The Marriage Agenda (8 page)

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.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

Her eyes widened, painting her face with surprise. As if he’d said something profound.

Maybe he had.

She stood there, more than half naked, staring at the bed.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” he asked. Then, seeing her face darken, he added, “Unless you’re just afraid you can’t control yourself around me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just not sure if there’s room for me alongside you and your ego.”

He feigned offense. “Is that really my biggest attribute? My ego?”

“I think you just proved my point. As for
your
point, you can keep it to yourself.” She tossed him a lopsided grin and crawled under the covers.

He left her alone for precisely two seconds before he dragged her across the mattress, caveman style.

She shrieked his name, laughing and pushing playfully against his shoulders as he caught her in his arms. But all pretense of resistance ended when his mouth landed on hers. Her lips were already parted, and he took immediate advantage by pushing his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her like a man starved. The hands she’d pressed to his shoulders looped around his neck, drawing him in and holding him there, and still he feasted. He pushed one of his knees between her thighs, grinning at the soft whimpers the pressure elicited.

He was desperate to touch her. Desperate to
fill
her. He settled for plunging his fingers in her hair, cradling either side of her head while he found ways to deepen the kiss. The staccato of her breaths drove him farther against her until he was cursing clothing and stupid bets and the absence of a neon-colored condom. He’d been too damned determined not to lose the bet to bring them along, but it was just as well. He’d never get past the application phase. She had him that turned on, and judging from the way her long, lithe body writhed against him, he wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life and dangerously close to losing…and not entirely sure the bet was the only thing at stake.

Breathless and nearly trembling, he broke the kiss. His arms shook with the effort to put distance between him and, this woman, his Kryptonite.

She was looking at his mouth—or maybe not seeing anything at all. Her chest heaved, her perfect breasts swaying with every inhale. Her arms were still draped around his neck, and his willpower held on by a single frayed thread. His dick pointed. Begged. Strained. It was a full-on phallic tantrum, and it was all Knox could do ease from the circle of her arms, his teeth
accidentally
grazing one of her rock-hard nipples.

She drew a sharp breath, but when their eyes met, she merely offered a serene smile. Here he was, torn to pieces, and she looked as content as a basketful of puppies.

Damn.
He rolled over to his side of the bed, landing flat on his back with a sigh born of frustration. His pulse raced, and there wasn’t a drop of blood left in his brain. All he could think about was diving into that sweet, hot body until he shattered, then laying there while the pieces knit back together. Maybe then he’d be whole.

Maybe then he’d know how to love.

He turned his head toward her and immediately felt the heat of her gaze. The warmth drew him in. Made blue his favorite color.

“’Night, Knox,” she murmured.

“Good night, Chloe”

For the longest time, he didn’t move. He reached for her hand. When he found it, their fingers laced together of their own volition, as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

As if they were meant to be that way all along.

He told himself for the umpteenth time he didn’t believe in love, but this time something was different.

This time he wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.

Chapter Eleven

Despite the bright light of a new day, Knox was so far beyond screwed, he couldn’t see straight. And he wasn’t sure what bothered him most about it—that he’d lost control or the fact that Chloe clearly had. He’d known she was different the moment they’d met, but in spite of their months together, he’d failed to consider one thing: she’d never been a part of his ordinary life. She’d been a separate part of him—a part he desperately craved, but separate nonetheless. She was what happened after he shed the suit and tie and propped his bare feet on the table and ate pizza out of a box. She was losing control in a hotel room where he’d never have to wake up without her—where everything they had existed in a singular place that never threatened his everyday world.

He’d completely underestimated the effect of having those two worlds collide. Thoughts of her consumed him. They’d been back together a little more than a week, but any hopes of the novelty wearing off were lost by the fact he grew more insatiable with each passing day. And though on some level, he knew he was a jerk for wanting her, he also knew he wasn’t imagining what they had between them. And now this stupid bet…he wanted to throw her down on the bed and dive into her until his limbs gave out, but the idea that doing so would ease the sexual tension between them was laughable. He was a wreck, and he didn’t see an easy way around it.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Toby frowned and peered at him over a leaf of papers. He was
always
frowning over a leaf of papers.

“Yeah. Jackson is a dick. You said that last week.” Knox pressed his lips together. If looking at his campaign manager’s ugly mug didn’t eradicate thoughts of plunging balls deep into Chloe, nothing could.

Dropping the paperwork on his briefcase, Toby asked, “Why do I work for you?”

“Because I wanted the best.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Knox grinned. “You’ve known me long enough to know not to take these things personally.” They’d been friends since college, where they’d shared a major and a dorm room. Knox’s trust was hard won…it had probably taken every bit of those four years, but Toby had earned it. He also earned his salary—he was one hell of a political strategist. The only downside was that in spending that time in such close proximity, Toby probably knew more about Knox than he should have. Overall, Knox had been pretty well-behaved, but he could think of a couple of incidents that were better kept under wraps. Of course, Toby had been right there with him. But of the two, only Knox had the kind of aspirations that could land him on the wrong side of a smear campaign.

