That was it—the whole damn problem. If I’d been faking it, I wouldn’t have a problem calling him love.
“Pippa, answer me.”
I couldn’t, and the burst of noise from the house as Michelle opened the door and called my name meant I didn’t have to.
(K)night of the Rose
Like the light through the stained glass window, a wave of soft laughter filtered through the chapel Sunday afternoon. Reciting my vows, I paused and tried to place the source of my friends’ amusement. They had laughed at the end of the pastor’s last sentence. I retraced his words, the very words I was supposed to be repeating at that moment.
To love, honor and obey—with a minimum of pushback.
Right, Blake had asked him to change the vows. They recognized it as an inside joke—one they thought they understood. The joke was entirely on me, a reminder of the contract that had led to this sham marriage. I lifted my gaze to find Blake drilling holes in my skull, his face seemingly so tense it would crack if so much as a butterfly landed on it.
He held my hand, his grip tightening painfully until he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. When he opened them again, I saw...
I had no idea what I was seeing. The emotion was nothing I could name. Wanting that shadow clouding his face to pass, I quickly pushed the words out, another wave of laughter following in their wake.
Laughing with them, the pastor pronounced us married and Blake pulled me to him, his mouth covering mine before the pastor gave him permission to do so.
My knees started to give, only the strength of Blake’s arms keeping me upright as the kiss deepened. Blake molded me to him, my soft curves giving way to his hard planes as huzzahs erupted from the audience. I needed oxygen, wasn’t getting any. Even when he broke the kiss—I couldn’t remember to breathe.
I leaned against him, numb as he whisked me to the bridal limo that would take us to the small reception. The driver took the scenic route, giving everyone else time to get there first. By the time we walked in to more applause, my cheeks were wet.
They were all certain my tears were of joy. Only Blake and I knew the truth, but he smiled like he believed his own lies.
The reception was quicker than most, maybe ninety minutes. The food was already being served, followed quickly by the cutting of the cake and our first dance as a couple before everyone took their turn dancing with us. Every time someone spun me in Blake’s direction, I found him watching me.
Parting from her dance with Blake, Clare gave me a wicked smile and whispered in my ear. “Looks like a certain CEO is itching to get back to the honeymoon suite.”
I mustered up a smile but could feel the blood drain from my face.
Erupting in laughter, Clara lifted a brow at me. “Honey, you look nervous!”
“That’s because she knows I’m back to step on her toes again.” Returning for a second dance, Kevin started to squeeze between Clara and me.
Blake intercepted him. “The limo’s ready, love.”
Staring at me, he completely ignored Kevin. He held his hand out for me to take, his gaze commanding. A tremble running through my arm, I curled my fingers around his palm. He drew me close, tucking me against him as we made our way past Abigail, her family and my friends.
I stayed mute the short ride to the estate he had rented for the weekend. Aside from the security guard at the front gate and another in a small outbuilding near the beach, we were alone.
Candles had been lit and spaced out on the path to the bedroom we would share that night. White and pink roses carpeted the ground. Above the pounding of my pulse, I heard the soft strains of music playing in the library. Recognizing the dueling sopranos in Strauss’ Presentation of the Rose, I closed my eyes and let Blake lead me the rest of the way into the bedroom.
How had he remembered it was my favorite opera? It had only come up my first month working on one of Blake’s PR campaigns. I’d missed the opening of Der Rosenkavalier. When he had discovered it was my favorite opera, he had asked me whether I believed in love at first sight while handing me tickets for a private box for the next showing.
It should have been beneath his attention to begin with, but here we were—almost a year later—and he had it playing on the way to our bridal chamber.
God help any woman Blake Cross actually set his heart on.
Stopping at the foot of the bed, he tilted my chin up and waited for me to open my eyes. “Was the chapel okay, love?”
Drawing my lips in to stop their quiver, I nodded.
“And the dress?”
