Penthouse Prince (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

The silence in the car seemed to carry a physical weight. The night, warm and a little humid, didn’t help. Rolling down her window didn’t offer reprieve, instead left the air to smack into her like a wet fist. She wasn’t sure where they were headed, nor did she question him. Instead, she leaned back, eyes half-closed, and hoped she looked relaxed.

Actually, it felt like someone was twisting a rubber band farther and farther out of shape inside her, leaving her nerves ready to snap. “So, do we have to appear on the beach and look like lovers? Or what’s your plan?”

“The plan is that we leave. We avoid the press. A couple in love on a vacation isn’t looking for photo ops. Just the opposite, really.” His gaze didn’t leave the road, and he lapsed back into silence. Minutes ticked by, and she counted the seconds of them.

Tapping her finger on the window frame, she asked, “Are we there yet?”

He snorted.

The rubber band distorted further.

After an infinite amount of time—she lost count on the seconds when they stretched into minutes, and then the minutes stretched further—he pulled onto a gravel driveway that led up to a sweeping set of white steps. He didn’t bother to come around to her door, instead grabbed their bags and passed all of them but one to a waiting member of staff.

Not even glancing back to see if she followed him, he strode into the hotel and out the back door, headed for a private bungalow set in the sand like a dream getaway. The path, lit by small tiki lanterns, led right up to the door he breezed through. The sound of waves crashing and the crunch of sand under her feet should have relaxed her, but she felt even less at ease. Like a silent scream of panic in her ears, she imagined years of living with him in strained silence…

She followed him inside. So this was it. Her honeymoon. Maybe this would show her if she’d made the right decision. If this could truly be enough.

The awkwardness and distance from the car ride apparently chased them to the room. Tired of the weight of it—of the constant tension of the past weeks altogether—she headed to the bar. An extensive quantity of options faced her, but she chose a nice looking bottle of Moscato.

It looked expensive. Was it okay for her to drink some?

Who in the hell cares?

She’d seen the way her husband flaunted his money. This was the lifestyle she’d bought into. May as well see if it fit.

She found a corkscrew, located like everything in his life—conveniently—and she struggled for a moment before managing to free the nearly clear liquid. Ignoring the wine glasses, she found a large water glass and filled it.

She brought the bottle with her, chose a chair near him, and began to drink.

Heavily.

The wine was cool, refreshing, and went down quite smoothly. It had been months…no,
years
since she’d been in a position to drink to delight. And the more she drank, the less loud her fears buzzed in her head.

It didn’t feel like much time had passed before she refilled her glass, glad for the warm haze falling over her.

…

When he’d imagined his wedding day, he’d never imagined a day like this one. Then again, he’d also never expected to care about his bride.

Fucking expectations
. None of them mattered when it came to Jeanie.

She’d advised him this wasn’t a honeymoon. So it wasn’t.

Then why isn’t she going to bed?
He knew there was only one in this suite, one monstrous bed he’d planned on laying her out on to watch her writhe for his touch. His one specific request to Lowe had been the bed, a hedonistic place for them to explore the passion between them, and for him to tempt her into confessing she felt more than a contract between them.

Instead of sleep, she apparently planned to get hammered. Quietly.

She never offered him a glass, nor did she seem to require any sort of encouragement to continue sipping away. While he appreciated a drunk woman as much as the next guy—warm, willing, no inhibitions—he could think of more interesting ways for his bride to spend their wedding night, not to mention safer ones considering his intention to keep his hands off her.

Refusing to look at her, he allowed time to pass. Perhaps, if he didn’t speak—didn’t move, really—she’d tire of his company and take her bottle to bed with her this first night of their wedded bliss. Or fall asleep.

Whichever.

Lord knew, those were the only ways he could resist her.

“You’re still not talking to me.”

Breaking a promise to himself, he slanted a glance at his bride, who’d slurred just a bit when she spoke. She’d changed into traveling clothes before they’d left the penthouse, apparently thinking a short flirty skirt and blouse were appropriate dress for honeymooning.

Since then, she’d undone buttons on the blouse, leaving the sides gaping to give teasing glimpses of too much flesh. Her lounging in the chair made her skirt ride up to reveal too much tempting thigh. He deemed the glimpses of her flesh inappropriate to his plan not to touch her. “I’m not
not
talking to you. I’m simply not talking. It’s been a long day. I’m relaxing.”

