Page 18 of Bride on the Dotted Line (Blackstone Center #1)

I shift my grip on her, savoring the heat of her against me, the way she tucks herself closer without seeming to realize. "Carrying you?"

"No," she says, and then after a pause, "this."

She doesn’t explain what she means, but I feel the weight of it anyway. We look at each other, and I’m acutely aware that I’m walking a tightrope I can’t see, pretending I’m not waiting to fall.

I exhale slowly. "Only when it is."

“Right.”

The word lands low in my stomach, a spark waiting for air. I keep walking. Even the traffic from a few streets over seems to have toned down, silent except for the occasional car slicing through the night. The silken fabric of Sienna’s gown gathers under my hand.

I’m almost scared by how easy this feels, how my body recognizes hers.

By the time we reach the lobby of my building, she’s molded against me, her warmth soaking through my coat. I don’t set her down, even when the doorman pushes the door open for us.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harwood,” he says.

“Hi,” Sienna responds. I just nod.

The elevator dings. I carry Sienna inside, leaning my back against the mirrored wall of the car. She tilts her head, looking up at me. Her hair is half out of her updo now, black curls cascading over her shoulders.

The moment the doors slide shut, the air shifts. We’re alone now— really alone.

I should put her down. Any second. But I don’t.

Sienna’s arms tighten, still draped around my neck. The elevator hums upward. “You can let me go now.”

“I could,” I say, and I try to, but my arms aren’t listening. I shouldn’t have kissed her. I’m starting to wonder if I picked her up the moment she grabbed my wrist outside Café de Mario. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever be able to put her down.

Maybe I don’t care.

“Nick,” Sienna says. She licks her lips, and her gaze dips—just for a second—to my mouth. My pulse thuds. “You should let me go now.”

“I should,” I agree.

Maybe I don’t care about anything: the company; the contract; the right thing to do. I know what I need. I know what I want.

And so does she.

I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, our noses brush. Sienna’s chest rises and falls, her smell dizzying.

“I wanted to ask you before,” she says, lips hovering over my mouth. Her fingers curl against my neck, nails grazing just enough to cause a moment of delicious pain. All the blood in my body rushes to my cock. “How are you doing, with all of this?”

The elevator dings, doors opening to the dark entrance hall of my penthouse.

I pull back a second, looking into her eyes.

Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks dark with heat.

It’s the look I recognize from the wedding, after we broke our kiss and disentangled ourselves.

The same look I glimpsed in her eyes before, when I didn’t know her; the one that made me realize we were the same.

Hunger.

That’s all the confirmation I need to do something stupid.

“If you mean right now …” I say, and peel us off the wall, carrying her into my living room. I don’t bother to turn on the lights as we go; the sparkling city outside gives me more than enough light to see her by.

She holds me tighter, squeezing harder, pressing her forehead against mine.

“If you mean right now …” I repeat, sweeping a collection of open cookbooks off the kitchen counter.

They thud to the floor with Sienna’s purse and shoes, and I set her on the marble countertop.

She orients herself to perch on the edge, knees opening, creating a glorious curtain of red silk that stretches between her legs.

I step up to her, my hips slotting perfectly against her body.

God, yes.

“If you mean right now …” I’m losing control.

I undo the top button of Sienna’s coat with fumbling fingers.

Her knees squeeze my sides, lips parted around a held breath.

I spread the top of her coat open, revealing the smooth, beautiful hills of her collarbone, and I lower my mouth to the place where her shoulder meets her neck.

There, I finally finish the sentence.

“I like this, Sienna. I really fucking like this.”

Her breath whooshes out, fingers threading into the hair at the back of my head. “You …” But she trails off.

“Say it, Sienna,” I whisper into her skin.

Something in her voice breaks. “I didn’t know if you felt …”

My hands are out of my control. One is buried in the fur at the small of her back, the other finding her left ankle, working its way beneath the hem of her gown, gliding up her smooth, bare calf.

“Take your coat off,” I instruct her.

She immediately frees her arms from the faux fur, letting it fall behind us. My cock strains against my zipper. Who knew Sienna Hayes, the fierce, capable woman who levels men with a single look, would be so good at taking orders?

“I dream about you,” she says. Like mine, her words are tumbling out in a torrent, uncontrollable. “You make me feel crazy. I can’t sleep. I can’t work. I can’t do anything.”

I’m kissing her neck in earnest, now, the feeling of her soft, fragrant skin sparking fire through my body.

She’s unbelievable, the truth of her feelings threatening to ruin me.

When I scrape my teeth against her collarbone, she moans, head tipping back to offer more of herself. I feel like I might burn alive.

“The contract,” I say roughly.

Sienna wings her left knee to the side, giving my searching hand a clear path up her thigh. “I know.” I slide my tongue down the hollow of her throat. She gasps, body shuddering. “We should stop.”

Under her dress, my thumb grazes soft lace at the crease between her thigh and her apex. She’s molten, so hot and wet for me that I can feel it down the edge of her panties. The want that surges through my body is unbearable.

