The Marriage Agenda (7 page)

She scrolled absently through her email. Aside from a couple of older unanswered messages from Lila asking how Chloe’s date had gone, most everything was junk. She was just about to close the tab when she noticed a note from her editor. She glanced at the time stamp…3:00 a.m. No wonder she hadn’t seen it—most of the middle-of-the-night stuff was auto-delete.

Regarding your employment.

She frowned. The subject of the email seemed a bit too serious for Beth, and that—along with the time the message had been sent—didn’t bode well. She clicked on the message and scanned its contents.

Midway through, she no longer saw words.

She saw red.

She stared at the screen in shock. She’d been reassigned as a staff writer in the Home and Garden section. Reassigned her ass. More like demoted.

Home and Garden?

Knox.

The timing was suspect at best. Beth didn’t say as much, but Chloe didn’t buy into coincidences.

Furious, she pushed away from her desk. Leaving the computer, she headed straight for the master bedroom. From there, she followed a thick cloud of steam to the Italian marble bathroom, where she found Knox dripping soap and hot water under one of two extra-wide rainfall shower heads. The double walk-in didn’t have a door, so her approach was soundless, and with his head tipped back and his face to the spray, he didn’t notice her.

But he would.

She reached past him and cut the hot water, leaving nothing but cold.

Spewing profanity, he turned off the spray and fumbled for a towel on the wall behind him. He wiped his face and blinked at her, his expression bordering on everything and landing nowhere.

Despite the fact she had him naked and dripping with unease, she didn’t crack a smile. “You just cost me my job.”

“What are you talking about?” To his credit, he looked bewildered. He made no attempt to cover himself, however, and the fact her gaze caught on his package irritated her—even more so when she looked up from his goods and saw he was watching her…and grinning.

Not a good time to push buttons.
She kept the warning to herself. “My editor sent me an email mere
hours
after our engagement went public. Apparently there’s a conflict of interest. It seems the paper doesn’t want to appear as if it has lost its objectivity with the upcoming special election.”

“You were fired?”

“No, but I might as well have been. I’ve been reassigned as a staff writer for the Home and Garden section.
Home and Garden
, Knox, you
ass
.”

He held up his hands, though he’d have been wiser to protect himself. “Hey,” he said. “Wait a minute. I didn’t do this.”

“The hell you didn’t.” She reached and unleashed the cold water. The spray didn’t hit him as completely as it had the first time, but it hit him where it counted. “Enjoy your shower.”

She spun around, only to find herself pulled backward, soaked and sputtering, her body turned and fully pressed against his. “I think I will,” he said. He turned up the hot water until the spray was remotely tolerable. “I happen to be quite fond of cold showers.”

Though she was fully clothed, officially drenched, and her knees a mass of Jell-O, she didn’t bat an eyelash. “I bet a man like you doesn’t have to take many.”

His eyes had darkened to a rich chocolate hue. “And why would you believe a thing like that?”

“Because, as you so clearly stated while in the throes of wooing me, you have quite the playboy reputation.”

“And you know as well as anyone that reputation doesn’t necessarily correlate to fact.”

“Yet it always seems to come from a place of truth.” She tried to take a step back, but his grip on her arm tightened.

“Where are you going?”

She shivered, and it had surprisingly little to do with the lukewarm water cascading from the shower head. “I think we’re done here.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think we are. First of all, I had nothing to do with your reassignment, though I can’t blame them for the move. They’re protecting their credibility—and, I might add, yours. Besides, this will only help you.”

“How? How is being labeled an expert on houseplants going to help me?”

He graced her with a shit-eating grin. “Because when I introduce you to the highbrows, not one is going to feel threatened by a writer with an affinity for houseplants. You’ll be so far off their radar, you won’t have any trouble breaking your big story.”

Damn him, he had a point. She moved away, but his grip on her arm tightened, reeling her in until there wasn’t room for water to run between them.

“As for my second point,” he said, his focus intent upon her. “I’m only going to say this once more, so make damn sure you’re listening.” He increased the hot water, eliminating her chill, but he didn’t draw away. Instead, he planted his other hand on the wall, effectively caging her between the cold marble and his every hot, unending inch. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.
No. One.
”

She swallowed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Careful what you say,” he warned, peering at her from darkened eyes. Though the water had turned blissfully warm, he remained still a rigid, powerful mass of man. “I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. A casual affair wasn’t something I wanted in my life then, and it still isn’t.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again.

