Chapter 9
9
Cat
W hen I kissed Theo at nineteen, it was awkward and fumbling. He’d kissed before. I hadn’t. I made a hash of it, going in with my mouth open and almost biting his tongue. He’d rapidly recovered and taken control. Even at twenty-one, he had a practiced ease about him. His lips had been cool from the rain, his tongue warm. When he slipped it into my mouth, I felt like stars were bursting inside me.
He takes control again, using my moment of panic as an opening. He presses firm, warm lips to mine, and mine part involuntarily. My tongue touches his lip, and he jolts. I think he’s going to step away, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand tightens on my hair and his lips part too. His tongue flicks out, and he makes a low sound in his throat. Then he’s really kissing me. A kiss worthy of a movie. I half expect someone to start wolf-whistling, but I’m too dazed to do more than press my palms to his chest and kiss him back.
He tastes delicious. As good as I remember. Better, maybe. He smells good too, like woodsy cologne, expensive shampoo, warm male skin. His lips are soft, even with the roughness of his stubble, and the way they slip against mine is perfection. For one heartbeat, I’m transported back to the lake. I’m kissing Theo in the rain, and his composure is breaking, his erection growing against my stomach, and I’m wild and alive with possibility.
Then he wrenches himself back, his eyes wide and his chest rising and falling a little too rapidly.
“Marriage license?” he asks the judge in a gravelly voice.
I waver on my heels without his support.
If the judge is surprised at our awkward kiss, she doesn’t show it. This probably isn’t the weirdest marriage she’s ever officiated.
Or maybe Theo paid her to look the other way.
She signs the license, passes it to him, and wishes us well. I nearly laugh.
Theo stalks out of the room and out into the cold. I trail him, pleased he’s just as off-balance as I am.
He waves his driver off and opens the door. “In,” he grunts.
“I’ll take the train.” I’ve mostly figured out the subway after six months here.
“We need to talk.”
I sigh and follow him into the vehicle. His face is stormy as he stares out the window. His jaw ticks. His jaw never ticks. I riled him up. So this is what it’s like giving as good as you get. I could get used to this.
His eyes cut to me. “Was that fun for you?”
“It was just a kiss,” I say with a shrug.
A kiss that made me feel like my stomach was tumbling. A kiss that made me remember why Theo is so dangerous for me. My shrug is a facade. Inside, I want to know if he felt that zing of desire.
Is he unsettled too? Does he wish we could go back to being friends? Did he ever think about me after he moved away?
Based on the years of him avoiding me and the look of disdain on his face, I’m going to guess no.
“Just a kiss,” he snorts. “Okay.”
I smile to myself.
“What’s that look for? ”
“Oh, just enjoying your discomfort,” I say mildly. “It was just a kiss, Theo. We’ve kissed before. It was fine. Now we’ve moved on.” And I hope like hell I don’t have to kiss you anymore, because I might not survive it.
He looks homicidal for a moment, and I want to laugh, but I settle for rolling my lips between my teeth and looking out the window.
“I think we need to set some ground rules. For the house, and events and things,” he says.
“Rules?” Theo isn’t a rules kind of guy. He’s more of a throw out the rulebook and steal something while you’re at it kind of guy.
“Rules,” he growls. “Are you always this difficult?”
“Only for you,” I say sweetly, but I pull one of my school notebooks out of my purse. “I guess let’s start with the obvious. What do you need from me?”
“I’ll need you to be available every night. For events. Charity balls, dinners with potential investors, that sort of thing.”
I can’t do that. I have work three days a week, but I don’t get the weekend shifts because the more senior bartenders want the money. “I can be free Thursday through Sunday night.”
“Thanks for making time in your schedule,” he drawls. “I need more than that.”
“I have work.”
“I’ll give you the money. You don’t need to work.”
I grind my teeth. So it’s begun. Money is control, and I intend for Theo to have none of it.
“I like my job.” A half-truth. I like Blair and I like money. I do not like being hit on and smelling like beer and working primarily for wrinkled ones and fives.
He heaves a sigh, like I’m the most difficult woman in the world, and I decide it’s a title I now aspire to. At least with him.
