Everything But Perfect (9 page)

He turned from her and headed to
his suitcase. “I’m taking a shower. Then I’m going to bed. It’s been a long and
trying day. When you are ready to act like a wife, you just let me know.”

“Act like a wife? Jesus! I have
never been a wife before today. How is one supposed to
act
?”

His eyes reached hers. “She
should not act like my kissing her is venomous. Hell, if you care to join me in
the shower to make up for it, be my guest. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?” she snapped.

“Never mind. Just be here when I
come out,” he grumbled.

“Where else would I be?”

“Not sure. You do have a habit of
making life difficult.”

“I have a habit? What about y—”

“Yes, you,” he interrupted. “Don’t
leave this room. We would not want Charlie and Laura to talk.” He removed from
his suitcase a silk robe, carrying it to the bathroom. Stopping mid-stride he
turned. “I sleep on the left side. You can have the right.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, hell no! I’m
not sleeping with you.”

“Oh, then who are you sleeping
with?” he asked, grinning shamelessly.

She was not going to dignify a
response to that, saying instead, “This isn’t a real marriage, Mr. Lavede. You can
sleep on the couch.”

“The hell I will,
Mrs
.
Lavede!”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch!”

“That’s correct. You’re sleeping
in the bed, with your husband…” He pointed at it, as if she hadn’t seen it.
“—Right next to me.”

“Oh, no I’m not.”

The words barely left her lips
before his heated glare reached her and held on.

“Yes…you are, and we are not
going to continually argue about it, are we? You get the right side; I get the
left, end of discussion.” Two seconds later, he was in the bathroom, having slammed
the door in her face.

Five minutes later, he came out
wearing only a towel.

Cheyanne’s eyes glued to the
water droplets covering his chest.
Oh, God!
Practically naked, the man was
gorgeous! She didn’t dare lower her gaze to near the towel.

Her eyes then reached his face
and his smile would not dwindle. She tried with all her might not to look at
any part of him—period. The devil-bastard knew what his coming out in only a
towel would do to her. This was a business deal, nothing more. How dare he act
as if it was more?

She could not buckle to
temptation. No, correction, she
would not
buckle to temptation. But dear
Lord, the man was tempting.

Mitch shoved his arms through the
silk robe, tied the sash, wiggled a little…and in absolute horror she watched
the towel fall to the floor.

Oh, dear God!

“Shower’s all yours, sweetheart,”
he said, walking to the bed and drawing back the quilt.

“I think I’ll take a bath,” she
answered crisply.

“Suit yourself. I’ll order us a
nightcap.”

“I don’t want a nightcap.”

“Sweetheart, you’re going to need
a nightcap. Trust me.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you
mean by that?” Surely, he didn’t mean…?

His soft chuckle and arched brow did
not answer the question, which only aggravated her. Furious with his constant
teasing, she unzipped her suitcase, found a robe, discovered exactly what she
thought would be inside the suitcase—an inappropriate nightie—and giving up
caring, headed to the bathroom, locking the door.

The kind of desire she had
building inside her was not supposed to be happening. Dammit! She was not
supposed to be falling for a man who made her blood boil.

Chapter Ten

The moment she stepped out of the
bathtub, donning the robe, and then headed back into the room, was the moment
she wished she could crawl in a hole and hide for four months. The irritating
man never listened to her. On a side table was a bottle of champagne, a bowl of
strawberries and small fondue pot of melted chocolate.

“I said no nightcap,” she offered
bitterly.

Mitch was pouring two glasses of
champagne. “I didn’t order this,” he said, smiling at her.

“Oh, then who did? My monkey’s
uncle?”

His grin widened, his hand
tossing a strawberry into his mouth. “If your monkey’s uncle is named Laura,
then yes.”

“She brought this to us?”

“This is a bed and breakfast, Cheyanne.
They do wait on you hand and foot, and since we are their only guests…”

“I—I guess I never…” she tumbled
out.

“You never thought because you
don’t want this to be a real honeymoon it won’t have real honeymoon things
happening?”

“Well…yes.”

“Good luck with that,” he said
smugly, dipping his finger into the melted chocolate. Just to irritate her he
licked his finger in slow motion, the action deliberate.

“Want some?” His tone had lowered
to the dangerous level.

Cheyanne shook her head. “Not
really.”

What she wanted was a suit of
armor from inside her suitcase. She had on only her robe and whatever she was
supposed to wear for the night was near his thigh by the bed. Her eyes darted
to the suitcase. Unfortunately, Mitch saw this and his grin widened.