Toby cleared his throat. “As I was saying, there have been some questions as to the timing of your marriage, but I think you’re getting some points for not making it a power play.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Toby looked in the direction of the kitchen, where Chloe and Knox’s mother were going through those boxes of samples.

Knox followed his gaze. He had never seen so many shades of white and had no idea why each and every one required such scrutiny, but he was content to leave the women to their devices. He understood there was an innate difference between white and cream, but to that end, the shades either matched or they didn’t. Why they required further degrees of separation was beyond him, and how they could completely fill an entire kitchen table—to say nothing of several hours of planning time—was mind-bending. It occurred to him then it was a good thing they hadn’t taken the traditional wedding route. He’d heard horrible stories from his buddies on the nightmarish aspects of organizing such an event—enough to realize whoever had come up with that ridiculous term “bridezilla” hadn’t been so far off. At least when he spent his wedding nearly sexless, it wasn’t because he’d worn the wrong color socks to the ceremony, earning the ire of his life’s mate.

At least.

Toby hadn’t responded. Knox tried again. “What?”

Toby looked back and forth between the kitchen and Knox a half dozen times before he managed to spit out actual words. “She seems nice, and she’s so damned hot she makes you look ugly, but you didn’t exactly marry up.”

“Ah.” He got it. Chloe wasn’t a socialite. In Toby’s eyes, she probably wasn’t anyone at all. She didn’t come from a wealthy family, and marrying her didn’t qualify as a political alliance. Arranged marriages may have fallen out of favor, but business transactions were all the rage.

Little did Toby know, there wasn’t a woman alive who could be any better. “Didn’t think it was possible for me to marry up,” Knox said.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a god.”

Knox let the comment go. It was a lot easier than admitting what Chloe meant to him. “So, Jackson is batting zero. What’s he going to come up with next?”

Toby shut his briefcase. “You’re in a better position to answer that than me. Anything you can see coming to bite you in the ass?”

Knox leaned back in his chair and held out his hands. “Squeaky clean.”

“I doubt that.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be hard pressed to prove otherwise, and so would Jackson.”

Toby gave a rare smile. “That’s what I like to hear. Are you free to handle any commitments I manage to procure on your behalf?”

“Other than the reception Friday night, which I presume you will attend, I’m all yours. Keep on doing what you’re doing.”

“Really? And your bride approves?”

“Is that sarcasm? Because I’m pretty sure you and your poll were the brains behind the whole marriage thing.”

“I just told you what the polls said. You took the plunge. And you’re welcome. But don’t be an ass. Women like being consulted.”

Knox snorted. “How many years now have you been single? Also, I’m not paying extra for you to manage my marriage.”

“Who’s single? Apparently I’m married to my job. And, I might add, your marriage is a subset of your campaign. You may not be paying extra, but you’re paying for it all the same.”

“Yeah. For better or for worse.”

Toby shook his head in classic fuck-me fashion. “I see what you did there, and that’s about as much of this as I can take. I have to go. I have a meeting in about ten minutes with the money guy.”

Knox grinned. “I thought I was the money guy.”

“Point taken. However, misappropriation of campaign funds will put Jackson in a happy place, which is why you hired the money guy. And I have to go talk to him now.”

Knox stood and shook his buddy’s hand. “I owe you. Thanks for all your work.”

“Just make sure my check clears, and I’ll call it even.”

“Might want to ask the money guy about that,” Knox called. He shut the door after Toby and turned around, catching sight of Chloe’s office. Home and garden. He hid a smile. He got why she was upset, but the reassignment wouldn’t stop her from breaking her story.

And it gave him the perfect opportunity to have a little fun…in the name of housewarming, of course.

He checked to make sure Chloe was still occupied in the other room with his mom, then pulled out his cell phone.

He was about to make a florist’s day.

…

Chloe’s office had been invaded. Houseplants—twelve of them—delivered first thing that morning. She’d been looking at them all day.

You’re just freaking adorable, Knox.

Problem was, she wasn’t sure if he was being nice or rubbing salt in the wound. Either way, she’d never met a houseplant she couldn’t kill, the implication of which didn’t bode well for the inhabitants of the jungle she’d briefly called her office. Which was now some kind of greenhouse.

The jackass did it with a candlestick in the conservatory…

Why did he do stuff like this?
Because that’s who he is.
She should have seen this coming. She almost wished he’d be a jerk. A real jerk—not the almost adorable kind who stole her pepperoni or mocked her with greenery. She needed him to be the kind of man who didn’t turn her on and inside out. She needed a man she didn’t have to convince herself not to love.

She needed a fake husband who hadn’t spent the past few months
not
having sex with other women.

