The Billionaire's Wife Page 6

  “Sorry,” I said. He just smiled and opened the back door for me.

  Anton Waters was already inside.

  I hadn't seen him since he went down on me in the restaurant where we'd met to discuss our prenuptial contract. In persuading me to sign it, he'd ducked under the table and, hidden by the table cloth, fucked me with his tongue and fingers, wringing an orgasm from me that had been so powerful I'd screamed in front of everyone, even our waitress. The poor girl had been unable to look at me for the rest of the lunch, which Waters had insisted on eating through to the last course while I sat there, humiliated and horny.

  Yeah. Horny.

  That was the problem. I'd liked it just as much as I'd hated it. Who knew I was such a freak? Not me, and certainly not any of the boyfriends I'd had. Maybe they had been the boring ones.

  And now Waters sat in the back seat of the car, reading something on a tablet and completely ignoring me. Fear and excitement danced together in my chest, whirling around and around until I couldn't tell one from the other. Lifting my chin, I clambered inside. Zachary shut the door after me, and I crammed myself in the corner, half-fearing, half-hoping Waters would slip across the seat to join me.

  He didn't.

  In fact, he didn't even speak to me. He was too busy frowning at the iPad in front of him, and when I dared to peek at it I found it was full of small type. Some report or other.

  Ugh. Just like my father, though he'd dragged his briefcase and his stupid Wall Street Journal around with him all the time—when he'd bothered to be home, that is. Even when he was home with my mother and me, he wasn't really.

  What a douchebag. And here I was, about to marry someone just like him.

  My ardor cooled somewhat and I sighed, settling for looking out the window, though I didn't really see the buildings pass by until the car slowed and I found we were somewhere in Manhattan—NoLita, if I had to guess—outside a little boutique called, simply, Anna's. The display in the windows were tasteful and minimal, meaning I'd probably have to work for a year at the bar before I could afford to even spit on the sidewalk out front.

  Beside me, Waters snapped his iPad closed and slid out of the car. I put my hand on my door, but I was surprised to see him come around and open it for me. I'd thought he let his servants do that sort of thing.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Dare,” he said, formally. “I apologize for my preoccupation.” And he held a hand out to assist me.

  I hated the way my heart leaped in my chest when I put my hand in his. The moment his skin touched mine, a frisson of desire shimmied down my spine, causing my back to arch and my pussy to warm. The sudden catching of breath in my throat thrust my breasts out, and I couldn't help the blush staining my cheeks.

  “That's, uh, okay,” I assured him, my mouth and my manners running on automatic. Silently I kicked myself as I let him help me from the back seat and onto the pavement. “I know you're busy.”

  He raised an eyebrow, as though inviting me to expand, and, stupidly, I did. Maybe it was the way those green eyes seemed to look right into my brain. I'd never seen anyone with such clarity in his gaze...

  Or maybe it was my dumb clit making the decisions. Either way I started to babble. “My dad was always busy, too. He always had to be reading something for work, even at the breakfast table. Well, when he was around. I mean, it wasn't often, but it was enough, and he always had the paper out and got mad if I interrupted him...”

  Shut. Up, I told myself fiercely. The last person I wanted to think about while semi-aroused was my fucking father. See? He always ruined things, even when he wasn't actually there.

  “So... yeah. Whatever. You're busy. I'm not going to bother you,” I finished lamely.

  He didn't even smile that faint little knowing smile this time. He just studied me.

  Oh god. Why did he have to be so self-assured? Like he didn't care how awkward it made things: if he didn't have anything to say he wouldn't say anything at all. I hated him so much. Determined that I wasn't going to be the first one to say anything, I stared back at him. The other people on the street parted and flowed around us. I could feel them staring, mostly at Waters.

  Who was I kidding? I broke first. “It's a good thing you're marrying me,” I said, “because I'll probably never find anyone else willing to put up with my blather for better or worse.”

