Chapter 20
Lark
“Is this going to be a real marriage?”
He regards me steadily. “It’s not going to be a pretend marriage.”
Right. Maybe some part of me had held onto the hope that us marrying each other would be in name only?
On the other hand, I've been fantasizing about him, and now, I don't have to feel guilty about it.
He leans forward in his seat. “Don’t look so terrified. Marrying me can’t be such a horrible prospect?”
Heat flushes my cheeks. “Of course not. But it’s all very confusing.”
“It needn’t be. I’m suggesting we marry each other, and that our marriage is for real.”
O-k-a-y. "So, it’ll be a real marriage. Between—" I point between us.
He nods. "I’d be your husband. You’d be my wife. And while we may not have started out in the traditional sense of the word, we’ve gotten to know each other. And this way, we'd get to know one another better.”
He raises one eyebrow, and my skin prickles.
“After we get married.” For some reason, it seems important to emphasize that.
He nods. “Who knows, you might even begin to like me.” He half smiles, but his expression is serious.
I worry that I like him already.
He’s demonstrated there are layers to him. He’s not the hard-nosed, CEO he likes to portray himself as.
He staked his life for his country. He carries the weight of the teammates he lost on mission. And he wears the watch his grandfather gifted him. The same watch which saved his life. It reveals loyalty, and a depth of sentimentality, even romanticism, I would have not expected from him.
He’s pushed me to grow and encouraged me to take on more in my role. He’s indicated that he sees me as his successor. It’s very rare that someone does that.
Oh, and also, he wants to use his inheritance to do good. And he’s ridiculously attractive.
The man’s a freakin’ unicorn.
Not to mention, he came to my rescue when my ex dumped me. He helped me salvage my dignity.
So no, it won’t be a problem liking him. If anything, I’m sure the more I get to know him, the more I’m going to fall for him.
“And would we share the same bed?” I manage to keep my tone even, but my body betrays me. My nerves coil. I squeeze my thighs together.
The thought of lying beside him, feeling his warmth, his breath, his scent. Of us making love. Of him fucking me? Oh my God. It’s the most erotic thought ever.
“You’ll be my wife. You’ll share of everything I have. Including my bed.”
My insides melt. My brain cells might have dissolved. When Brody Davenport growls ‘my wife,’ it’s the height of possessiveness. It makes my pussy throb, tightens my nipples, and ignites the blood that runs through me veins.
I shove aside the X-rated images in my head and manage to bring my attention back to the present.
“What about love?” I throw that out because, surely, he can’t have a glib answer to that? “You said you don’t believe in love, and that you’d rather keep your life clear of such entanglements."
The light in his eyes dims. “I did and I stand by it.”
“Oh.” I lower my chin. My stomach bottoms out, and I feel a strange disappointment in my chest. It’s what I expected him to say. And it’s not like I’m marrying him for love either.
So why did I hope that he’d say that he wants to marry me because he wants me?
“But—” He narrows his gaze on me. “We can have a good marriage. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you never lack for anything. I’ll put your happiness and that of any children we have before anything else. Surely, that should count for something.”
“Children?” I squeak.
I’ve thought of having children, but at some point in the distant future. I didn’t think I’d be discussing it with my boss…who proposed that I marry him.
“I understand you’ll need to think about that, and that’s okay. I’m not in any hurry there. And if you decide you don’t want them, I’ll understand.”
“Hold on, you’re going too fast for me.” I rub my temple.
“Your wedding date is less than two weeks away, so we don’t have much time left.”
“Don’t remind me.” I hunch my shoulders.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I peek up at his face and find his expression is one of genuine contrition.
“But we do need to get the planning for the wedding underway, if we want to make this happen.”
My head spins. I’ve been planning my wedding on my own. And now my boss, who I might be marrying, is offering to plan it with me?
“But… What if we’re not compatible?”
He stares, apparently not comprehending what I’m saying.
“In bed. What if we’re not good together?”
He chuckles, then bursts out laughing. It’s a full-bodied, deep laugh that rolls up his belly.
It lightens his features and makes his eyes sparkle, and he looks so fucking handsome.
My heart trembles. My thighs quiver. My whole body feels like it’s been caught in a tidal wave of some kind of attraction, which threatens to topple me over.
It’s so unfair that everything this man does, I find attractive.
“It’s a real concern.”
“Okay.” He straightens his face. “But I don’t think we have anything to worry about there.”
“Why is that?”
“Because—” An intense look comes into his eyes.
“The chemistry between us is off the charts, and I’m so fucking aware of you all the time we’re together.
And when we’re not together, I can’t stop thinking of you.
The only thing stopping me from leaning over this desk and kissing the hell out of you is that it might frighten you off. ”
“It won’t.” I gasp. Oh, no! I said that out aloud And now, I can’t take it back. And I’m not going to blush that I said that. I won’t.
“It. Won’t?” He seems to digest that for a second.
The next, he reaches for his phone. His fingers fly across the screen. He must pull up an app, for the walls turn opaque. All four walls of his office. So, no one can see inside.
“Neat trick.” I manage to keep my voice casual.
“You ain’t seen anything yet.” He rises to his feet, rounds his desk and holds out his hand.
Automatically, and probably because my brain is too overwhelmed, I place my palm in his. His skin is rough with calluses on the fingers that drag at mine. Little pinpricks of pleasure whisper over my nerve endings. He pulls me up to my feet.
He’s going to kiss me.
He’s going to kiss me.
He is kissing me.
My hot boss is kissing me.
He has his arm around my waist and is holding me close to his big, broad, manly chest. The chest I’ve peeked glances at because I’d have to be blind not to notice how he fills out his jacket.
