26. Nicholas
Chapter twenty-six
Nicholas
T he opening of the newest Blackwood Hotel location in Los Angeles is nothing short of a spectacle. The lobby drips with luxury. Polished marble floors gleaming like liquid gold, chandeliers so massive they’re practically threatening the city’s power grid.
There’s champagne fizzing in crystal glasses, murmured gossip disguised as polite conversation, and bursts of fake laughter.
And yet, I’m stuck by the entrance, checking my damn watch for the fifth time in three minutes, feeling like the human embodiment of a waiting room. It’s been three hours since I told Amara to go out and buy a dress, and she’s still not here.
I check my phone again like a lovesick puppy, hoping for a text, a call, something . Instead, I’m met with radio silence. For a man used to being in control, this waiting—this not knowing—is maddening. I swear I’m about to lose my mind when the sound of soft heels clicking against marble makes my head snap up and my chest tighten.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
The conversation, the music, even the obnoxious sparkle of the chandeliers… It all becomes background noise.
My throat goes dry, and my pulse skips as my eyes trace her. Her orange hair is styled in loose waves that cascade over her shoulders, and the dress she’s wearing… Christ , that dress. It should be illegal. Deep crimson velvet that hugs every curve of her body, clinging to her soft, round belly that has my throat going dry. The neckline dips low enough to tease, the fabric clinging to her full bust before tapering in at her waist and flowing over her wide hips.
She stops a few feet away, her green eyes locking onto mine. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi.” Her voice is soft and uncertain as her hands smooth down the sides of her dress. “What do you think?”
What do I think? I think I’ve forgotten how to speak. I think she’s about to single-handedly raise my blood pressure. But all I manage is a rough swipe of my hand over my mouth, my vocabulary wiped clean.
I’m aware that I’m staring, that I probably look like a complete idiot, but I can’t stop. My gaze drags down the length of her body and back up again, taking in every detail.
“You hate it, don’t you?” she asks, her smile faltering. Her hands hover near her sides, fidgeting slightly. “I can change if—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut her off, closing the distance between us in two strides. My hand hooks around her waist, and before she can finish her thought, I claim her mouth in a kiss that makes her gasp against me.
Her lips are soft and warm, her body going rigid with surprise before she melts into me, her hands gripping the lapels of my tuxedo. I know I’m smudging her lipstick, but I don’t care. Let the whole damn room see. Let them know she’s mine . The kiss is hungry, desperate, and I pour everything I can’t say into it—my frustration, my awe, my goddamn helplessness when it comes to this woman.
When I finally pull back, her lips are kiss-swollen and smudged with a shade of lipstick I now have all over my mouth. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed a deep pink that has nothing to do with her makeup.
“I’ll take that as you like it,” she teases breathlessly, her lips curving into a small smile.
“Like it?” I shake my head, my hands sliding possessively over her hips. “Baby, I fucking love it.”
Her hands press flat against my chest, toying with my bow tie as her lips curve into a smirk. “I’m glad you think so because I did exactly what you said. I bought a very expensive dress.”
A laugh rumbles out of me as I lean in and kiss her again, my grip tightening on her hips. “I saw. Two-hundred-thousand?” I shake my head, still chuckling. “What the hell did you spend that on?”
She shrugs, completely unapologetic. “You said ‘spare no expense.’ So, I didn’t. I got a designer dress, and two more, matching shoes, a bag, makeup, jewelry… and of course, Pumpkin needed a new cat tree.”
I groan, because of course she couldn’t resist spoiling that little attention thief. “She’s spoiled enough,” I grumble.
Her laugh bubbles up, soft and teasing. “Pumpkin’s a sweetheart. You’re just jealous she cuddles me first.”
I grumble, even though we both know the fluffy demon won this round.
Her head tilts, that smug little grin of hers only getting wider. “I told you you’d regret giving me that card.”
Regret it? I groan, my hands sliding down to her waist, gripping tighter than necessary as frustration burns through me. “The only thing I regret is not dragging you back to our room and skipping this whole event altogether. You have no idea how much watching you spend my money makes my cock hard.”
She sucks in a breath and her teasing smile only makes the situation in my pants worse.
But before I can haul her off to a more private place, a sharp voice interrupts. “Nicholas.”
I turn, my jaw tightening as the board members approach. The moment is ruined, but I slip my hand into Amara’s, plastering on a professional smile. “Good evening.”
“Where’s your brother?” David asks, his brow lifting as he takes a sip of his scotch. “I would’ve expected him to be here tonight, seeing as he’s the head of the L.A. department.”
I nod, keeping my expression neutral. My brother’s probably at some club or tangled up with his latest fling. Work’s never been his thing, which is why it pisses me off that he’s suddenly so invested in undermining me for the CEO position.
He thinks he deserves it because he’s the eldest. I deserve it because I’ve worked my ass off for it. And I’ll be damned if I let him or anyone else steal this from me.
