Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 2) (8 page)

Pushing all those troubling thoughts of babies from my brain, I strip, then lie down beside Olivia so we’re facing each other.

“Are you nervous?” I ask her, stroking her cheek, trying to get back into the moment.

She gives me a careful nod. “That’s stupid, right? We’re married now.”

“Nothing you’re feeling is stupid.”

She smiles at me. “It’s just . . . been a while.”

I caress her upper arms, unable to stop touching her. She looks so sexy lying here in just her thong, looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf who’s ready to eat her up.

“We can go slow,” I murmur, my lips on hers.

“Okay.” She nods, kissing me back.

In the moonlit room, we lie side by side, our arms and legs intertwined, kissing for a long time. My tongue explores her mouth and she matches my eager pace, meeting me lick for lick. Her tongue tastes of champagne, and I’m having a hell of a time holding myself back from stripping off her panties and diving between her legs. The taste I had last night wasn’t enough. When it comes to Olivia, nothing can ever be enough.

A sound of frustration rises up her throat. “We don’t have to go
that
slow.”

“No?” I chuckle.
Thank fucking God.
I peel her thong down her legs and toss it over the side of the bed. “My kind of woman.”

I shift closer and part her legs, sliding her top knee over my hip, so she’s open for me. Then I rub the head of my cock over her clit, coating myself in her warmth and making her moan at the contact.

“That feels so good, Noah,” she cries, circling her hips, pushing herself closer.

“Need to make sure you’re ready for me.”

I bury my face against her neck, breathing in her familiar scent while I push one long finger inside her. She’s snug, and I take my time adding another finger before slowly withdrawing.

She reaches up to palm my cheek, feeling the stubble on my jaw. Her eyes never leave mine as I pump my fingers in and out.

“I want you, Noah.”

Her voice is just a whisper, and when I look in her eyes, I see the amount of courage it takes her to admit that. She’s been so strong, so resolute for so long, that sex will only complicate our business arrangement. I have no idea what changed her mind. Okay, so I have some idea—it could have been that orgasm I delivered the other night. There’s plenty more where that came from.

Just do it
. “I know, baby. Soon. Nice and easy . . .”

I line myself up, shuddering at how warm and soft her wet opening feels on the tip of my cock. Easing in just an inch, I bite back a groan. Her body grips mine so tightly, it’s perfection.

Everything inside me wants to pump her full of my cum and watch her squirm, breathless as she comes down from the multiple orgasms I know I can give her. Instead my brain is screaming at me to stop this. To tell her the truth.

“Wait,” she says, placing one hand on my chest.

I’m almost relieved when she stops us. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t we need a condom? I’m not on birth control.”

“I . . .”

My heart is pounding and I feel light-headed, almost dizzy. Whether it’s because I’m desperate to feel her around me, or because I’m not cut out for the deception and devastation that lies ahead, I have no idea.

“I can’t do this,” I bite out.

“What? Why not?” Olivia sits up, peering down at me with confusion all over her features.

I look away. “I just can’t,” I repeat uselessly, unable to think of anything else.

“If this is about the condoms, I’ll run down to the drugstore. It’ll take ten minutes. Fifteen tops.” Her voice rises in concern.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

That’s not a total lie; my stomach is certainly churning. I climb out of bed and grab my boxers from the floor, slipping them on while Olivia scowls at me.

“What the hell, Noah?”

I don’t reply; I just grab my pillow from the bed and head to the couch. It’s going to be a long fucking night.

• • •

“So let me get this straight?” Sterling says around a mouthful of pancakes. “You feigned a headache like a bitter old housewife instead of fucking her?”

I jab my fork at my eggs, stabbing the runny yolks, my appetite gone. Of course I wasn’t sick last night. It was an attack of shame and regret.

“I couldn’t do it.”

Sterling shakes his head. “Of course you couldn’t. You need to stop behaving like a grunting caveman and talk with her about the contract. Use your words and have a real conversation about this. Which has been my position since the wedding, I’ll remind you.” He waves his fork at me for emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut it.” I take a sip of my tea while Sterling continues eating. At least one of us has an appetite.

