubt anyone would think you repel women. Although, sometimes you do have bad manners.”
“Bad manners?”
“And you’re a little hard to deal with.”
“Am I?”
“If you don’t know that, then you’re out of touch with reality.”
“I like things the way I like them. I like them to go according to plan.”
She stood and stretched, rounded breasts pushed against the fabric of her T-shirt. And he couldn’t stop his eyes from going there. Couldn’t stop the memory of what it had felt like to have them pressed against his chest.
So soft. So feminine. So utterly different from him.
“And when things don’t go according to plan you get completely surly.”
“I cannot deny it. But then, in my defense, in my adult years very little has gone against my plan, and I’m out of practice in dealing with improvising.”
“Nothing would dare go against you normally...you’re far too scary.”
“Scary?” He found the descriptor odd. More than that, he didn’t like it. It made him remember things that were best left buried.
He didn’t go out of his way to be scary. Neither was he particularly fun, and he knew that. But the things in life that so many people seemed to find fun had a dark underbelly that he’d spent his early years trapped beneath.
If a rich guy wanted to go and get high at a party, the drug had to come from somewhere. If someone wanted to pay for a little sex, or watch a graphic video, those women, those men had to come from somewhere.
He had seen those people. Their pain. Worse, he had been a part of it. He had caused it.
A mansion had to be paid for. The money had to come from somewhere.
As a boy he hadn’t known that. He’d wandered around that mansion, unsupervised, and had taken all that was on offer. Whatever food was in the kitchen. Whatever substance was left unlocked.
And later, whatever woman was available.
But then he had learned that for every bit of fun there was a price. All that glittered was dark and tarnished beneath.
He knew.
Other people might be able to stick their head in the sand and pretend it wasn’t true. They might be able to indulge themselves in the meaningless things in life, spending money, worthless paper, on what had cost others their souls.
But he couldn’t do it. And yes, that made him a bit un-fun. But the alternative was depravity. And he had run from that. Had run away at sixteen, had changed his name, had changed islands.
“You’re a bit severe,” she said.
“I’m practical, which I realize is difficult to take for some people. People who lead with emotions rather than with logic.”
“Logic doesn’t explain everything. It doesn’t have all the answers,” she said, bending down and picking up another piece of licorice from the coffee table, lifting it to her lips. “Candy isn’t logical. It’s not very good for you. It can rot your teeth. But we like it.” She took a bite and smiled.
If anyone made him want to forget the rot and taste the sweet, it was her.
The realization jolted him.
“Because people are stupid,” he bit out. “And again that’s feeling and not logic. You like candy so even though it’s bad for you and contributes nothing to your life, you eat it.”
“I don’t just eat it, I sell it. I create it.”
“So, your entire life’s work is based around something wholly unnecessary.”
“But something people like, Ajax. I make people happy.”
“And give them cavities.”
She laughed. He’d always liked the sound of her laugh. It wasn’t genteel or restrained. It was just...feeling. Funny how, though he stripped down his feelings to the bare essentials, he’d always enjoyed watching hers.
Because she’d never had them stolen. Because she didn’t know about all the horrors in life.
A woman like Leah didn’t need to know.
A strange surge of protectiveness ran through him. The urge to protect her from that darkness, and from anything that had touched it was so strong he nearly doubled over with it. The urge to protect her from himself.
But that was an impossibility. She was his wife. He was her husband. He would touch her with his hands, and it would spread to her....
And they had to go to New York.
“Scary or not,” he said, “you are coming to the States with me.”
She shrugged. “Great. It is great, actually. Most of my things are there and all. And I need to pay a visit to the shop there. I like to frequent the stores. Especially the big ones.”
“A working trip for both of us.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes rising to meet his, as if she was trying to read his thoughts.
“What?” he asked.
“What what?”
“You are concentrating so hard I can hear you thinking.”
“I’m thinking about last night.” She took another bite of licorice.
“What about it?”
“That scintillating conversation with those two businessmen. Except no, not that. Our kiss.”
The thought of it sent a rash of heat across his skin. He would have to stop and examine that later. How that could happen when the temperature in the room was constant. How he could feel that without giving himself permission?
The simple answer was that it
was Leah’s fault. She was doing things to him. And he had no idea how she held that power. How, when he had thought himself in love with another woman. When he’d held on to his control for so long.
“What about it?”
“I’m wondering why we’re bothering to defer anything. I think it was pretty clear last night what we both wanted.”
“And we’ll have it, but when we have time to focus on that.” Again, he felt edgy, restless. Not ready to confront the physical part of their relationship.
It was because of her, he decided. Because it had been rushed. Because what she’d done, for the company, and for him, was very much like selling herself. And he felt uneasy about it. If he had a doubt that she wanted him, wanted to be in the marriage, it would make him feel like he was one of his father’s henchman after all. And that was why he’d run away in the first place. To escape that fate, no matter what.
You. In my bed. Every night.
She’d said it, but the vows were spoken. And whether or not she would ever admit it, she was bound to him. And that put her in his care. And if he didn’t care for her, then it put her under his thumb, and he would be damned if he was ever that man.
“When?”
“On our honeymoon. I did have one planned. It’s in two weeks. That should give ample time to get everything sorted out at Holt, for you to deal with any issues your stores are having due to the quality control glitch, and for us to have convinced the press that everything is, in fact, fine in our relationship.”
It would give him time, so that he didn’t feel like a marauder, mindlessly claiming husbandly rights simply because she was his bride. And whether or not she cared if he thought of another woman while they were in bed together, he found he did.
He didn’t have the stomach for using people. And that was, in his mind, what it would be.
He’d had his fill of using people. He couldn’t use Leah, too. Not like that. He could not make her a prostitute, paying her in the form of safety for her company.
And he couldn’t make love to her while he had feelings for someone else.
Although, it was becoming harder to picture Rachel. With the memory of his and Leah’s kiss burned into his mind, a watermark over his every thought for the past twelve hours, it was hard to think at all.
