He still watched her, waiting for an answer.
"They're beautiful," she said. Not a shred of untruth there.
He reached for her hand, then laced his fingers with hers and drew her next to him as he set off at an easy pace along the shoreline. "I didn't want to get the traditional solitaire. I thought you might want to save that for … for it to be special. In case you moved on and … found someone."
What a thoughtful ass.
"We've been married less than an hour," she said. "I'm guessing most couples at this point are still expecting it to last."
He drew her to a stop. A wave tumbled ashore, the surf flirting close to their feet. And then he kissed her.
No photographer. No ceremony. Just a man and the woman he vowed not to love and the impossibly soft touch of his lips to hers. "I can give you that," he murmured of the kiss. "I will always give you that."
She could have pushed him in the ocean. She should have pushed him in the ocean. But before she regained her equilibrium, his mouth was again on hers. And it was she who was drowning. The wave that finally did soak the bottom of her dress had nothing on his ability to pull her under, or the way he drove a new surge of sensation with every gentle, sweeping movement of his kiss. She was one misfired hormone away from ripping yet another shirt from his chest.
Hormones. It was lust. It had to be. Because she could not be so stupid as to allow herself to love him.
They were still standing there, feet buried in wet sand. He touched her cheek, chasing a stray lock of her hair from her face. "Are you sure your mom's not upset?"
"My mother? This is where this moment takes you?"
He laughed. "Not exactly. I just feel a little bad about what you missed. Your father walking you down the aisle … our mothers sobbing in the front row."
"Oh, she'd be sobbing all right."
"That doesn't sound good."
"Can you blame her? Most of what she knows about your family she learned in the check-out lane of the supermarket."
He frowned. "I hope she'll be willing to look past that."
"Does it matter? She doesn't normally get a say-so in matters of my employment."
Even in the growing twilight, the flash of pain in Knox's eyes was palpable.
"I'm sorry," Chloe said. "You're not what those magazines say, and I know you care about me."
She waited for him to argue. To explain for the umpteenth time why he couldn't love her.
He didn't.
"Is that why you didn't insist on having them here?" he asked quietly. "Because this isn't real?"
"In a way, I guess. My parents want to be happy for me. They want me to be happy. They taught me by their example that love comes first, always. How would I stand in front of them and take vows that go against that?"
"I guess I didn't think about how it would affect your family," he said.
"Well, there's some good news."
"How is that good?"
"Total focus on the result and consequences be damned? Maybe you've got some politician in you after all."
Chapter Ten
Knox had never given much thought to the wedding night he never thought he'd have, but any glancing associations had always included sex. Now, after sharing an exquisite dinner with the most amazing woman he'd ever known, the reality of not closing the deal was sinking in like a rock. But even worse was his growing and persistent knowledge that sex wasn't all he wanted.
Clearly, he'd had a glass too many from the bar.
"It's a beautiful night," Chloe said, turning from the window of their honeymoon suite.
Though she'd been first on his mind, her voice still startled him. "Yes, it is," he said, locking his eyes with hers.
She was stunning.
She'd pulled back her long, dark hair, though a few pieces escaped to caress her face. The contrast between those sky-blue eyes and rich chocolate strands belonged on a long-and-growing list of things he found increasingly difficult to resist. He longed to plunge his fingers in her hair, wreck that updo or whatever she'd called it, and explore with his mouth every delicious inch of her exposed skin.
And what a place to strip her to nothing and dive into her again and again-the honeymoon suite with its plush everything, complete with candlelight and a heart-shaped tub, which the room servant had offered to fill with champagne. To some, that might sound romantic, but to Knox-deep pockets notwithstanding-it sounded like a sticky waste of cash.
The room also featured an entire wall of glass, which offered a panoramic view of the ocean waves rolling ashore across an expanse of moonlit sand. The sky in its endless black seemed to spin with its tiny, ubiquitous bursts of starlight.
Everything should have been perfect. Only it wasn't.
She turned from the window, and his breath caught. The candlelight reflected in her eyes, mimicking the dance of moonlight over the water. She'd changed from her dress into shorts and a tee, and her bare legs seemed to go on forever.
"You thinking about losing that bet?" she asked.
"Actually, I'm thinking more about making you lose it."
"Go ahead and try," she challenged. "I can guarantee you'll lose first."
He cleared his throat and tried to swallow past the lump that didn't belong there. "Is this you upping the ante?"
"Not at all. In fact, I hereby vow to keep my hands to myself."
"Yeah, we'll see about that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
One of her eyebrows rose, probably in an effort to evade the blatant skepticism running rampant over her face. Chloe was no kitten, and the narrowed eyes matched with a playful smile made for one hell of a reminder.
He'd backed himself into a corner, and it looked increasingly to be a sexless one. If she wanted to find a way to torture him, she'd nailed it. "Maybe we should … rethink … " The last word was little more than an afterthought. Chloe had stepped out of her shorts to reveal a teeny, lacy thing that looked like another pair of shorts, with only a quarter of the fabric.
"What?" she asked, dragging his attention from her derriere. Her demure tone spoke not of innocence, but of something more along the lines of Game on. "They're called boy shorts. Cute, huh?"
"Please tell me that's just a name. They didn't come from the men's department, did they?"
"Just a name," she said. And proceeded to take off her shirt. The bra underneath matched the boy panties, but he didn't get to consider it long before it, too, was gone.
His manhood leaped for her, but the effort within the confines of his pants was useless, though under her coy scrutiny, it was the only part of him not withering. So much for the lack of sexy wedding-night lingerie.
"Which side do you prefer?" she asked.
Gesturing toward the bed was probably supposed to clarify her meaning, but it had the opposite effect. His brain had calculated a few dozen positions before he reined it in.
"No preference," he said.
"Perfect." She turned and bent at the waist-a bit more so than necessary-to pull back the covers. He half hoped she'd crawl under the blankets and offer him a little respite in the process, but instead she grabbed her bag off the table and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him to pulse an involuntary phallic salute to every sway of her hips.
He forced himself to look at the bed. King-size. Plenty of room. Too much.
Deciding he could taunt just as well as she, Knox stripped out of his clothes. Down to his boxer briefs, he blew out the candles and reached to shut the drapes. But the ocean splintered with silver moonlight made for a stunning display and, after a quick glance in either direction indicated a deserted beach, he decided to leave the curtains open.
He could give her the view.
Feeling somewhat empty inside, he went to the bed, choosing the side nearer the window. It was opposite the side he normally slept on, but if there was any way in hell someone managed to get a lens pointed deep into their fourth-floor suite-an angle that was extremely unlikely based on their proximity to the ocean-they'd see him before her.
They'd have to face the press with the news of their marriage sooner or later, but damned if she was going to do so in those man shorts of hers.
On cue, a swath of light swept the room, into which she appeared briefly before the glow disappeared. She stood, eyes trained on the view, for a few precious seconds.
He lived in that moment to study her, all sleek and toned and his. Her bare skin offered a visual feast, and not just because she was topless, though the latter certainly didn't hurt. What really got him was the fact she'd cleared her face of makeup.
No pretensions-nothing to prove and nothing to hide.
Beautiful.
Real.
"I haven't seen many women without makeup," he said.
"What, you've never been to a grocery store? Life exists outside of that shiny office of yours, you know."