  At that, the smile flickered across his face and he reached out, drawing my hand into the crook of his elbow, like some kind of Victorian gentleman. One of my many weaknesses. Dammit.

  “Miss Dare,” he said, guiding me toward the boutique, “you are going to be my wife. I want you to know that no business report is more important than whatever you have to say.”

  Shocked, and a little gratified, I followed him into the shop. “I have some pretty inane shit to say,” I told him. “Are you sure you don't want to take that back before it's too late.”

  He laughed, a rich, warm sound, and dropped my hand, only to slip his arm around my shoulders, as if we were a real couple. I hated that his laugh danced on my skin like falling rain. I loved it, too. “I promise I will listen to whatever you have to say,” he told me.

  That sounded like a challenge, but curiously, I found I didn't really want to rise to it. Instead, I could only say, “Thanks.” Hesitantly, I slipped my own arm around his waist and felt the rock hard body beneath the crazy expensive suit he wore. In fact, it was the first time I had really touched him so intimately. He, of course, had been nose-deep in my pussy already, and yet I hadn't done anything to him, even though I kind of wanted to. Aside from strangle him, that is. Like, oh, kiss him. We hadn't kissed. Bite his throat. Run my fingers through his hair. Scrape my nails down his back. Suck his cock.

  The fire he had stoked into a blaze in the little Italian restaurant flared up again, and I had to swallow around my suddenly dry tongue and review what I had just thought.

  Suck his cock. I actually wanted to suck his cock. Like, really wanted to suck it, not just do it because I wanted him to return the favor, like I'd always done with my other boyfriends and one-night stands.

  Jesus, girl, I thought. You have got it bad.

  And I totally did, because now that I'd thought it, I couldn't unthink it, and the lean, well-built body next to me moved with barely-controlled energy, like a dancer or a martial artist.

  Or a tiger.

  I licked my lips and tried not to think about where our bodies met and instead tried to focus on what he was saying to the gushing young man in a fedora and vest who could barely bring himself to breathe the same air as Waters.

  “Something elegant. Not too flashy,” he was saying.

  Dimly I realized he was talking about my wedding dress. I frowned in disappointment. “I always wanted one of those huge tulle skirts,” I said.

  The sales assistant nearly fainted with disdain, but Waters, to my disappointment, let his arm drop from my shoulders and stepped away. The loss of him was a physical pain. He turned and regarded me.

  “Why?” he said simply.

  I shrugged. “One of my nannies was addicted to telenovas.”

  Waters gazed at me coolly for another moment, then gestured to the sales assistant. “Both styles. Bring one elegant wedding gown and one telenova gown.

  “I don't think we have telenova gowns,” the assistant whispered, still clearly gagging on the idea.

  “Whatever you have that is closest, then,” Waters told him and he scurried off, back stiff with indignation.

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling stupid.

  Waters shrugged. “Anything for my bride,” he said.

  I shot him a sharp glance. Was that... had that been a glimmer of self-reflection?

  No. Couldn't be.

  I didn't have time to analyze his comment, though, because the shop assistant came bustling back almost instantly, towing two dresses behind him. I took them and thanked him, and turned toward the dressing rooms, which were nestled in the back of the shop with a lovely little platform for e
xpectant brides to parade before their admiring public. I had no public. I wasn't even sure why I was trying dresses on, to be truthful. If Waters wanted to control what I was going to wear, he should have just gotten my measurements and been done with it.

  My vague questions were quickly answered when Waters shouldered his way into the dressing room with me.

  “Excuse me?” I said as he sidled inside. There was room, but it was supposed to be two women in here. And Waters seemed to take up so much more space than seemed possible by the physical limitations of his body. He loomed. He hulked. He was all I could think about. I clutched my Telenova dress in front of me and glared at him.

  He sighed diffidently. “I thought you might require some assistance,” he said, as if his eyes weren't tracing over every inch of my body, staring straight through the armload of tulle I carried in front of me.

