Chapter 2 He’s Gay #2
“I’m not telling you.” He’ll make fun of it, just like my dad did when I told him.
He widens his stance a little and stares down his nose. “You were engaged not that long ago.”
My eyes round. “My dad told you?” He wanted to keep it a secret.
“I don’t need your dad to discover things about my future wife.”
“You spied on me?” I ask, surprised that this gorgeous man would bother.
“I had research done on you as I would any investment.”
Ew!
“Did you love your ex-fiancé?” He sounds mad.
“Wouldn’t you know, having spied on me?”
“I don’t spy. I acquire information. Did you?”
I cross my arms over my chest and take a step back. “What does it matter?”
“I need to know if your bringing emotional baggage into this arrangement.”
I’d ask the same about him, but I don’t think emotion and Lachlan go together. “I didn’t love him,” I answer truthfully. “I thought I did, but I soon realized it was the idea of being married to someone of my choice that I loved. Nothing more.” It took me until recently to figure that out.
He nods as if my answer satisfies him. “Did you have sexual intercourse with him?”
I let out a laugh that’s half-shock, half nerves. “Do you know my dad?”
He runs his hand down his face, like I’m exhausting him. “That doesn’t mean you’re a virgin.”
“No. I haven’t had sex with anyone,” I say curtly. “Why would that matter to you anyway?”
“Your innocence is important to my image.”
His image. Right. It’s the only thing that matters, same with my dad. At least I know what to expect from him. A straightforward invasion of my privacy. If that’s what he wants...
“My innocence is intact.”’ I give him a snarky grin.
“My hymen, not so much. That cherry is long gone. My gyno confirmed it. I rode horses into my teen years and have been using tampons since my first period. Unscented and organic, in case you’re wondering that too.
Would you like the results of my last pap smear? ”
His gaze tightens. “You have a smart mouth.” Those piercing eyes sweep over my features and land on my lips, staying there for so long I start counting the seconds.
One Chanel bag, two Chanel bags, three Chanel bags, four, five, six, seven, eight. What the hell? When his gaze returns to mine, a shrewd glint shines within them.
Sweat forms on the back of my neck. Did I get this man wrong? Is he into me? No. He’s just weird.
“If you agree to this marriage and sign on the dotted line, it’s final.
No divorce. No sharing anything personal you discover about my life.
No backing out if you decide you’re not happy.
This is a permanent alliance between your family and mine.
A blood oath some might say.” His English accent comes out strong with his last sentence.
I think he’s trying to scare me about his secret.
I already guessed it and am fine with being married to a man who won’t seek sex from me.
It also removes the delusion of love. I never aspired to live like my mother in an open marriage, but it’s what I’m going to get.
I won’t have to worry about falling for my husband and then hating him later for his transgressions.
I’ll have lovers and book boyfriends. It’s all a girl can hope for in my situation.
I shrug, making light of his blood oath speech. “It’s nothing I don’t already know.”
“So easily you agree to sign your life away.” A note of anger rings in his voice.
“It was always my fate.” One I chose to ignore until today. My hands fall to my sides, and I slump. “This way at least I get a say in how it goes, and I don’t have to worry about awkward sex.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Awkward sex?”
“You know, when you’re not attracted to the other person, but you have to do it to continue the bloodline.”
“And you think I don’t want that?” He takes a step toward me, all tall and bare chested, smelling like the woods after a storm.
I tense and back up to the counter, hoisting myself onto the stone surface as if that were my plan, when really, I’m putting distance between us. “You don’t want to have sex with me.” I state the obvious.
His jaw tightens. “I will expect a Spencer blood heir.”
I raise my palms defensively. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t get one.” That’s one of the major reasons for this arrangement. “We’ll just have to figure out a different way to get there. Like…?” I rack my brain then blurt, “Artificial insemination. My egg, your sperm, surrogate uterus. Done.”
His fists clench at his sides. “You expect me to borrow a stranger’s uterus for my own child? No heir of mine will be born from a surrogate when my wife is healthy and perfectly capable of conceiving and delivering our child. I’m surprised you’d give up something that special so easily.”
His words bother me in a way I don’t expect.