Though for a moment she’d thought him angry, he seemed to have softened somewhat. His attention drifted from her eyes to her mouth. “You’re wet,” he said.

“That would be the water.”

No one.

She shivered again, despite the steam assaulting her. It’d be easy to attribute blame to the cold wall at her back, but that wasn’t it. The shaking that had started at her core and crept down her limbs to her extremities couldn’t be caused by mere cold. It was Knox.

It was always Knox.
But why?
Clearly she had no desire whatsoever to be happy in life—she couldn’t have chosen a bigger complication if she’d tried.

Droplets gathered on her lashes, but her clouded view didn’t obscure the dreadfully heated look in his eyes. He could tear her apart without trying, and rather than protect her, her misguided urges begged her to open herself to him and take whatever he’d give.

“I’ve developed a bit of a habit lately,” he murmured, “of removing your clothes.”

She said nothing. Just stood there, trembling in the hot water. Trying to process his words.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Then, while the room spun, he pulled her dress up and over her head, leaving her standing there in her underwear.

Her chest threatened to implode under the pressure. “Knox,” she stammered. “You’re not being fair.”

“You’re probably right,” he murmured. “Do you want me to stop?”

Of course not. What sane woman would want him to stop?
Me.
But then again, she’d probably lost her claim to sanity when she’d agreed to marry a man who vowed he’d never love her. “That depends on what you’re planning on doing.”

“What is it you don’t want me to do?”

Do anything you want. I’ll figure out how to breathe again in the morning.
God, she really was a walking stereotype. Put her in the shower with a absurdly attractive, naked guy, and she fell apart.

Not this time.

She brushed past him and snatched the only towel off the back wall. She wrapped it around herself, and paused just long enough in her exit to answer his question.

She had to force herself to look at him, but the words came easily. “That’s an easy one, Knox. Just don’t do anything you can’t take back.”

Chapter Nine

A week. A week of trying…and failing.

She’d wanted to stay mad at Knox, but he had a bad habit of having coffee ready in the morning and sleeping a little too close to her side of the bed. He’d brought her tacos twice. Chocolate daily. And despite what she’d determined to be a rather cruel streak of kindness, he refused to spill one detail about the ceremony, citing a desire to surprise her. The only thing on which he consulted her was the guest list, or the lack thereof. With just the two of them attending,
intimate
promised to be an understatement.

And now that she knew what he’d planned, she could have killed him.

He couldn’t have known she’d always wanted to get married on the beach, but for some godforsaken reason, the universe had turned against her, and there they were. Her dream wedding, but all wrong. No family. No friends. No groom who would rather die than live without her. Instead she had him, utterly devastating in yet another tux, looking perfect enough to have been plucked from the top of a grossly overpriced wedding cake. And a white dress simply gorgeous in its simplicity. And their carefully worded vows all hinged on technicality.

To cherish and respect, to greet with tender care, to honor with fidelity…to split the difference on the thermostat.
Okay, maybe not that last part, but without mention of love, they might as well be discussing the mundane topics of cohabitation. Nor had the words “forever” or “’til death do us part” made the script. It was just as well—now she didn’t have to live with herself for uttering untruths in their ceremony.

She had far greater issues to tend. Like the issue of the photographer, hell-bent on torturing her.

“Now, arms around each other. Like you’re dancing—that’s it! Very close. Closer. Now
kissing
!” He punched the last word like he’d invented the lip lock.

“Better do what he says,” Knox whispered. “The sun will be down soon, and Mr. Enthusiasm over there is liable to drag us to another time zone for a do over if we don’t get it right.”

She laughed, much to the photographer’s glee. “That’s it! Beautiful! Now the kiss!”

Knox grinned and lowered his mouth to hers, and no matter how much she tried to remember he didn’t love her and she wasn’t about to fall for him again, she couldn’t escape the brutal honesty of his touch. He held her with reassuring strength, yet with a tenderness simply not borne of legal documents. She recognized that the slight caress of his fingertips against her skin wasn’t because he didn’t want to touch her, but because he longed to. He didn’t have to admit that desire with words—she could see the raw emotion in his eyes. The months apart had done nothing to erase what she’d known so intimately in the time they had spent together, and no amount of paperwork would change it now.