I nodded again, fighting to hold back tears as the final strains of the song faded. “Beautiful—too beautiful to waste on a pumpkin.”
“Baby, say something like that again, and I’m going to spank you.” His jaw tightened, his thumb and finger gently pinching my chin to keep me from looking away. “You’re beautiful, Pippa. The dress comes alive on you—not the other way around.”
He smoothed his hand down the side of my neck to trace the top of the bodice. “So alive, it’s almost a sin to take it off you.”
Blake advanced on me. I tried to take a step back, the bed halting my progress. He captured my waist, one arm against the small of my back to trap me in his embrace. His free hand worked the zigzag of satin ribbon that kept me laced into the dress.
Unable to meet his gaze, I stared at his chest. “Can’t we just say we did?”
“No, baby.” He tugged at the back of the dress, further loosening the ribbon.
Cold air curled along my back to push a shiver down my spine. His lips whispered along my throat and I heard the fast zip of ribbon as he pulled the last of it free from the silver eyelets. The dress fell to the ground, leaving me in just the ivory boned corset and lace panties he had packed for me, finished by matching pumps and a lace garter.
His hands on my shoulders, he pushed me onto the mattress. Leaving the pumps on, he lifted my legs high enough to sweep the dress out from under my feet. Lowering my legs until my feet touched the floor again, he parted my thighs. A growl vibrated through him as his lips brushed up one thigh to reach the garter. Slowly, he peeled the band of lace down my leg.
His gaze never leaving my face, Blake stood and pulled his tuxedo jacket off. It joined my dress on the floor, quickly followed by his shirt, shoes and socks. His pants still on, he sank to his knees again. His hands gripped my thighs, his thumbs stroking the flesh as his gaze roamed my body.
I wanted to cover myself, but all I had were my hands. I started to shield my sex, but he dropped his chin, his eyes intense as he glared up at me and slowly shook his head. Flipping his hands so that his knuckles brushed against my skin, he slid his fingers under my panties, lowering the front and side panels just enough that my pussy was exposed to him.
I knew I was wet, had felt the cream pulsing from me. Now he knew how aroused I was. Blood rushing to my face, I closed my eyes.
“Look at me, PJ.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want the image of his lust branded in my memories, didn’t want to see the slow flutter of his eyelashes as his mouth dipped down to my pussy and know that he wanted another woman beneath his lips, along his tongue.
“Baby, look at me and see how much I want you.”
I denied the possibility with another shake of my head, harder and more desperate. “You don’t.”
“I do.” His grip on the panties tightened, the fabric digging into my full hips. “Now look at me.”
I brought my hands up, covered my face. He could take me, but he couldn’t make me watch.
Blake responded to my disobedience with another growl. I heard a rip, felt strands of the torn lace as they landed on my skin. Placing both hands on my mound, he pulled my labia back. Warm and wet, the tip of his tongue touched the base of my clit and then stroked up to curl inside the hood. His top lip teased the exterior for a few heartbeats before he pulled away.
More seconds passed, long enough for me to grow confused, and then he took anot
her slow lick, stopping with the tip of his tongue pressed against the small pearl inside the hood. He sucked at it, his tongue lightly flicking. His hands massaged my lower lips, the thumbs softly attacking the opening to my cunt.
My mutinous hips began to rock against him, a small cry escaping me at their treachery. One thumb pushed an inch into me, moving in a shallow circle.
“So sweet and tender, baby.” He took a lick and then another. “I could eat you all day.”
I’d be lucky if I lasted another minute. The contractions that had been squeezing at my uterus since we entered the house grew stronger, more frequent. Each lick had me knotting tighter inside, each squeeze forced my hips a little higher.
My hands flew down to my sides, fisting the bedspread as I fought my surrender.