She snickered. “You look very relaxed.”

Okay, perhaps he didn’t look relaxed.
Which is entirely your fault, wife.
“I’m quite comfortable. Aren’t you?”

He made the mistake of considering her again. She stood, slowly. “No. It’s hot here.”

With that, she shed the blouse.

His gaze tracked up, unwilling to listen to his mind which screamed,
Don’t look!
But he did—from her bare stomach to her lovely breasts, just contained in a scrap of red—
who in the fuck thought putting her in red was a good idea? The stylist is fired, first thing tomorrow
. She looked…

Delicious
.

His wife displayed a sweet combination of innocence and seduction, topped off with a lazy grin and hungry gaze. Her green eyes glittered in the semidarkness of the room, darker, mysterious, and full of womanly secrets he longed to explore.

He swallowed hard. He tried not to trip over his tongue and searched for a snarky response. “Feel better?” Well, it wasn’t snarky, but he didn’t beg her to come sit in his lap like a letch, so he’d consider it a win.

“A little.” She wiggled out of the skirt before dropping back in the chair to stretch her legs out to rest next to his on the coffee table facing the bay windows. “Ah, now that’s better.” She swigged her glass of wine. “But I’m running out of wine. And I feel a little…loopsie? So I’m not sure I’ll be able to open another bottle. Would you be a dear and figure out how to open another for me?”

She didn’t need more wine. She was already well on her way to shitfaced. “I’ll get right on that.”
Stare out the window, Camden. Don’t look her way. The booze will make her sleepy, and she’ll go to bed
.

His eyes were traitors and sought her flesh. It lay temptingly close and yet too far away.

His dick? Granite. He gritted his teeth. If someone asked him, right then, which he wanted more—a taste of her or his next breath—he would make a really unwise decision.

“You said we’d be married for a while.”

Stable ground offered itself up, and he scrabbled for it. “Yes, unless you find that an unsuitable arrangement. I thought that was what we’d both agreed to.”

Safe topic.
Focusing on the problems would distract him from her drunken…whatever the hell she was doing.

She stood, and the rustle of her movement tempted him to look again, but he resisted. There was, after all, only so much he could take of this delicious torture.

Bad move.
She straddled his lap, and he forced his hands not to lift and capture her breasts, now within range. Her movement, a little awkward and somewhat loose-boned, no doubt from the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream, still placed her in his arms, her hands braced on his shoulders for balance.

But he kept his hands to himself. Even as his heart raced and sweat broke out on his upper lip from his internal battle.
Look, but don’t touch
became his mantra and looped through his short-circuited brain.

“See, so long as we’re married on paper,” she said, “I should at least reap the benefits of being married to an international playboy. You’ve proved you know what you’re doing in that arena, anyway. You care about me, you turn me on…I should have more sex, don’t you think?”

He swallowed again. Nothing that came to mind was an appropriate response.
Yes, please?

No, can’t say that…dammit.

Theirs might not be a traditional marriage, but their first time together as man and wife should be special, and he didn’t want to ruin it. She was drunk, didn’t mean what she said, and no matter how much he wanted to…

He finally settled on, “That’s the wine talking. You should sleep.”

You should let me suck those puckered nipples. You should bow backwards when I thrust my fingers in those tiny panties and make you howl my name to the sky.

Fisting his hands on the arms of the chair, he prayed for the strength to remember the wine she’d drunk and that she deserved more than he could offer her.

“I’m not a virgin anymore.” Her whispered confession near his ear shot a jolt of pure lust through his already over stimulated system, even if he’d known that fact. “That ship already sailed, right? I
was
waiting for the right time.”

He could give her a “right” time.

Followed by a left time. Then a bent over this chair and bucking time…

“For however long we continue this…” She waved a hand, obviously searching for a word, “thing we’re doing, I’m obviously not free to look for another relationship. Maybe I planned on being with someone who loved me? Who knows if I’ll ever find something like that? So, since I’ll never have a right time, because I’m married to you now, I figure we should have lots of sex. Maybe then I’ll be able to think rationally again.” Her lips slid up his neck, and his body responded to the feel of her warm flesh and the scent of her, rich and exotic.

But his mind dropped out of the game like she’d dumped ice water right on his throbbing cock. He caught her shoulders and pushed her to her feet, freeing his legs. He then scooped her into his arms and strode into the bedroom.

“I knew you’d understand. Thanks, Penthouse Prince.” Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt.

