The Marriage Agenda(10)

Chloe laughed. "Look, I know it's a hard sell, but can you trust me here? I know what I'm doing."

Lila sighed. "That must have been some amazing sex."

Amazing was an understatement. The sex was so amazing it had "bad idea"  written all over it. Despite the tingles wreaking havoc with her body,  Chloe outwardly ignored the comment. "The wedding will be just him and  me and the minister and the required witnesses, but there will be a  reception next Friday at the Wyndham Club."

Lila's long, low whistle cut the silence. "Nicely played."

Chloe let go of a breath. Lila's tone had lost its suspicious note.  Chloe had been worried her friend would push until she got some version  of the truth, but she'd backed off. "I wouldn't say-"

Knox walked in. To their bedroom. Everything had happened so quickly.  Forty-eight hours ago, she'd been complaining about missing a date with  her sofa and a carton of ice cream, and now she was engaged to a man who  had literally been named DC's most eligible bachelor two years running.  She just couldn't get over the fact she and Knox shared a bedroom. And a  bed. And soon, vows. False ones.

"I've got to go, Lila." Chloe ended the call to the sound of Lila's  unanswered protests and drank in the sight of Knox leaning against the  doorframe. Though his stance was casual-and effortlessly so-he stood as  if he had been sculpted. The man was a model of physical perfection. He  looked more like an athlete than a politician. It was no wonder he was  polling favorably … he probably left every woman in his target demographic  quaking. That lopsided, boyish grin just begged to be tasted, and she'd  yet to wrap her brain around the fact she was the only one whose mouth  would get anywhere near him. She was the one he wanted.

She was the one he didn't want to love.

His gaze toured her unapologetically, and she returned the perusal as  good as she got. How did a man who probably spent ninety percent of his  waking hours in a suit manage to be so tan? He looked as if he had just  stepped off a yacht. Hell, he probably had a yacht. They were to be  married in a matter of days, and she didn't even know. She'd tried to  make up for the year of ignoring his existence with an hour of Googling  him that morning, but the yacht thing hadn't surfaced.

Interestingly enough, neither had any other women. She didn't think him  dishonest, but it was so hard to believe that he'd managed to keep his  hands to himself-however literally-since they'd split. She had no doubt  the Pierce girls had their sources, but they couldn't know everything.  They hadn't known about her.

"Have you really been flying solo since you broke up with me?"

His lips quirked. "In what way?"

Her field of view narrowed with her eyes. "Sexually."

"You first."

"I already told you I had."

"And I already told you the same."

"A year is a long time to abstain," she said. Just because the internet  hadn't spewed forth any candidates didn't mean they didn't exist. He'd  managed to date her for months without drawing attention to their  relationship.         

     



 

He raised his brow. "Where are you going with this?"

Too late, she realized this conversation might be taking a dangerous  turn, but she wouldn't give him the pleasure of thinking he was getting  to her. He had enough evidence of that already. She smiled sweetly. "I  don't think you've made it more than ten hours since we were  reacquainted."

He graced her with a smug, tilted grin, which couldn't be more kissable  if it tasted of chocolate and wine. He crossed the room, his bare feet  toe deep in the most ridiculously plush carpeting that could possibly  exist anywhere, and leaned so his lips grazed her ear. "I haven't heard  any complaints."

Well, he had her there. The sex was incredible, but wasn't that the  problem? She wasn't a Neanderthal-she couldn't be the recipient of those  tender touches and mind-bending orgasms and not fall harder. And then  there was that whole morals charge …  As ridiculous as it sounded, she  didn't want to be the mistress to his almighty principles. It didn't  matter how sincere his purpose for refusing love. He refused it all the  same.

And if she wanted to keep a single piece of her heart intact, she'd have to refuse him back.

"Are you suggesting I can't go without sex?" he asked.

"I bet you can't." She was flailing. And with that challenge, she was flat-out crazy.