After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning on the couch, I got up early and asked Sterling out to breakfast before work. We’ve never met up so early before, but he practically jumped at the invitation. He knew from the start that my arranged marriage was going to implode, and I think the bastard just wants a front-row seat.

“I don’t even know if she likes kids, if she wants kids,” I muse out loud.

“Yeah, that’s a problem.”

Damn him for always being the voice of reason. He makes all my conundrums sound so simple and obvious.

What I’m starting to realize is that there’s the spark of something more between Olivia and me. I can’t deceive any woman about this, but especially not Olivia. She isn’t just a means to an end. We can have the seeds of a real relationship here, and I’m not ready to fuck up that possibility.

At the same time, though . . . the fate of our entire company is still at stake. How do I protect both Olivia and Tate & Cane? How do I convince her?

I toss some cash onto the table and stand, unable to stomach any more. “I’ve got to get to the office. Thanks for the chat.”

“Anytime you need a therapy session, I’m here.” Smiling, Sterling gives me a wave before digging back into his pancakes.

When I arrive at work, I go to the one place I know Olivia won’t find me.

“Hey, Rosita,” I call, clearing off a countertop in the mailroom and sitting down.

“I’ve missed you,
mi amor
,” she says, wheeling a cart full of packages over. As she approaches, she makes a
tsking
sound under her breath. Then she stops in front of me and runs her thumb under my eye. “You don’t look well. These dark circles aren’t normally here.”

I shrug. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Oh?” She gives me a knowing smile.

“No, nothing like that.” I guess I need to preface my statement; otherwise, people are likely to think I was burning up the sheets with my blushing bride. We are newlyweds, after all. “I slept on the couch last night.”

Her expression instantly falls. Frowning, she gives my cheek a pat. Then she lowers herself into the chair across from me. “Tell Mama Rosie all about it.”

“Things between me and Olivia are good . . . they’re just kind of complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Rosita raises her eyebrows.

“How did you know you wanted kids?”

From her surprised expression, that’s clearly not the topic she was expecting. “I don’t know. I guess I always just knew from the time I was small that I wanted to be a mother.”

I nod. Makes sense. I think women just know. They have that maternal instinct, that ticking biological clock. Only I don’t know if Olivia feels that way.

“Do you want children? Is that what this is about?” Rosita asks in her calm, yet confident voice.

I
have
always wanted at least one kid, hopefully two. But this situation isn’t about what either of us want. Our know-it-all, matchmaking fathers thought it best that we start a family in order to take over their massive corporation, and now I’m feeling the pressure of putting a bun in Olivia’s oven ASAP.

Does Rosita really need all that background information, though?

Deciding to keep this conversation as simple as possible, I just answer, “Yeah. But I don’t know how Olivia feels.”

Rosita smiles warmly at me and rises to pat the back of my hand. “You have plenty of time. The ink is barely dry on your marriage certificate. Enjoy life with just the two of you for a few years first. Once kids come, you can never go back. This time is precious.”

The sour feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies. Great . . . yet another reason why everything in my life is fucked. Not what I need to hear right now. But Rosita doesn’t know that, so I nod and force a smile at her, as if her wise advice perfectly hit the spot.

“Thanks for the talk, Rosie. I better get back to work.”

“Anytime,” she calls after me.

Now I just have to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Olivia

What the hell happened last night? I worked so hard to psych myself up for sex, and
Noah
was the one who got cold feet? Unbelievable. The man can never stop flirting with me or bragging about how amazing he is in bed, but when the time came to put his money where his mouth was . . . actually, his mouth didn’t go anywhere either.

And I can’t even ask Noah about it, because I can’t
find
him. I woke up to an empty bed, with no sign of my husband anywhere in the apartment. He wasn’t in his office when I arrived at work either.

All damn day, I’ve been trying to catch him alone. He won’t answer any of my calls or texts or e-mails, and his secretary keeps saying “oh, bad luck, you just missed him” every time I stop by her desk.

Is it really bad luck, though? Is his jam-packed schedule today just an annoying coincidence? Or . . . is he avoiding me on purpose?