“Don’t call me that.” He gritted out the words before depositing her into the center of the bed. He paused at the door to glance back at her, spread like his every fantasy on the bed and wearing a sexy smile. He shook his head and moved back toward the bed. “And I’m not taking what you’re offering under those terms. If I wasn’t the right choice before I became the only choice, I’m not the right choice tonight. Goodnight, Jeanie.” Bending, he kissed her forehead. “We both deserve better than this.”

With more regret than he expected, he closed the door on her sweet temptation and imagined all the cries he could be wrenching free of his new wife. When she’d sobered up, he’d tell her he wanted it to be good for her, as special as it could be, anyway. That he’d wanted her to remember it rather than forgetting most of it to a drunken haze.

If she chose to give herself to him again, now that they were married, he wanted it to be right for her. She deserved that, and if he couldn’t offer her love, he’d at least give her that much.

He headed out to walk the beach and get control of his rocketing sex drive. Eventually, he fell to his knees, gazing up at the sky. “A little help here? I married the woman I need. This should be the happiest day of my life, since I’m getting everything I wanted. So why am I so damned miserable?”

The stars glittered and waves crashed on the beach. The world spun, and a million or billion people kept living their lives while he waited in silence.

But no answer came from the sky.

Chapter Twenty-Six

She woke a few hours later and battled waves of remembered rejection. Once she’d gotten past her temper, she decided perhaps he hadn’t rejected her so much as he’d refused her drunken proposition. She decided to find out and braved the hallway to look for him.

As in the penthouse, she found him gazing out the windows at the night, hands folded behind his back. She cleared her throat and swallowed hard when he swiveled in her direction. “Look, about earlier. I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said.

He quirked a finger at her, then spoke in a soft, irresistible voice. “If you’ve sobered up, then come here.”

Wondering if she could set the tone for their exchange, she quirked a brow at him. “Do you really think you can just twitch a finger and have me come, rich boy?”

He allowed his smile to crawl slowly over his lips as he quirked a brow at her. “Depends on your definition of the word, wife.”

She smiled, pleased he seemed willing to play along. “Oh, you think you’re clever, Mr. James.”

“I know I’m clever. Seriously, come here, please?”

Something about the sight of him, all raw and tired, and the gruff edge to his voice when he said
please
, twisted inside her heart. Dammit, could she have fallen in love with him? Even as she told herself she couldn’t, even as she knew it was only a job? She couldn’t love him.

The possibility shoved her into restless movement to join him at the windows. They hung open, the sea beyond waving merrily against the beach as it glittered in moonlight as if someone hung the water with stars. Gossamer curtains wafting inward brought the warm smell of a salt-scented breeze.

She simply
couldn’t
love him. But she also couldn’t resist him.

She turned to him, stopped only inches away. When he made no move to touch her, she toyed with his hair. “Was it that I drank or what I said that made you leave me alone in our bed on our honeymoon? Or something else…like, well, you didn’t want to.” Unable to look him in the eye, to risk seeing something she didn’t want to see on his face, she began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

He shrugged, considering her question while his hands began to explore her back and sides. Just his touch sent shivers of need dancing across her skin, and her pulse began to thud the way it did only when he held her close. “I thought we both deserved better than a roll in the sack that you wouldn’t even remember tomorrow. I’d like it if you remembered me, us, this…”

His voice trailed off, but his lips on her neck made up for the lack of words. Tugging him closer, she whispered, “I don’t think I could forget you if I tried, Camden.”

Because, at some point, the act had become reality for her. From his laugh—and all the different forms it could come in, ranging from cold sarcasm to warm and unfettered joy—to the way he smiled, to the funny way he shoved out all his words in a rush like someone might stop him from speaking. All of it. His random act of awesome in buying a zoo…his arms as he held her…and the epic wonder of his mouth on hers, lighting up her nerves like they were fireworks and he the match.
Love.

Emboldened by the realization, she claimed his mouth with her own, determined to show him all he meant since she couldn’t possibly come up with words to encompass the breadth of her feelings.

…

As if she’d snapped the tether he used to hold back from touching her, he streaked his hands across her flesh like a starved man at a banquet. When her greedy touch seemed as desperate as his own, he smiled.

She grazed her nails down his chest and watched his face closely to see him react. He didn’t hide his growing desire from her. When her fingertips paused at his belt line, he shifted them to the couch to allow her the time to explore and become comfortable with him.