How his sculpted torso is outlined against that white shirt, the bricked layers of his pecs threatening to pop the buttons.
The powerful thighs which I brush up against, which leave me with a sense of coiled muscles and unleashed energy, like the turbocharged vibrations which swell from a rocket about to blast off into space. Then the sensation of his lips on mine takes over.
Softness.
How could his mouth be this soft when the rest of him is like leaning into a brick wall? He holds me with such care. Like I’m the most precious thing in this world. Like I’m a jewel, and he’s the velvet casing which encloses me.
The protectiveness in his stance as he cradles my head with a big hand at the back of my head, the other grasping my waist like we’re one of those entwined figures in a music box… And the song playing in my head is, surely, brought on by how tenderly his mouth brushes over mine.
Once.
Twice. Then his grasp on my head slides to the back of my neck. A shiver squeezes my spine. The possessiveness is unmistakable. As is how he squeezes the curve of my hip. He pulls me into the cradle of his thighs.
My knees grow weak. I sway forward, and he tightens his hold on the nape of my neck. A full body shudder rolls over me. My stomach seems to bottom out.
It’s as if I’ve boarded a roller coaster and am being pulled up that first incline, knowing what’s coming up, knowing it’s going to swoop down, and being unable to stop that rush of adrenaline and excitement which fills me.
He flattens his fingers so I can feel each individual fingerprint like a brand through the fabric of my dress. Then he bites down on my lower lip. I feel it all the way to my toes.
I gasp, and he licks into my mouth, the touch of his tongue against mine an explosion of emotions. Taste. Dark and complex. Sensations like sparks left in the wake of a shooting star. A sweetness which is so unexpected, it’s mind-blowing.
I rise up on my tiptoes. When I part my lips, he slants his face, slashes his lips over mine, and then the kiss is everything I thought it would be from the meeting of our lips. Hard, insistent, demanding, and so very hot.
The kiss seems to go on and on, and at the same time, it’s so short because suddenly…I’m free.
I sway and am aware that he’s stepped back. The cool fluidity of the air, instead of the solidness of his body, is a shock. My world has tilted, my points of reference changed. My expectations from a kiss dramatically elevated. I know I’ll never be satisfied by meeting my lips with anyone else’s.
My heart feels like it’s in free fall, my emotions swooping over mountains and dipping down into the valley between them like an eagle riding the air currents. I stare at him, lips imprinted with the shape of his.
Heat sears my cheeks.
I try to move back, but his hold on my neck tightens…for a second. Then he releases me, stuffs his hands into his pockets and stares into my face.
"You, okay?"
I shake my head.
I have never been kissed like that. Certainly not by my ex. In fact, I’ve never had such a powerful reaction like this with anyone else.
I thought I wasn’t a passionate person. That’s what Keith told me. I thought I was someone who didn’t like kissing and being held and being intimate with a man.
But fuck Keith.
Clearly, it took the right man to press the right buttons and make me feel like I was going to combust when he touched me.
"Why don’t you sit down?”
He places a hand at the small of my back, the touch like a thousand little fireflies fluttering against my skin. He presses gently, and I move forward. He pulls out my chair, turns it, then urges me to take a seat.
Then, he picks up the glass of water on the desk and hands it to me. "Drink it."
I do.
I don’t stop until it’s empty. Then hand it back to him.
"What was that?" I whisper.
“That was us, kissing.” His blue-gray eyes have turned almost indigo. My lips throb in response to his words.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He turns the chair next to mine and sits down facing me.
“Now that I’ve established, we’re more than compatible when it comes to sex, what other questions do you have?”
I open my mouth, but my mind is blank. That kiss overwhelmed me. Also, if I’m being honest, I don’t have any other questions. I’m so filled with happy hormones, I can’t remember what I was so anxious about.
"You think we can pull this off?"
"Absolutely.”
He seems so confident.
It makes me want to believe him. "And when my friends and my parents find out you’re not the man I originally intended to marry? What then?"
He raises a shoulder. "You can’t live your life by what the world thinks of you. You need to stay focused on yourself. And what you want."
I nod slowly. It’s reassuring, hearing his words. And somehow, it calms the churning in my stomach. It gives me the confidence to accept what he’s suggesting.
When I stay quiet, he nods as if I answered an unspoken query from him. "So, what do you say, about my proposal?"
I pretend to think. And because I sense I’ll never have this opportunity again, and because I want to somehow put my mark on this occasion, I tip up my chin.
"Where’s the ring?"
Maybe, I’m testing him. Or perhaps, I’m compelled to ask because he ridiculed the fact that my ex-fiancé never bought me one. Or maybe, this time… I’m not compromising on what I want from this marriage.
"A ring." His eyes flash. "Are you saying yes?"
I chew on my lower lip. His gaze, instantly, is caught by my mouth and stays there. His chest rises and falls. When he swallows, I know he’s turned on.
From the way he kissed me, I know he finds me attractive. But to see this visible reaction to my unconscious action is the confidence boost I needed. I jerk my chin.
Something like relief filters into his features. "I need you to say that aloud, Siren."
Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. That nickname makes me feel all fuzzy and also overheated at the same time. I shove it aside and nod again.
"Yes.” I sniff. “Also, the ring needs to be vintage Art Deco with an emerald in a rose gold setting."
So, I might have a secret Pinterest board where I have images of the kind of ring I want. And this might be on the top of the list.
"Okay." He rises to his feet.
I tip my head back as he towers over me.
"Come on." He holds out his hand.
This time I stare at it suspiciously. "Where?"
"You want a ring, don’t you?"