“We’ll have a few trips too. There’s a black-tie event coming up.” He names a charity that my parents are involved in. Something tepid, for rich people to donate to without ever taking a stand or ruffling feathers. “We’ll need to go. Lorenzo, the joint venture partner we’re courting, will be there. ”
“That might be a problem,” I say. “I didn’t take any fancy dresses when I left Rockwood. I can wear the one I have on today, but it won’t be fancy enough.” I look down at my hands and avoid his gaze. The polish is already chipping. I should take it off. My hand-eye coordination is shit, and really, doing your own nails is never as good as having them done.
“Why not?” he asks, like my lack of wardrobe is a personal inconvenience to him.
I look out the window. “Just didn’t think to take any,” I say lightly. “I only had two suitcases.” Far better than the truth—I was given twenty minutes to get the fuck out or be thrown out.
Theo’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve.
I tap my pen against the paper. “All right. Number one,” I say as I write. “Thursday through Sunday events. Business trips. I’ll need a week’s notice for those.”
“Add a few poker nights on to that. With the Royals. And I’ll have friends over.”
“And I’ll need to play hostess?” I look at him skeptically. I was raised for this, but it doesn’t strike me as something Theo would want. He’s not traditional like that.
“No,” he snorts. “I’m not your father. I’ll want you there to make the relationship look real.”
“Fine.” I write it down. “We need a marriage announcement.”
He dips his chin. “I’ll have one prepared by our PR firm.”
“Good. That’s good,” I say without really meaning it. My pulse is pounding in my ears. A wedding announcement makes this all too real. That’s good. Because real means my father won’t be at my door. Real signals to him and his business partners that I’m on my way, and they should be scared. I’m not going down without a fight. I inhale a shaky breath and write down the most important requirement. Number two: Don’t catch feelings. This is a business arrangement.
“It feels silly to even write this one down, but we might as well.” I point at the page.
“Don’t catch feelings,” he says. He nods. “Good to have it out in the open. We aren’t children anymore. ”
“Right.” I nod, gazing into his light green eyes, even as my stomach crumples. “We had a youthful indiscretion.”
His face hardens. What right does he have to be angry? He walked away from us. Not me. I waited for him. And when I showed up at the party he invited me to, he was there, with a girl on his lap and not a care in the world. I stared at him for a full minute, my lungs compressing, until I realized that I would never be enough for him.
Buck up, Cat. No more looking for approval in the least likely of places. I cut that pathetic part of myself out at age seventeen, when I was self-possessed enough to realize my parents would never love me the way I wanted them to. You don’t get to have a soft gooey center in the Peterson household.
“You’ll have a wing of the house. I’ll go about my business. You go about yours,” he says.
“What if people ask why we’re not sharing a bed?” Even asking the question is awkward.
“There’s no one who will know.”
“You don’t have staff?”
“No, Catherine,” he says, putting unwelcome emphasis on my name, “I don’t have help , as your parents used to say.”
“I never called it that.”
“Didn’t stop you from taking advantage of it.” He shrugs, but his eyes are hard.
I could argue, but why bother? The friend I had is gone, and I’m done. Done hoping for people to change. Done looking for love and never finding it. You have to make your own way. The only person I can rely on is me. And if I’d hoped for a friend across the dinner table? Well, that’s too damn bad. When I’m CEO of Peterson International, I won’t be lonely. I’ll be laughing from the top.
So instead of crying, I calmly say, “Which wing? I’d prefer the south. I hear you have a separate zip code for the north and south sides of the building, and I think that could work nicely for the separation agreement.”
“What?” he bites out.
“The separation agreement.” I smile placidly at him. “I assumed we’d sign one today. You need to be legally separated for a year before you get divorced in New York, you know. You didn’t look this up? You really should have done some research before saying yes.” I frown at him.
“I’ll have one prepared.” He’s annoyed that I thought of this first. Ha.
“It’s going to look odd in the agreement if we’re living at the same address, so separate zip codes might be the best we can do,” I continue. “Unless you want to give me one of your vacation homes? You have a few, don’t you?”
“That won’t work. I need you by my side. And I need the houses too.” His grin is a white flash of teeth.
