Not the Marrying Kind (14 page)

Something in his expression must’ve alerted her to his nefarious intentions, because she edged back a little. “I’m putting the finishing touches on Lou’s party. Why don’t you dry off and we’ll catch up later?”

“Why don’t we catch up now?”

Before she could move, his hand snaked out, grabbed her ankle, and tugged. She shouted an obscenity—several in fact—as she toppled into the pool beside him. Her hat floated to the surface a second before she did, sputtering and coughing.

“You play dirty.” She shoved him away as he reached for her, and he laughed.

“You love it.”

“Smug bastard,” she muttered, her glare softening when his hands spanned her waist and tugged her closer.

“I love it when you call me names.” He claimed her mouth before she could respond, the latent heat between them igniting in a fiery instant. His hard-on twitched as she wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her in tantalizingly close contact.

She kissed him like she’d missed him and the feeling was entirely mutual.

Heading for the shallows, he waited until his feet found the bottom before backing her up against the side of the pool. They came up for air, gasping, her wide-eyed gaze mirroring his terror at how damned good they were together.

“We should get you out of those wet clothes,” she said, her hands already pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

“Later.” He released her long enough to unzip his pants and fish a soggy wallet out of his back pocket.

“Lucky foil’s waterproof,” she said, her decadent smile making his fingers fumble. “Let me.”

While he shrugged out of his sodden jacket, kicked off his shoes, and wriggled out of his pants, her fingers slid off the slippery foil several times before finally ripping. When she reached for him, he was ready to plunge into her, protection be damned. Yeah, he was that crazily out of control.

He almost came when she touched the head of his penis and he couldn’t watch as she unrolled the condom along his shaft with deliberate slowness. The second she was done, he tugged off her bikini, hoisted her up and slid into her on a loud groan.

She propped her arms behind her on the top step, opening herself to him beneath the scorching sun. Water droplets clung to her skin, and as he drove into her repeatedly he watched them run in tempting rivulets between her bouncing breasts.

He touched her clit, circling it with his thumb, varying the pressure until she fell apart on a yell, and he joined her a second later, shooting into her with a cataclysmic climax that blew his mind.

It took at least ten seconds for rational thought to return, and when he summoned the energy to lift his head, her satisfied smirk made him incredibly glad he’d made this impromptu visit.

“That was freaking unbelievable.” She reached up and touched the dip between his collarbone, trailing a fingertip downward. “Maybe next time you should stay away for two weeks?”

…

Mount Charleston was only thirty-five miles northwest of the Vegas Valley, but for Poppy, it might as well have been the moon.

She was sure she was having an out-of-body experience as Beck steered the Maserati up the mountain. While he’d waxed lyrical about the Joshua trees at the lowest level, giving way to cedar and eventually the bristlecone pine in the alpine forest at the top, she’d been completely blissed out, her body still languid from their reunion.

They’d done it three times yesterday morning, twice in the afternoon, and a record four last night. Was it legal to have so many orgasms in one day? Too bad if it was. Arrest her now.

If Beck wasn’t so bent on showing her some of the local countryside he seemed to love so much, they could’ve been holed up in his house right now trying to top yesterday’s marathon effort. Then again, she’d spied the king-size picnic blanket in the trunk. All they needed was a secluded spot among all these trees…

“You’re awfully quiet.” He shot her a quick glance as he pulled over and she stretched, enjoying the way his gaze zeroed in on her T-shirt stretching taut across her chest.

“I was waiting for you to cough up that encyclopedia you must’ve swallowed. I couldn’t get a word in.”

The Beck she’d first met a few weeks ago would’ve frowned. But the new, improved Beck, the one who seemed to have enjoyed yesterday as much as she had, shook his head with a tolerant grin. “It’s good for you to see there’s more to Vegas than bright lights and Elvis impersonators.”

She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “I know there’s more.” Her fingers sneaked upward. “A lot more.”

“You’re a maniac,” he said, clamping down on her hand before she hit the jackpot. “But we’re not going to make it out of the car if you keep doing that.”

“Your point is?” She tried a fake pout for good measure.

“Later.” He laughed and unsnapped their seat belts. “I want to show you something.”

“Better be special.”

She earned an amused glance as he vaulted out of the car and grabbed the picnic basket from the backseat. “Can you get the blanket?”

“Sure thing, scout master.”