But his own passion didn’t afford him the time to stay still as she explored, not by a long shot. He tugged the bra down so he could give the hardened nipples more attention. She sighed, and her hips shifted against him. When her gaze again locked on his, he watched her bite her lip. The challenge in her eyes was clear.

Her busy fingers removed his shirt and undid his pants. He trailed off his own touching, distracted by her mouth as it teased lower until she knelt on the floor in front of him. Her breasts free of the bra, but held up because he’d not removed it, rose and fell with her panting breaths and her lips turned up in an impish smile as she grazed her nails lightly over his throbbing bulge. “You’re becoming quite a tease, Mrs. James,” he told her.

She laughed. “It sounds so weird to be called that.”

The temptation of her wrapping her red lips around his cock diminished. He imagined being deep inside her when she laughed, imagined all her muscles clamped around him. He tugged her up, eliminated the barrier of her underwear, and pulled her back to straddle his lap.

Her amusement disappeared when slid his fingers into motion in her hot, wet cleft. He wasn’t sure he’d ever tire of how responsive to his touch his wife proved to be. As her head lolled back and she rocked with his touch, he whispered, “Get used to it.”

He spread his legs farther to grant her access when her fingers sought his cock. She shoved his pants down around his knees, didn’t bother to even pull them all the way off before she cupped his over-sensitive shaft in her hand and rubbed it against her waiting heat.

Impatient, he brushed her hands aside before lifting her and thrusting deep inside.

For a moment, time stopped. Suspended in the completion of being buried deep inside her, he nuzzled her ear and dropped kisses wherever he could reach as her deep breaths tickled the hair at his neck.

Then she moved. Her hands cupped his cheeks, demanded his mouth, and their tongues tangled. Her hips rose, found a slow rhythm, and he tried to distract himself from the pleasure. She managed to get him so close to losing all control with so little effort, he needed to concentrate to ensure she gained her pleasure before he surrendered to his own.

She braced her hands on his chest, then increased the speed and power of her movements. He caught her hips so he could rise up to meet her. Her head lolled back, and the golden cascade of her hair brushed his hands as he increased the speed. A shift of his hand allowed him to jiggle the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs, and he swallowed down the triumph he felt as her lips opened to release soft moans and her rhythm became unsteady. She was close.

He leaned forward to suckle her nipple. Her cries became words. “Camden. Yes, please, yes. God, I love you.”

They both froze.

Her head came up slowly. He backed away from her flushed breasts and met her gaze as she blinked and tried to focus. He didn’t want her to focus.
She’d said it.

“Say it again, Jeanie.”

She shook her head, hair lit by the moonlight to resemble treasure spilled from a long buried cask. Her heavy bottom lip stayed clamped between her small white teeth as he changed the angle, swiveling deep inside her as he fluttered his thumb against her clit.

“Say it.” He repeated the demand, and her shoulders arched toward him. Her hands found purchase on his arms, and her nails bit into his skin. He closed his eyes to keep from coming and losing the moment.

Still, she didn’t answer even though her breath came hard and her body bowed into his, begging for release.

“Please.” He bit out the word, knowing he couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Love you,” she chanted. “Love you, love you.” With each thrust, she repeated it until he claimed her lips and swallowed her shout as she shattered around him. The muscle spasms of her orgasm milked him, and he felt his own climax rock from the balls of his feet to the roots of his hair. Pulling her close, as close as he could get her, he surged one last time in both triumph and release.

He snuggled her close, didn’t let her go, stroked her back and peppered kisses between deep breaths. “Thank you.”

She’d stay with him. She’d admitted she loved him. The satisfaction of the sex wasn’t anything compared to the relief of knowing she would not leave him. If she loved him, she’d never leave him. It simply wasn’t how she was wired.

For a long time, they lay together in the darkness, and he reveled in the knowledge he’d won her heart.

…

Heavy relaxation weighted his limbs. As he blinked away the last vestiges of sleep, the solidness of her in his arms and the steady rhythm of her breathing stopped him from stretching away the muscles stiff from resting.

At first, he’d thought he might be imagining it. Maybe dreaming the whole thing because he’d wanted her for so long. The steady rise and fall of her chest as she lay at peace—one breast revealed by the blanket he’d pulled over them—wiped away the possibility of his imagination fabricating the situation. They’d made love again, as he’d fantasized, but better, and she was with him.

