Curve Contract (Big Girls Next Door Erotica) (9 page)

I wanted to throw Blake’s words back at him and say that the man I was in love with was obnoxiously clueless to the point that his every touch was breaking my heart. Instead, I shook my head.

His hands moved quickly, one against my breast once more, the other cupping my mound. “Then who’s this heat for, PJ?”

He kneaded me, breast and pussy. His mouth zeroed in on mine, his tongue forcing my lips open, forcing my entire mouth to yield to his kiss. “Who are you going to think of when I fuck you Sunday? Who have you been thinking of each time I’ve touched you?”

Blake kissed me again, everything rougher and faster. I closed my eyes and bit down on the moan clawing its way up my throat. His hips started to grind at me. His hands cupped my bottom and lifted me, until I had to throw my legs around his hips to steady myself. Even with our clothes separating us, I could feel the thick bulge of his hard cock against my sensitive clit. He was dry fucking me, bringing me to climax with who knew how many guards watching us on the security camera.

The moan finished clawing its way out. My ass cheeks tensed as another moan whipped through me and he hugged my mound tight against his dick. “Are you coming, baby?”

“Yes, damn you.” My arms were wrapped around his shoulders, one of my hands cradling the back of his skull, my nails digging into his scalp as my hips started to jerk and I cried out.

Blake eased me back onto my feet, his gaze boring all the way to the back of my skull as he reached behind him once more to restart the elevator’s descent. As the rest of the floors passed, he didn’t look away from my face -- wouldn’t let me look away either. His hand cupped my face every time I tried and forced me to return his hard stare until we reached the elevator and the doors opened.

Blake gently guided me into the garage before hitting the button for the top floor. Settling against the elevator's back wall, a wolfish grin surfaced on his handsome face, his gaze starting to dance in amusement. “Don't wait up, love. I have a lot of work to do tonight so I can…marry you on Sunday.”

Heart pounding in my chest, I watched the doors close.

There was no mistaking the import of his pause, or his real meaning.

On Sunday, Blake Cross was going to fuck me.

**********

Blake was a ghost until the time came for us to leave for the airport Saturday morning. He didn’t get home until late both nights, didn’t sleep in the same bed with me and was out before I woke at seven both mornings. I was starting to think he was having second thoughts, which would have been fine by me so long as he didn’t cancel the loan.

Waking me with a kiss, he banished my foolish hope that I was going to get out of the deal with my business and my heart intact. “Good morning, beautiful. Ready to get married?”

I pulled the blanket up over my head and turned on my side. “Not really.”

“Mmmm.”

I felt his weight shift on the bed and then the bottom edge of the covers started a slow crawl up my legs. I pulled my knees up to my chest and tried to wrap the blanket tighter around me.

“I’m going to have one hell of a time getting through airport security with you slung over my shoulder and still wearing your nightie, PJ.”

The blankets inched higher and then his fingertips brushed the sole of my foot. My foot twitched and I pulled it closer to me. He traced the protrusion of my ankle bone and then ran one finger halfway up the curve of my calf. With my legs bent, that left his hand at the threshold of my pussy.

He took the detour, his knuckles rubbing against the edge of my panties. The flex of my inner muscles was followed by his soft laugh.

“Baby, don’t tempt me.” He cupped my bottom. “It’s been hard as hell staying out of here these last two nights.”

Need paralyzed me. My stomach tightened and then my whole body tensed.

“Shhh…love.” Blake leaned over me, pulling the cover down enough to expose my face. I kept my eyes closed. His hand moved down again, the knuckles grazing up and down the gusset of my panties. His other hand stroked my hair. Kissing along the side of my nose, he caught a tear before transferring the salty drop to my lips. “You need to get dressed, PJ. Shower if you want, and let me handle the rest of the weekend, okay?”

One last kiss, one last stroke, and then he left me to get ready.

Twenty minutes later I emerged from the shower in a rush to find that he’d already packed my bags and laid an outfit on the bed for me to wear. It was a pale turquoise georgette over a silk sheath. A pashmina stole in matching blue to keep my bare arms warm was folded next to the dress. All of it was from the same boutique as the first two outfits he’d bought for me to wear.

Despite the dread twisting through my stomach, I found myself smiling. Blake Cross knew how to dress a woman, no matter her size. He had even managed to make me look good.

Thinking of the other things he knew how to do for a woman with equal skill, I felt my skin flush hot. Trying to ignore my growing arousal, I slipped into the dress. My hands were still fumbling at the back zipper when Blake came in carrying a silk clutch. Handing me the purse, he stepped behind me. He ran a finger up my spine, the whisper of contact forcing me to stand straighter. He drew the zipper up and then his hands curled around my shoulder.

“Passport’s inside the clutch.” He kissed my shoulder and then wrapped the stole around me. Keeping one hand on me the whole time, Blake guided me out of the penthouse and down to the limo.

We weren’t the first to arrive at the airport. Stepping onto the privately chartered plane, we were greeted with a warm round of applause. Looking around to find that every face belonged to someone on my staff, I stiffened. If Blake had invited a single person he knew, they weren’t on the plane.

Way to drive a stake through a girl’s heart.

I looked at him, felt the hot accusation burning in my face and prayed no one else on the plane realized I was hurt and angry.

Running his hand along my side, Blake whispered in my ear. “Relax, PJ.”

The plane didn’t have regular seats. Instead, two long leather couches curved against its sides. Leading me to the center of one, he pulled me onto his lap and buried his face against the side of my neck. He rubbed my arm, speaking so low only I could hear him. “Abigail and her family will be there tomorrow. Beyond that, I have business associates, love, not friends.”