He popped the trunk and she hoisted the heavy blanket onto her shoulder, not fathoming his furtive expression when she slammed the trunk shut.

“It’s not far,” he said, heading off on a small trail that seemed to rise vertically, leaving her with a tempting view of his butt in faded denim.

“Spoken like a true exercise junkie.” She trudged after him in the same way she’d attended every gym class at high school. Reluctantly.

The incline rose rapidly for five minutes before flattening out, leaving them on a secluded plateau with views to die for: rolling hills dotted in greenery, sloping valleys, and a distant lake.

“Wow.” She shook out the blanket and spread it, waiting for it to settle before plunking down in exhaustion. “You were right, it was worth it for the view alone.”

He didn’t answer and when she glanced up, he was looking at her with the strangest expression—half-fear, half-awe.

“If you’re thinking of proposing, too late,” she said, chuckling at her lame joke.

He didn’t laugh.

Dumping the picnic basket nearby, he knelt next to her and reached into his pocket. When he pulled out a small purple velvet box from one of Vegas’s premier jewelers, her heart backflipped.

“I know you said you didn’t want an engagement ring to add to the phoniness, but I think you should have one.” He raised the lid and her mouth dropped open as sunlight reflected off the exquisite two-carat princess-cut diamond. “Not many women would have the guts to agree to my crazy scheme, let alone marry me, and you deserve this.”

He slid it onto her ring finger where it nestled against the white gold band. “If you don’t want to call it an engagement ring, consider it a thank-you gift for being so damned amazing about this whole marriage thing.”

She gawked at the stunning diamond, wanting to thank him, wanting to make light of their pretend marriage, but when she finally looked at him, the gratitude clogged in her throat.

For in that moment, this marriage felt far from pretend and all too scarily real.

Tenderness lurked in the shadows of his eyes as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckle above the ring. “You’re incredible. I just wanted you to know it.”

Now was the time to make a joke about yesterday, and how this was the sex talking. But he couldn’t have organized this ring since yesterday, not when they’d been wrapped around each other twenty-four-seven, which meant he’d brought the ring with him.

And it held far more value than she’d given him credit for.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Good. Now let’s eat.” Suddenly brusque, he set out the picnic while she hugged her knees to her chest, unable to tear her gaze away from the ring.

It shouldn’t mean so much. That little twist of metal and diamond adorning it signified he felt it, too. A tentative bond fast developing into something deeper—something that terrified her so much she’d rather take a flying leap off this mountainside than acknowledge it.

“Dig in.”

She made a grand show of selecting morsels of ricotta and leek tartlet, char-grilled calamari and salmon terrine, shoving them around her plate. But she could barely eat.

He didn’t call her on it, considering his plate resembled hers after ten minutes.

“Not hungry?” She pointed to his plate while placing hers on the ground.

“Maybe I lost my appetite. You’ve worn me out.” His bashful grin made her heart twist with the same unusual sensation as when he’d slipped the ring on her finger.

“In that case you better eat to keep up your strength.” She scuttled closer to him until their thighs touched. “You’ll need it for later.”

She half expected him to kiss her, maybe strip her and use sex as a way to ease the awkwardness that had descended since he gave her the ring. Instead, he slid an arm around her waist and hugged her tight, leaving her no option but to snuggle.

“I discovered this place my first six months in Vegas.” He wrapped his other arm around her when she rested her head on his shoulder. “The hacienda wasn’t built yet and I needed to escape the city on weekends, so I started exploring. Lake Mead, Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon, here… I scoured every inch.”

“Closet greenie, huh?”

“I like the open spaces. They soothe me.” He paused and she stayed silent, sensing he had more to say. “I lived in a trailer when I was a kid. Then my folks headed to Vegas for a while and we lived in this squalid single-room apartment downtown.”

Beck inclined his head at the view stretching for miles in front of them. “When you live in confined quarters, open spaces become important.”

His honesty made her eyes burn with the sting of unshed tears. She’d never expected him to open up emotionally and hot on the heels of the ring, it was almost too much. An intimacy she hadn’t expected, an intimacy she feared.

“When they OD’d, Pa took me in and while we lived in a trailer, he understood the need for space. He took me hiking and we camped out in the desert, where I’d stare at the stars for hours.”

Beck tipped his head back and gazed at the canopy above, and she imagined a young boy doing whatever it took to survive, hanging onto the dreams of one day exploring the open spaces.

