Chapter 12
Twelve
River
“Are these the last of the boxes?” Carter asks.
Peeking my head out of the closet, I open my mouth to answer him, but his phone rings, cutting me off. Holding up a finger, he pulls the device from his back pocket.
“Time out. Hold that thought,” he says.
I return to the closet and continue to sort through the clothes to take with me and the ones to donate.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I peek around the corner again, finding Carter’s back to me. He threads his fingers through his tousled hair and . . . oh my God, those biceps.
He huffs a sigh. “No. Gianna’s great.”
Gianna? Who the hell is Gianna? He starts to turn around, and I quickly duck back into the closet.
“Yeah. Is she coming out here?”
Oh, hell no. My head pops back out again, and . . . fuck . . . I’m busted. The corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk when he spots me. Sauntering over, he lifts his hand and rubs up and down on the spot between my brows with a finger.
“Unwrinkle,” he whispers with a chuckle.
I bat his hand away and go back to sorting.
I know. You don’t have to point it out. Yes, I’ve been accidentally married, or whatever you want to call it, for a little over a week, and yes, I’m already acting like a jealous wife.
But you know what? I don’t give a shit. If I’m forced to move in with him and make this marriage look like it wasn’t an accident, he most definitely won’t be seeing other women. That’s for damn sure.
I take the dress I plan to donate and hang it on the left side of the closet, then continue sliding the items I want to keep down the rack on my right. Carter wraps up his conversation and makes his way into the closet.
I huff a breath of air, trying my hardest not to be jealous. Part of me thinks I have every right to be, but then part of me doesn’t. God, this entire situation has me flipped inside out.
“Kitten?”
I turn around, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah?”
“That was Nate. His sister is taking over the agency because the professional hockey league has a problem with his ties to the clubs he owns. He called to tell me that he’s resigning as my agent and that his sister, Gianna, will be handling my account from here on out.”
I turn back around, acting unaffected, and when I do, he gently guides me back to face him. My eyes lift up to his.
“I know this isn’t real to you, River,” he says, “but I’m all in. I’m yours. So how about we settle this right now instead of having a stupid misunderstanding, yeah?”
He traces a finger along the side of my cheek.
“I will be faithful to you . . . and just so there aren’t any more misunderstandings when it comes to exclusivity, I don’t share.
For the next twelve months, you’re mine.
” He drops a kiss on my forehead and walks out the door, leaving me stunned speechless.
I collect my bearings and spend the next ten minutes sorting through my closet. Shit! I never answered his question. Oh fuck! I rush out of my closet. It’s gone. The fucking box is gone . . .
Running out of my apartment, I pump my legs faster than I ever have in my life. I make it down to Carter’s place and burst through the door.
Oh. My. Freakin’. God!
Carter
I can’t pretend that River’s jealousy didn’t have me preening like a fucking peacock during mating season.
I think my chest puffed out a little as I walked down the hallway of our building and took the elevator down to my floor.
When I said Gianna’s name, River’s head popped around that corner so fast. Her expression was all the confirmation I needed to know that we’ve taken another step in the right direction.
She has feelings for me, no matter how new or fledgling they may be.
That little frown between her brows . . . yeah, she wanted to stake her claim.
Three of her boxes are stacked in my arms, and I’m trying like hell to open my door.
Fuck, the top one is trying to fall. I don’t know if there are breakables in here or not.
Maneuvering my body, I use the wall to push the top box back in place.
I steady the boxes enough to get my hand on the doorknob and make it into my penthouse—well, our penthouse now—and take them to the living room.
Man, that was . . . the top box topples over and crashes to the ground; shit scatters all over the living room.
What the fuck?
Toys!
So many damn toys!
My woman has an entire cock collection in her arsenal.
Visions of River sprawled out on her bed, using these on herself, have me hard as a fucking rock.
One of her vibrators dances all over the damn floor. The thing bounces a few times, then emits three short pulses before releasing a single, long vibration. I reach for it, but the damn thing begins to rotate, and jumps away from my hand. Now, it’s thrusting. Oh my . . . fuck, it’s thrusting.