I stomp down the little voice in the back of my head that whispers,
He’s changed his mind about you. He finally came to his senses, realized what a huge mistake this relationship is. He regrets everything. He doesn’t want to touch you or even talk to you.
That poisonous hiss sounds an awful lot like Brad, and I’m done with him for good.

But God, I’m still so confused and frustrated. I was all set to confront my sexual hang-ups, and then our showdown was canceled at the last possible second.

Dammit, I refuse to let my emotional effort go to waste. I’m going to be brave and get laid if it’s the last thing I do. But first, I’m going to find out why Noah suddenly abandoned ship last night. And if I can’t track down the slippery SOB at work, I’ll just corner him tonight. He has to come home sometime, right?

• • •

Just as I’m folding a sheet of office paper into a voodoo doll and preparing to repeatedly stab it in the crotch, Camryn swings by my office.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as she slides into the chair in front of my desk.

“Not much.” She shrugs. “I wanted to see if you wanted to grab an early lunch.”

I glance at the clock and see it’s only half past eleven, but yes, getting out of this building and escaping the rejection burning through my veins is exactly what I need. “I would eat dog shit right now if I meant I got an hour’s worth of girl time with you.”

Camryn’s cheery expression falls. “Well, I’m not real keen on eating dog shit, so why don’t you tell me what happened, sweetie?”

I huff out a sigh and rise to my feet. “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”

And I do. Over chicken strips and fries (nothing says comfort food like deep-fried anything dipped in generous amounts of ranch dressing), I lay it all out on the table. All my baggage. All the pain and hurt and doubt Noah caused me last night.

“He had me convinced that he wanted me, wooed me, was on his best, most charming behavior, and then bam! Nothing.” I lick the grease from my fingers and take a big gulp of soda to wash down my lunch.

“What a twat,” she grumbles, nodding to encourage me along.

“He slept on the couch and was gone before I got up this morning, so obviously he’s avoiding me like he knows he did something wrong.” I freeze, my straw halfway to my lips.

“What?” Camryn asks.

“Unless I’m the one who did something wrong.”

This earns me a confused look. “Do you think you did something wrong?”

I shrug. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that it had been so long.”

“Noah isn’t like that. He wouldn’t care.”

Camryn’s right. I replay the evening in my head. Dinner. Champagne. Dancing. Flirting. Laughing. Groping.

“Maybe I was too aggressive. I had my hand in his pants the second the door closed.” I push my hands into my hair, remembering how I acted, in all my horny glory. “The lock didn’t even click into place and I was all up in his business. I started giving him a blow job in the damn foyer of our apartment.”

“That’s hot,” she commented, taking another bite of her food. “What guy doesn’t want a blow job in the foyer?”

I don’t know. Apparently Noah. But he’s been practically begging to show me his dick . . . I frown, unsure if my actions last night somehow caused him to pull away.

She leans toward me, her eyes full of sweet pity. “Sweetie, if you’re sucking his dick, you can do it anywhere, anytime, and it’s okay. It’s almost a rule.”

The worst part of this whole situation is the growing seed of doubt he left.
What’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I good enough?

“What happened next?” she asks.

“He took me into the bedroom and stripped me down. We were kissing.” God, the kissing. The man can do incredible things with his tongue. “And then he was rubbing his . . .
anaconda
. . . all over my . . .
honey pot
, and I mentioned something about a condom.”

“Hmm.” She looks as perplexed as I feel. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word honey pot?”

Shaking my head, I continue. “No. But maybe it was me. Maybe my vagina’s ugly?”

The guy seated next to us whips his head in my direction so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

Camryn pats my hand. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your vagina. I’m sure of it.”

“Then why, Cam? Why? Why would he do that? Because I don’t believe for one second that he was all of a sudden ill.”

She shakes her head. “No, neither do I.” She sets her fork down next to her Cobb salad. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

My stomach tightening, I nod.

She wipes her mouth with her napkin and leans forward. “I think it hit Noah that this unique situation with you isn’t what he’s used to. This isn’t a random hookup, or a booty call that he can duck out on in the morning. Whether you guys like it or not, sex between the two of you is going to mean something.”

I frown and chew on my thumbnail. “In what way?”