“You must think I’m a sad case, using a fake marriage to get ahead in business, but I had a gutful of people looking down on me growing up, people judging me, forming wrong opinions.” He hugged her tighter, like a kid with a security blanket. “I won’t tolerate it now, which is why I need to make this deal happen using whatever means at my disposal.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed he’d refocused on what he did best: business. “It’s that important to you?”

“I dragged you into this mess, didn’t I?” His bark of laughter was devoid of humor. “That’ll tell you how far I’d go.”

“Hey, we all have our motivations for doing what we do.”

“Your sister?” He eased off on the hug, sliding a hand up her back to stroke her hair.

“Yeah, she’s a mess. Her husband”—Poppy made air quotes—“fell out of love, apparently, and walked out on her. She had no idea it was coming. The jerk bought a red sports car and cruises around Provost like he has a new lease on life, while Sara…”

“What?”

“She spiraled into a deep depression. Been on heavy meds, and she’s in a rehab clinic trying to recover. She’s improving, but the business is all she has left, and if anything happened to it—”

“It’s why you started the divorce diva, isn’t it? Inject new life into her business?”

“Yeah, but that’s the irony. Sara would have a fit if she knew I was doing it. She said as much when I went to tell her we were getting married. She despises the idea, probably because she’ll be going through it shortly, hence the anonymity.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He kissed her on the top of her head and she sighed.

“She practically raised me. My folks were too caught up in their careers and each other to care about us.”

“Makes you wonder why parents like ours have kids in the first place, huh?”

“Damned straight.”

Silence stretched between them, but this time it was comfortable, not awkward.

In sharing their private thoughts, they’d bonded far beyond any ring. For the first time ever, Poppy had let a guy get close enough to form a real connection. And shockingly, it didn’t send her into a tailspin.

As he held her tight, his silent strength so appealing, she had to admit she liked it.

Chapter Twelve

Divorce Diva Daily recommends:

Playlist: “Beat It” by Michael Jackson

Movie:
Broadcast News

Cocktail: Pick-Me-Up

Beck put his game face on, the same one he’d used to great effect growing up.

Every time his folks promised him a Christmas gift and forgot. Every time they missed his birthday. Every time he came home to find no food on the table and welfare shot up their arms.

Then there were the countless times at school when he pretended every jibe, every putdown, every taunt didn’t hurt. Yeah, he’d become an expert of the game face from an early age and it had served him well in business. He didn’t play poker, but if he did, he’d win a squillion.

He squared his shoulders and strode into the boardroom, ready to kick some corporate ass.

This deal was his.

He’d used whatever means necessary, including marrying a woman he was fast developing feelings for. A woman with the potential to undermine him far better than any business rival.

As eight assessing stares swung his way, he quit thinking about Poppy. Time enough to contemplate his complicated personal life later.

“Thanks for coming, gentlemen.”

A few nodded, while Stan, the unofficial spokesperson, stood and shook his hand. “Looking forward to hearing what you have to say, Blackwood.”

Beck nodded and Stan resumed his seat.

The irony wasn’t lost on Beck. The investors had already heard what he had to say, basically salivated at the deal he’d put forward. If it hadn’t been for his site manager’s indiscretion and the investors’ old-school mentality, he wouldn’t have to go through any of this. But he would. He’d jump through their metaphorical hoops and add a cartwheel for good measure to secure this deal.

He jabbed at a few buttons on his laptop and brought up a new PowerPoint presentation, a rehashing of the old with some minor adjustments. For the next thirty minutes he used his game face to great effect, adding animation when needed, producing the right enthusiasm to wow.

Judging by the enthusiastic applause and general backslapping by the end of his presentation, he’d succeeded. There were no questions. He hadn’t expected any. They’d all been asked last time. When the group collectively looked toward Stan for guidance, Beck inadvertently held his breath.

“You made some good points today, Blackwood. Expanded on your proposal from last time.” Stan paused and glanced around the group, making a grand show of equanimity. “What do you think, gentlemen? This proposal looks solid to me.”

Murmurs of agreement filtered through the room and Beck exhaled in relief.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

Beck resisted the urge to punch the air in victory. He settled for a sedate handshake with Stan and the other investors before they scuttled out.

He’d done it.

Achieved a lifelong goal.