“Afraid to come near me?”

“No.” In all honesty, yes, but she
wasn’t about to tell him the truth. He’d enjoy her discomfort too much.

“Plan on wearing your robe to
bed?”

“No.” She reached for the belt
and cinched it tighter, just in case.

“Naked perhaps?”

Her eyes whipped to his. “In your
dreams, Lavede.”

“If you say so,” he said, eating
another strawberry, taunting her.

“Aren’t you supposed to save me
some of them?” Her gaze moved to the fruit bowl, it now half empty.

“Come and get them,” he said.
“They won’t bite.”

Again, the bowl was near the man,
and again, she would rather stay away from that vicinity for a while.

“They might not, but what about
you?”

“I will, if provoked.”

“Then no worries. I don’t plan to
provoke you.”

His brow arched. “Sure you don’t
want a strawberry?”

Her mutiny kicked in, double
time. “I will, when I am damn good and ready, Mr. Lavede.”

“By then, they’ll be all gone,
Mrs
.
Lavede.”

“Stop calling me that,” she
demanded.

“Why? It is what you are,” he
said.

“I know, but must you constantly remind
me?”

“Yes, I must, until you get used
to the fact.”

She moved swiftly to her
suitcase, expecting some form of his grabbing her or stopped. When none came,
she was mildly surprised. She yanked out the nightgown, groaned, and then
sighed. It would not do her any good to complain about the nightie and it was
certainly better than nothing at all. She would just have to change in the
bathroom.

“I don’t want to get used to the fact,”
she said, raising his other brow.

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled,
downing the glass of champagne.

He set the crystal on the table
and moved forward, faster than she could react. Within seconds, his hands
without touching her had her pinned against the wall, his palms flat against
the plaster near her head. His body was too close, and his mouth just inches
from her face. He smelled like strawberries and chocolate. His heat mingled
with hers.

He wore only silk boxers, for
God’s sake!

“What does my darling wife have
under her robe?” he probed, his mocha eyes near black as he lowered his gaze to
her exposed cleavage.

“None of your business.” In her
hand was her nightie in a death grip. Her other hand was flat against the wall.

Mitch slowly pried her fingers
from the material, dropping the nightie to the floor. “Are we done playing
games, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know what you are
talking about.”

His smile was quick. “Oh, you
know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Nope. Not really,” she said,
shaking her head.

He leaned back only a little,
setting his fingers to the belt on her robe. Cheyanne sucked in her breath.

“You have nothing on under here.”

“Yes, I do,” she lied.

“Prove it,” he said.

“I will do no such thing,” she
balked, trembling.

“Then I will.”

She quickly reached for the belt,
but she was too late. Mitch had already undone the tight cinch, parting the
material. Her robe split apart, and he could see all of her.

Cheyanne was mortified. This
wasn’t at all what she figured to happen tonight.

He then bent closer, his breath
caressing her face. “Spit and vinegar,” he said, “sass and sex. You are going
to be so much fun tonight.”

“Y—you said this wasn’t…you
promised this wouldn’t be…”
Oh, dear God
, by the way he was looking at
her now, lust in his eyes, she was in deep trouble if she did not tell him the
truth.

Mitch closed the gap, pressing
his warm chest against hers. The breath expelled out of her lungs in a hurried
rush, all voice lost, as hardened muscle crushed her naked form. His mouth then
found hers, locked on, and would not let go until he was touching her soul with
his tongue. He drew back, smiling.

“You are my wife, sweetheart, in
every sense of the word, and if I say so, then it’s so. Understand?”

She could barely think let alone
speak. Her head bobbed slowly, her tongue sliding over her lips. God, he felt
so good against her skin—too good.

Get a grip, Cheyanne. Don’t let
this happen.

All of a sudden, she could not control
her trembling.

“I don’t rape women, but we are
going to have sex tonight.”

His words so shocking to hear,
she could barely keep her wits about her and argue against this. Still, her
eyes grew to huge saucers while her heart raced.

“Understand?” he repeated.

Very slowly, she tipped her head
up and looked at him.

Oh, dear God! He isn’t joking.

And his boxers are tenting!

She found her voice. “Are you
serious?” hoping this would curb his strange behavior. If anything, it made it
even stranger.

“Deadly serious,” he whispered
near her ear.

“But…” she sputtered.

Mitch set his finger against her
mouth, effectively shutting off the argument. “No buts, no complaints, not even
a single arched brow from you. Understand?” He was putting pressure against her
lips and she could not get away or state her convictions, as his mouth found
her neck and he began kissing a trail along her collarbone.