“You’re a married couple now.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a business agreement. An arranged marriage. And I proposed we be fuck buddies since we’re stuck together. It’s not some romantic till-death-do-us-part, lovey-dovey marriage.”

Camryn holds up her palms. “All I’m saying is sex for men isn’t just physical like we sometimes like to believe. And I think something spooked Noah—got into his head.”

“That’s ridiculous.”
But is it?
Aren’t those some of the same things I was worried about? My whole objection for us having naked fun in the first place?

“Ridiculous or not, I want you to know that his backing out had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with something going on inside his head.”

“So, what do I do now?”

She grins wickedly. “That all depends. Do you still want to bang him?”

Stupid question. Is the value of pi 3.14? Does my husband have a horse cock?
Yes
to all of the above.

“More than anything.” I grin back at her, my expression equally cheeky.

Camryn cracks up laughing. “Okay, then here’s what you do . . .”

• • •

Later, back at the office, I’m working away when my head snaps up. Walking past my window—was that Noah just now? I jump out of my chair and peek around the doorjamb.
Yep . . . I’d recognize that ass anywhere.
He turns the corner and I follow him at what I hope is a casual distance. Time to confront him, just like Camryn suggested.

When I reach Noah’s office, his door is shut and locked. But the lights are on and I can see the silhouette of his head through the frosted glass window. It doesn’t look like he’s on the phone or having a private meeting with anyone.

I give his door three loud raps. “Hey, Noah.”

No answer. So he’s being stubborn. Too bad; I can be stubborn too. I knock again and call, “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”

The door flies open. Noah looks irritated. Well, good—I guess that makes two of us.

“Something better be on fire,” he snaps.

I keep my eyes steady on his. “Sorry, but no. And we should talk in private.”

His mouth presses into a firm line, but he steps aside to let me walk into his office.

I shut the door behind me and turn to face him. “So . . . about last night. Care to tell me what happened?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Weren’t you there? You already know.”

“No, I really don’t.” Straightening my back—I can’t match his height, but I’ll still try—I plant my hands on my hips. “The date, the dancing, the wooing . . . and then the bailing.”

“I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Really? Because you don’t look sick to me right now.” And if he
was
sick last night, then why sleep on the couch? No way. Not buying it.

Noah throws up his hands. “Maybe it was something I ate at dinner. Maybe I just got a headache. What’s with the damn third degree?”

Then he drops his gaze. It was only for a second, but I saw it, and I know evasive maneuvers when I see them. So I press harder.

“It really seemed to me like you were scared of having sex.”

He blinks, his mouth open, then forces a laugh. “What? We’re still talking about me, right? You’re always sniping at me for . . . how did you put it? Fucking half of New York City?”

“But I’m not your typical conquest. I’m your
wife
. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your style tends more toward ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ than ‘until death do us part.’” I pause to raise my eyebrows at him for emphasis. “Last night wasn’t going to be just a casual screw where you forgot my name five minutes later. I think you backed off because you were worried that sex would make things too real between us. You’re scared you might feel something for me.”

For a moment, he just stares at me with a look I can’t read. It’s wry, almost bitter, but at the same time, it almost seems somehow . . . relieved?

When Noah finally replies, his voice is much calmer. “What a bunch of horseshit. You’re reading way too much into this. I already told you why I stopped last night, so quit inventing crazy stories.”

I blink, surprised by how much his words sting.
He calls the idea that he might love me
. . . a bunch of horseshit
?

But what do I care? I don’t love him. Romance was never part of this marriage, and it’s not part of our bedroom experiments either. So why does his vehement denial feel so . . . disappointing? I was just trying to get him to acknowledge what Camry and I discussed, that sex between us might seem like a big deal, but it’s not. We can keep it casual.

Disguising my twinge of hurt, I reply briskly, “Well, if you’re feeling better, then let’s reschedule sex for tonight. I already picked up some condoms at the drugstore on my way here this morning.” I watch his face carefully. “Unless there’s a problem with that?”

He frowns, but says, “Sounds good to me.”

“Great. See you at home.” I open his door and leave, heading back for my own office. Hopefully I can get some work done now that I’ve set my personal life straight again.