Читать книгу Last Resort: Marriage - Pamela Stone - Страница 11

Was she drunk? Charlotte brushed sticky tendrils of hair off her neck as she and Aaron wound their way to her clapboard bungalow. Her eyes refused to focus. She had consumed more alcohol tonight than during her entire college tenure.

It was past 2:00 a.m. but that didn’t stop Edward and Perry from chaperoning them to the door.

She didn’t miss the folded check Edward discreetly pressed into Aaron’s palm as they shook hands. “Just a little wedding present.”

Aaron unfolded the check and glanced down. His lips tightened and he shoved it back into her grandfather’s hand. “I can’t accept this.”

“You’re family now. There’s no reason you shouldn’t accept it.”

Aaron’s jaw muscle ticked. “But—”

“Good night.” Edward slid the check into Aaron’s jacket pocket and stepped back.

Perry shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked on his heels. “Well, Brody, I should say congratulations. Charlotte’s made her choice, better man and all that.” The veiled threat in his eyes wasn’t lost on Charlotte.

“No problem, Percy.” Aaron scooped Charlotte into his arms, opened his mouth over hers, and sucked every ounce of air from her lungs. All she could breathe was Aaron. He broke the kiss and squeezed her bottom. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s our honeymoon.”

With that, he swung her through the door and kicked it shut behind them, leaving Edward and Perry on the porch. But Aaron was still fondling her derriere.

She squirmed. “Show’s over. You can put me down.”

He released her, sliding her body down the length of his and running his hands along her sides. Stopping at her breasts, he growled low in his throat and moved his hands to the front, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.

A raw ache shot from her breasts to the juncture of her thighs. Embarrassed by her body’s betrayal, she knocked his hands away. “Don’t do that!”

He chuckled and turned to lock the door. “The flesh is willing, but the spirit’s weak,” he misquoted under his breath.

There was only enough light in the room to make out his smug smile, but she itched to slap it off his face.

His hand covered hers as she reached for the light switch. “No lights, sweetheart.”

This sweetheart thing was wearing thin. “So I should just stand here in the dark and let you fondle me?”

“They’re going to watch this place like vultures the next few minutes. If we turn on lights they’ll know which room we’re in.”

His nonromantic, logic-based request chafed. “Well, we should close the shutters then, shouldn’t we?” She turned toward the nearest window and flipped the slats down. The inky darkness engulfed them like an intoxicating cloud.

She heard Aaron’s erratic breathing behind her as his hands tugged at her loose chignon. The pins pinged as they landed on the hardwood floor.

He plunged his fingers into her hair and murmured, “I knew it would be long and silky.”

Fighting for control, she tugged her hair out of his grasp and stepped around him. “I’ll get linens for the sofa.”

Aaron caught her arm to slow her down and fingered the flowers that miraculously still clung to the tendrils of hair around her face. “You look stunning tonight.” He began a slow seduction of her mouth, angling her head to penetrate deeper and rubbing his rock-hard length against her stomach.

Her head tilted into his palm, but her eyes remained open, leery, watching him. He tasted of champagne and wedding cake, a heady combination.

Long-dormant impulses caught fire, but she fought to maintain her decorum as his lips enticed hers to participate in his seductive game. The tip of his tongue tickled the inside of her top lip. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation. Aaron Brody knew how to kiss. Plenty of practice, from all accounts.

This was nuts. After Perry’s betrayal, she’d promised herself never to allow anyone to use her again. Aaron had married her for one purpose—money. He wasn’t even attracted to her.

She squeezed her arms between them and pushed, fighting his weight and will. “We agreed. No sex.”

He grabbed her hand and placed it on his hard shaft, pushing into her palm. “I never agreed to no sex. That was your idea.” He nibbled his way down her neck.

Charlotte shivered as he pulsed beneath her palm. It had been so long. And if she dared to be honest with herself, she’d thought about Aaron Brody’s toned body quite often over the past three years. But she knew little or nothing about this man. And what she did know, she wasn’t sure she even liked.

She snatched her hand away. “Aaron.”

“Shh,” he whispered, planting a trail of feverish, wet kisses across her shoulder. “It’s our wedding night, Charlie.”

His body was paradise, hard and ready to fulfill the fantasies he’d fueled that first day she’d seen him working on his boat in nothing but those stupid shorts.

Charlotte took a step back, but Aaron countered with one forward, dragging the back of his rough knuckles across her cheek in a feather-soft caress.

He took another step forward and she backed away. His palm turned and cradled her cheek as his tongue mated with hers, kissing her deep and hard, warm and wet, promising exquisite ecstasy.

What was she doing? She must be drunker than he was. It was dangerous to even think these thoughts. Husband or not, she hardly knew him. Yet with a few practiced kisses and gropes, he’d managed to turn her brain to mush. Forcing her legs to move, she took another step back from his sexual heat, but her back hit the wall.