  He was too close. The scent of his aftershave and, underneath that, the slight scent of man, delicately tempted my nose. We faced each other. My back was against the wall. The last time we had been in this position, we were on about minute five of our first meeting and his hands were already on my breasts. The memory rose, sudden and unbidden, and I pushed it down.

  Green eyes glittered at me, and I knew he was remembering the same thing. Slowly, he licked his lips.

  I swallowed and thrust the dress at him. “Here,” I managed to say, and started to undress.

  He devoured me with his eyes. Every inch of skin revealed became fuel for the fire I saw building inside him. In his throat, breath rasped, and his body became taut as a bow.

  I couldn't get enough air as my blouse slipped from my shoulders and my jeans slumped to the floor. I'd never felt so exposed. Standing there in my bra and panties, I felt as though he were studying my very bones. I wished he would reach out and grab me. I wished I could reach out and grab him.

  He stood very still, watching me as my heartbeat began to race and my lips parted in anticipation.

  “Lift your arms,” he instructed. “Close your eyes.”

  Licking my lips, I did as he bade. There was a rustle of too much tulle and satin, and then he was dressing me in my bridal gown, sliding it over my head, guiding my arms through the off-the-shoulder sleeves. The skin of his fingertips was just the tiniest bit rough, and it sent my nerves dancing as they glided over the sensitive insides of my arms.

  The thick material passed over my face, and he pulled it down.

  “Turn,” he said.

  I did.

  Strong hands smoothed over my skin, arranging, plucking, settling. Then I felt the dress tighten and hear the hiss of the zipper as he slowly pulled it up.

  The bodice became tight, tight, tighter, and I realized that the dress was a size too small. “Er,” I said, “I think I need a size up?”

  “No,” he said, his voice thick. “No, I don't think you do.”

  The bodice cinched me in tight, and by the time it was done I could barely breathe. Warm hands on my waist turned me around.

  “You may open your eyes,” he said.

  Oh, may I? I wanted to say, but I didn't. I wanted him to keep touching me, too, and those two desires were at odds.

  I opened my eyes. The smile had returned to his lips. “You look... romantic,” he told me.

  That... was probably not a good descriptor. “May I see?” I said, gesturing towards the door, and he obligingly moved out of my way. I exited and made my way up on the platform. Only then did I let myself look in the mirror.

  It was... well. It wasn't exactly a Telenova gown, but even so I suddenly realized why the assistant had made such a face.

  I was swathed—nay, swaddled—in white, frothy fabric. My chest, never my greatest asset, was completely lost in the riot of fiddly flowers and glitz. My shoulders, always narrow, couldn't hold the weight of the neckline, and my body, which had always been a little more boyish than I'd wanted, was lost inside the excessive skirts. I looked like a kid trying on her mother's wedding dress. I wasn't womanly enough to carry it off.

  Shouldn't have been a surprise, really. I still felt like a little girl, and never more so than now, with my whole life running away from me.

  I stood in the boutique and felt the weight of the situation press down on me suddenly. I was wearing my dream gown, and it looked awful on me. The universe couldn't even give me this one little thing.

  For some reason, that—not the fact that I was marrying a man I almost didn't even know, not the fact that my shithead father was getting a second chance after emotionally blackmailing me, not the fact that my mother was sick and she didn't even tell me—that was what made tears well in my eyes and my throat close. That was the last straw.

  I was just so stupid. Sadie was right.

  Swallowing my tears I turned and picked up the ridiculous skirt and hightailed it back into the dressing room.

  Anton stood there, his brows raised. “You don't like it?” he asked me. My disappointment must have shown more on my face than I'd thought.

  Bravely I shook my head. “You were right,” I said. “I should go for something more elegant.”

  To his credit, he didn't say anything about how he was always right, which is what I would have done, because I'm an asshole. Instead I shut the door and rubbed at my eyes while he stood there, looking faintly bewildered.

  “What is wrong?” he asked me.