To make people sit up and take notice, to look at him with respect, not derision.

The faster he got Stan’s signature on the dotted line, the faster he could get back to Poppy and celebrate.

“You did good, better than the other contender.” Stan gathered up his things. “Your company has cleaned up its act and so have you.”

Inwardly Beck seethed. One indiscretion by an employee and people like Stan tarnished his company. As for him, he’d never been all that wild to begin with, but amazing what a convenient marriage could do for a guy’s reputation.

“Come by my office Monday and I’ll sign off on the deal.”

Beck’s internal happy dance faltered. “I’ve got the documents ready to go now.”

Stan stared at him as if he’d asked him to sign a new Declaration of Independence. “My attorney will need to look it over again, in case you’ve made amendments.”

“I haven’t,” Beck said, his tone extremely well modulated when he felt like yelling in frustration.

“Good. Then it shouldn’t take long and we’ll be ready to proceed Monday.”

Beck had no choice.

He’d be happier when the entire deal was signed, sealed, and delivered, but it was merely a formality. In high-end business, a man’s word was as good as a promise, so he’d sit tight over the weekend and wait.

“Shall we say eleven Monday morning?” Beck asked.

“Sure.”

Beck escorted Stan to the door, grateful he had Poppy to distract him over the next forty-eight hours. He would’ve gone stir-crazy otherwise, watching the clock and waiting for Monday to roll around.

Stan paused at the door. “You’ll be at the party tomorrow night?”

Stan made it sound like he’d be attending a brothel rather than Lou’s divorce party.

“Yeah, so will most of LA and Vegas, from what I hear.”

Stan frowned. “Rather crass, don’t you think? Celebrating divorce?”

Beck had no intention of getting into a moral argument with the sanctimonious do-gooder, especially when he was this close to securing his deal. “Lou sees it as celebrating his new life, not the divorce.”

Stan’s bushy brows shot heavenward. “People should work harder at their marriages, not walk at the first sign of trouble.”

Great. Beck could only imagine the lectures he’d cop when his divorce came through. The twinge in his chest was surprising. Conscience? Or something deeper? Something involving him and Poppy extending their marriage contract for a little longer… “Guess that’s up to the individuals. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.”

“True.” Stan pinned him with a probing stare. “How’s married life treating you?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Good to hear.” Stan leaned closer, like he was about to impart some long lost secret. “Your newfound stability went a long way to convincing the investors to sign.”

“Really?” How Beck managed to say it with a straight face he’d never know.

“Yeah, more people should focus on marriage rather than divorce.” Stan shook his head. “Nasty business, but my wife wants to attend the party and what the boss says goes.”

Thank goodness Poppy had insisted on preserving her anonymity. Beck had a feeling even his marriage wouldn’t have been enough to save this deal if Stan and his conservative cronies discovered his wife was the one “perpetuating the crassness.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Beck ushered him out the door, his patience at a limit.

“That you will.” Stan slapped him on the back one last time for good measure and Beck hid his distaste.

He’d have to tolerate the buffoon for the duration of this deal, but thankfully once construction started in the various states across the country, Stan would be part of the behind-the-scenes moneymen and Beck wouldn’t have to deal with him much.

When Stan disappeared behind the elevator doors, Beck’s EA glanced up from her desk with a raised eyebrow. He gave a thumbs-up and she grinned.

He’d done it. Facilitated the deal of a lifetime for his company. And every state across the southern US would soon know who Beck Blackwood was. He should be rounding up his crew and heading to Blackwood’s for a round of drinks…or ten.

Instead, he glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer it would take Poppy to arrive. He had the distinct urge to celebrate this deal with the one person who knew how much it meant to him.

His wife.

A title he was fast becoming attached to. And rather than the urge to bolt as fast as his jet could fuel up, the idea of being married to her on a more permanent basis was growing on him.

…

As Poppy glanced around the room, filled with Californian and Nevadan movers and shakers, A-listers, and a few B-grade movie stars beneath a fairy-light star-studded blue velvet sky, she knew she’d done good.

She’d gone all out for this party and it showed, from the ice-carved hearts to the fifteen-piece big band, the silver and navy color scheme, to the Michelin-starred hors d’oeuvres.

People would be talking about Lou Robinson’s divorce party for a long time to come.

In turn, Sara’s business would boom. Once she let her sis in on the secret, of course.