“You know him, sir. Always somewhere he shouldn’t be.”
David chuckles, along with Robert and Claire, but my focus shifts as I catch a subtle glance from across the room. James—the youngest board member, mid-thirties, charming in a smug kind of way—is looking at Amara.
And not just looking.
His gaze lingers, too long and too bold, with a flicker of something that churns my stomach. Not admiration. Not respect. Interest .
He’s not the only one noticing her. Hell, I can’t blame them. Amara’s absolutely stunning in that dress, her curves commanding attention whether she realizes it or not. But James and his eyes raking over her rubs me the wrong way.
Without thinking, I step closer to her, my hand finding the small of her back. It’s a possessive move and judging by the flicker of surprise in her eyes when she glances up at me, she knows it too.
But I don’t care.
She’s mine. Or at least that’s what everyone here is supposed to think.
James notices, of course, his gaze flicks to where my hand rests on Amara’s waist, my fingers grazing her curves.
“So, Nicholas,” David interrupts, “when’s the wedding? I trust it’s not too far off now that the engagement is public.”
My jaw tightens, but I manage a calm smile, glancing at Amara. She looks up at me, her eyes wide. We hadn’t planned for this. Hell, we didn’t even want to be here tonight, let alone answer questions about a wedding that won’t ever exist.
But this is the game we’re playing. The board’s watching, and every detail of this relationship has to look as real as the ring on her finger.
“We haven’t set an official date yet,” I reply, letting my hand slide a little lower on her back, grazing her ass. “Still working out the details, right, honey?” I tilt her chin with my fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze.
Her lips part, and she catches on, nodding with a smile that’s so convincing, even I almost believe it. “Right,” she says sweetly, her tone dripping with charm. “We want it to be perfect.”
“Well, it was wonderful to see the two of you again,” Claire adds, smiling at us. “Nicholas, we’ll be in touch.” She turns, and the other members follow.
But James doesn’t move.
His gaze is still locked on Amara, his eyes trailing down her body in a way that makes my blood boil.
“James Sinclair,” he greets, his hand extending toward her. His eyes linger on her neckline for just a second too long before he finally meets her gaze. “It’s an absolute pleasure, Miss…?”
“Blackwood,” I interject sharply, making sure he understands. “Her name will be Amara Blackwood.”
The smirk drops from his face. Amara glances between us, her brows furrowing slightly, but she doesn’t say a word.
“Of course. My apologies,” he says with a smug smile I want to punch right off his face.
I tighten my hold on Amara, knowing I need this asshole’s approval to be able to move forward with the deal. I don’t respond. I don’t need to. The look in my eyes says everything I want him to know.
When he finally turns to leave, Amara pulls back, her brows knitting together. “What was that?”
I smirk, leaning down to whisper, “Just proving a point.”
Her brow arches. “By groping me in public?”
“By making sure everyone here knows you’re mine,” I correct, my voice low. “Especially James.”
Her gorgeous eyes blink, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
My jaw ticks. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. I had to let him know you were taken.”
Her gaze flickers with recognition, and a small frown creases her lips. “You’re delusional. He wasn’t checking me out.”
I laugh darkly, gripping her waist. “Baby, if you think I’m the only one who notices how fucking stunning you are, you’re out of your mind.”
I swear her eyes are shining like emeralds as they look at me. “You didn’t have to do that. I know you have to play nice with the board to get this deal.”
I glance down at her, my brow arching. “The hell I didn’t. He disrespected me by thinking he had a chance with my fiancée .”
She lets out a cute little laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine,” I say, my voice firm.
Her cheeks flush deeper, and I can’t resist brushing my thumb over her jaw, tucking a strand of her fiery hair behind her ear. “Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs, her voice a little breathless.
My brows lift. “You’re serious? Say the word, and we’re gone.”
She nods, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that shouldn’t make my thoughts derail like this, but it does. “We’ve done what we came here to do, right? We proved to them that we’re madly in love, and your little… performance definitely sealed the deal.”
Her hands press flat against my chest as her fingers slide upward, sending a trail of heat through the fabric of my shirt. They loop around my neck, her gaze locking onto mine.
“Take me to bed.”
It’s not a request. It’s a challenge.
And the way she says it, her voice low and teasing, makes my restraint snap in half.
Christ. I remember the first time we slept together. How shy she was, how she struggled to say what she wanted, how I had to coax the words out of her.
It turns me on that she’s not afraid to speak her mind anymore. She’s becoming exactly what I never knew I needed, and it’s only making it impossible to hold back.
God help me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as much as I want her.
As I take her hand in mine and rush toward the elevator I can’t help but think that I’m not sure where this thing between us is headed, but one thing is certain.
Amara Blackwood is more than just my fiancée—fake or not.
She’s my undoing.