Not the Marrying Kind (12 page)

As he closed the distance between them, he put on an extra burst of speed. Even from a distance she looked magnificent, five-five of defiant diva in a satin wedding dress.

Another thing he liked about this town: its tolerance and open-mindedness. No one batted an eyelid at the babe in a wedding dress strolling down the Strip with her stilettos dangling from her fingers.

She paused at Treasure Island and he strode faster, beyond relieved when he finally reached her. Leaning casually alongside her, he waited until his breath steadied. “You have a thing for pirates, huh?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” She whirled to face him, indignation sparking her eyes caramel.

“I didn’t want you walking out here alone.”

The simplicity of the truth struck him, as did his sudden protectiveness.

Her eyes narrowed, not diminishing their rampant distrust one iota. “I’m a big girl. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

“I understand the independence thing. I’m the same way.”

She crossed her arms, the simple action pushing her breasts together and creating eye-catching cleavage over the top of her strapless dress. “Yeah, you value your independence so much you couldn’t wait for the ink to dry on the marriage certificate before exiling me to the desert.”

Is that what this snit was about? A living arrangement that suited them both?

“I’m not shipping you off. We’re both used to being on our own. I thought you’d appreciate the freedom to do your own thing—”

“While you do the same here?” She took a step closer and he stuck his hands in his pockets to stop from reaching for her. “It seemed to slip our minds, what with organizing a quickie wedding, but shouldn’t we discuss whether this sham is monogamous? Because I won’t tolerate being the talk of the town as Beck Bloody Blackwood screws around while poor wifey is stuck in the desert.”

He recoiled as if she’d struck him. “Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t know you.” She ended on a hitch and turned away but not before he glimpsed sadness pinching her mouth.

Hell, none of this was turning out as he imagined. Sure, the logistics of the wedding had gone smoothly, but the emotional side of things? Far more complicated than he’d anticipated. He didn’t want to make her sad. He wanted to make tonight special to thank her for giving him the opportunity to make his corporate dreams a reality.

“When I make a promise I keep it, and that includes our wedding vows.”

She continued to stare at the pirate ship, her spine rigid, her profile stoic.

“I didn’t think you’d need me to spell it out, but here goes. We don’t sleep around on each other for the duration of the marriage. Deal?”

She grunted in response.

“Besides, that’s not the reason I offered you the house.” He had to do something to save this disastrous evening and it looked like only the truth would do.

She must’ve caught the sincerity in his tone because she half turned, studying him with wary interest. “Then why?”

“Because I can’t keep my hands off you,” he blurted, encouraged by her wide-eyed surprise. “You distract me, and I can’t afford distractions, not while this deal hangs in the balance. So it’s easier to not have you around, tempting me to…”

“What?”

He could’ve sworn the air between them crackled as he debated telling her all of it. He’d come this far. If he wanted to change the outcome of tonight, now was the time to go the whole way. “To lose control.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, more rattled now than the first time he stumbled on his folks spaced out in the backyard. “You’re driving me crazy. You’re all I can think about. Work used to consume me. I’m always in control there. But you—” He grabbed her upper arms, hauled her close. “You’re making me lose it and I’m freaking out.”

She eyeballed him, direct, unflinching, so he saw the moment she shifted from belligerent to appreciative. “You want me, huh?”

“What do you think?” He pulled her in closer still, leaving her in little doubt how much.

“Well, too damn bad.” She tried to push him away but he didn’t budge, liking having her close way too much to be good for him. “You can’t have it both ways, hotshot.”

“Wanna make a bet?”

His best smile had little effect, if the frown between her brows was any indication. “Not interested in gambling.”

“Yet you gambled on me?”

“Correction: you left me no choice but to marry you, remember?”

His conscience pricked for a second, until he remembered Stan giving him another chance at the reception and his guilt eased. “What’s a little blackmail between friends?”

“Friends?” She snorted and tried shoving him away again. “We were never friends.”

“How about taking a shot at lovers, then.”

She shook her head. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not in my vocab.” His hands splayed across the small of her back and he watched her eyes widen and the tip of her tongue dart out to moisten her lower lip. He wasn’t imagining the flare of heat in her gaze or the involuntary arch toward him as his hand drifted lower to caress her butt.

“So you think you can banish me to the desert, but I’ll jump into bed with you when it’s convenient?”

He winced at her blunt assessment of the situation. “I think we’ll be happier living apart, and yeah, I want you.” He tried another coaxing smile. “We may have a fake marriage, but how about we go have ourselves a real wedding night to remember?”

“I hate you,” she muttered, indecision pinching the corners of her lush mouth. “But I have to give you points for being up front about what you want.”

“What do
you
want?”

She hesitated an eternity, gnawing on her bottom lip, before her challenging gaze met his.

“You.”

Chapter Ten

Divorce Diva Daily recommends:

Playlist: “Poker Face” by Lady Ga-Ga

Movie:
Waiting to Exhale

Cocktail: Avalanche

Beck liked no-fuss.

He dated, he had sex.

Complication free.

But as he stepped into the bedroom of his penthouse suite with Poppy wedged against his side and watched her face flush with pleasure at the sight of the bed, he had the distinct feeling he’d initiated one big complication waiting to happen.

“You did this?” She slipped out from under his arm and padded toward the bed.

“Yeah.”

Her fingertips trailed through the hundreds of poppies strewn across the black satin coverlet.

