Chapter Fourteen

Roxy

I wasn't prepared for the number of tinkling glasses. Apparently, every single person here wants to see Christian and me kiss. When the insistent tinkling first started, he pecked me on the cheek, then my forehead. But they're a mob of romance-crazed relatives and friends who won't stop until the man ravishes me. My face heats at the thought.

Chris leans back and looks into my eyes, still swaying us to the music. "I think they're trying to tell us something." My stomach flips, anticipating the something he's referring to. It's either that or his perpetually flirty smirk has put crazy thoughts in my head.

"Well?" I say, glancing around the ballroom. "Should we oblige them before someone cracks a glass?”

Chris's deep, rich laugh rumbles through me. "Are you giving me permission?"

I can’t bring myself to hold his gaze. "You always have permission when others are around to witness it."

A slight dip of his chin is all the warning he gives before his head lowers toward mine. Chris captures my lips slowly but purposefully. Like he's had time to think over exactly how he'd want to kiss me if given the chance again. His palm presses into my lower back, pulling me snuggly against his firm chest. My fingers instinctively curl into the hair at his nape, massaging and twining the short strands. More soft, decadent pressure from his lips causes mine to part. Not in an obscene way, or enough to fully let him in. But enough for our breaths to mingle. Enough to leave me wanting more when he places a final, sweet kiss to the side of my mouth. I'm breathless and reeling by the time he eases away from me. The guests erupt in cheers and whistles, making me turn my cheek into his chest.

"Think that'll satisfy?" Chris's warm breath tickles the back of my neck.

"Oh. Um, yeah, that was...really nice."

Again, his laugh ricochets through me. "I appreciate the confidence boost, but I meant do you think it will satisfy the guests?"

I swear my cheeks catch fire. "Oh. Right."

I'm saved from the awkward moment when Chris's mom, Amanda, approaches. "Mind if I cut in?"

"Of course." I bow out as graciously as I can, wanting to make a beeline for the table. Unfortunately, Thor stops me before I reach the edge of the dance floor.

"May I have the next dance?" The tall, intimidating redhead is polite enough, but there's a cunning glint in his eye that makes me want to squirm.

"Um, okay." My gaze tracks to Chris, whose eyes are already on me. When he gives a reassuring dip of his chin, I allow Thor to take my hand.

Thor's smile widens as he leads me in a slow dance. "So,” he says, keeping plenty of space between us. "I hear you and Chris met at the office. Must have been love at first sight." He doesn't pose it as a question, though something about the way he says it gives me the impression he hopes for a response.

"Sort of, yeah," I say, mentally going over everything Chris and I decided about our story: Keep it as close to the truth as possible. Keep it simple. Give vague details. "He found me crying in the supply room at the office and...things kind of escalated from there."

"They certainly did," he says with a lighthearted laugh. "Marriage is a big deal. Especially for a guy like Chris. He doesn't give his heart to just anyone." Guilt wiggles its way down my spine. "In fact, since I've known him, he's never even mentioned wanting to get married."

Dread collects in my belly, sharp and too fast for me to school my expression. "Um. Well—"

"Did I mention that I'm a Marine veteran?"

I swallow. "Ah, no. I don't think so."

"I'm also a bodyguard. I've done detail for Chris's family before. For those reasons, I get a little protective sometimes. Especially of the ones I care about." His devastating smile tugs at the corners of his beard. "Occupational hazard, I guess."

I blink and look away, searching for Chris in the sea of dancers. But he's too far away to meet my eyes, too distant to save me from his well-meaning friend's suspicions.

"Anyway," Thor says before spinning me out in a twirl. Once I'm back before him, he laughs, eyes twinkling. "I think it's great that you two have found each other. And I wish you two the best. After all, I wouldn’t want to see my friend get hurt." Thor's smile fades as he gives me a meaningful nod.