A protective side of me emerges for a baby that’s nothing more than an idea in the future.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about what being pregnant would be like after I stayed with my sister.
I learned a lot about what to expect and shared in Pippa’s excitement over meeting her little boy and holding him for the first time.
He must mistake my silence for disagreement because he says, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing your perfect figure?”
Perfect? I stare at him dumbfounded.
“A pregnant body is one of the most beautiful forms to behold,” he continues. “It should never be shamed.”
Wow. I didn’t expect that and delivered with so much passion. Then again, a gay man can appreciate a pregnant body better than a straight man because he’s not attracted to women to begin with. As for my figure changing, my only fear is that my boobs could get bigger.
“It was just an idea,” I say, voice low and humbled. “An alternative. In a situation like ours, I assumed it’s how it’s done.”
His eyes narrow and he cocks his head, rubbing the scruff on his chin again.
My gaze trails to his tattoos and sculpted abs. “Are you gay?” I say without thinking. My eyes widen. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
His brows lift for a moment then the tease of a grin pinches one corner of his mouth. “If I were, would you change your mind about the marriage?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. “As I explained, I’m good at keeping secrets, and I’m fine with a platonic relationship with you. More than fine.”
“Why is that?” He inches closer.
“Simply put, I can relax around you and not worry about you not liking me.”
His eyes narrow with thought for a moment, then he nods as if to himself. “I see.” He shuffles back a few steps and leans his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed, his biceps flexing nicely.
Stop staring, I scold myself, but it’s no use. I’ve never seen so much beautifully toned skin on display up close and for this long. The few times I went to the campus gym to walk on the treadmill with my friend, I only got visuals from a distance.
“Do you know the terms your father has proposed?” he asks, pulling me from my ogle-fest of his chest.
“Not the specifics. Do you?” I sweep my long hair over one shoulder and cross one leg over the other, trying to appear like I’m capable of a serious conversation.
His gaze briefly flicks to my high slit and bare thigh. He rubs his jaw again, his eyes back on my face. Clearly, I’m the only one with a staring problem.
“We announce our engagement in one week and have the wedding here in three,” he says.
“Three what…? Months? Years?” I throw out, hopeful.
“Weeks.”
“Weeks! Why the hurry?”
No one forced Pippa down the aisle this quickly.
Mom needed enough time to plan a regal event for her first-born daughter, and Hunt thought it looked more realistic if they waited.
Dad gave them a deadline. He wanted Hunt’s banker family linked with ours as soon as possible.
The ceremony was for publicity and for Mom.
As for me and Lachlan, with my dad not retiring until the end of the year, I thought we could take our time before coming together in public as one.
“Once the contracts are signed, it’s a done deal,” Lachlan says. “There is no point in waiting.”
Right. Because my needs and wishes are moot. I rub my hand along the cool surface of the soap stone counter. “What if I want to finish college first?”
“That’s too long.”
“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”
“Were studying. You dropped out.”
He knows that too? I huff. “This is unfair.”
“You can continue college now and while we’re married. I don’t care as long as you’re able to travel when necessary to whichever home I’m spending the most time at. We need to look like a loving couple.”
“Why? Why not let people assume the truth? This marriage is an arrangement.”
“My image is important, as I said. The public needs to see this as a solid union on all fronts, not a purchase based on an ultimatum.”
I guess I can understand that. He has the money and status to buy the company. He also has my traditionally archaic dad calling all the shots.
“Why Spencer Securities? Why not a business that has less… baggage?” I use his earlier word.
It takes him a moment to respond. “I have my reasons.” He rubs his neck then his hand lowers to the Celtic tattoo over his firm pec.
My gaze follows the movements like a magnet. Stop it! I clear my throat. “Would you mind putting on a shirt?” Please, please, please put on a shirt.
He glances down as if he forgot he’s on display. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” He gestures to his bare chest and sexy abs. “I should warn you I often walk around with my shirt off in the mornings and the evenings and after I work out.”
Lucky me. I’ll have to invest in horse blinders to keep my gaze from straying. “You said you move around a lot. Where can I expect to live?”
