Their Wicked Wedding (4 page)

He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

He’s turning down wine? Something
must
be wrong. I reach up and pull his face down to mine, kissing him hello. I can feel the tension in his lips, in the rigidity of his neck. And then, after a few brief seconds, his arms come up around me, gripping me fiercely, and he crushes me against him. His mouth is no longer tight but demanding, and he slips his tongue between my lips.

I know what this means. I know how Calder gets when he’s caught up in worry, when he’s carrying the world on his shoulders.

But before I can ask him again what’s bothering him, he pushes me up against the wall with a force that knocks the air out of me. His arms tighten, and it’s all I can do to hold onto him for dear life as his mouth continues to ravish mine. I make no move to stop him. I want to help him forget whatever bullshit sent him into work today. He can leave those worries at the office. Now that he’s here, I want him focused on
us.

He sucks my lip into his mouth, and I moan and dig my fingers into his shoulders. His hips press against mine, and I can feel him already hardening in his pants. One of his hands moves to my breast, and he squeezes it through my thin sweater. The nipple hardens beneath his touch.

I drop one hand from his shoulder and slide it down his body. I wriggle it between us until my fingers reach his cock, and I stroke him through the fabric, just like he stroked himself last night.

It’s his turn to groan, and I continue to rub him as his teeth work roughly against my lips. His fingers are no longer gentle on my breast. He shoves his hand beneath my sweater, and when he finds the nipple again, he pinches and pulls until I’m weak with the exhilarating pain of it.

Between my legs, I’m already starting to throb.

Remember, you’re not supposed to have sex before the wedding
, a little voice in my head reminds me.
Control yourself.
I moan as he grinds against me. If I’m not careful, he’ll have me undressed and writhing on his cock before I’m even aware I’ve lost our game.

Besides, the more he kisses and caresses me, the more I’m aware of something frantic in his touch. He’s almost
too
eager,
too
desperate. What terrible thoughts is he trying to drive away? Was work really that bad?

I tear my mouth away from his.

“What happened?” I ask him.

His eyes are glazed with lust, but I see the flash of something dark in their depths, something I don’t like at all. Something
did
happen. I’ve seen Calder after a long, rough day at the office. This is not normal work stress. This is something else.

But whatever I see in his face disappears quickly. His hands come up to either side of my face, and he gently pushes my hair back from my temples.

“I don’t want you to worry about it,” he says.

“Oh, please.” I close my hands around his wrists. “If
you
are worrying about it, then I’m going to worry about it. So spill. Did Edwards do something stupid?”

He winces. “Actually, yes.
Many
stupid things. Many illegal things as well.”

“What? Shit.”

“Honestly, you don’t even want to know.” He gives a small smile. “It’s getting handled, but it’s going to be a nightmare over there for the next few months.”

“I didn’t realize it was so bad.”

Calder shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing more I can do about it right now. For the rest of the week, I don’t want to think about anything except how lucky I am to be marrying you.”

His words are too sweet to resist. I give him a quick, soft kiss on the lips before pulling back and looking him in the eyes again. I know it must be hard for him, having everything explode at his job the moment he takes some time off. Calder’s not exactly the sort of person who likes to hand over control to other people—
especially
during any sort of crisis.

But as I study his expression, something still seems
off.
I know he’s stressed. I can see it. I can feel it in the way he holds me. And I’ve spent enough time with him to know when he’s hiding something from me.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?” I ask.

There it is again—that flicker of
something
that I can’t quite put my finger on.

“There’s nothing you should worry about,” he says. He drops his hands to my hips and pulls me against him again. “Except how you’re going to resist me for six more days. Or six more minutes.” Before I can say a word, he captures my mouth again. In spite of everything, my body responds to his immediately, but I force myself to pull away.

“I mean it,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

Something flashes in his eyes, and then he snaps. “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, okay?”

I stare at him, startled by the vehemence of his response. He knows he’s crossed a line, though, because he lets out a sigh and runs his hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve just had a very rough day.”