I nod right back. "Thank you. And for the record..." I want to say, for the record, if anyone stands to get hurt in all this, it's me , but of course, I don't. "I don't want to see him hurt, either. I care about Christian." More than I probably should.

Thor smiles, back to being the easygoing guy I met shortly after our arrival. "In that case, I'll let you get back to your husband." He winks and saunters away, leaving me questioning if I'm in way over my head.

My mind goes back to the kiss Chris and I just shared. Yep, definitely in over my head.

I’m even more convinced of that when a beautiful woman sidles up next to me as soon as I reach the bar. So much for trying to get a breather.

“I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet Christian’s mysterious choice of a bride,” she says, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth in an almost predatory smile. “I’m Stefany.” As she reaches her hand toward me, understanding dawns. She was with Chris in a picture I found online.

“I’m Roxy. It’s nice to meet you,” I say giving her hand a quick shake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to offer my sincerest congratulations. Christian is the catch of the century, if you don’t mind me saying.” A long, almost sad sigh expels from her. “It’s too bad I missed my chance.” My stomach twists unhelpfully as I stare at her, at a loss for words. “We dated, you see. I’m probably the last serious girlfriend he had before—” She stops herself with an abruptly harsh laugh. “Well, before you, of course.”

I try to smile and force a laugh. I’m pretty sure I grimace and growl instead. “It’s so nice to meet one of Christian’s old friends,” I say, putting an emphasis on those last two words. “He so rarely talks about his exes I was beginning to think they didn’t exist.”

Her polished, perfectly agreeable expression cracks. “Yes, well. I just wanted to wish you two the best in your new life together. It was a pleasure, Roxy.” With a slight dip of her chin, she glides away with all the grace and elegance I could never possess.

I release a long breath and put a hand to my stomach, more than glad that interaction is over. Sheer overwhelm threatens to have me sprinting toward the exit when a warm arm wraps around my waist, halting any further thoughts of departure. “There you are, beautiful,” Christian croons behind me before his whispered words fan along the back of neck. “Are you okay? I saw who approached you and came as fast as I could.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him and paste on a smile so whoever is watching assumes we’re flirting. “Just taken aback, that’s all.”

“I didn’t invite her.” His clipped tone speaks to his irritation. “Our dads are friends and...” He sighs. “Hopefully we won’t have any more run-ins with her in the future.”

Secretly, I hope we won’t either. “It’s fine, Chris. You didn’t know.”

Slowly, he spins me to face him and places his palm against my cheek. “Thank you for being amazing tonight. You’ve been such a good sport about all this.”

I begin to smile, but the tinkling of glasses has my lips turning down into a frown. “Again?” I whine.

Christian grins as his sparkling blue eyes latch on to mine. “You up for it?”

Am I? My only objection to kissing him is that it makes keeping the flimsy wall of emotional separation between us near impossible. The man. Can. Kiss.

“I suppose,” I say on a sigh, walking my fingers up his chest. Once they’re clasped behind his neck and toying with his hair, he leans in.

“For the guests,” he murmurs just before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“For the guests,” I echo, arching into him and taking a little more for myself. It’s selfish and wrong, I know, but kissing Christian makes me come alive in ways I haven’t in too long. I almost forgot what deep and instant attraction felt like, what the give and take of a kiss demanded. But too soon, he retreats, leaving me breathless and secretly begging for more.

His heavily hooded eyes take me in, and I instantly regret my taking charge. “I’m sorry, that was—”

“Nice,” he says with a flirty smirk. “Really nice.”

And darn it all, if he’s not right.

Christian and I head up to our honeymoon suite way later than I imagined we would. But his friends (our friends?) and family seemed genuinely happy for the two of us and wanted to party late into the night. Seeing how many people Christian considers close to his family baffles me. It seems that while I’ve been burning bridges for the past ten years, Christian’s been building them. Everyone loves him. Even his ex, Stefany, had high praise of him. Talking to her made me feel like I stole her favorite toy right from her hands. The obvious regret, maybe even hurt, lingering in her eyes whenever they fastened on my husband was uncomfortable to say the least.