I grab it, fiddling with the buttons. How the hell do you turn the damn thing off?
Nope, that’s not it. The damn thing begins to rotate again.
Fuck. Make it stop! Ah, there it goes. It thrusts again, and when I think it’s stopped, it does it again.
I press the button one final time and hold it up, scrutinizing the purple fuck toy to make sure it’s off.
“Yeah, I bet you can’t please her better than I could . . . and I have more girth,” I say as I toss the fucker back in the box.
I begin picking the toys up. I’ve never had my hand on a cock other than my own, and I swear, now my hands are on too many to count.
Oooh, what do we have here? A rose? What does this thing do?
I turn it on. It doesn’t vibrate, but it makes a whirring noise.
With each press of the button, the sound becomes louder and louder.
Does it smell? Is it one of those air freshener things?
Oh, fuck. That has some major suction. Why the hell I thought it would be smart to bring the damn thing to my nose, I’ll never be able to tell you.
Before I can detach the bastard, the door slams. I spin around to a heaving River standing at the entrance to our living room, and she looks frazzled as hell.
“What the actual fuck, Rudolph?”
What? Oh, shit. I jerk the rose off the tip of my nose.
She doubles over laughing, her face turning about ten shades of red as she wheezes. She looks around at the mess on the floor, then back to me, and bursts into another fit of giggles.
“Oh my god, somebody fucking kill me now,” she pleads.
“Well . . . that thing could suck the life right out of you. And this . . .” I bend down, grabbing Thruster the Attitude Adjuster, holding it up. “I’ve never seen a power tool with this kind of torque before.”
“Oh, God.” She barks out a laugh and begins to collect the toys, putting them back into the box. “I don’t know whether I should be mortified or thoroughly entertained.”
“Entertainment shouldn’t be a problem with all this.”
“Do I even want to ask why my rose was stuck to the end of your nose?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I thought it was an air freshener.”
Her eyes widen, and her brows nearly hit her hairline, then she throws her head back, laughing again.
“Okay well. Stop touching my shit. I’ll clean this up. You just . . . go find something else to do,” she says as she continues collecting her things off the floor.
I busy myself with laundry, then we spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking her boxes.
After an exhausting day, I’m ready to kick back, order in dinner, and maybe watch some TV.
River’s on the couch with her legs crossed underneath her.
She scrolls through her iPad, stops to make a note in her notebook, then begins scrolling again.
I hear her stomach growl from across the room.
Bringing up the app on my phone, I order us dinner from River’s favorite Italian restaurant. Manicotti for her. Grilled chicken, quinoa, and steamed broccoli for me. Then I settle in on the other end of the sofa.
“I ordered you dinner; hope that’s okay.” I grab the remote off the end table. She stops what she’s doing and looks up, giving me her full attention.
“That was so sweet. I could’ve made a sandwich.”
I wave her off. A sandwich. Yeah, no. That won't work.
“Well, thank you.”
“What are you doing there?” I ask.
“I’m making a marketing plan. Well, an out of the box marketing plan, anyway, but I don’t know if Aspen will go for it.”
“Wanna bounce it off me?”
She stretches her legs out, and her foot grazes my leg.
“Sorry,” she apologizes, and begins to bring her knees up, but I gently grab her feet and bring them back down.
“It’s fine. Get comfortable.”
She shimmies down a little and rests her head against the arm of the couch, pen to her mouth.
Her foot brushes against my leg again, and goosebumps pebble my skin.
I want to run my hand along her legs, massage her feet after she’s been on them all day, but I keep my hands to myself.
Seeing her like this . . . resting back on my couch, in a ragged out Motley Crüe t-shirt with her hair in a messy bun and not a stitch of makeup on, makes my chest tighten.
I don’t know if she’s ever looked so beautiful. This feels right.
“Okay,” she says. “You know Jerry Buss, right?”
The fact that she knows who Jerry Buss is, kinda makes my dick hard. Of course, I know who he is, but I don’t say anything because I’m pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, and I want to see her in her element. I love seeing her this excited.