“Don’t fight it, love.” His thumb pushed deeper, the flat of the nail pressing up against the ball of tissue just inside my gate as his mouth bore down on my clit. “I want to be inside you so damn bad—”
My release came, slamming into me, stealing my breath. My hips crested, held position, then pushed higher as I cried his name. Blake kept stroking, pressing, sucking until I lost all control of my lower torso, my flesh sinking into the mattress with a series of jerks and twitches.
Blake rose up, quickly stripping off his pants and underwear. I heard the heavy silk hit the ground, felt its soft brush as he pushed the clothing tangled around his feet to the side. I waited for him to touch me again, my skin stinging with anticipation.
More seconds passed, no sounds audible beyond the rush of blood against my ears. Opening my eyes, I looked past my heaving breasts to the man standing between my spread legs.
Fuck, he was magnificent. Candlelight flickered along his muscled abs. Lean hips descended to powerful thighs, the muscles rolling as he flexed. And there, center view, the fat tip and thick shaft guiding him forward, was the most beautiful cock I could imagine.
Centering one knee on the mattress between my thighs, Blake pushed his hands under me and lifted. He slid forward, pushing me up the bed until my head was against the pillows. He kept his gaze fixed on mine, the flame of the candles reflecting a burnished bronze.
Leaning on one elbow, he ran his free hand along the front of the corset to expose the flesh beneath one hook at a time. He smoothed the fabric to the side before cupping one breast, lifting it as his head dipped down. He tongued the nipple then drew it into his mouth. His hips gave a little roll, his shaft sliding along the split of my lower lips. Slick with my cream, it glided without friction. His ass lifted, the tip butting against my plump labia before angling down.
He was going to enter me, now, no condom, just skin on skin.
“Blake—”
He buried my protest beneath a ruthless kiss and then he was in me, his cock thick and stretching at my walls. He pulled back, the broadly flared head hooking him inside me. In again, deeper, my pussy knotting around him, the pleasure so exquisite it became an ache.
“God, you feel so perfect, baby.” Another thrust, all the way in to hit against my cervix. “I love sinking into you. So soft and receptive.”
He pulled out, breaching me, his cock sliding over my clit and back down—into me, slowly sinking balls deep. He kissed my throat, licking and sucking as his hips took up a slow grinding rotation.
Rocking back on his knees, Blake pulled me with him. He wrapped my legs around his hips, his gaze grazing over the folds of my labia and down to where he speared me. Taking half strokes, he kept the head of his erection pressed hard against that spongy bulb of ecstasy inside me.
He ran his tongue over the pad of his thumb and then lowered his hand to my pussy. He swirled around my clit, tracing its perimeter before settling atop it in a slow, penetrating massage. His thumb dipped down, gathered more of my slick cream to swipe it along the length of my clit. He tugged, pulling the dangle of flesh taut.
The whole time, his cock concentrated on that small swelling inside me.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” His gaze hooded, his eyes roamed my body, returning at last to my clutching, rolling center. “All swollen and pink and glistening, baby. I don’t want to ever leave this room.”
When he looked at me like, talked to me, his voice rough and breaking, I believed him. For the moment, for each pleasured second that he was in me, consuming my heat and stoking the flames higher, I believed that Blake truly loved and desired me.
He rocked forward, sinking deep into me and claiming my mouth. His thrusts lost their even measure, matching instead the wild pace of my heart as I lifted to meet him.
“Yes, love, come with me.” He buried his face against my throat. His hands gripped my hips, yanking me hard onto his cock before pushing me away. Another tug, deep center as my sheath molded around him, squeezing and rippling along his length. “Yes, baby.”
We tensed in unison, both of us desperately sucking in one last breath before we exploded against one another.
Because of You
Bliss surrendered at last to sleep, sleep to remorse. I woke terrified with the knowledge that it would be only a matter of months, if not weeks, before I lost every last bit of what we had shared the night before.
Opening my eyes, I found Blake watching me. I closed them again, my face tensing.
He brushed his thumb across my lips before stroking my cheek. “Baby, don’t turn away.”
