An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3) (18 page)

He laughs. “That actually sounds pretty gross.”

“You don’t like caviar?”

“I do, just not on my pizza.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat, squirming under his amused regard. “Either today or tomorrow, I need to go back to my apartment and get my car.”

“It’s already in the parking garage, but it’s probably better if you don’t drive it.”

“I can’t be without a car.” Another text pops up on my phone screen.
Don’t avoid me
. My stomach knots. As if I could.

“Of course not. You can drive the Mercedes.”

The huge diamond on my finger catches the sunlight, fracturing it brilliantly. “I really prefer my own car.”

Dennis texts me again.
You owe me that much
.

My lips thin. That’s too convenient and simplified a view of our tangled family background.
We’ll meet as soon as I sort out my calendar
.
Stop harassing me
.

Apparently unaware of my mood, Elliot makes a vague, noncommittal noise that says the discussion’s over as far as he is concerned.

I too am through with talking. He thinks he can just exert his will, and I’ll do as he says. The deal calls for my body for his use. I’ll honor that because I agreed—I need the money, the freedom it’s going to provide me with—but I’m not giving him any more control.

* * *

Annabelle

After changing into a comfortably loose gray skirt and an oversized, pink off-the-shoulder T-shirt, I spend the rest of the day going over the course catalog from the local community college. It’s too late for me to enroll for the current term, but I can start next year. I’ll probably complete about a semester’s worth, and then some, before the divorce proceedings start. It gives me a little sense of satisfaction. I’ll be that much closer to getting the four-year degree I want.

“You finished with that?” Elliot asks. He’s in a pair of gray lounging pants and a black V-neck shirt that molds to his perfect physique. Veins stand out on his arms, his muscles the kind you can’t get unless you work at it. His hair stands in spikes as though he’s run his fingers through it. Unlike his previously neat style, it makes him look utterly touchable, like he’s just rolled out of bed.

The thought of bed warms my cheeks, and tremors ripple over me like a phantom breeze. I deliberately shove it out of my mind. I’m not going to think about sex at all, no matter how scrumptious he looks. I close my old laptop and push it aside on the dining table. “Yes.”

He takes a seat to my left. It’s close enough that I can get a faint whiff of aftershave and something else that’s uniquely Elliot. My muscles soften at the decadently sinful smell. Even though I’ve only known him for so little time, I can pick that scent out anywhere, any time.

“We need to have a reception,” he says. “I’ll leave the planning up to you.”

I blink. “A reception?”

“For our wedding.”

“Yeah, but…it’s already over.” Our simple and efficient courthouse ceremony. A perfect reflection of our relationship.

“It was expected that I would elope or do whatever the hell I wanted with the wedding. But a reception is also expected for a few close family members and friends.”

“Do you want me to plan a family dinner?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” He shrugs carelessly.

“Who am I inviting?”

“My family, plus whoever you want.” He drums his fingers on the table. “But hold off on sending the invitations to my parents as long as you can. The reception should be in a week, but their invitations should go out two days before. At the earliest.”

I gasp. “That gives them no warning at all.”

“Precisely.”

“How about your siblings? Elizabeth and Ryder and…” I trail off helplessly. I have no idea who his siblings are. Haven’t even met them. It strikes me then how little I know about Elliot. He’s my husband—albeit for a year—but I know less about him than I did about my high school boyfriend.

“Invite them ASAP…along with Blake and Lucas, although I’m pretty sure they won’t come.”

“Who are they?”

“Blake is the oldest and my half-brother. Lucas is my twin.”

Oh
,
right
… The genius twin who created the company with Elliot. I hope he’s wrong, about Lucas at least. I want to meet him. “Okay. I’ll need to see what venues are available that soon.”

“We can hold it here. There’s plenty of room unless you have a long guest list on your side of the family.”

I shake my head. “Nobody, really.” My parents were both orphans. That was how they bonded—the need for somebody to fill the void and complete their lives.

And they single-handedly destroyed my friendships with everyone I knew in Lincoln City. Even as I resent—and sometimes rage at—what they did, I can’t really hate them for it because they were my mother and father, and we had some beautiful moments together. I still struggle with reconciling the fact that they ruined countless lives but were still loving parents.