Aaron leaned in, captured her right breast, and deepened the kiss. In pure panic, she ducked under his arm and wriggled free.

He groaned, resting his forehead against the wall. “Charlie.”

The room was too dark to read his expression as he pushed off the wall and turned toward her, but it didn’t take a genius to read his mind.

“I’m not doing this.” She stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and leaned against its protective barrier.

She’d take bets that in high school Aaron Brody had been every father’s nightmare.

Flipping on the light, she reached behind her neck and unclasped her grandmother’s pearls. Staring at her reflection, she wondered how she’d compare to his host of lovers. Too skinny? Too flat? Too brainy? She’d heard it all. Then, in college, when she’d finally trusted Perry and opened her heart to him, he’d betrayed her. He’d had sex with some brainless bimbo and they’d laughed at her.

But Aaron hadn’t laughed, a small voice whispered. Yeah, but he was too drunk to care, her practical side countered.

Easing the door open, she followed a trail of clothes and found Aaron lying across the bed flat on his stomach, illuminated by stripes of moonlight filtering through the bedroom shutters. Stunned by his nakedness, all she could do was stare wide-eyed at the exquisite specimen of raw masculinity in her bed.

Lord have mercy, his body was perfect. His arms raised above his head emphasized the muscled physique of a man who daily earned his living swimming and hauling heavy scuba gear. Muscled back, narrow hips, tight little butt.

Her breath caught. The events of the past two days were surreal. She hadn’t set out to marry Aaron Brody, it had just sort of happened.

Burrowing deeper into her thick terry-cloth robe, she forced herself to approach the bed. “Aaron,” she whispered. “What have we done?”

No response.

She touched his shoulder. “Aaron?”

He didn’t move. His only answer was a soft, rhythmic snore.

Her groom was sound asleep.

AARON OPENED ONE EYE and groaned as the light stabbed a knife of pain through his temples. An army of construction workers ran jackhammers inside his head. Closing his eyes, he willed the wrecking crew to take a break.

He rolled over and squinted, but his stomach churned. This time he caught a glimpse of a tall bedpost, with a canopy frame. He steeled himself for the pain and opened his eyes.

The walls were white, with a couple of bright photographs of flowers. The furniture looked expensive, too contemporary for his taste, white like the rest of the room. A huge white ceiling fan rotated slowly above the bed.

Where—He bolted up and grabbed his throbbing head, suddenly remembering. Charlotte Harrington! Correction—Charlotte Brody.

The past forty-eight hours slapped him in the face, but he could only remember bits and pieces after he and Charlie arrived at the bungalow.

He was in Charlie’s bed, but where was she?

Coffee. He needed hot, black coffee. He lifted the sheet and stumbled naked out of the bedroom, in search of the kitchen.

He stopped when he saw his wife—his wife!—curled up on the sofa. She looked innocent and fragile, sleep-flushed, her lips slightly parted. Nothing like the hard-assed woman the resort employees called the Ice Queen.

Vague remembrances of last night flashed through his pounding head as he squatted in front of this stranger he’d married. Every time Thurman had danced with Charlie, Aaron had sloshed down another beer. He couldn’t figure out why her dancing with that jackass had bothered him so much.

He lifted the crocheted afghan and took a long look. Gray knit sleep shorts cupped the curve of her hips, leaving her long legs exposed for his pleasure. The tiny lavender crop top didn’t quite meet the waistband of the shorts. Not exactly a wedding night negligee, but sexy in a Charlie sort of way. Her dark nipples puckered beneath the thin, soft fabric, rising and falling as she slept.

One thing that came back to him with stark clarity from the night before was how perfectly those breasts fit his hands. Her body had enough curves to keep things interesting. A couple strands of blond hair cascaded over her shoulder and between her breasts.

Unable to resist, he rubbed the silky tresses between his thumb and forefinger and brought them to his nose. Coconut.

He stared at her legs. Long, luscious legs. He could imagine them wrapped around his hips as he—

Dropping the afghan across her lower body, he slogged through the foggy muck in his mind.

He had a vague recollection of making out with her. Of her body in his arms.

She’d seemed as turned on as he had, but then she’d bolted like some schoolgirl who’d just found herself alone with a man for the first time. Guess the heiress didn’t want to lower herself to make love with a scuba guide. He didn’t delude himself about why he was here. He was good enough to help save her business, but not to warm her bed.

Fine. She didn’t want to have sex with him during this ridiculous marriage. He had plenty to keep him busy. His boat required major repairs. His books were a mess and he had to find somebody to print up a first-class brochure.

But Mrs. Brody wasn’t getting off the hook that easy. They still had to fool her grandfather.