His gut clenched. Was the gesture too corny? Too overt? Too much?

She picked up a delicate flower and lifted it to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled. A slow, sweet smile tilted her mouth as she brushed the petals across her cheek and opened her eyes, fixing him with a seductive stare that socked him like a knockout punch he’d once experienced in the schoolyard. “Considering your obvious obsession with all things poppy, I’m starting to doubt your masculinity.”

He relaxed at her playful tone and stalked toward her. “You won’t be saying that come morning.”

She laughed, a simple joyous sound that made him want to hold her all night long, and reinforced what he already knew deep down. Sleeping with her would guarantee complications with a capital C.

“Confident much?”

“You tell me.” He backed her up a few inches until her knees hit the bed and she fell backward.

“I’ll have to see what you’ve got first,” she said, radiant in a sea of poppies, her arms stretched overhead, elevating her dress to X-rated proportions as it revealed a tempting expanse of thigh.

His heart jack-knifed. She was beyond sexy. And she was all his. “Sure you’re ready for it?”

“Oh, I’m ready.” She picked up a handful of poppies and tossed them in his face, chuckling like she knew some great secret he didn’t.

“Think you’re a tough girl, huh?”

“I don’t think, I know.” Picking poppies out of his hair, her fingertips skimmed his scalp, making it prickle. She arched, bringing her body in temptingly close contact with his in an overt invitation. “The question is, can you handle me?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

“I can handle anything you dish out and more, sweetheart.” He skimmed his hand down her body, starting at her cleavage and moving lower. The satin of her dress felt slippery beneath his palm, until he realized he was probably sweating.

Him, nervous? Never.

He reached just below her navel when his wedding ring snagged on a crystal and she chuckled. “I don’t usually get laughed at in the bedroom.”

“Why not? Sex is fun.” She winked. “Unless you’re into that painful kinky stuff—”

“You talk too much.” He yanked his hand free and covered her mouth with his. Deepened the kiss. His tongue entwining with hers in a long, hot, mind-numbing kiss that assured him this was right.

They were both panting when they came up for air. And grinning.

Bizarre. He’d never had fun sex before.

He liked it.

“Careful. Looks like you’re enjoying yourself.” She traced his bottom lip with her fingertip, a slow sensual sweep that intensified the anticipation.

“And we haven’t even got to the good part yet.”

Her fingertip left his mouth, trailed along his jaw, his chest.

Lower.

She toyed with the waistband of his trousers, fiddled with the belt buckle, and he gritted his teeth at the exquisite torture. When she cupped his erection, he groaned.

She squeezed. “This the good stuff you were referring to?”

“And the rest.”

He growled as he lowered himself flush against her, nuzzling her neck, nipping gently. She writhed beneath him, her soft moans firing his libido. Like it needed that. His body roared for her.

He’d had grand plans to seduce her slowly, to prolong the pleasure. Those plans were shot the moment she’d touched him. He needed more. He needed all of her. Now.

“I want you.”

Her lips stilled the exploration of his neck. She captured his face in her hands and looked him straight in the eye. “Right back at you.”

She surged upward, plastering her mouth to his, her hands desperate as they plucked at his dress shirt. Unable to find purchase, she slid her fingers between the cotton and ripped, the buttons pinging onto the wooden floorboards.

Flowers flew as their frantic hands made quick work of their clothes. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, kissing her way across his collarbone. He unzipped her dress and she shimmied out of it, leaving her in a cream satin strapless bra and matching thong covered in tiny red poppies. What else?

“Snap.” He picked up one of the poppies off the bed and brushed it over one breast, covering her right nipple.

She moaned and came up into a kneeling position. “Great minds think alike.”

He unhooked her bra as she slid his belt free. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic of her thong and wiggled it down as she eased his boxers over his straining erection.

He gritted his teeth when she enclosed him in her fist. And pulled. Gently.

His head fell back on a groan as she increased the pressure. Blindly, he reached out, zeroing on her slick heat, circling her clit.

“Oooh…” Her appreciative murmur fired his blood and before things escalated too far, too fast, he stilled her hand and managed to flip her onto her back in a smooth move that left her gasping.

“Talented and acrobatic. I like,” she said, staring up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

“If that impressed you, wait ‘til you see what’s coming up.” He knelt on the floor, slid his hands behind her knees, and tugged her toward him. He splayed her legs, opening her to him. He tongued her, savoring her small sighs and soft yelps as he eased a finger into her wetness.

It nearly killed him, taking it slow, but she was so responsive, so beautiful. When her hands delved into his hair and held him to her, only then did he pick up the pace, and she shattered on the third swirl of his tongue, screaming his name.

Then she raised her head. Their gazes locked. And he experienced something he’d never had in all his past sexual encounters.

A
connection.

A connection that went beyond the physical, the type of unspoken link that needed no words yet spoke volumes.

A connection that scared the shit out of him.

This had to be about sex. It had to. He couldn’t handle getting emotionally involved. It wouldn’t end well.

“You were right. You’re beyond talented.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Eager to dispel the intimacy that could prove to be his undoing, he snagged his wallet out of his pants and slipped a condom out. He sheathed himself in record time, eager to be inside her, desperate to lose himself in the physical and obliterate any semblance of intimacy.

She opened her arms to him and he rejoined her on the bed, entering her in one swift thrust that made her cry out in pleasure.