For a moment, I say nothing. I just continue to stare at him. And then my hand moves down to find his hardness once again.

“Well,” I say, sliding my fingers down the length of him through his pants, “maybe I should fix that.”

I squeeze him, and he growls in response. His arms come up on either side of me, trapping me against the wall. I stroke him—slowly at first, and then faster—and his breath quickens.

I tease him through his pants until he’s panting. I know he’s aching for me to undo his zipper and touch him skin to skin, but I prefer to take things slowly. When it looks like he can’t bear anymore, I finally reach for his belt. I undo his buckle and zipper and slide my hand down inside his pants. His cock is hot to the touch, and it pulses slightly in my hand as I curl my fingers around it. He leans toward me then, and his mouth comes down on mine. His teeth close around my bottom lip.

His whole body is taut with need, and he’s biting down on my lip so hard that I can taste blood. I pump him slowly. I want to draw him to the edge, to that point where his mind is lost and he knows nothing but the needs of his body. The next time I reach the base of his shaft, I squeeze him, and he groans, releasing my lip.

“Is this better than touching yourself?” I ask him, my voice husky. “Or would you prefer a repeat of last night?”

His response is unintelligible.

My fingers continue to stroke him, to caress him, to squeeze and massage that part of him I know so well. He’s getting closer. His back is rigid, and I can hear his fingers scraping against the wall on either side of my head.

But right before he explodes, right before I give him the release he so desperately wants, I let go. I pull my hand out of his pants and duck beneath his arm, escaping from him.

He blinks at me, almost too addled by lust to be genuinely stunned.

“We had an agreement,” I say, and I’m proud of how even my voice sounds, in spite of how my body feels right now. Even though
I
was stroking
him
, I still had a very physical reaction to the encounter. My legs shake slightly, and I brace myself against the wall.

And Calder looks shocked as he suddenly realizes I’ve played him.

“Lily—”

“We had an agreement,” I say again, and this time, my voice is hard. “No sex before the wedding.
That
is for trying to break it.” I take a step away from him.

“But—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. My anger is more than clear now. “More importantly, that’s for lying to me about what’s actually bothering you.”

And before he can complain about my leaving him in that state, before he can spout more bullshit about how “nothing” is wrong, I turn and stalk back to my room. And I lock my door behind me.

CHAPTER FOUR

CALDER

I deserved that.

I deserved it, and yet if I could go back, I still wouldn’t reveal a thing to her. There’s no reason Lily needs to worry about some stranger claiming to be my half-brother, not during our wedding week. And not until I confirm that he is, in fact, my father’s son.

Which, at this point, I still highly doubt.

I spent the entire car ride from my office to the estate revisiting what the man told me.

I’m Taran Harker
, he’d said.
My mother was Patricia Harker.

First of all, what the hell kind of name is
Taran
? Secondly, he’d said
Patricia Harker
like I was supposed to know who that was, like I should have been aware of every woman with whom my father had some casual acquaintance.

If
my father had been acquainted with Patricia Harker at all, which is still in question.

According to Mr. Harker, Patricia Harker met Wentworth Cunningham while he was in London. He was there to acquire some pieces for one of his many collections, and she was working as the representative of a competing buyer. If Mr. Harker’s dates are correct and his claims are true, their relationship occurred
after
my parents were married. Right around the time my mother was pregnant with me.

He’s accusing my father of having an affair. And not merely that; he’s accusing him of fathering a child and leaving the mother to handle the consequences alone.

It’s not possible. My father was many things, but he never would have cheated on my mother.

In the parking lot outside of my office, I told Mr. Harker as much.

I have proof
, he’d replied.

Well, he can shove his “proof” up his ass. It’s not possible. My father didn’t have an affair. And I don’t have an illegitimate half-brother. They’re all blatant lies.

I hadn’t stayed to hear more than that. Frankly, I’m ashamed I engaged him for even as long as I did. I knew the moment he opened his mouth that no good would come from agreeing to let him speak. If I hadn’t been so exhausted from work, I would have known better.