Using the lock of hair for a feather, he trailed it around her nipple then upward until it tickled the end of her cute little nose.

She sniffed and swatted at it as if it was a pesky fly.

Pausing long enough for her to relax, he repeated the procedure.

Her nose wrinkled and her hand swiped it away, coming into contact with his.

Charlie’s eyes flew open and she turned to stare. “Ohh,” she groaned, massaging her temples. “My head.”

“Good morning, wife.”

She scrunched her eyes closed.

He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t think he could stand the pain. “You know, the locals have a special cure for hangovers.”

“They do?” She peered through squinted eyes.

He leaned close until their lips touched. “It’s called—” he covered her mouth and kissed her until she began to actively participate in the game “—una copa rica de café! But you’ll have to make your own coffee. I have a business to run.” He pushed away and stood up, flashed her a wicked grin, and headed to the bathroom.

CHARLOTTE STOPPED ON THE WAY to her office to put her grandmother’s pearls back in the hotel safe, dragging in after ten to find Perry Thurman looking comfortable and relaxed behind her desk.

“What are you doing in my office?”

He eased her lap drawer closed. “Just helping out. We assumed you’d take a few days off to…well, you know.”

“How dare you search my desk? And don’t just assume you can use my office.” She raised her eyebrows in a haughty look she’d learned from her grandfather.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Perry stood and shoved a legal-sized sheet of paper in her direction. “But at some point we need to discuss this.”

Oh, God! Had he found her copy of the prenuptial?

She rubbed the back of her neck, stepped closer, and glanced at the paper. It wasn’t the prenup. Feeling her heart start to beat again, she narrowed her eyes at Perry. “What is it?”

“You pay your front desk staff ten percent more than market. Could be why this resort isn’t turning the profit it should.”

Every word out of his mouth infuriated her. She called on her depleting reserve of calm professionalism. “Don’t question my management decisions.”

Perry remained behind her desk, wearing an innocent smile.

She moved into position on the other side of her chair and crossed her arms.

He didn’t budge. “Charlotte, please tell me you didn’t marry Brody just to hang on to the resort. I feel responsible. If I hadn’t hurt you so badly before, maybe you wouldn’t have rushed into this marriage so quickly.”

Swallowing her disgust, she stared him straight in the eyes. “I didn’t rush into anything. I’ve been in love with Aaron for three years,” she lied.

“You’ve been having an affair with this guy that long and never mentioned him to Edward?” He laughed. “What can someone of your upbringing have in common with a guy like him?”

“You couldn’t possibly understand.” Being rejected by a woman he didn’t want for a man he considered rungs beneath him had to be a blow to Perry’s sizable ego. She walked around the desk, opened the door, and gestured him out. “Anything else?”

He swallowed, shook his head, and left her in blissful silence.

She shut the door behind him and leaned against it to regain her composure. Six months of this?

Perry was a poor loser. And as shrewd as he was unscrupulous. He might fool everyone else with this caring pretense, but not her. He had something up his sleeve and whatever it was, it had more to do with his quest for power than his heart.

She buzzed Zelda and asked her to bring in coffee. Although, the way her head pounded, she wasn’t sure coffee was going to be enough today.

Remembering Aaron’s “cure” of black coffee, she nearly choked. He’d seemed completely at ease with his nudity this morning. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself traipsing around her bungalow in the buff. Not in this lifetime.

Blinking Aaron out of her mind, she grabbed her purse and rummaged for her bottle of aspirin. Finally, she gave up and dumped the contents on the desk. What was that? A check made out to Aaron from her grandfather in the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. On the notation line it simply said, Best Wishes.

She folded the check and stashed it in her wallet to deal with another day. Aaron had every legal right to cash it, but he’d left it in her purse?

Popping the top off the bottle, she shook two tablets into her hand and laid them aside, waiting on the coffee.

What had Perry really been doing in her office? If he got wind of the prenuptial or the loan she’d taken out, the game was over.

She shuffled through her lap drawer, and then flipped through the caddy where Zelda left the mail.

“Maybe I lucked out this time.” When the documents arrived, she’d store them in her safe deposit box and have all the locks changed on the office. She drummed her fingers on the desk. The snake had already charmed the keys out of either Edward or Zelda.

The savory aroma of steaming coffee followed Zelda into the office. Bless the girl’s efficiency.

“Have a seat, Zelda.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Zelda tugged at her miniskirt and wiggled into the wing chair.

Charlotte noted her tight blouse and lime green skirt and made a note to discuss proper office attire—tomorrow.

Zelda had only been in the position two weeks. She had to be better than the last girl who quit to stay home with her baby. Baby or not, how could a woman trust a man enough to be solely dependent on him? Charlotte would never give any man that much control.