The sinking sun pulled the last pink rays of light from the sky, while a gentle onshore breeze carried with it the last of the warmth. But Knox was solid and strong, and the only chills Chloe experienced were from the perfection of the moment. She expected their silent dance to end when the last pinch of light fell to the waves and the photographer began to pack his gear, but it was then Knox tasted her one more time. And when he sought to deepen the kiss, she welcomed him, breathless, as was he. His hand slipped to her bottom and pulled her tightly against his happy place, which was ripe with enthusiasm from the feel of things. With the other arm, he cradled the small of her back, traced her spine, and finally, his fingers tangled in her hair with slow, sensual caresses, each one drawing her deeper against his body.

The photographer cleared his throat. “The photos, Mister and Missus. They are done.”

Chloe wound her fingers into Knox’s hair, gasping when he tightened his hold on her. The kiss didn’t end. God help her, she didn’t want it to.

“Okay, we talk later.” The man’s clipped accent ended on a chuckle.

Knox broke free a little, nibbling her lip. “Sorry,” he murmured, though the words felt like a smile. “Got a little lost in the moment.”

“Yeah.” Chloe tried to reel herself in, but it was no easy task. It was worth the effort, though, because she was going to walk away from him.
Walk
…not limp.

“So, what’s next?” she asked.

He turned and raised a hand to the photographer who, with the help of an assistant, was carting cases of equipment off the sand. Everyone else—the officiant and their witnesses, Toby and his date—had already left. The bypassed huge wedding not only sped up their nuptials…it also authenticated the claim that they wanted privacy. That was Knox’s go-to answer for why they’d not been seen together, and she’d quickly adopted it—not that Lila had bought it, nor had Chloe’s mother. She’d spent the majority of the week convinced Chloe would come to her senses and not marry Knox.

Chloe would be a lot less tortured if she had.

She pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and the faint light glinted on her wedding bands. In addition to the three-stone, diamond engagement ring, she now wore a diamond-studded band. She’d probably never touched so much money in her life.

“Do you like them?” Knox asked. He wore a matching platinum band with a diamond inlay.

She wanted to ask if he was always so concerned with the feelings of his employees, but she bit back the snark. He’d done everything in the world to create a breathtaking wedding, even if it was for show. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.

He still watched her, waiting for an answer.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. Not a shred of untruth there.

He reached for her hand, then laced his fingers with hers and drew her next to him as he set off at an easy pace along the shoreline. “I didn’t want to get the traditional solitaire. I thought you might want to save that for…for it to be special. In case you moved on and… found someone.”

What a thoughtful ass.

“We’ve been married less than an hour,” she said. “I’m guessing most couples at this point are still expecting it to last.”

He drew her to a stop. A wave tumbled ashore, the surf flirting close to their feet. And then he kissed her.

No photographer. No ceremony. Just a man and the woman he vowed not to love and the impossibly soft touch of his lips to hers. “I can give you that,” he murmured of the kiss. “I will always give you that.”

She could have pushed him in the ocean. She
should
have pushed him in the ocean. But before she regained her equilibrium, his mouth was again on hers. And it was she who was drowning. The wave that finally did soak the bottom of her dress had nothing on his ability to pull her under, or the way he drove a new surge of sensation with every gentle, sweeping movement of his kiss. She was one misfired hormone away from ripping yet another shirt from his chest.

Hormones.
It was lust. It had to be. Because she could not be so stupid as to allow herself to love him.

They were still standing there, feet buried in wet sand. He touched her cheek, chasing a stray lock of her hair from her face. “Are you sure your mom’s not upset?”

“My
mother
? This is where this moment takes you?”

He laughed. “Not exactly. I just feel a little bad about what you missed. Your father walking you down the aisle…our mothers sobbing in the front row.”

“Oh, she’d be sobbing all right.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Can you blame her? Most of what she knows about your family she learned in the check-out lane of the supermarket.”

He frowned. “I hope she’ll be willing to look past that.”

“Does it matter? She doesn’t normally get a say-so in matters of my employment.”

Even in the growing twilight, the flash of pain in Knox’s eyes was palpable.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “You’re not what those magazines say, and I know you care about me.”

She waited for him to argue. To explain for the umpteenth time why he couldn’t love her.

He didn’t.

“Is that why you didn’t insist on having them here?” he asked quietly. “Because this isn’t real?”

“In a way, I guess. My parents want to be happy for me. They want me to be happy. They taught me by their example that love comes first, always. How would I stand in front of them and take vows that go against that?”

“I guess I didn’t think about how it would affect your family,” he said.

“Well, there’s some good news.”

“How is that good?”

“Total focus on the result and consequences be damned? Maybe you’ve got some politician in you after all.”