“Then it should be easy,” Elliot says.

I nod. “By the way, are there any other appointments I’m required to go to?”

The eloquent dark brow arches.

“Like today. I don’t know what you have planned, and unless I know what my schedule’s going to be like, it’s hard for me to structure my days.” My words fall smoothly from my lips although I’m really thinking about the meeting with Dennis. His impatience is strange. He should want to avoid me as much as I want to avoid him.

“No.”

I nod. “Great. Thanks.”

Annabelle

Dinner is a surprisingly simple affair. Even after Elliot said pizza was fine, I had my doubts. People like him should be into fancier things, the kind that can reinforce my belief that he and I are fundamentally too different.

Instead he’s too damn normal. We even eat at the coffee table with some show on the huge screen mounted on the wall, and Nonny has sparkles in her eyes, something I haven’t seen much since our parents’ deaths.

“Don’t you have homework?” I ask as I clear the table.

“Yeah.” She makes a face. “Algebra II. Ugh.”

“Why ‘ugh’?” Elliot props the side of his face in his hand, his elbow dug into the cushion at the back of the couch.

“It doesn’t make sense. And it’s not like I’m ever going to use it.”

“You’re going to need it to look good on your transcript at least, especially if you want to go to college.” Even as I point that out, I cringe inwardly. Math isn’t my forte, and I can’t really help her with advanced algebra homework. What’s going to happen is she and I will struggle through it and eventually have a somewhat less vague idea about how it’s supposed to work.

Nonny wrinkles her nose, and Elliot taps the tip with his index finger. “Your sister’s absolutely correct. Let me take a look. Maybe I can help.”

“Really?” She shoots a quick look my way. “Is that okay?”

He turns his head toward me. A small frown on his face pops up, then vanishes. “If you’d rather do it, I can get the dishes.”

“No, it’s fine.” He’s the genius who made his fortune when he was barely twenty-one. I’m only going to look silly as I fumble through the textbook. I flush and actually shuffle my feet a bit. “I’ll clean up.”

I gather the plates and take them into the kitchen. Nonny pulls out her textbook, and Elliot moves over to sit next to her. It’s a little surreal to see them with their heads so close together.

Nonny isn’t terrible at math, but her teacher this year isn’t all that good at explaining concepts. It doesn’t help that she turns to me to explain things that neither of us really understand. It’s been another source of frustration.

I watch them work on a problem. Smart people who get it quickly and naturally can be impatient and even unkind to those who aren’t as gifted as they are. Elliot probably never had to tutor kids for spending money.

“You’ve almost got the idea, but when you have variables laid out like this, you want to move things around so that almost everything is on one side of the equals sign. Then you isolate one variable and you can solve for it. Like this.” There’s a pause as he makes rapid marks on a piece of scratch paper. “See? So, here are the steps…”

Elliot’s calm, confident voice washes over me. He watches Nonny work on a problem, then corrects her and explains why it isn’t right and how she can avoid making the same error next time. She nods and jots down some notes.

Her algebra teacher usually assigns about twenty problems for homework, and Elliot works through all of them with my sister, painstakingly checking her work and praising her when she’s done well. A bright smile lights her face, and a pang reverberates through me, followed by a warmth that seeps all the way to my bones.

He isn’t supposed to be this damn sweet. He’s supposed to be the arrogant, entitled prick who ordered me to get on my knees to suck him off and called someone else’s name out while climaxing inside me. He’s supposed to be the heartless jerk I’m giving my body to for a year so that I can have money—a sum that will provide me with a means to get rid of Mr. Grayson and exercise control over my own destiny.

I can’t deal with this sweet, patient fellow who’s helping my sister with her homework—and doing a better job of it than I could. He’s already probably ruined me for sex with other men. I don’t want to long for more…spending evenings cuddling and watching movies, or walking along a beach holding hands… How ridiculous to even entertain the fantasy, given that we’ll be through with each other in a year?

He tilts his head, then looks over his shoulder as though he’s sensed my eyes on him. Our gazes lock, and my heart thuds with a crazy, erratic beat that inexplicably hurts.

Nonny’s touch on his arm has him tearing his gaze from mine, and then he’s explaining some new point.