Fast on the heels of him realizing she’d fulfilled his erotic plans came the knowledge that at some point she’d wake up. And then they’d need to talk.

Lowe had found an out, a way to undo their marriage as if it’d never happened and enable him to keep the shares—a text he’d received while she was sleeping. His father had written in a six-month clause into his paperwork, stating he’d need to stay married to Jeanie if he wanted the shares, but Lowe and his team managed a loophole. He’d have the shares within the week either way, and Jeanie could leave if she wanted.

Lowe found the loophole—after so long being unsuccessful—which awakened an unwelcome memory of Lowe warning Camden she’d be fair game if they ever split. Jealousy, unfamiliar and barbed, raced through him. Terror iced across his skin and raised goose bumps.

He couldn’t lose her, not after what they’d shared. He cared for her; she wanted him. He needed to convince her to stay with him. They could be good together, they could be happy.

Her breath sped a little, and she curled closer to him and nuzzled at his neck. He shook as his body hardened, ready and willing to show her just how much he wanted her to stay and only held back by iron control. The nipple of her exposed breast came in contact with his chest and hardened to a puckered peak, further testing his resolve to stay still so he didn’t wake her.

Unable to resist any longer, even knowing that her eyes opening meant they’d talk and it all might fall apart again, he wrapped his arms around her and curled his leg over her hip to pull her close. She sighed a little, her lips rubbed against his neck, and he cupped her head to keep her there.

Her hips moved, pushed against him, and he shuddered out a breath. He’d tried to go slow with her, afraid of asking her for more than she wanted to give, but even when he tried to make it good for her, she’d moved beneath him, demanding more.

Careful, he’d planned to be so careful with her, but she’d refused his caution and driven him faster. Soon he’d lost himself entirely to the feel of her moving with him and the sight of her face, tense with desire.

The overwhelming nature of his feelings for her should terrify him. It should leave him backing away, wanting to create space between them to ensure he wouldn’t get more tangled than he could afford to be.

Instead, he settled more firmly around her, and she murmured in her sleep. When her head turned, he couldn’t resist dropping a quick kiss on her lips, still swollen from their hours of loving.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, and a smile stretched her mouth before her eyes went wide, and she scrambled to pull the sheet over the bottom half of her face. “Hi,” she mumbled from beneath the cover.

Not deterred, he nibbled at the sweet spot right behind her ear before whispering back, “Hi.”

“I’ll be right back.” She scrambled out of the bed and pulled the sheet with her to hide her nudity. This, of course, pulled it off him, and she paused, head tilted at a comical angle. It seemed she considered his cock, which saluted her in response.

She shook her head and scuttled to the bathroom. When he heard the water running, he snuck out of the room to go to the next bedroom’s bathroom to brush his teeth at mach speed and take care of his own toilette before making it back before she emerged.

When she finally peeked out of the bathroom, her hair had been brushed and her cheeks were pink. “I’m still naked.”

“No you’re not,” he corrected. “You’ve got the sheet. I’m naked.”

As if drawn by his words, her gaze landed again on his cock, still at attention. “Yes, you’re naked.”

He frowned. Although he’d feared their post-coital conversation, he’d not anticipated her being quite this nerve-packed. He stalked to the bathroom to loom over her as she peered at him around the corner of the door. “Are you coming out?”

“I’m still deciding,” she answered.

He pulled the door partway open, then leaned on the doorframe to be closer to her. “Would you rather if I came in?”

“Um, probably we should talk.”

He nodded. She finally opened the door the rest of the way and practically lunged into the room. He shook his head and followed her.

She picked up his shirt. He took it out of her hand and flung it across the room. She picked up her dress. He discarded it as well. “Will you stop doing that?” She tried to juggle the sheet and glared at him. He caught the end of it and tugged it free from her grasp. He couldn’t help but grin at her outraged gasp.

“Nope. You’re not going to need the clothes tonight. Or the sheet.”

“Camden, we need to talk.”

He nodded again. “We do.”

“So what are you doing?”

His answer was to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until her arms twined around his neck and she sighed. He might not have all the answers. He might not know how to make her want to stay with him, but they could discuss all of it later. Once he told her, she might take the out.

But for tonight? She’d given herself to him. He was determined she wouldn’t regret the choice, nor would she forget their time together. There were about twenty things he could think of he’d yet to teach his virginal bride about lovemaking…

No time like the present to get started on the list.