“I have a place in Manhattan and in the UK. We could get a house here if you’d like. Wherever you want. I don’t really care.”
I nod and twirl a lock of hair around my finger, imagining my life as a series of responses that end with, I don’t really care.
It could be worse. He could be a pig. An egocentric maniac. A liar. I hate liars.
A shadow crosses over me, and I jolt.
Lachlan stands directly in front of me, studying me the way one might look at a Monet, tracing all the colors and patterns individually before taking the painting in as a whole.
“You have an innocent face that makes you look younger than you are.”
“So I’ve been told.” Mostly by guys.
His aqua gaze locks on mine, but it’s guarded. “I’m looking forward to calling you wife.” His accent makes the statement sexy, even if there is no sentiment to his words.
“You agree then—to my terms?”
“Yes.”
I nod and swallow the lump of fear that catches in my throat. “I guess we have a deal.”
Something like triumph flashes in his eyes, but it disappears too quickly for me to be sure. “Be ready at nine in the morning to sign your life over to mine.”
A nervous laugh trickles up my throat. “I would have worded it differently.”
Be ready to get married. Be ready to play the part. Any other way would have sounded better.
“I’m sure you would have.” A barely-there grin takes shape at the corner of his mouth. Does this man know how to smile?
He lifts his hands. “Let’s get you something to wear.”
He wants to help me off the counter. Do I want his hands on me? He’s being helpful, and I should get used to him touching me. Public displays of affection and all that.
I rest my palms on his shoulders and lean forward. His big hands grip my waist, and he lifts me off the counter with ease. Once I’m on my feet, he clears his throat and turns away abruptly.
I follow him from the bathroom, trying my hardest not to ogle the muscular curves of his back. He’s not bulky, but he’s not too lean. He’s perfect.
The writing that I don’t understand spreads across the side of his torso. “What is the language of your tattoo?” I ask as we walk down the hallway toward one of the bedrooms.
“Gaelic.”
From his Scottish side. I want to ask if he really has a factory, what they make, if he has a castle, and if it’s medieval. I want to ask a lot of things, but I’ll learn them soon enough.
Like his pristine appearance, the bedroom is immaculate as if no one has been staying in here. He takes his dress shirt from the bed. A red blotch stains the front.
Blood? Is that why he’s shirtless?
My gaze jumps to his chest. Had I somehow missed a deep cut?
“Wine,” he says, reading my expression.
“But you weren’t drinking wine,” I reply, letting slip how closely I’d been watching him.
His lips twitch with that hint of a smile. “No, I wasn’t. A woman got clumsy.”
I bet she did. Too bad for her she’s not his type.
He disappears into the walk-in closet and returns with a black suit jacket. “For you.”
“I don’t need anything this nice. An old dress shirt will do just fine.”
“I insist.” He helps me into it. The jacket swallows me, revealing how slight I am compared to him.
I push up the sleeves, but they keep sliding back over my hands.
“Roll them up.” He folds the material until my slender fingers are free.
“I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“I have more.”
“Thanks.” My gaze falls to his bare chest. He’s still shirtless, and I am incapable of willpower.
“That’s good,” he says stealing my attention from his chiseled abs.
“What is?”
“The way you keep staring at me like you want to fuck me.”
My mouth falls open, and heat rushes my cheeks. I can’t believe he just said that. I can’t believe I’ve been that obvious. “I didn’t mean to. I’ve never been this close to this much man-flesh.”
“Never?” he asks with disbelief. “Not even your ex-fiancé.”
“Not for this long. And he didn’t look like...” A sculpted god with sexy tattoos. “It doesn’t matter.” I wave away the topic, but I can’t take my eyes from his chest and how his abs flex with each breath. I also can’t stop from licking my bottom lip.
His phone rings from his pocket. My gaze jumps to it and then to Lachlan’s face. He’s not moving to answer it.
His jaw muscles are flexed again, his eyes stirring with something.
“Go now, Emery.” The warning is clear in his tone. He removes his phone and walks away.
I shuffle from the room, holding his delicious smelling jacket closed and tight to my chest. I might sleep with it as a blanket. Too bad the man who wears this cologne has the personality of Mr. Darcy before you learn he has a good side.