I lower my head and quickly flee the scene before any more of it can get to me.

Annabelle

I shower, then put on a decadently sheer nightgown from the closet. It’s made of more lace than silk and reaches mid-thigh. Its emerald color deepens my eyes and the low cut showcases the swell of my breasts.

I climb into bed, pulling the sheet to my collarbones and read on my phone. I downloaded a free romance novel last week, and I’m going to see if it’s distracting enough to help me relax.

The story is surprisingly riveting. The firefighter hero is seriously hot, with a gorgeous body and incredible bedroom skills. He makes the heroine come so hard she almost loses her mind. A couple of days ago I would’ve shaken my head at the author’s literary license and thought,
Well
,
we can’t have a hero who isn’t a bedroom fantasy
,
can we?

But now it’s different.

I know what a skilled man can do with a woman’s body. How he can bring it to an orgasm so powerful the pleasure borders on pain.

My breasts grow heavy, more sensitive with the memory. A familiar heat pools in my core as a tingling sensation sweeps over me. My nipples ache, and my breath goes shallow.

The emptiness between my legs throbs. I roll to my side, trying to get more comfortable, but my skin prickles with need.

Giving up, I lie back, my eyes closed, the phone clutched in my out-flung hand. The firefighter in the book takes the heroine from behind while she’s on her hands and knees. What would it be like to have Elliot like that, all wild and uncontrolled? Heat rises to my cheeks, and I bite my lower lip to suppress a moan.

Awareness tickles my senses before my brain registers Elliot’s presence in the bedroom. I keep my eyes closed as though I can lessen the impact of his nearness by not seeing him.

There is a featherlight touch along my jawline. I shiver.

“What’s giving you that look?” he whispers, his breath fanning my skin.

“Nothing,” I say finally, not willing to tell him what I’ve been fantasizing about.

The mattress dips, and he tugs the sheet away. “Lovely,” he whispers, slipping a hand under the hem of my nightie. His callused fingertips brush over my bare legs and hips. Despite the light touch, I feel them all the way to my clit.

“Doggy style, hmm?”

My eyes fly open. His head is tilted and he’s reading the text on my phone.

I hit the sleep/wake button, and the screen goes black instantly. But it’s too late.

He watches me with lust glittering in his gaze. My heart pounds so hard I can’t hear anything except the roar of the blood.

“Is that what you want, beautiful?” he asks, pressing his nose at the crook of my neck and inhaling my scent. He nuzzles gently. His five o’clock shadow grazes my skin, and I feel the rasp as though it’s a direct flick over my clit. “Want me to get you going, make you beg for it on your hands and knees?”

The scenario he whispers about should be too preposterous. I’ve never begged for sex, ever. It was never that exciting or important. But with Elliot…it’s different. I wonder if he can actually make me beg…and what it would take to become that desperate.

He pushes the nightgown out of the way and presses his mouth on every unveiled inch, from mid-thigh to pelvis, where I have a pair of nude panties on. With one finger hooked on the left side and teeth clamped on the other, he pulls them down. His breath fans over my legs, and the edge of his upper teeth scrapes my skin, leaving a trail of heat behind.

After pulling the underwear off, he studies them. “Lovely. And wet.”

My face flames at the glistening moisture in the crotch part of the panties. But he exudes a confident sexuality and satisfaction, as though everything is the way it should be.

Fisting the scrap of satin in his hand, he slowly moves over me. His tongue traces the inside curve of one thigh while he drags the satin up the other. After an eternity, the two meet at the apex. He pauses over my damp curls, breathing in. “Delicious.”

My mouth dries, my body throbbing with anticipation. I can almost feel my clit swell with eagerness for what’s to come.

But he doesn’t put his mouth there. Instead he nips my belly and then laves the stinging spot. Air saws in and out of my lungs, and I clench the sheet under me.

The firmness of his lips, the abrasive five o’clock shadow and sharp nips of his teeth contrast with each other, teasing my senses. I whimper. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. He’s taller, easily a hundred pounds heavier—all of it muscle—and could hold me with ease. But even without the strength and size difference, he can dominate me with his strength of will and the dark focus in his eyes that pins me to the bed.