Cunning (Infidelity #2) (31 page)

I didn’t say a word as he stood taking in his surroundings. As if each candle were a reminder and a light of empowerment, his shoulders broadened and stance straightened. By the time he’d turned completely around, the menacing gleam I adored shone from his pale blue eyes as they sought me out, finding me leaning against the bedroom doorjamb with a glass of wine in my hand.

Bravely, I moved forward. My bare feet padded against the floor. Each step brought friction from the lace of my nightgown as it rubbed my hardened nipples. With only his gaze he melted me, like the wax of the candles surrounding us. I was no longer solid, but pliable, wanting and needing more of his heat.

Coming to a stop before him, I lowered my eyes and handed him the glass. “Your wine, Mr. Demetri.”

He took the glass and said, “I thought we should talk.”

Since I was looking down, the strain in his jeans caught my attention. I longed to reach out and stroke it; instead, my tongue darted to my suddenly dry lips. “If you want to talk, I’ll talk, but if that can wait, we can do something else.”

I took a deep breath and sank to my knees, unsure what I was doing. I’d read books. I remembered Del Mar. With everything in me, I hoped this was what he’d meant by his unique tastes.

“Charli…”

“I won’t mention it again, Mr. Demetri, except to tell you that I was wrong earlier today. I disobeyed you, and I believe I should be punished.” I’d practiced that line multiple different ways, but saying it aloud was so different than each silent attempt. The spoken words heightened my arousal while simultaneously increasing a vulnerability I didn’t know I’d feel. With barely a drink of the French wine I’d poured, I was deliriously intoxicated by my words, his proximity, and the uncertainty of his actions.

A deep sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan came from his throat. From my view, his shoes shifted. The hairs on my arms stood to attention as the room crackled, charged with energy. “Stand up, Charli.”

My heart stuttered in its cadence as I looked up to his hand. Placing mine in the palm of his, I stood. His glass of wine was now on a nearby table. He lifted my chin, our eyes once again fixed on one another’s.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

It was a command, not a request. “I’m trusting you, completely.”

His hands moved up and down my arms, their warmth comforting as I searched his expression. “You don’t need to prove anything to me. I reacted—”

I pushed myself up to the tips of my toes and covered his lips with mine. “I’m not proving. I’m showing. I didn’t even know your name in Del Mar, and I trusted you. Now that I know more about you, why would that diminish my trust?”

His arms surrounded me, pulling me tighter until we were one, fused together by the sheer heat of his embrace. The fervor of his kiss took what I offered and gave in return. Our tongues, no longer interested in talking, moved together, stoking the fire of desire. As the passion grew, his stance morphed. Subtle at first, his lips became more demanding, more apparent, as he fisted my tendrils of auburn, propelling my head back and making my neck vulnerable to his whims.

“Oh Nox,” I gasped as the scruff of his chin abraded my sensitive skin, and his teeth grazed behind my ear.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice now gruff and thick with desire.

Totally intoxicated by his presence, my answers wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. I wasn’t thinking straight. Mutual pleasure and fulfillment were all I could think about. Nothing else mattered. Accusations and fears were beyond my current comprehension.

“Y-Yes.” I barely had the answer out when without a word he scooped me in his arms. I didn’t know what awaited me in the future—near or far—yet as he held me close and our mouths joined in a bruising kiss, I didn’t care. The concoction formed by the combination of his tenderness and force was addicting, and I wanted more.

Gently placing me upon the bed, Nox’s eyes immediately went to the lengths of satin I’d laid across the mattress. His menacing gleam questioned with simply the furrowing of his brow as he lifted one length of the black satin and ran it over his palm.

Swallowing the saliva that moistened my throat, I simply said, “I trust you, Mr. Demetri.”

“That punishment you mentioned,” Nox said as he reached for the buckle of his belt.

My heart rate skyrocketed, but I refused to back down. Somehow I knew this was as vital to him as it was to me.

“Yes, sir.”

THE BREEZE SKIRTED
my sun-kissed cheeks as it rustled the skirt of my wedding gown. Not as elaborate as the first wedding dress I’d worn, this tea-length designer original was ivory satin with tulle and taffeta skirting. The sweetheart neckline dipped teasingly between my breasts, creating the perfect showcase for the diamond necklace shimmering in the setting sunlight.

“Do you take this man as your lawfully…”

The words flowed from the officiant’s lips, words he’d undoubtedly repeated hundreds if not thousands of times. This was, after all, one of the top luxury wedding destinations. A former 11
th-
century palace on the cliffs beside the Amalfi Coast, Alton and I were saying our vows on a balcony above the Mediterranean Sea. Sparkling waves glistened in the vista of blue.

Though it was a private affair, the proceedings were extravagant, even by Montague standards. In many ways, the entire production was more elaborate than my first wedding. The ancient walls and fresco-covered ceilings gave the impression of being inside a work of art. From our suite to our nuptials, everything was planned to perfection. Unlike my first wedding, my mother wasn’t the planner, and I had about as much say as I did the first time. This was all Alton.

“I do,” I dutifully replied.

“Do you…”

I took a deep breath, the skirt shifting slightly as I settled my nerves and concentrated on the gray eyes drinking me in. Their contentment warmed my soul. This was it. I knew it with every fiber of my being. This was a wedding
and
the culmination of a business deal. There were no loopholes, no backing out. Even death wouldn’t save me this time. Our only way to a future representative of the life I’d been born to live was through one another.

“I do,” Alton said, squeezing my hand.

It made me smile to know that the gold band I slid over Alton’s fourth finger was the first ring he’d ever worn. Of course, I wasn’t his first love nor was he mine. This wasn’t like it was with Russell, yet it was liberating. We held no pretense about feelings or the future. It was set, and we were but pawns in the grand scheme.