Plenty of time for that. For now, she’d continue building clientele, Beck would become the biggest name in high-end construction America had ever seen, and they’d continue to grow closer. And that was really what had her floating tonight. Sure, a successful party was important, but not half as important as realizing the guy she’d married had opened her eyes to a world of possibilities.

Namely, it was okay to risk your heart for a guy…if he was the right one. And that was exactly what she was on the verge of doing, if she hadn’t already done it.

She’d fallen a little bit in love with her husband last weekend on that mountaintop, a feeling that had only intensified since. Seven days was a long time to miss someone, and the only thing that had stopped her from leaving Red Rock Canyon and heading to Vegas was her own stupid insecurities.

What if he didn’t feel the same way?

What if the ring he’d given her had been exactly as he said, a thank-you gift?

What if she laid it all on the line, only to end up as devastated as her sister?

Then she’d arrived last night and he’d gone a long way to alleviate her doubts.

Rather than celebrating his deal’s success with a lavish dinner surrounded by his colleagues as she’d expected, he’d switched off his phone and they’d holed up in his penthouse, feasting on gourmet pizza and each other. And they’d talked some more, sharing their respective childhoods, strengthening the fragile emotional bond they’d established last weekend, until she could’ve quite happily stayed in his arms forever.

She’d still be there, too, locked in his embrace, if she hadn’t had to work like a maniac today to confirm every party detail so she had to do nothing tonight but mingle like a guest. Ashlee was supposed to run interference for the party, being the staff’s go-to person, but her BFF had pulled out early this morning citing a migraine. Odd, considering her friend rarely had a headache. But Poppy hadn’t had time to ponder Ashlee’s excuse, considering she’d run around all day ensuring this party rocked.

Thankfully it did, and as the big band launched into a Sinatra medley, she sighed with contentment. In another few hours she would secure twenty grand for Divorce Diva Daily and have enough new business to keep busy. When not lusting after her husband.

“Great party.” Speak of the devil. Beck slid his arms around her waist from behind.

She tilted her face up to receive his kiss. “Thanks. I hear this diva chick is hot property in the party planning biz.”

“She’s hot property, period,” he said, nuzzling her neck until her skin pebbled. He held her tighter, and her butt encountered evidence of how hot he found her.

“Hold that thought,” she said, wriggling against him, empowered when he groaned.

“Stop, you’re killing me.”

“Not yet, but the night is young.” She winked and turned in the circle of his arms, draping her arms around his neck. “I’m glad Lou chose a love theme for this party. Shows he’s not some bitter cynic.”

“Yeah, gotta hand it to him, the big guy’s a romantic schmuck.”

She laughed at his mock wince. “Makes me think there’s hope for the rest of us.” Hope for them. And that was what she wanted to tell Beck later. Poppy was done pretending this marriage meant nothing beyond business. Time to make their relationship real.

She waited for him to disengage, to pull away on the pretext of greeting a long-lost buddy. Instead, his hold on her waist tightened as he met her stare dead-on. “Yeah, who would’ve thought, a confirmed cynic like me could have his mind changed by an incredible woman?”

Poppy’s heart leaped. “Are you saying—”

“There you two are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Silently cursing Stan Walkerville’s rotten timing, she dragged up a smile for the old guy. By the glower on Beck’s face as he released her, he was just as annoyed by Stan’s interruption. “Enjoying yourself?”

Stan frowned and jabbed a finger in Beck’s direction. “I don’t take kindly to being made a fool of.”

To Beck’s credit, he didn’t blink. In fact, his expression didn’t change at all and she admired his ability to maintain a poker face when she would’ve been tempted to sock the guy for speaking to them in that patronizing tone. “Not sure what you mean—”

“This party,” Stan hissed, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. “You knew what I thought of this celebrating divorce rubbish yet here you are, smack bang in the thick of it.”

Unease crept down Poppy’s spine but she dismissed it as being overcautious. She gripped Beck’s hand and held on just in case.

“Lou’s my CFO and a good friend. I had to be here—”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Stan’s narrow-eyed glare swung her way. “Turns out your wife is perpetrating this divorce abomination and you’re both choosing to hide the fact.”

Poppy swayed as her blood pressure dropped, the shock of Stan’s revelation ripping through her earlier confidence. That had been her problem, being too happy. With the job she’d done here, with the diva business, with her marriage. Pride falls and all that.