His eyes narrowed but not with suspicion-more like interest. Enough  interest to suggest she'd just taken a misstep of epic proportions.  "Can't what?"

She found her tongue … and, in looking at him, a thousand things she'd  rather do with it than continue this no-win conversation. "I bet you  can't wait long at all for sex."

"Are you serious?" He didn't present any of the indignation the words  suggested. He looked more like an animal circling its prey-an animal  with a serenity of expression that indicated he knew he'd already won.

Um, no? "Of course I'm serious."

"You're on."

Uh-oh. "On what?"

He laughed, but he didn't sound as if he was joking. "You don't seem to  think I can last for an extended period of time without sex, and I don't  think you'll last the week. You're on. First one to beg for it loses."

Chloe pasted on a grin, though inside she was undulating at the  knowledge of what he could do to her. She was in it this deep … and it  didn't sound much like a bet anyone would lose. At least not without  winning. "That's a bit open to interpretation, don't you think? I think  we need something a little more concrete."

"What do you have in mind?"

"You can beg all you want …  It's the orgasm that decides it."

His brow lifted.

"Any orgasm," she clarified, shooting a pointed look in the direction of  his man parts. "Keeping your hands to yourself won't help you this  time."

He returned the carnal focus, and she'd swear she heated under his  appraisal. "That's cute," he said. "It's also fundamentally unfair."

"Why?" I'll match you coy word for coy word, buddy. "Do you have such a hard time controlling yourself?"

"Around some people."

Good to know. Some people, her ass. He'd better learn to control himself  around all people. "Which brings me back to my point. You can't make it  without sex."

He didn't back down. "Not exactly. My point is you can pretend your orgasm didn't happen. Mine are … unmistakable."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Wait a minute. I didn't say no. What's at stake here?"

"If I win, you get to dress up in your tux and take me out for tacos."

"That's not much of a deterrent."

"Clearly you didn't see your face last time I mentioned it."

He grinned crookedly. "Fine. When I win, you sign up for a culinary class-one where they teach the minimalistic art of plating."

"You're on. And by the way, that will never, ever happen, so prepare to beg."

"Knox?" A woman's voice called from elsewhere in the house.

Chloe jumped, but Knox didn't flinch. "Who is that?" she asked.

"My mother."

Chloe looked down at her packing-and-moving sweats and back to Knox.  Great. Exactly how anyone would dress to meet the queen. "You're in here  talking about sex," she hissed, "and your mother is here?"

He shrugged from behind one of those boyish, lopsided grins. "You have that effect on me."         

     



 

"That's just what I want your mother to know. Ever heard of a first impression?"

"I wanted you then, too."

Chloe stared at him, her jaw unhinged.

"Knox?" His mother sounded closer now.

"Get out there before she finds us," Chloe said. "I need five minutes."

"Yes, dear."

Chloe rolled her eyes and nudged him through the doorway. She stopped  short of pushing the door closed all the way-she didn't want news of his  mother's visit to be met with that noise, of all things-and made a mad  dash for the Biggest Closet on Earth. Her meager wardrobe looked to be  even less so in the massive space, but that didn't make it any easier to  find something to wear. Fortunately, the clothes she had hanging in her  apartment had been brought over on their hangers. She quickly found a  simple maxi dress and ditched her sweat pants and tee, brushed her hair,  and slipped into a comfortable pair of sandals.

Mother-in-law. Somehow that particular phrase hadn't entered the vernacular of the marriage talk.

She swung open the door and followed the sound of voices to the kitchen.  Great. Chloe was completely out of her element in the gleaming expanse  of polished granite and stainless steel. The only things in the room  that were remotely familiar were the sink and the microwave, and the  latter had twice as many buttons as hers at home. She was totally  without her bearings … what better place or time to meet Knox's mother? It  didn't matter how nice Katherine Hamilton appeared in the public eye.  Selling a sudden marriage to the media would be hard enough … convincing  this woman she hadn't married her son for his bank account would  probably require a miracle.