The phrase repeated—in the limo, on the plane, again in the penthouse that I would call home so long as the trial loomed over Blake’s empire. Desperate to protect myself against that inevitable pain, I barely spoke to him when we were alone. I turned away each time he approached me.
Two days after the wedding, I was back at work, staying late into the night—taking a cab back to the penthouse because I didn’t want to drag Carson around after ten.
On Thursday afternoon, Blake called me at my office. “When will you be home?”
As late as I can push it was the answer that rose in my mind. “I don’t know,” I answered. “Late. There’s a lot of paperwork for the IRS.”
“I’m paying lawyers to take care of all that paperwork, PJ.” He paused, his irritation evident from the sound of his fingers strumming along his desk. “We have something to discuss. Be home by eight.”
He hung up, making it clear that that he had issued a directive—not a request.
At nine-thirty, I entered the penthouse to the low rumble of male voices. Barely prepared to face just Blake, the sound of the second voice had me trying to sneak down the hall. Blake must have heard me enter or had been waiting to catch me as I came in. He stood in the doorway to his home office. Behind him, sitting in a chair and holding a stack of papers, was the attorney that had drafted our pre-nup. At least I had evidence of what he wanted to discuss. He was done with me—the charade was over. I stepped toward his office, prepared to take my medicine.
Blake waved me away. “I have a few things to finish up with Michael.”
Confused, I nodded and went into the bedroom. For half an hour I sat on the bed, my hands twisting together. Hearing the attorney finally leave, I sat up a little straighter and forced my hands to relax. Seeing that they were red and chafed from the nervous workout I had given them, I slid them under me.
Another fifteen minutes passed with no sign of Blake and I wondered at the delay. I could have gone into his office, but I didn’t feel any more up to a scene than he apparently did. I waited another half hour before I finally gave up. I went into the bathroom, washed my make-up off and changed into my nightgown.
Crawling into bed, I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry.
My resolve lasted all of ten minutes, my tears only ending when I heard the faint sounds of Blake turning off the lights and checking the alarm system. Feigning sleep, I forced my body to relax, to hold back my pathetic sniffles and to breathe evenly.
He entered the room quietly, shucking all but his silk boxers before crawling into bed. The faint odor of whiskey preceded him and I t
ensed. It wasn’t like Blake to drink, particularly something as hard as whiskey. A single glass of wine or champagne was all I’d ever seen him take. There were no rumors to the contrary. And, while I would have welcomed a shot or ten, I had something to drink over.
Blake was merely ending a nuisance business contract.
Stop it, PJ—you will not start crying again!
Blake’s fingers brushed my shoulder. Concentrating on keeping my breathing even, I didn’t acknowledge his touch.
He whispered, his words muffled as if his face were against the pillow. “I’m sorry, baby.”
My stomach clenched but I otherwise remained motionless. If it took whiskey to say whatever he had to tell me, I didn’t want to hear it. He could tell me in the morning when he was sober or—better yet—through his attorney.
Yes, I decided, there was no reason to have this conversation in person. I would have enough hard talks ahead of me once Blake pulled the loan. I didn’t need the pain of this one inflicted in the flesh—in fact, I desperately needed to minimize it. What good would it do to hear him tell me that it was all an act, that I should have known it was all an act, and that it was time for him to put the act aside and seek out the woman he loved.
A woman that looked like she belonged at the side of Blake Cross.
I waited, still and calm, for him to fall asleep. It took another ten minutes before the rhythm of his breathing changed and his hand slipped from my shoulder. Another hour passed before I felt brave enough to leave his bed.
I walked to the dresser my purse was on. Easing Eliza’s ring off my finger, I placed it on the dresser and picked up my bag as gently as I could, my heart pounding the entire time. I grabbed my shoes and tiptoed down the hall and into the utility room where Abigail kept the dry cleaning between pick-ups. I stripped off my nightgown and put on my clothes from Wednesday.
Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads Page 16
