Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“No, but—”
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” I drawl, cutting him off.
“N-no,” he stammers, “of course not. I was just about to say that there is nothing specifically mentioned in the legalities that—”
“Good.” I flick my bride-to-be a look. “Well?” She looks pretty pissed.
“I can’t believe you’re not bothered.”
“Sorry, princess.” I allow my gaze to fall slowly over her. “Give Tod your heart. It’s your body I need.”
I realize how callous that sounds as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I need her physically—as a wife. That was my intent. My whole intent. But you know what they say about best-laid plans going awry.
Which is just another way of saying they get fucked.
Hell, she’ll be wife in more than just name, which is something I hadn’t planned on making a requirement.
So we’ll call her interjection a happy accident.
“My body?” she says mostly to herself, her lush mouth seeming to exaggerate the words. “You didn’t mention anything about my body,” she adds in a stage whisper.
My gaze roams over her again, purposely misunderstanding her. “Surely that can’t be right.”
“That’s what I’m saying! You can’t just chuck last-minute changes into this arrangement.”
“Marriage,” I correct gravely. “And I think you’ll find I can do what I want.”
And what I want is to fuck her. Which is all kinds of wrong.
Her arm drops, along with it, her bouquet. What the hell was I thinking sending Antonio to buy fucking flowers? Was I trying to soothe his feathers or hers?
“Think of your mother,” he’d said. “Such a kind, blessed woman. What would she say if she were here?”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll go along with it.”
Her huffy exclamation brings me out of my musing.
What would my mother say? Probably that Lavender looks like the kind of wife I deserve.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck it.
“Excuse us for a moment.” Taking her hand, I cross the terrace, tugging her along in my wake. The glass doors to the villa are already open. I close them behind us with a definite thunk.
“Well, there was no need to drag me,” she scolds, pulling on the hem of her dress—coverall—cover-up, cover-nothing goddammit!
“I’m sorry,” I say tersely, “though dragged is an overstatement. But I thought you might prefer a little privacy for this conversation.”
I cross to the bar and, uncorking the scotch, make a casual gesture. Want one?
Lavender shakes her head and offers an equally terse, “It’s a little early for me.”
“Or late, depending on your perspective. I didn’t sleep on the flight.” I was too wired. Unlike Sleeping Beauty, my body clock still thinks it’s nighttime.
She folds her arms across her chest, the happy effect making them a perfect frame for her breasts. It also lifts her cover-up. Damn, those legs.
“What are you smiling about?”
You traversing the room. The little flt-flt of your flip-flops.
Shibshib, my mother’s voice corrects in my head.
“Do I need a reason? Maybe I’m just a happy person.”
She makes a dismissive noise as she sets her bouquet on the bar next to my elbow. “You said this was business. You never mentioned anything about sex.”
“I didn’t think I had to,” I reply disingenuously, pouring a shot into my glass. “The fact is, a wedding—”
“Civil ceremony.”
“—requires consummation.”
“Says who?” She screws her nose up in disbelief.
“The law. More specifically, The Matrimonial Causes Act of 1973,”—I’m kind of glad Lachlan insisted on this discussion—“which states the inability or refusal to consummate a marriage is grounds for annulment. And that’s a risk I won’t take.”
“Who’d know?” she demands, flipping out a dismissive hand.
“Whoever you told.”
“Why do you assume I would be the one telling?”
“Because you have the least to lose.” Because this hasn’t been months in the making for you.
“I suppose a million must be small change to you,” she mutters. “Anyway, what about your entourage? It might be one of them who lets it slip.”
“No one is letting it slip.” Their NDAs are watertight, and the consequences are severe.
“Well, I wouldn’t tell anybody.”
“As I said, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I don’t need this marriage to look legitimate. I need it to be legitimate.”
Oh, how I’ve changed my tune because when Lachlan, my lawyer, had broached the annulment risk, I’d told him I didn’t want the headache of a romantic entanglement. Been there, tried that, and failed.
I required the union to be nothing but a business arrangement, arguing that Lavender’s precarious financial position would guarantee her silence. The numbers were a balance because it’s not like she’d ever be destitute, not related to Leif Whittington. I need the sum to be enticing enough and the threats to be real enough.
But then I’d gotten my mouth on her, and all other considerations had flown out of the window. I can’t seem to think of much else right now but sucking on her clit again.
It’s not like I’m expecting her to fuck me and not be into it. Because she was into it. The things she said, the noises she made that, hours later, still make me hard.