No one since her.
His admittance had thrown her more than she cared to acknowledge. He’d made it clear he wasn’t getting emotionally invested in their relationship, but he’d also told her he’d broken things off because he didn’t believe in love. Had his feelings for her—however he chose to label them—been the reason he hadn’t been with anyone else, or was it something else? Knox may not do relationships, but he didn’t have the same prejudice against sex, so it
had
to be something else. Her mind knew that, but the logic didn’t keep her heart from doing cartwheels in her chest.

He hadn’t been with anyone since her. Did it matter why?

No. Because the bottom line was he didn’t want to be with her—not in the way she needed. She told herself that a hundred times a day, but doing so didn’t stop the threads of emotional attachment from spindling mercilessly. She needed to get the rest of her stuff from her apartment, but the reality of moving from her old life to a new one sank in more with each step. Sure, she had gained opportunities for career advancement but at what cost?

She could push, but Knox Hamilton was the kind of man who would push back. With her ability to resist him pegged a notch above zero, when he did, she’d probably fall naked and flat on her back.

And now she couldn’t look away from her computer screen without seeing a dozen extra reminders of him. Because any other man would have sent a single bouquet, but Knox had made sure it was personal.

She sighed and pushed back from her desk, looking up just as he appeared in the doorway. He’d been up before dawn, off to some charity thing a couple hours away. He’d slept shirtless in sweatpants that hung just low enough on his hips to reveal rock-hard abs and a slight trail of hair headed south, and it had been all she could do to ignore him. To that end, she’d actually pulled the sheet over him a time or two, but he’d managed to maneuver his way back to indecency before she fell asleep. Turning her back hadn’t seemed to help, and for that matter, neither had the sheet. She still saw him.

She couldn’t
forget
him.

Now he was back in a suit and tie. She relaxed a notch. If he stuck to formal wear—and she kept her attention somewhere between his shoulders and his belt—she’d be fine.

“Good afternoon,” he said easily. As though he hadn’t turned her office into a botanical garden. Or hadn’t noticed her staring below his belt, calculating all the reasons she shouldn’t look there.

She swallowed. “Isn’t it? A lovely day to water plants.”

His mouth puckered. He was probably trying not to laugh. “They should be okay for a little while. I thought you might like to immerse yourself in your work.”

“How very gracious of you. You realize you just sent these poor houseplants to their deaths?”

Now he did laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure at least one will make the week.”

“And for the rest,” she said sweetly, “I know exactly what to do with the casualties.” She had to press her lips together to keep from smiling at the sudden furrow in his brow. Whatever he was thinking, it had him worried.
Good.

He cleared his throat. “I stopped by my mom’s on the way home and picked up the guest list for the reception. I thought you might want the chance to get to know a few of these folks before the big night. And by ‘get to know,’ I mean ‘start digging.’”

“That would be perfect, but are you sure you want me investigating your friends?”

He laughed. “Most of these guests, I barely know. As for my friends, I
especially
want you investigating them. If they’re not doing anything wrong, they have nothing to worry about. Besides, you’re not going to find anything by Googling them that’s not already out there. And for that matter, the more you know about them, the more they’ll like us both. I’ve found people are immensely flattered by personal knowledge. Here, come with me.”

Knox stood and took her hand, then led her across the entry hall to the study. The space had wowed Chloe at first sight. Everything in it was massive, from the floor-to-ceiling, built-in shelves to the stone fireplace to the sweeping eight-foot windows complete with cozy seating. Thick area rugs decorated the gleaming wood floors. The room had a decidedly old-world feel, but with everything fresh and modern, the space did not seem to date the sleek, European-style mansion.

He offered his desk chair.

She sank into the butter-soft leather with a happy sigh.

He grinned. “You like it?”

“My chair at home had a missing wheel and was covered in cat hair.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t have a cat.”

“Exactly. It was hand-me-down cat hair. The vacuum made a dent, and the lint brush put in a good show, but ultimately the cat won.”

“I guess it’s a good thing it was replaced.”

She offered half a shrug. “I kind of miss it. Things changed fast.”

“I know.”

She cleared her throat. “Why the tour?”

“Oh. My files. They’re in the two bottom drawers on each side.” He tapped the nearest drawers and pointed to the others. “Use whatever you need. Nothing is classified in here…yet. That said, most of it you’ll find in public records. Business dealings and affiliations and such. Honestly, it’s a bit of a cheat-sheet thing for me, and I figured for you it’s a little easier than wading through the entire internet, though as per our agreement, anything of a personal nature that you find remains confidential.”

Ah. A not-so-veiled reminder she could wind up on the wrong end of a lawsuit if she breathed Hamilton family secrets to outsiders. But there was a loophole. “Unless of course I can find the same information elsewhere.”

He nodded. “And therein lies your advantage. It’s a lot easier to find something when you know exactly what you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, well, there had to be something in it for me.”

A predatory gleam sparked in his eyes. “Is that all you’re getting out of this deal?”