But he’s mine. Not hers. Mine .

The thought startles me as soon as it forms.

“You okay?” Christian asks, fishing the room key out of his pocket.

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” I force a yawn. “I’m just tired.”

As if he can’t help but do the same, Christian yawns, too. “Same. At least we can both sleep in tomorrow.”

I don’t know why images of silk sheets and strong arms caging me in flood my mind, but I banish them all the same. My heart picks up its pace as we near the double doors to the suite I didn’t realize we’d be staying in until a couple hours ago. Christian said we’d have separate sleeping arrangements, but that the honeymoon suite itself was necessary in case his father decided to do any digging. Which, after tonight, I have zero doubts he’ll do. Mr. Price’s frustration was just about as clear as his disappointment in Christian’s choice for a bride. Not that I can blame the guy. If I had a son who could charm the skin off a snake with just one smoldering look, I’d be mad at me too.

Christian could’ve chosen anyone to marry—a successful businesswoman or someone who comes from better breeding—anyone other than the orphan chick with a reluctant nephew in tow, not to mention the laundry list of bad choices haunting her every move.

Anxiety creeps along my spine as Christian swipes the key card over the lock, then pushes the door open. Like the true gentleman he is, he gestures me forward first. “After you.”

I step into the suite and...gasp.

He chuckles. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s...” Too beautiful to put into words, is what it is. Definitely too perfect for a couple who won’t even be using it to its full capacity.

Decorated in creamy whites and shimmering golds, the elaborate honeymoon suite boasts a large, plush couch with too many throw pillows to count. Two wingback chairs sit on either side of a glass-topped table boasting the biggest bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen.

“I know,” Christian sighs. “It’s a bit much. I mean, a baby grand piano? Who needs one of those on their wedding night?”

I didn’t even see the beautiful baby grand tucked behind the sitting area, but I do now and wow . Another bouquet of roses sits atop it.

“I mean...” A nervous laugh bursts out of me. “I’m sure some people like to play. Maybe try to impress their partner with a midnight serenade.”

Christian goes still beside me, and I realize I sound like an idiot. I whirl toward him. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. And I say dumb things when I’m tired.”

His lopsided smile makes my stomach do a freakishly clumsy somersault. “Then let’s get you to bed, Mrs. Price.” I blink at the infuriatingly sexy man as he drops the key card onto the coffee table, then reads the note attached to the flowers. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”

“Who-who’s it from?” I clear my throat to ward off the stupid shaking in my voice.

“The hotel staff.”

I gulp. This man is getting flowers delivered to his room from the staff ? How much did all this cost? Straightening, Christian turns his gaze on me. “I’m going to camp out here for the night. You can take the master suite.”

I glance toward the room meant for newlyweds. The French double doors offer little in the way of privacy. A giant-sized bed covered in lush white linens dotted with rose petals stares back at me, mocking my current situation. Any woman in her right mind would try to take advantage of this scenario. I’m in a honeymoon suite, alone with a billionaire who also happens to be my husband.

Yet here I am, panicked and cringing at the thought of Christian potentially seeing me in my hideous pajamas—the holey T-shirt and ratty shorts combo from high school.

Seriously, Roxy? You couldn’t have packed something other than your favorite pair of pajamas? Something lacy, perhaps? Maybe even a silk nightie?

“Roxy?”

I turn toward Christian. “Hm?”

“Are you...okay with that arrangement?”

“Oh.” I try for a grateful smile. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Taking a long look at the couch, I add, “But are you sure you’ll be okay out here? To be honest, I feel guilty. You paid for this suite. Shouldn’t you sleep in the bed?”

His brows lift as his smile widens. “Is that your only objection to taking the bedroom?”

I roll my lips together. “Um. I guess so?”

