Not the Marrying Kind(39)

This had to be about sex. It had to. He couldn’t handle getting emotionally involved. It wouldn’t end well.

“You were right. You’re beyond talented.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Eager to dispel the intimacy that could prove to be his undoing, he snagged his wallet out of his pants and slipped a condom out. He sheathed himself in record time, eager to be inside her, desperate to lose himself in the physical and obliterate any semblance of intimacy.

She opened her arms to him and he rejoined her on the bed, entering her in one swift thrust that made her cry out in pleasure.

Heaven. Tight, slick, heaven. Surrounding him. Clenching him.

He’d wanted to prolong this.

Not now.

Later.

And then she started moving beneath him, lifting her legs to lock around his waist, taking him in deeper.

That’s when he lost it.

He drove into her like a man possessed, loving how she met him thrust for thrust.

His abs cramped with the force of it and as the blood roared in his ears and his brain effectively blanked, she bit into his shoulder.

He came in a cataclysmic explosion that shook him to his core, unable to think, unable to register anything beyond…fuck.

What they’d just done? Had blown his mind.

He’d just had the best sex of his life.

With his wife.

…



Poppy liked dating and she enjoyed sex, but she’d never been a fan of the one-night stand.

Which made her decidedly grumpy when she woke the next morning to find her husband gone and a crappy note propped on the bedside table.



Thanks for yesterday.

Duty calls. In meetings all day.

Red Rock Canyon departure changed. Need to attend several functions before you leave in a few days.

Beck.



She stared at the note in disbelief before crumpling it and flinging it halfway across the room.

Arrogant, smug bastard.

Thanks for yesterday. What was that? Forced, polite appreciation for marrying his conceited hide? Or for the most amazing, wanton night of her life?

And way to go with the organizing when her departure would occur and lack of a signoff. No “Love.” No xx.

Beck.

She could wring his neck.

She paced the monstrous bedroom, scuffing wilted poppies along the way. Kicking the flowers didn’t make her feel a whole lot better, but it did succeed in working off some of her anger. By the time she’d made her sixth circuit of the room, she felt calm enough to take a good look around.

Ebony carpets. Chrome-edged furniture. High-tech blackout blinds. While its modernity was appealing, the starkness of the bedroom reinforced what she already knew. Beck Blackwood didn’t do fuss. He didn’t like clutter or stuff. He liked orderly and precise and well controlled—as long as he was doing the controlling.

Even last night had been about control. He’d planned the seduction; the poppies were evidence of that. He’d pleasured her repeatedly with his hands and mouth—not that she could complain—but hadn’t given her time to return the favor, taking her every which way, inventing positions she hazarded to guess the Kama Sutra hadn’t depicted yet.

Exiling her to Red Rock Canyon? Yeah, further signs of a control freak.

She wanted to rebel. She wanted to barge into his office, lay across his desk, and dare him to deny what they both felt last night. Very real proof that this marriage went beyond convenient.

A second after the thought registered in her sleep-deprived brain, she fell back on the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

What was she thinking?

She didn’t want to acknowledge there was anything in this marriage beyond money. And sex, thanks to how she’d foolishly given in to him last night. Thinking along the lines of more…nope, crazy.

Being banished to the desert after his precious bloody functions was a good thing. She’d have loads of time to plan Lou’s divorce party and do some online marketing for Divorce Diva Daily. With the bonus of getting some distance and perspective between her and him.

Yeah, that’s exactly what she’d do.

Beck Blackwood could go about his business and she’d go about hers.

Far away from mesmerizing green eyes and sexy stubble and a mouth made for sin.

…



Beck had planned on taking a twenty-four hour vacation the day after his wedding. People would expect it, would think he’d be holed up in his penthouse with his new wife.

That had been the plan. Until last night.

Last night had changed everything.

He was no longer under any illusions that marriage to Poppy would be a simple business affair. She had something about her, something with the capacity to reach down to his soul and tweak, hard. He didn’t let anyone get close, least of all a woman who was mercenary enough to marry for money.

Never mind that he was being harsh in judging her, considering he’d left her little choice in the matter. In fact, he respected her for doing what she did to save her sister’s business. Not many women would go to those lengths, marry a virtual stranger, for family.