She was scared to death she'd let him down.
Knox put a hand on her leg. "You'll be fine," he said as if he'd read her mind. More likely, the worry played all over her face, which was just something else to worry about.
"One can hope," she said. Of course he wasn't worried. He probably hadn't spent an hour trying to memorize the purpose of four glasses at a single place setting.
He touched her chin, drawing her to look at him. "One can hope for absolutely nothing more, Mrs. Hamilton. You are absolutely beautiful."
She averted her eyes from the sincerity raking his achingly handsome face.
"I have something for you." He released her, but the feeling lingered.
Her fingers drifted to her throat, where a gorgeous diamond-pendant necklace hung, which-along with matching earrings-had arrived that afternoon via special courier in a box from Tiffany & Co. They paired beautifully with her simple white gown, which was similar to the one she'd worn for their wedding, and together with her wedding rings made for a jaw-dropping ensemble. As it was, she was scarcely able to walk under the weight of the diamonds.
"What else could you possibly have for me?"
He grinned and reached down to the floor of the limo. When he straightened, he held a potted plant.
"In what universe is it a good idea for you to remind me of this right now?" She was still irked over having lost her title.
Knox offered a soft smile. "I believe flowers are a rather gentlemanly gesture."
"Flowers, yes. Houseplant number thirteen … Oh, God. Thirteen. Are you kidding me? Tonight of all nights-"
He laughed. "Relax. Besides, I happen to think thirteen is a great number."
Easy for him to say. He hadn't just been hexed.
Despite the fact they were sitting directly in front of the brilliantly lit venue, Knox appeared in no hurry to leave the car. "Do you know why I married you?"
"Because I said yes?" She gave a short, humorless laugh and brushed at the front of her dress, picking at spots she didn't actually see. What had she been thinking, getting herself into this?
He didn't return the laugh. Instead, he traced her cheek with a fingertip. "That helped, yes. But before that, what I … what attracted me to you was how real you are."
"Was I preceded by a line of blow-up dolls?"
"I'm serious," he said. But he smiled anyway. "You're spectacular. They won't know what hit them."
Her breath hitched, and she got another whiff of that deep, citrusy scent of his, which she adored. It was the last conscious thought she had before his lips touched hers. In that brief instant, she'd expected something formal-something for show, just in case anyone was watching-but there was no formality to be found in the softness of his kiss. One minute he was sitting next to her with his hand on her thigh, and the next he'd cupped her face with both hands and his mouth had met hers with a tenderness that turned her inside out. His tongue tangled with hers, tentatively at first, but the more she moved against him, the more fiercely he claimed her.
The kiss might have lasted seconds or hours-she'd been that lost to him. And when it ended, he didn't just break free. He caught her lip between his own and smiled, the sensual tenderness enough to break her. The Wyndham Club ceased to exist, and she saw only him. For a moment they sat frozen, and when he brushed her mouth the second time, her lips were already parted. If only he would dive in and put his hands everywhere and prove himself to be a brute, she could pull away and fuss about her hair and her dress and what people would say, but that wasn't Knox. His touch was so light she barely felt it, yet it consumed her.
The kiss that followed was impossibly leisurely and deep. It was as if time stilled and left them suspended in that moment of twinkling lights, she and Knox immersed in the rich scent of leather and the plush seats, Chloe lost to feelings she had to convince herself didn't exist.
But no such convincing would happen in that moment. Not when the fragile hunger of that kiss overwhelmed her. Not when she couldn't breathe from her want of him and not when he swept her mouth with the kind of deep-seated desire that ought to be illegal from any man who wasn't already buried between her thighs.
Passion flared hotly and burned slow, a raging ember, if such a thing could exist. All she knew was the taste of him and the furious tempo of her heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they needed to be somewhere else, but all she wanted was to see him out of that tux, naked and sweaty and pounding mercilessly into her.
She slid her arms under his jacket at the same time he reached for the small of her back and pulled her close, her dress inching to mid-thigh. His other hand flirted with the hem, then slid to her soaked center. The heavy scent of her arousal permeated the car.
"Dammit, Chloe."
"What?" She practically panted the word. She might have been embarrassed if not for the hitch in his breath. The last time she'd seen that look on his face, they'd been so tangled up she couldn't tell whose limbs were whose, and in that moment she'd have given almost anything to go back there, lost in a conflagration of all-consuming passion.
"I'm sorry. This is not the time or the place," he said. But he didn't let go.
Chloe sucked in a shaky breath. She should push him away, straighten her dress, and learn to live without him, but it was a hard sell with the taste of him still on her lips. It would be so easy-and so, so incredible-to let him follow through on that desire. Her dress was already bunched around her thighs. The only thing between them was his zipper, and she'd take it down with her teeth if it meant he'd drive into her until she couldn't breathe. He was hard, the evidence pressed deliberately against her thigh, and she couldn't remember when she'd been so lit with desire. Maybe it was that she could never really have him, or maybe it was knowing there was a stable full of blue bloods anticipating their arrival, but it didn't matter.
She wanted him desperately.
All the more reason to save herself. "I guess we should go in."
He dropped his head to her shoulder. "I guess we should."
She leaned back against the seat, a little surprised to discover the windows were fogged up. That actually happened?
"I want you to remember." He tugged at his jacket to straighten it. "I chose you, Chloe. Not because I didn't have a choice, but because you were the only woman I wanted."
Yep, lucky her. Why did he have to keep doing this? Though she hadn't forgotten his be-kind-to-thy-wife speech, if she didn't put some kind of distance between them she would drown in all those swarming emotions she could never own. Not with him. She swallowed. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you like me or something. I believe we banned all emotional connections."
He looked at her for an awfully long time before he spoke-long enough that she started hoping for some great confession. I do love you. I just haven't been able to admit it.
It didn't come.
She had grossly underestimated her ability to maintain an emotional distance. On paper, it made sense that she should be able to keep her heart reeled in when she knew their relationship was just a business arrangement, but she could not look at him without believing there was more. Walking away might be a little harder than she expected.
But did it matter? He didn't want more. It didn't matter if more existed or not.
He hadn't replied, and she wasn't sure she wanted him to. To hear him deny anything between them while the air still sizzled from the electricity they created would have been painful.
Suddenly desperate to be free from him, she reached for the door. He put a hand on her arm and stopped her. "Let me."
"I'm sorry. I forgot it was the chauffeur's job."
"Not tonight. Wait for me. I want to do it."
He smiled gently and exited the car on his side, leaving her staring at the potted tree on the floor. It seemed to echo what he'd said about her, for there was no way in hell she could imagine him bringing a freaking bonsai bush to a tall blonde with enormous implants and a bank account to match. Her mouth twisted. The nameless bitch could probably walk in heels, too. Not a wobble.
The door beside her opened, and even though she'd just had her tongue buried in Knox's mouth, the sight of him standing there took her breath. He held his hand out for her, so she took it, rising as gracefully as a recently mauled woman could. He stood between her and the Wyndham Club while she adjusted her dress, smiling when she was stuck palming her own boobs to get her dress to lay right.
"Your fault," she said.
"Guilty." He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and smiled as he turned and led her inside.
Her breath caught. The stunning ballroom was overwhelmingly white, with high archways, sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows, and columns that looked as if they belonged in richly Southern antebellum-style architecture. The ornate décor-some of it astutely presidential in style-featured gilded accent pieces that shone brightly in the light of a thousand candles. The tables-each one drenched in layers and layers of white linens and topped with sparkling table service-had been set up around the dance floor.