I bring my head up to lean my forehead against hers.

“Should I stop?”

Her eyes are wide open. Our chests heave in unison. We’re two halves of something whole, magnetized to each other.

She shakes her head. My fingers clamp down on her thigh.

“I’m going to need to hear it out loud, sweetheart.”

Her lashes flutter, eyes black as night. “Don’t stop.”

My heart leaps. It’s freedom, it’s elation.

I push my thumb slowly beneath the edge of her panties, savoring the sounds she’s making as I tease her.

Then I step back, tugging the lace down her thighs.

She brings her legs together, wiggling her hips so I can pull her panties from beneath her dress. I’m so hard I might fucking pass out.

The black lace falls to the floor at my feet, then I’m right back where I was, sliding my hand up her leg toward that wetness beneath her dress. Sienna’s breath hitches. When I find the folds of her slick center, I release an involuntary groan, and …

Her phone starts buzzing.

I freeze, hoping against hope it’s some kind of auditory hallucination. But Sienna’s frozen, too, her breath sawing in and out. We blink at each other as the rhythmic vibration from her purse on the floor fills the room.

“It’s two in the morning,” she whispers after a second. “I should look, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

I step away, letting Sienna off the counter, coming back to myself as she feels around for her purse. My throat feels like it has the diameter of a straw, it’s so tight. The tip of my thumb is still wet with her slick, my nose and mouth filled with her scent and taste.

What the fuck just happened?

Sienna takes one look at the name on her phone screen and taps the green button. “Dad? Are you okay?”

A cold twist goes through my stomach. Her dad. This whole thing—the marriage, her contract—was for her dad.

And we nearly messed everything up.

I unbutton my coat, sinking onto the couch in the living room while she paces the kitchen, saying, “Yes. Yes. No. It’s two o’clock here, Dad. Yeah, in the morning. Okay. They did? What did they say?”

It’s dark in here, city lights casting long shadows on the walls. I’d get up and turn on the light, but I’m still sporting a full erection. I sit, trying to calm myself down, as Sienna ends the call and heaves a sigh, hip bumping the kitchen counter.

“He okay?” I ask.

“He’s fine.” Her voice is hoarse, her hair wild. One strap of her dress is hanging off her shoulder; I’m positive my fingers put it there. “He messes the time change up all the time.”

“Oh. I see.”

“His—um—his old friends are visiting him. They told him a PI called each of them asking questions about our family last week.”

I lift my head to look at her. “A private investigator?”

“Yeah. Nobody knows who he works for.”

My shoulders go rigid. The tabloids are always intrusive, combing through social media and contacting people for statements, but a PI? What gossip mag has the resources for something like that?

“It could mean nothing,” she says. “Or they could be looking into …”

“You,” I finish for her. “Nick Harwood’s new wife.”

She fiddles with her hands, her wedding ring spinning around and around on her finger.

“It’s okay—we knew I’d attract questions.

I’ll lay low for a while. You’ll be in Fiji in a week or so.

If I keep a low profile until you get back, and we don’t spark any more attention, there won’t be a profitable story to publish.

Even when they do connect me with my dad. ”

“Good.” I’m not sure what else to say. “Okay.”

Heavy silence stretches between us. She lets her chin fall to her chest, examining the floor. All I want is to gather her up in my arms, take her into my bedroom, and finish what we started. But we shouldn’t. It would violate the contract and bring our whole agreement plummeting down.

Do the right thing, Nick.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have?—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “It was me.” Her throat moves, barely visible in the dim light. “I think it’s obvious we’ve gotten a little carried away.”

“Just a little.” The feeling in my chest is inexplicable. It’s tense, scorching, and deeply unfamiliar, like I waded into uncharted water too deep to swim back. Like I found a rare flavor that changed my brain chemistry, and I can never return to the way I tasted before tonight.

And fuck if Sienna’s not gazing at me like she feels the same way.

“I’m not usually the kind of person who hesitates when she wants something,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Fuck—there are butterflies in my stomach. What is this woman doing to me?

“Sienna.” I offer her a hint of a smile. “I’m not usually the kind of man who does things on impulse. I’ve thought about you for a while. That’s not why I asked you to marry me, obviously. I just …”

“I know. It surprised me, too.” Her eyes are round, lips pinching at the corners. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the contract ends in a few months. Maybe we should … revisit this topic then.”

The topic of my mouth on her neck, of her moans in my ear, of my hand under her dress.

I clench my fists on my thighs. “Yes. Um—yes. I’d love to circle back.”

“Good.” Sienna gathers her things from the floor, then faces me with that hungry expression again, and I think, that one. That’s my favorite of all the looks she’s ever given me. “Thank you for tonight.”

I nod at her, and she disappears through the door to the hallway, the train of her gown slipping out of sight. And when I stand to go to my own room a few minutes later, I find her panties draped across the bottom step of the staircase, waiting for me.