He planted a soft kiss at the curve of my jaw. “I wanted you to have a nice private ceremony surrounded by those who love you.”

Plastering a smile on my face, I nodded.

Yeah, they all loved me.

Everyone except the one who mattered most.

Everyone but Blake.

*****

We landed at the Owen Roberts International Airport a little over three hours later. After a quick nod by a customs official, we piled into white limos, all the women in the first two, Blake and the other men in the third.

Michelle Hennings, my lead designer and a close friend since college, gave me a bear hug as soon as the limo pulled away from the airport. “We’ve got the best hen party ever planned! Blake gave us everything we asked for!”

“Including two strippers!” That was Clara, recently divorced from the man she’d lost her virginity to. She pointed a finger at every last one of us. “And, ladies, one of those hotties is mine!”

By eight p.m., every last one of the women was at least slightly drunk. True to her declaration, Clara had disappeared two minutes after the taller of the dancers left to take a breather and still hadn’t returned. Kevin showed up, completely sober, after he managed to sneak away from Blake’s bachelor party.

I elbowed him as he sat down on the couch beside me. “Didn’t like the entertainment, huh?”

He grinned, his gaze locked on the thrusting groin of the remaining dancer as Michelle tried to hook the man’s G-string. Kevin shook his head. “No entertainment, just whiskey, cigars and a helluva lot of poker chips. Real ones!”

“You tapped out already?” I joked. Kevin didn’t exactly have a poker face.

“No.” He patted his jacket pocket, the sound of plastic knocking together distinct but faint. Leaning over, he planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “Congratulations, PJ. It’s clear Blake is absolutely crazy about you.”

I forced another smile and waited a full five minutes before excusing myself. Obviously Blake had a great poker face. It helped that Kevin took everyone at face value. Out of everyone I worked with and was friends with, he’d be the most crushed if he ever found out this was all a lie.

Stepping onto the patio, I closed the door behind me and moved out of the light. Not wanting to stumble on Clara and her new friend making out in the dark, I listened for a few seconds for any sounds before I skirted the manicured lawn and headed toward the private beach.

Less than fifty feet from the patio, I realized Blake was leaning against a palm tree and watching me. He was both the last and the only person I wanted to see at that moment. I approached him, stopping a few feet short of the tree he leaned against.

Apparently, that wasn’t acceptable. Reaching out, he yanked me to him, his grip unyielding as his lips crushed mine. Half a minute passed before he let me surface for air.

I tried to get my hands up between us. I desperately needed a little distance, my emotions whipping between wanting to cry and the hot urge of peeling my dress off. “What are you doing here?”

“What is
he
doing here?” His grip as rough as his voice, he pulled me into another kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. His fingers curled in my hair to hold my head immobile. “You’re mine, Pippa.”

A quick spin and Blake had me pinned against the tree. A hard tug and the skirt of my dress was up over my hips, his big hands wrapping around my ass to cinch me against him. He kissed me again, offering no tender pretense as he pillaged my mouth. “Mine tonight, tomorrow—”

“Until Anna drops the suit or you crush her in court,” I reminded him. That was the cold, hard truth, as much as I wished it otherwise. He was happy to have me, to use me -- even if he gave me pleasure in return. But the minute things were settled, he’d be free to pursue the woman he was in love with. Like every other lover in my past, he wouldn’t need a stand-in anymore.

“Damn it, PJ, I don’t give a fuck about Anna’s suit.”

I pushed at his hands. He was lying. His dick was hard and he was lying. A week, a month from now and he’d be singing a different tune. His heat would turn to cold indifference.

Twisting away, I pulled my dress back over my hips. He wouldn’t have me tonight or any night other than tomorrow. We’d do the deed once to make it legal and then I was putting the brakes on the charade. There would be a few controlled interviews with the press, a few public sightings -- also carefully controlled. When the trial actually started, we could ramp things up again. By then I’d damn well be able to allow Blake’s touch without the certainty that it would be over all too soon grinding me to dust.

“Pippa!” He reached for me, but I managed to outmaneuver him.

I put my hand up, stopping him. “You will not follow me if you want me to show up at the ceremony tomorrow.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he glared at me. “You’d break the contract?”

“Yes.” That was a lie, but it slid past my lips like it was the truth. Now that we were on the island, the marriage certificate ready, the press alerted, he couldn’t risk my backing out any more than I could afford to break our agreement and have him call the note back.

“Love, you—”

“None of that!” I pointed a finger at him. “Not when we’re alone.”

“Yes, that,
love
.” His gaze narrowed, his lips thinning as he took a step toward me. The sand sucking at my sandals as I tried to turn, Blake caught me. “Not just from my lips, but from yours.”

“I can’t, Blake.” Shaking in his arms, I curled in on myself, tried to make myself small enough to slip away. It didn’t work. I was too big, too awkward. “Please don’t make me.”

“Make you?” His grip loosened, but not enough that I could free myself. His arms tightened around me again when I tried. His lips edged my jaw, tracking up when he reached my chin to whisper across my mouth. “Baby, those rides in the limo, that first night at the penthouse, in the elevator -- you surrendered.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t proud of it, wouldn’t argue that I hadn’t lost all control over my body and heart those times he had touched me. Neither would I admit it. I had to have some piece of me left when this was over. There would be nothing if I called him
love
. Nothing to rebuild from. Nothing to give another man.

“You did, Pippa.” He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, his hold on me gentling, his hands running up and down my back in soft persuasion. “You surrendered. You came crying my name and clinging to me. All that and you can’t call me
love
? Even faking it?”

That was it -- the whole damn problem. If I’d been faking it, I wouldn’t have a problem calling him
love
.