“Then I want you to have it. I promise I’ll be perfectly comfortable out here.” Stalking toward said bedroom, he tosses his next words over his shoulder. “Let me just grab my bag.”

Guess that means my bag is magically in there too. Where does Christian find all these people to do his bidding?

A second later, he’s rolling a small suitcase out of the room. “It’s all yours.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

His curt response slams my lips closed. Know when to quit, Roxy. Shut up and let the man do something nice. There will be plenty of time to repay his kindness later...right?

Wringing my hands together, I move toward the bedroom. Just as I’m about to disappear behind the doors, he asks, “Are you thirsty? I might have a glass of milk before bed.”

It’s impossible to hide my smile. “Do you usually indulge in a glass of milk before bed?”

He loosens his tie, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you expect something different?”

I shrug with one hand on the door handle. “Milk does seem a little...”

“Juvenile?” His smirk grows.

“I was going to say inexpensive . For a man of your tastes, I mean.”

His eyebrows lower as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip—a move I refuse to find attractive at this very moment. Later, when we’re not about to head to bed, I’ll analyze it and fantasize about a fictional man doing it, but not here. Not now. Not with him .

“A man of my tastes ,” he echoes. “What, pray tell, do you think is my taste?”

Why, oh why, do I say the things I do? Didn’t I already explain that my mouth runs away from me when I’m tired?

I flippantly wave a hand in front of me like that’ll help me find a reasonable explanation. “Oh, you know, just...expensive. Distinguished. Fancy.”

A full-mouthed smile replaces his smirk. “Milk can be fancy .”

Another laugh bubbles out of me. “Can it? It comes from a cow .”

“But the milk I drink doesn’t come from just any cow. We’re talking Colorado born, pasture-raised cows that only eat the lush green grasses on a secluded plateau in the Rockies.”

Stupefied, I blink at least ten times consecutively. “Wow. Really?”

“No.” He chuckles. “It’s just milk from the corner market down the street.”

Both of us burst out laughing, me until I can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” I wheeze. “I told you I get loopy when I’m tired.”

Christian expertly removes his tie and tosses it on the back of one of the chairs. “You’d better head to bed then, wife. I need you rested up and in your right mind for a family dinner tomorrow night.”

All the humor drains from my body.

“Don’t worry,” he says in a deceptively soothing tone. “It’ll be fine. We’ll quiz each other on the specifics of our relationship over brunch.”

I dip my chin. “In that case, I will head to bed.” Shoving down my fear and pushing open the bedroom door, I say, “Goodnight, Chris.”

It’s impossible to ignore the smile in his voice when he returns with, “Goodnight, Rox.”

After what feels like an eternity of trying and failing to unzip this dress myself, I bend down and cross my arms over the marble vanity in the en suite bathroom. Huffing, I suppress the cry that wants to unleash all my frustration.

That dress fits you like a glove , Chantelle said. It’s perfect for you!

Yeah, well, apparently perfect also means that it fits like a second skin.

But I can’t give up until I find a way out of this thing. I can’t show up to brunch still wearing the most expensive item of clothing ever to grace my body. Besides, it’s starting to grow uncomfortably tight with all the bending and stretching I’ve been doing to try and get it off. All I want is to don my ugly pajamas and sink underneath that down comforter I spied earlier.

With one last-ditch effort to remove this contraption, I straighten and reach behind me. My fingers barely graze the edge of the zipper before I release an unearthly groan of defeat and brace myself against the vanity once again.

Who am I kidding? I’m no gymnast. My body refuses to contort in the way this dress demands for me to remove it. I should’ve known that needing Chantelle’s help to get me in the dress would also require someone to help me out of it. A whimper escapes me at the thought of having to ask Christian to unzip this thing.

It feels way too personal, way too...much.