I’d sold myself for Montague and for my father. Alton sold himself for the Montague name, control of Montague Corporation, and assuring all of that for Bryce. The thought of my daughter’s arranged future still turned my stomach, but Alexandria and Bryce’s friendship gave me hope. They were only five and seven years old. At least they had a foundation.

It took me some time to come to terms with Suzy and the past she shared with my new husband. I wanted to hate her, as she said she wanted to hate me. But we were both sacrificing. Regardless, I found myself watching my fiancé and best friend for covert looks or clandestine touches. I searched for any sign that their relationship continued. If anything was present, I never saw it, or they did a good job of hiding it.

I was hopeful but not naive. Life had been too hard, even being to the manor born, to wear rose-colored glasses. Fairytales didn’t exist.

Alton was my future, and as much as I detested that he and Suzy shared a child, she was still my best friend. I didn’t want to, nor did I think I was strong enough to, continue without her in my life. More than that, we needed to stay close for our children and grandchildren. The Montagues and Carmichaels would come together. It would be easier for that to happen if we remained close.

“With this ring…” Alton’s deep voice reverberated in my ears.

The diamond-studded band slipped over my knuckle, the stones glittering in the remaining Italian sunshine. The engagement ring I wore from Russell was a Montague stone, one passed down from my father’s mother. For my new marriage, it was simply redesigned to a new, stunning setting, allowing the six-carat diamond to remain on my finger and in our family.

Even with our travel, I’d avoided sex, but the clock was ticking. After the ceremony and celebratory dinner, my time was up. I appreciated Alton’s patience and knew I’d stretched it to its limit.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said, smiling at my husband. “Alton, you may kiss your bride.”

Your bride. My husband
. It was official.

I stared, mesmerized by my husband’s lips. I couldn’t tell Suzy, but I admitted to Dr. Sams how much I enjoyed his kiss. Strong and firm, his smile morphed to a pucker as my eyes closed, and our mouths joined. Sweet yet possessive, he claimed me as his.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald, you are beautiful.”

It wasn’t a declaration of feelings neither one of us was ready to proclaim. Still, his compliment and the use of my new name made me grin.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald.” Gwendolyn, my matron of honor and Alton’s sister, said. Hugging me, she placed my bouquet of fresh lilies into my hand. “Welcome to the family. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

I smiled at her words. Our ceremony was supposed to be private. Though some might later question my choice, for obvious reasons I couldn’t ask Suzy to stand with me. Therefore, Alton’s sister seemed the natural choice. I’d known her for most of my life. We ran in similar circles; however, until news of Alton’s and my engagement, we were never close.

The Fitzgeralds were content with their standing—until Alton. Gwen was an attractive woman and never seemed overly impressed with the Montague name. Though that wouldn’t endear her to my father, it did to me.

Without understanding the truth behind my marriage to her brother or the urgency for us to wed, she welcomed me into her life. I especially liked how well Alexandria got along with her and Preston’s son, Patrick. He was a year older than Bryce. When the three of them were at Montague Manor, I got the impression that Patrick favored Alexandria to Bryce. Briefly, I wondered if Gwen and Preston knew Bryce was their nephew. I didn’t see any indication they did. Asking Alton wasn’t an option. The subject was closed.

Only the eight of us, my parents, Alton and Gwen’s parents, Gwen and Preston, and Alton and I were present at the wedding and the dinner celebration. As if relieved that the deal was complete, my father was uncharacteristically cordial, even jovial during the dinner. Toasts were made, and the alcohol flowed as everyone rejoiced at the blending of our families.

I would’ve liked to share the event with Alexandria. Even though she was young, this union affected her, but when I asked about bringing her, my suggestion was given as much credence as any other suggestions I’d made: quickly dismissed as if I’d never mentioned it.

Alton made plans following the wedding for a two-week honeymoon. He made no secret that he didn’t intend to share me with Alexandria or anyone else during our trip. Our plans were to enjoy all the Mediterranean had to offer while our nuptials and romance were strategically leaked to the press. We were a couple in love, brought together after my tragic loss. I was the young widow who found love where there’d been friendship.

I’d read all the articles. Our pictures were shared on social pages beyond Georgia. Alton’s place within Montague Corporation was the topic of speculation by many financial prognosticators. Concern for the company’s future after Russell’s death was lessening. Stock prices were on the rise.

The time finally came when we excused ourselves from the rest of the party. As we made our way to our suite, I thought about the flowing white negligee I’d found at an exclusive boutique in Savannah. Its sheer robe did nothing more than build anticipation of what was beneath, simply another layer to unwrap.

The champagne during our dinner did wonders to calm my nerves. Once we were alone, I excused myself to go to the honeymoon suite’s bathroom.

“No, Laide.”

I stopped. “No what?”

Alton stood in front of me, blocking my way. “I have no intentions of your leaving my sight, not tonight, not until I say.”

I smiled, playing his words off as the jest I hoped they were. I kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry, husband. I’ll only be a few minutes. I have a surprise for you.”

He didn’t budge. “I’ve waited for this.” He spun me around and busied himself with the back of my dress. In lieu of a zipper, there was a long row of pearl buttons. His large fingers patiently plied each button, slowly exposing my skin to his warm breath as the sound of his breathing hastened. “Don’t you agree?” he asked between kisses to my neck. “I’ve been patient.” His lips dipped lower, sending chills over my skin. “I’ve taken relief between your lips.” He turned me back around, his gray eyes darkened with desire. “Now I want more.”

His phrases were breathy and heated. They stirred a part of me deep inside, a part I hadn’t felt in years. My head wobbled, falling backward as he pushed the material from my shoulders, allowing my wedding dress to pool around my pearl-accented heels. Only a silk slip, lace bra, and underwear protected me from his searing gaze.