“Ah. You need them.” For partying. Or womanizing. Wrestling wild animals or having foursomes in his pool. I don’t want to think about Theo having a foursome, but now my brain circles the image like water going down a drain. Theo’s built like a professional athlete. He could handle a foursome. And now I’m picturing those broad shoulders bared in the sun, those lean hips working, his impossibly soft mouth parting. Fuck.
I should not be picturing my husband naked. He hates me.
“Problem?” His face says he knows what I was thinking about.
“No problem.” I shrug. “It just means I’ll have to bring hookups back to the mansion.”
His lips flatten. “Hookups?”
“You know. Men I meet when I’m out with friends. We could have a code if you want. I could leave a sock on the 5 th Avenue side door.” I’m such a liar. I haven’t dated in years, and I barely hook up now that my main concern is staying afloat.
“A sock,” he says flatly.
“Have I shocked you, sweetheart?” The sweetheart is saccharine and completely disingenuous.
“Nah,” he drawls. “Just wondering if I could convince any of my guests to leave a bra on the door. La Perla doesn’t do well out in the elements. Though I guess I could buy them more.” His tongue prods his cheek like he’s imagining buying lingerie for every woman he’s ever brought home. “Wouldn’t want you walking in on us. Unless you want to join in?”
My breath catches. He smirks at me.
“If I want mediocre sex, I can go on an app.”
He leans down. Those light green eyes are gleaming with unholy fire. Even when he’s annoyed, the arch in his left eyebrow makes him look playful.
“It’s never mediocre with me, princess. I’d make you scream. You’d see god, but you’d be shouting my name.” His lips tilt, and he angles his head like he’s imagining me naked.
My whole body flushes warm. Fire. I’m playing with fire.
“No, thank you.” My voice is stupidly breathy.
“I bet I could convince you,” he murmurs. His voice rasps over me. The rest of the world doesn’t exist. If you asked me what city we were in, I couldn’t tell you. “You wouldn’t be calling it just a kiss. I’d rewrite your entire world.”
“You’re not that hot. Not enough to tempt me.” Lie. Theo is the man against which I’ve compared every other for my whole damn life.
My words do nothing to deflate him. Instead, he’s still in my space, his broad shoulders and strong neck filling my vision. Ink peeks out from the collar of his white shirt. The tattoo. I want to unbutton the smooth cotton and see where it goes.
“I’d wager I am.” He’s still smiling, the arrogant ass. Flirting for Theo is like breathing. Perhaps even more essential. If the tabloids are anything to go by, orgasms are more important to him than oxygen.
I raise my brows. “We are not having sex. Ever.”
It’s my line in the sand. Sex with Theo Archer would destroy me.
“Do you expect me to be celibate, then?” He frowns.
“ Could you be celibate?”
“I’ve never attempted it. As a general rule, I try not to do things I hate.”
“Perish the thought,” I say. “I thought perhaps that the rumors were exaggerated. ”
He gives me a cocky grin. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s worse.”
“What I’ve heard is that you have a trail of shattered hearts behind you and no intention of changing anytime soon.”
I wish more than anything that I weren’t part of that group.
“And your point?” he asks.
“My point is that I know where it ends if we have sex. Orgasms for both of us, because presumably you have learned how to use it with all the practice you’ve been getting, and then we’re done. One of us would want more, and things would get messy. And frankly, I don’t have time for that. But I don’t expect either of us to be celibate, just discreet.” I shrug. A muscle in his jaw feathers.
“You’re right,” he finally says. “Wouldn’t want things to get messy. Since you’re so busy .” The emphasis on the word tells me exactly what he thinks of that.
“So you agree?” I press.
He grabs the paper and pen from me, scrawling across the page in confident slashes— No sex. Not even if you beg.
“I would rather die,” I say.
His mouth curves in a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t get me excited.”
“Anything for you, darling.” I give him an equally sharp smile. I’m imagining Theo’s balls as trophies right now, and the image is deeply satisfying.
I will destroy you , my eyes say as they narrow on his.
His smile broadens until I can see his perfect white teeth. Not if I destroy you first .