“You and I are going to have
sex…or make love…whichever you prefer it be called, but we are going to
consummate this marriage, whether you like it or not. I’ll do try my best to
get you to like it, however.”

These words came out near the top
of her breasts.

If her eyes could have gotten any
wider, she would have been surprised.
He is saying we are going to have sex?
He can’t possibly be serious.

Mitch stood and reached for her
wrist, his grip firm. He started moving her toward the bed. Her knees trembling
so badly, she was amazed she could walk without falling on her face. He then turned
to face her, setting his hands to her shoulders.

She did not dare react to his
gentle touch, but she definitely reacted to his removing her robe. In fact, she
did everything she could think to get him to release the material and perhaps salve
her dignity before things went too far.

“You said no relationship, no
living together, no…anything,” she sputtered, trying to retie her robe but
Mitch doing his best to take it off her, succeeding.

His smile continued, although the
veins in his neck were starting to show again. Knowing all he had to do was
kiss her again for her resolve to dwindle, her hands to stop fighting him, and
her body to grow weak under his masterful touch, he set his mouth to her neck
again, sucking hard.

She never figured to become so
weak, however, that all he had to do was give her a gentle push and she would
fall backward onto the bed willingly. Mitch fell on top of her, his lips locked
on again, devouring her mouth.

Instinct tried kicking in, very
slowly. The instinct to know this was wrong, but the body overruling the head
and allowing the heart to have its moment.

“No lines drawn, no fences put
up, and no complaints…whatsoever,” he whispered near her ear, sending
gooseflesh to every part of her body.

She would not be able to complain
even if she tried. Her breathing rapid, he was making love to her by only his
mouth, and every molecule inside her wanted this new experience. Every inch of her
was awakening to the touch of a man, coming alive.

She’d never made love to anyone
before. Still a virgin at twenty-four, her husband was about to get the
surprise of his life.

Mitch dipped lower. Cheyanne
moaned at the exquisite touch of his mouth to her skin, she tensed when his
lips met the bottom of her bared breasts, cried out his name when his mouth locked
on to one nipple, but, as he said…no complaints, whatsoever, when he moved onto
the other.

He was doing things to her that
had never been done before…and she was willfully allowing it to happen. What
was the matter with her? Why wasn’t she fighting this? Why wasn’t she telling
him her lack of experience?

Because he did not deserve to be
told, that’s why.

Fully disrobed, lying naked on
the bed, her husband on top of her, she should have known better, or at least
expected what was about to happen. He’d somehow parted her legs without her
knowledge and then entered her quickly, one hard thrust of his hips and a deep
growl to resonate out of his chest.

Dear God!

Her body reacted in the only way
that it could. She yelped, tensed, tried to get away from him, but Mitch held
her down until she would accept the invasion.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered,
staring at her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, the
pain intense, strange, and surreal; she wasn’t able to control her emotional
release, the moisture freefalling down the sides of her cheeks.

Dammit. She could not speak, she
could not move; every part of her had awakened to a man being inside of her,
and it did not know how to react.

“Don’t move,” he said gently.

She could feel his large cock
pulsating inside of her, disturbing her soul.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered again,
backing out of her slowly.

Thinking it was over, he pushed
in again. More tears spilled.

“Please stop,” she begged.

Mitch shook his head. “I can’t. Not
yet.”

“Please, Mitch?”

“Dammit, Cheyanne, you should
have told me,” he said firmly. A half second later, his body convulsed and she
felt warmth rushing inside of her as a guttural groan slipped out of the back
of his throat. He then fell limp onto her, breathing heavily.

“I would not have…” he started,
unable to finish. His head raised, his eyes locked with hers.

“You didn’t give me time to tell
you,” she sputtered out.

Mitch withdrew fully and rolled
to his back, tossing his arm over his face. “Sonofabitch!” he said loudly.

Cheyanne just had sex with a man
she didn’t love, and it hurt—body and soul.

He rolled to his side this time,
facing her. “I wouldn’t have done this…dammit! I wouldn’t have done this to
you, had you said something.”

She turned her head and faced
him. “I doubt it would have mattered to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You take what you want. You said
so yourself.”

“I never meant to take your
virginity. I thought you were, you know…used goods.”

“Jesus! Used goods? How romantic.
Just what a girl wants to hear on her honeymoon.”

“You know what I meant.”

She shook her head vehemently.
“No. I don’t.” Every part of her lower half pulsated with the fact it just did
something it had never done before.

“You’ve never been with a man
before, have you?” he suddenly asked.