The Marriage Agenda(22)

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.