  I looked at him. He seemed genuinely concerned. So. Maybe he didn't like tears. I'd have to file that away, maybe, but right now I didn't want him to see my weakness.

  “Nothing. I just...” My throat closed.

  So much for not showing weakness. Record time from resolution to collapse.

  I swallowed. “I just thought a dress like this would be great. And it's not. I've always wanted to wear one and look like a princess, but...” I shrugged helplessly. “Whatever. It's not important.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I think I understand,” he said. “Perhaps it could be altered?”

  I shook my head. I didn't want to dwell on it. “No, it doesn't matter.” I started twisting and turning, trying to get at the zipper.

  “You've wanted to wear a dress like that since you were a little girl,” he said, like he wasn't willing to just let it go.

  I forced myself to laugh. “Yeah, but I'm not a little girl any more, even though I kind of look like one.”

  He spread his hands and appeared to think for a moment. “I am sorry. The gap between fantasy and reality grows larger with time,” he told me, which was some serious Buddha shit that I was not at all prepared to be all zen about. I just wanted him to shut up.

  “Whatever,” I said. Tears blurring my vision, I turned away and twisted, reaching around behind me to unfasten the dress. This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to wear his dumb elegant dress. I didn't want to do this without my mom and my girlfriends. And I definitely didn't want to marry Anton Waters.

  “Felicia,” he said. My name. The first time he had said it. For a moment, I caught genuine concern in his voice.

  A large, warm hand alighted on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug him off, but some pathetic need stopped me. Everything was so wrong. I just wanted someone to make it right again. Why wasn't I shopping for wedding dresses with my mother and Sadie? Why wasn't I getting married to a man I loved? Why did it have to be this way?

  The comforting hand on my shoulder tensed. I felt him begin to pull away.

  I reached up and grabbed his hand.

  I didn't really know what to do with it when I had caught it, so I stayed there, struggling to maintain my composure.

  I felt Anton's hesitance behind me. Then his fingers tightened, and again that incredible electric charge between us sparked.

  “You look beautiful in white,” he whispered, and then he tugged his hand away and was undoing the dress, unhooking the fastenings and slowly, tortuously tugging the zipper down. Bit by bit, my back was bared to him, and he covered every inch revealed with a heated kiss.

  Arousal heate
d in my belly. Sparks danced up and down my spine as my legs turned to jelly and I put my hands out to brace myself against the wall. My head was suddenly too heavy for my neck, and I bit my lip as his soft, warm lips teased sensations from my skin that I hadn't even known existed.

  “Oh,” I moaned softly. “Oh, please...”

  He drew back. “Please, what, Felicia?”

  I didn't even know. “Please, don't stop,” I said.

  “Don't stop... what?”

  There was an edge in his voice I'd heard before, when he cornered me in his office, when he'd sucked my clit beneath the table and made me come. He was going to do it again.

  “Don't stop kissing me,” I said. “Don't stop anything.”

  “You aren't in any position to give me demands,” he said. Then his hand closed over the back of my neck and he pulled me away from the wall.

  This was a dangerous game I was playing, and I didn't know any of the rules, but I found I didn't really care. He would teach them to me, and I would enjoy every minute of it. I sagged into him, but his hand was like iron, holding me up.

  “Spread your legs,” he whispered in my ear. His breath sent shivers raging over my neck and up my scalp, and I found myself doing as he bade without even thinking about it. I walked my feet outwards, until I stood in a wide stance.

  His hand crept up into my hair and caught it, not painfully, but firmly. I was in his control.

  “What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I told you I'd let you live on your feet,” he said. Then he pushed, flipping me over, bending me at the waist.

  The sudden change disoriented me and I gasped and put my hands out to keep from falling. The rough carpet of the floor burned my palms and I hissed, but I had no time to dwell on that because he was gathering the endless layers of skirts in his hands and pushing them up over my back, until the upper half of my body was trapped in a tent of tulle and my ass was exposed for the world to see.