Chapter 23
Skylar
“That’s one way of ensuring you have a fucktastic consummation on your wedding night.” Zoey snickers at me from the phone screen.
I cough, then grab a glass of water from the counter next to my baking tray and take a sip. “That’s one way of putting it.”
My condition was that we consummate our relationship on our wedding night.
He was surprised when I told him. I was sure he wasn’t going to agree, but he finally nodded.
Maybe that’s not the done thing, asking your husband-to-be for sex, but when Nate revealed that fucking me seemed like the ultimate betrayal of Ben, I knew he intended not to sleep with me.
And I haven’t come this far to have the man of my dreams decide not to make love to me.
Although, given the chemistry between us, perhaps I needn’t worry?
Either way, I saw the opportunity and took it.
“But you haven’t told him you’re a virgin?
” Zoey pauses midway in applying her lipstick and turns away from her vanity to look at me.
It’s eight p.m., and I closed the shop—the traffic today was slightly better than yesterday, so that’s a positive.
I was unable to go up to the apartment and relax, so instead, I decided to work on another new recipe.
“I think he guessed it.” I add a pinch of cinnamon and the seeds from a vanilla pod into the cake batter. “He asked me if I was, and I managed not to reply.”
“Why not? Isn’t it best you’re upfront with him?”
Like he needs another excuse for not wanting to sleep with me. I keep silent as I shake in the cocoa powder, then the almond extract, followed by a cup of espresso.
It’s part of the recipe I’m trying out for my wedding cake.
I wasn’t aware that’s what I was doing until I was a ways along.
But as I mixed the ingredients and imagined the finished product in my head, I realized, this one was going to be special.
Sure, people normally get their wedding cake catered, but I want to come up with a mix of ingredients that mean something to me—and perhaps, to him—and evoke memories for everyone else who eats the cake at the wedding.
Of course, there’s no guarantee I’ll have the kind of ceremony I can invite people to, but that hasn’t stopped me from playing around with the components, either.
“Skylar, you need to be upfront with him. It’s one thing to marry him so you can stop your business from going under. It’s another thing to not share things that are going to impact your relationship. Assuming you do want to have a relationship with him?” She peers into the camera.
I shuffle my feet. “You’re right; he needs to know.”
“So, you’ll tell him?”
I nod.
“And while you’re at it, you’re going to find out more details about your wedding?”
“I guess you must think I’m a pushover for not knowing more about my own wedding?”
She looks at me with censure in her eyes. “I’ll never judge you, Skye. And the situation is unusual, to say the least. Do I wish you’d confide in me more? Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have anything less than my absolute support in anything you decide to do.”
Tears fill my eyes. “You’re a good friend.” I sniffle.
Zoey looks alarmed. “Girl, please. Don’t go all sentimental on me now. Also, your tears are running into whatever it is you’re making there.”
“Oh, shoot.” I snatch a tissue to mop at my cheeks, then roll it into a ball and toss it into the bin.
The doorbell to the delivery entrance rings.
I lowered the shutters in the front earlier and wasn’t expecting any deliveries.
“I need to go. There’s someone at the door.
” I reach for the tap to wash my hands, but the doorbell rings again. “Someone who’s in a hurry.” I frown.
“Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Zoey blows me a kiss. “And remember, you hold the power in this relationship.”
“Do I?” I can’t keep the skepticism off my features.
“He needs you as much as you need his money; maybe even more. Surely, there’s more at stake for him, considering he needs to get married to confirm his position in the company.”
I nod slowly. “We’re equal partners in this.”
“As it should be in a marriage.” She nods.
“There’s no reason for me to think I’m the helpless one here.”
“You and helpless?” She rolls her eyes.
I manage to laugh. Of course, she hasn’t seen how I melt into a puddle when I’m in his presence.
Nor am I going to tell her that. Having her think I’m able to resist the powerhouse that is Nathan Davenport gives me the courage to think I really can hold my own in this relationship. There’s a banging on the door.
“I’m coming,” I yell, then wave at Zoey. “Talk soon, babe!” I disconnect the call, toss my phone aside, then head for the service entrance.
I throw the door open and am faced with Nate’s very angry countenance.
He has his fist up like I’ve caught him mid-action rapping at the door—a fist he now lowers. “You opened the door without checking who it was.”
“I thought it was a service delivery.”
“Were you expecting a delivery at night?”
“Well…”
“And I’m standing in an alley,” he says through gritted teeth.
I look past him into the darkened space. “So? That’s why I thought it was a delivery."
"I could have been someone who wanted to harm you."
You’ve already harmed my heart; beat that! is what I want to say aloud. Instead, I brush at the strand of hair that’s fallen over my face and sigh loudly. "Are you going to stand there yelling at me? Or do you want to come in?"
He raises his gaze from my mouth to my face, and a peculiar look overcomes his features.
"What?" I frown.
"You have something—" His voice is both harsh and soft, at the same time. He swallows, then raises his arm and touches my cheek. He shows me his hand, and I spot the dough on his fingers.
"Oh, Star Trek." I scratch my head, and some more dough comes off on my hand. I shake it off.
"You used Star Trek as a swear word." He sounds dazed.
"Old habits." I shake the hair strands again, and this time, my fingers come away empty.
"It’s gone," he murmurs. His gaze caresses my features. His mismatched eyes are alight with an expression I can’t quite place. He pulls out a handkerchief (silk) from his pocket and hands it over.
I hesitate. "I’ll dirty it."
His brows draw down. "That’s the general idea."
When I hesitate, he takes my hand in his, then gently runs the cloth over my fingers. Goosebumps trail up my arm. And when he drags the cloth between them, a line of fire zips down to my clit. My pussy throbs. My thighs quiver.
I pull my hand from him, turn on my heels and walk inside.
I’m aware of him following me, of the door closing with a snick, and it feels so final.
I walk back to my place behind the cake batter.
I reach for the buttermilk and pour that in.
Then place the bowl on a wet cloth and hold it in place.
I grab the mixer, dip it into the ingredients, and turn it on.
If I were making a batch for the bakery, I’d use the stand mixer, but because this is an experiment and I much prefer having complete control over how I mix the ingredients, I prefer the hand mixer.
The sound of the whirring fills the air. A few minutes later, I stop, raise the whisk and survey the batter for clumps. Satisfied, I set the whisk aside and turn, holding the bowl.
And of course, he’s there. He’s standing with his legs in a wide stance, his broad chest blocking out the sight of the kitchen behind him.
His arms are crossed so his biceps strain at the sleeves of his fitted jacket.
His blue eye blazes at me; his brown eye seems to be spitting sparks.
His gaze is so intense, I’m forced to lower my own—which means, I catch the bulge between his thighs. "Oh," I gulp.
"Indeed," he says in a dry voice. Then leans over, dips his finger into the batter and brings it to my mouth. "Open."