But I did let him speak, and I did hear what he had to say. And now I have to deal with this. I suppose this is the point where I should consider myself lucky that I’m well acquainted with a couple of private investigators after my search for Louisa last summer. But I’m mostly just annoyed that I must pay to have someone prove what I already know.

Frankly, I’m not sure what Mr. Harker expected, confronting me in the middle of a parking lot. Did he truly believe I’d just accept his claims and welcome him into the family? What does he hope to gain with such lies? The fate of my family and our fortune was printed on the cover of every tabloid in every supermarket across the country. It was dissected on gossip websites and business websites alike. There’s no inheritance to give him, and the whole world knows it.

But maybe his motives are more devious than that. When I first saw him, I thought he was a reporter. Maybe that initial instinct was correct, and his lies are all part of some elaborate deception to infiltrate my family. After all, I could hardly keep a half-brother from my wedding, could I? Maybe this is all some hoax to get some exclusive scoop on the secret Cunningham nuptials.

Fuck, look at you
, I think.
One freak comes out of nowhere with outrageous claims and you start losing yourself in ridiculous theories.
I shouldn’t allow my mind to wander that far.

And what Lily just did to me doesn’t help my sanity. Torturing each other is one of our favorite games, but that was just cruel. I’m still horny as fuck, despite the turmoil going on in my mind. No wonder all of my good sense has fled me. I’m lucky I can think of anything but my throbbing cock.

I march into the bathroom and flick on the shower, and I don’t even wait for the stream to get warm before climbing in. The water is like ice, which normally would shock me right back to normal, but tonight it does little to ease my body or my mind. I finish the job Lily started, but it’s unsatisfying. Nothing like last night. It doesn’t relax me in the least, nor does it calm my thoughts.

Who the hell is this man, and what the hell does he want from my family?

When it’s clear the cold water isn’t helping me in the least, I leave the shower and head back into the bedroom. I stalk over to the liquor cabinet, remembering too late that there isn’t a liquor cabinet in my room anymore, that this isn’t even
my
room anymore. How bloody wonderful.

I’m getting married this week. The last thing I need is to be dealing with some scam artist. I can only hope my reaction discouraged him. But one can never be too careful, as I’ve learned these past couple of years. Better to nip this in the bud.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and find the number for Joseph Osborne, one of the private detectives of my acquaintance. I’ll pass the matter off to him and see what he discovers. And if this situation requires more action, I’ll deal with it then. After the wedding. Until then, I have more important things to do.

It’s not until I’ve spoken to Joe and hung up again that I see the icon reminding me that I have a message. The one left by the caller with the strange number. Is it possible that Mr. Harker tried to contact me
before
showing up at my office? How the hell did he get my cell number?

My thumb hovers over the voicemail button, but then I curse and throw the phone down on the bed. I’m not dealing with this now. Lily is already frustrated with me because of this nonsense. I’m not going to give that man another thought, long-lost family member or not.

But if he
is
who he says he is… If he’s really my half-brother…

Our
half-brother, I remind myself. He would be related to Louisa by blood as well. And Lily too, by marriage. This affects all of us.

I picture him again—the dark eyes and hair, that
something
about him that seemed vaguely familiar. Were those
Cunningham
eyes? Was that my father’s hair? If I had looked a little harder, would I have recognized Wentworth Cunningham in that man?

No. My father was not a perfect man, but he wouldn’t have cheated on my mother. He loved her deeply. She might have died when I was young—shortly after Louisa was born—but I can remember how close my parents were. And my father never remarried after she passed. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? The man never looked twice at another woman when she was gone. Why would he let his eye stray when she was still alive?

Unless his behavior after her death was some sort of penance. Unless he thought to honor her in her death the way he never did when she was alive.

No. I’m not indulging these thoughts. It just isn’t possible.

I turn and stride out of the room. I need a distraction, and since Lily’s locked me out, a stiff drink will have to do. There might not be liquor in my room, but there has to be
something
in this house. Whatever it takes to make me forget about Taran Harker.