Chapter 4 #2
I’m acutely aware of his taut muscles being too close to my skin and his exhales drifting past my lips.
“Are you afraid of me, Raquel?” The back of his hand reaches out, tracing my jaw.
God, he loves to touch, and I love being touched. I’m in so much trouble.
“No.” My rapid, audible breaths betray me, calling me a liar.
“Good. Because I can behave myself, even with you sleeping beside me.” His tone oozes with sensual prowess as our gazes align with fierce intensity. “The question is, can you?”
I clear my throat, hoping to clear my body of all thoughts of him at the same time. “Why is this even necessary? Why can’t we have separate rooms?”
“Look…” He marches away toward the door. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. The contract hasn’t been signed, so you’re free to go. I can drive you home now if you want.”
“No!” I practically jump a step. “It’s…it’s fine. I’ll stay here. With you.”
“You sure? I don’t want to push you into something you’re clearly not ready for.” He moves a foot toward me, killing some of the distance he’s created.
“I’m sure. We’ll figure it out.”
“I know this is a lot…” That softness in his gaze that attracted me to him back at the bar is back. “But if we don’t appear truly married and the seller somehow finds out, then my deal with him will go to shit, along with the money and documents I promised you.”
I can’t let that happen!
“I understand, Dante.”
“How about this?” he counters. “How about we get the marriage certificate done today, but we wait on the contract while you try this arrangement out for a week? Like a trial period. Then, if you’re fine with it, we’ll sign the paperwork.
But if you want out, I’ll have the marriage annulled and find someone else to make my wife. ”
The way he says that word, wife…I kind of don’t want him to find anyone else.
I jerk my head back. “You can get a marriage certificate that fast?”
“I know some people.” He winks.
He must be someone big in the business world.
“Yeah, the trial period seems fair.”
I’ll agree to anything at this point. Whatever he needs me to do, I’ll do it just to avoid marrying Carlito.
“What’s your full name, by the way?” I think it’s time I know the last name of the man I’m about to marry.
“Cavaleri.”
Raquel Cavaleri.
I toss the name around in my head, liking the sound of it, even if it’ll only be mine for a short while.
“How about we get some breakfast?” he asks, jarring me from my thoughts. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
It’s close to six a.m. now, and my stomach growls right on cue, as though hearing his words.
“Come on, hungry fiancée,” he teases on a laugh. “Let’s get you fed.”
“Fiancée?” I taunt as we head back down the stairs, me beside him. “You haven’t even given me a ring yet.”
“Would you like me to get down on one knee too while we’re at it?” He slams me with another show-stopping smile, glancing at me sideways. “I can definitely make that happen if you want, wifey.”
“Shut up,” I giggle, playfully swatting him on his chest with the back of my hand as we reach his enormous white kitchen.
He captures my wrist in his palm, his gaze darkening and his touch tightening, causing my core to throb just enough to know how turned on I suddenly am. His gaze drops down to my lips.
Hooded. Wanton.
I pant, unable to contain my emotions. And that’s when his touch softens as he lets me go, striding toward the fridge. I lower myself onto one of the black stools beside the kitchen island.
What the hell was that? And why do I want it to happen again?
“What are you in the mood for?” He opens the fridge, his hand disappearing inside like nothing just happened between us.
“You cook?” My words fall incredulously, my body still feeling the effects of his dominating touch.
“That’s right, baby girl. I hope you’re ready to be spoiled.” He peers at me over his shoulder, haunting me with those captivating eyes. “My brothers and I all know how to cook. We’re pretty good too.”
“Impressive,” I remark, still drowning in that spell he has me under whenever he looks at me or touches me. “Pancakes sound good.”
“Any special kind?”
“I do like them with blueberries.”
“Lucky for you…” I hear his smile as he delves inside the fridge. “I have some fresh ones.”
He gets to work laying out the ingredients, then takes out a pan and bowl from a cabinet.
He tosses the milk and flour into the mixing bowl, and the sight of his forearms flexing and those muscles straining as he mixes, the veins beneath his tanned skin bulging angrily, has my toes curling.
The impulse to run my fingers over all that virile power overwhelms me.
But I sit here, ignoring the urges rolling up my body.
After he finishes the batter, he removes some plates and forks, handing me one of each, then retrieves a ladle, pouring a spoonful of batter onto the sizzling pan.
When the first one is done, he puts it on my plate. He’s very comfortable in the kitchen, and wow, that only makes him more attractive. A man who knows how to cook well is one of my downfalls.
“You’re staring again,” he teases with a handsome smirk, clearly enjoying the attention.
“I…um….”
I poke the pancake with my fork, destroying the poor thing, as my heart pounds.
“Okay, fine,” I throw in, my eyes slamming to his and my pulse quickening. “You got me. I was totally staring, okay? You’re hot. Unobjectively, insanely gorgeous.” I shroud my face with a hand. “There. I said it.”
Oh my hell. Why did I just do that?
“Damn. Hot and gorgeous in one sentence?” He chuckles. “Give it to me straight, though. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Henry Cavill…” He throws another pancake on my plate. “How hot are we talking here?”
“Ugh!” I groan, my fork clattering against the plate as I drop it and cover my face with my hands. “You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance in hell, baby.” Deep laughter fills the room, and then his hand lands on mine, his fingertips fledging over my knuckles. “It’s okay to be attracted to your husband. It’s normally required.”
There’s hilarity in his voice as I peek up at him and find amusement glinting in the auburn hues of his eyes.
“We’re not even married yet, and you’re already my husband?” I tilt up a brow. “You sure move fast.”
“You’ll be my wife later today, Raquel.” He hits me with an intense gaze, his voice growing huskier. “Might as well get used to the title.”
“How come this feels like I’m signing up for a bad reality show?” I cross my arms over my chest, eyes turning to thin slits. “Are you hiding cameras anywhere?”
I look both ways for effect.
He laughs, walking over to the counter to add some pancakes onto his plate before turning off the stove and finally taking a seat across from me. “Nah, sweetheart. Whenever there are cameras involved, it’s always because she wants them there.”
He winks, and I feel it shooting down my body, like a lightning strike in my panties, except a lot more exciting. I stuff a piece of pancake into my mouth, chewing until my breathing calms and I can formulate a response that doesn’t sound ridiculous.
“Oh, you’re into that?” I finally ask.
That’s what you came up with? Obviously, your future hubby is into fucking with cameras. He clearly just said that.
He cuts into his breakfast, curiously glancing up at me. “You’re not?”
The sensual nuance of that question tremors over my body as my exhales grow louder. I pop another giant piece of my food into my mouth so I don’t have to answer. Maybe I could be into it? I was never that adventurous in bed, and neither were my partners.
But I have a feeling sex with him would be something I’ve yet to experience. Something I never will. Sleeping with my husband is not an option, even if it’s all I can think about.
No sex. No feelings.
I need things as clean as possible so that in three months, I can move on with no one holding me back.
“You don’t have to answer,” he adds, his gaze doused with lustful hunger. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. Properly.”
Properly? What the hell does that mean? And do I really want the answer?