Chapter 18 #3
Her muscles clenched and she screamed, feeling as if she’d been electrified, every part of her seizing up in a suspended knot of pleasure-pain.
As he continued, licking the length of her folds and sucking on her clit mercilessly, she vibrated with the strain, half moaned, half cried out with the waves of orgasmic release carrying her away, further from reality, to a pinpoint existence where there was nothing but this anguished ecstasy.
Exhausted satisfaction hadn’t kept her from tasting and testing Trent’s sexual stamina.
She loved holding his cock, watching him shudder until he lost all control, having him come in her mouth.
But now that it was time to leave, the turmoil inside her made her less sure about why she’d needed Trent so desperately, why she couldn’t stop herself from having sex with him.
“Before you go—”
His words stopped her as she shrugged on her coat, the sleeves halfway up her arms, and her heart sped up.
All his words were ominous to her. She had to stop overreacting to him.
Her mind flashed to the bedroom and she kept her eyes on his, amending her imperative, giving herself permission to continue reacting to him in bed in that oversensitive way she did, as if her world would end at his touch.
“I wanted to ask you about Tammy,” he said.
“About our shopping spree? I’ll go along, but I’m not so sure—”
“Not about that, but you should go. You should buy new clothes. You need a new high-fashion wardrobe. You’re being covered by the media now. You’re part of the team family. You’re part of my family.”
He didn’t say she would reflect badly on him if she didn’t update her wardrobe, but she suspected that’s what he thought—or what Tammy had told him.
“Is this about what Tammy said?”
He scraped his hand through his hair and looked pained. “Hell, I don’t know. To tell the truth, I don’t care what the hell you wear, but fashion is her thing, so I defer to her.”
Charlie nodded. It was true. Tammy looked very chic and that was something even Charlie could tell from her point of fashion ignorance. She’d already been photographed once and she would be photographed again.
“I suppose you’re right. I’ll do my best at playing my role.”
“Aw, don’t say it like that, Charlie.” He came to her, put his hands on her hips in a way that made her belly flip with the possessiveness.
It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but it sure as hell was foreign—and surprising.
“We’ll need to be seen in public in order to keep up a convincing charade and you probably don’t have the wardrobe for that. Besides it may be fun.”
She smiled, because he made her feel warm.
“You’re right. It’s very ungracious of me to complain about shopping for a new wardrobe. But you know I don’t like lying to Tammy. It’s not the same as lying to reporters. She’s your sister and means a lot to you.”
“Tell me about it. I hate lying to her. It’s been the f—ing worst thing about this charade.”
She was about to back away from him, she had to leave, but he held onto her.
“Listen, I’m glad you mentioned it. Because I was thinking.” He paused. She tensed. “Maybe we should tell Tammy the truth—”
“What?” Charline wrenched free from him, her heart pounding in sudden alarm. “Are you saying we should tell her about the drug trials? That you’re John Doe?”
“Settle down.” He paused a breath and she saw the real pain on his face. “You weren’t there when she drilled me about the ten million. She’s worried about me. I mean really worried.”
“I don’t care, Trent. We had a deal. No one can know our secret. It’s bad enough that Ralph knows. But at least he has as much to lose as we do if it gets out. We know he won’t say anything to anyone.”
“She’s my sister, Charlie. She would never—”
“You said she has a fiancé. She might tell him, and then he might—”
“It would never happen. She’s my sister. She adores me.”
“Stop saying that. You’re not the only one who has a sister. Suzette adores me and I’m not telling her. I’m lying to her and my mother and—”
“Okay. You’ve made your point.”
She watched him push his big rough hand through his hair, noticed it was getting long and unruly, and somehow the look made him even more compelling. Damn him.
“It’s just as hard for me not to tell Suzette. It’s not easy for me to carry on the charade either.”
He reached out and pulled her back into his circle. She tried resisting and failed, and not because he used brute strength to draw her in.
“It’s not a complete charade.” He purred the words.
They set her hairs on end, for the sharp intimacy of his tone—and for the implication. Alarm forced her to back away from him. What could he mean?
“Don’t mistake our sexual chemistry for a relationship,” she said.
“Don’t make a mistake about how relationships develop.”
He stared at her with his bedroom eyes, his hair messy and his face shadowed by stubble.
His muscles bulged and his skin glowed with good health and sweat from their lovemaking.
Neither of them had taken the time to take a shower because she’d been in a hurry.
Now she stood there, heart stuttering in fear and excitement, emotions in turmoil and not knowing what to say or how to feel.
The idea that there was any authenticity to their charade terrified her. Trying to keep her feelings and secrets from Tammy loomed as impossible.
“I think shopping with Tammy will be impossible for me.” She couldn’t bear to explain why, that she was a coward and needed to hide her feelings, especially from herself. “Suzette can help me update my wardrobe.”
“Fine.” He let her go and went to the small desk behind him, took his wallet from the drawer, and slipped out the first credit card he found without looking at it.
Then he flipped it to her. “Go shopping with your sister. Have a ball. We’re both hiding things from our families. It’s not any easier for me.”
“The charade was your idea.”
“It was necessary and now it’s part of the bargain. Take it or leave it.”
Trent held his breath, felt his heart thunder, had a momentary wave of concern about the stress and the serum and blood clots, but it all dissipated as he watched Charlie struggle.
She stared him down until her eyes glistened, until he almost couldn’t stand to watch the pain and hurt on her face, but she turned away first. By a whisper.
He was right there with her in pain. Undefined misery. He let it remain undefined, unexplored because, damn it, he needed to stay focused on f—cking football.
She put on her coat and gathered her bag and went to the door. He watched her from his kitchen. Before she went out the door she said, “Congratulations on winning your game.”
Then she slammed the door behind her. Jesus. Mean irony was not her usual style. He was corrupting her. The pain of that thought hurt most of all.
He shook it off. She probably meant her congratulations sincerely. How could she know that his winning the game felt anticlimactic, corrupted by the fact that he’d been lying to his family. About the drug trial, about the ten million dollars. About her.