It doesn’t help that the whispers of his touches from the party still haunt me. Every time his hand found my hip or my side, it brought an addicting warmth along with it. Sort of like a zap of electricity. New, exciting, but also...dangerous. It was one thing when I was clinging to him on his motorcycle, initiating the physical contact. I found it to be a completely different experience when he put his hands on me. I wanted to lean into him, on him, beg him to never stop. So to ask him to get me out of this dress with those same warm hands...

I can’t. Guess I’ll just be forced to sleep in this thing.

A knock sounds on the bedroom door, and I bolt upright. “Yes?”

“You okay in there?”

“I’m fine,” I chirp, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Did you need something?”

There’s a pause, and then, “No, it’s just...well, you’ve been in there a long time, and I thought I might’ve heard crying.”

Curse those glass double doors.

I shuffle out of the bathroom toward him. Of course, Christian sees me coming since there’s nowhere to hide behind the glass. His eyes alight with confusion as he takes in my harried state. I crack open the door with a frown. “I kind of...need your help.”

He’s changed into a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, making him a softer, cozier version of my dreamy boss—er, husband. And darn it all, he looks snuggly. His eyes run down the length of me for a split second. “Getting out of the dress, I assume?”

I nod, that same sense of defeat rolling over me. “I’m so sorry to ask you to do this.”

His easy smile is quick to form. “Roxy, it’s no big deal. I’ll just help you out of it and be gone.”

I wave him inside and head for the bathroom. “I can’t thank you enough. I really didn’t want to sleep in it.”

His deep chuckle follows me, sending an anticipatory shiver down my spine. “What are husbands for if not to undress their wives?”

I nearly trip as my eyes fly to his reflection in the mirror. His wicked smirk says he meant for that to sound as scandalous as it did. “Very funny,” I say, crossing my arms. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“All right.” Christian blows on his hands as he meets my eyes again. “Just so they’re not cold.”

“Right.” I steel myself for the feeling of being touched just as his fingers close around the zipper. At that exact second, the nude strapless bra and black high-waisted lace undies I’m wearing come to mind. “Wait!”

His eyes fly to mine in the mirror. “What’s the matter?”

“Close your eyes.”

He huffs a laugh that almost sounds...nervous. “ Close my eyes ?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous; this just feels too...exposing. In a way.”

He holds up his hands. “Look, I’m sorry about the joke I made. I’m not here to expose you. Just to offer my assistance.” All traces of humor leave his expression. “If me closing my eyes makes you feel better, I’ll happily do it.”

“Thank you.” I clutch the front of my dress close to my body as Christian closes his eyes. His long fingers fumble for the zipper once again.

“Sorry,” he murmurs until he finds it. “This is harder than you’d think.”

A little laugh slips out of me. The deafening sound of fabric being pried open sobers me right up. I squeeze my eyes shut too as embarrassment floods my body. And then, it feels as if the zipper catches.

Christian tugs. Nothing. He tugs again. “Um. We may have a slight problem.”

With a groan, I pop my eyes open. “What’s the matter?” To his credit, his stormy blues are still closed.

“The zipper seems to have caught on...something. My sight might prove handy right about now.”

I send up a silent prayer. “Fine. You can open your eyes. But no... looking . Please.”

The corner of his mouth hitches as his gaze meets mine in the mirror. “I wouldn’t dream of looking .”

Slowly, his attention lowers to the stuck zipper. With deft hands and a furrowed brow, he works it free. His fingertips brush my back for only a moment, but it’s long enough for heated sparks to zing up my spine. “There you are.” Like a true gentleman, his lashes lower a final time as he drags the zipper all the way down.

As soon as the gown slackens against me, I spin around and face him. “Thank you.” There’s no hiding the blush in my cheeks.

“You’re welcome. Like I said, it was no big deal.”

And yet my body’s reaction to him tells a completely different story. I clutch the edge of the door with one hand, holding my dress to my body with the other, and force a light tone. “Well, goodnight then.”

He grins before stalking away from me. “Goodnight, wife of mine.”

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