Page 13 of Vicious Arrangement (Alpha Billionaire Daddies #7)

Chapter Twelve

ARIA

When I wake the next morning, I’m confused.

It takes me a moment to piece together where I am, that I’m not at home, I’m apparently sleeping on some kind of cloud because, damn, this bed’s comfortable, and there are strange keys on the strange bedside table.

“Fuck, I’m not in Kansas anymore, Angus.”

From outside, I get a soft bark.

Outside?

The clock in my head rings an alarm, and I sit up, bolt straight.

And it all comes back, rapid fire.

I’m married. I’m in SoHo in a sky mansion. Angus is in his own personal outside space he shares with me, and I didn’t fall asleep here, unless I’ve taken up sleepwalking, which I don’t think I have.

Because the last thing I remember was discovering Noah’s sound system and listening to podcasts and music, drinking some wine and eating expensive cheese and artisanal crackers.

Shit. I must have fallen asleep to the sounds of the city when something ended… some podcast I don’t even remember.

But I think the keys are a dead giveaway to how I got to my room.

Noah.

He must have gotten sick of whatever girl he was with and come home.

My stomach turns at that, and my cheeks burn. I’m better than this. I don’t blame without truth, and I don’t point fingers. He might be arrogant and an asshole, but would he fuck someone right after me?

I’d like to think he wouldn’t. But just say he is that kind of boy toy, then I don’t think he’s the kind who’ll jeopardize his inheritance on cheap sex after going to such lengths—me—to secure it.

I sigh and get out of bed, in my sweats and T-shirt from the night before, and strip off, jumping in the shower.

I start my shift in a few hours, so I can have a quick shower and run with Angus and then just a rinse before I head in. I want to wash my hair. But first…

Reaching for the body wash, I find empty spaces. I feel around, then I start looking. I don’t remember unpacking in here, but Carrie did. She put toiletries where they belong, makeup and toothbrush in place, hairbrush and so on. But…

“Fuck.”

Did I pack them?

“Oh, fuck me.”

Nope, no. I don’t remember it. Or if I did, I put them in something else… Shit. I’m going to need something for today.

My mind goes straight to Noah. Nope, he’ll be at work, and I’m not opening his door. I’ll check out one of the guest rooms.

I turn off the water and pull a fluffy towel around me, then pad out of my room, listening for others.

But didn’t Noah say Carrie was here three times a week?

He has people doing loads of repeat jobs, like cleaning on top of having a housekeeper, so I figure those are for when he’s entertaining or the place needs a deep clean, or I don’t know, he’s overtaken by a whim to have people do his bidding.

I start down the hall, peeking in one room that I know is his gym. But as I make my way across to the room on the other side, it’s just for towels and waters. No shower. I mean, it’s a home gym, not one he charges people from the street to join and use.

A laugh slips free, and I go out, passing the coat room and his study. I’m heading for the stairs when I see the pocket doors to his bedroom open, and I can’t help it, I peek in. “Noah?”

There’s no answer.

Of course not. He’s at work. I step in. After all, he clearly did the same to me in my room, putting me to bed, I’m going to assume, returning with the keys. What did he do?

Watch me sleep.

The idea should be gross and make me feel dirty.

It does.

But in a good way, and my body temperature starts to rise as my blood starts to tingle.

Then I look around.

The quilt is white, and the bed is made.

In some ways, it’s like mine. A lot of white, open spaces, a sofa, chairs and a coffee table.

Near his door leading to his boring garden is a small table and two chairs, something he can sit at to drink coffee or work, indoors or even outside if he wishes to move it.

I can see the door to his bathroom is open the smell of him peppery wood bergamot and sensuous sin wafts in the air. I close my eyes and breathe it in, like he’s there, behind me, ready to touch me.

But the thing is, my room’s more personal than his. I don’t know a thing about him from the room. The walk in closet is closed, and a pair of beautiful shoes sit outside it, like he changed his mind at the last minute.

It’s similar to my walk-in closet, which is pathetically empty.

I open it and step in, greeted by gorgeous rows of suits and shirts. The middle section is a display case for ties and watches.

The shoes are on the other side, and there’s even a sitting area and a mannequin that can wear a suit he’s thinking of.

In fact, it does.

But it’s something I don’t equate with him. It’s a three-piece velvet suit in the richest, darkest wine, a cream shirt beneath and a black tie.

It’s breathtaking, and though it’s not him, I can see him wearing it.

I’m thinking it’s a joke.

I don’t open any of the drawers. There’s got to be jeans and T-shirts, hoodies, running shorts and other things. Underwear, socks, hell maybe he’s got a sock suspender collection.

I walk out and spy a built in book case in black, and on one shelf is a framed photo.

The only thing, and business books don’t count, that seems remotely personal.

The photo is of a woman and a young boy. She’s gorgeous, dark brown hair, dark eyes and dimples.

Both of them are smiling.

My heart dips.

Is this Noah and his mother?

Something makes me go stiff and freeze, like the air changes.

“Do you always go through other people’s belongings?” Noah asks. “Dressed in a towel?”

I jump and nearly drop the photo frame.

“And is the towel for a bit of distraction, flash and run style or…” He trails off. He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes which only makes the flash of his dimple and it’s effect on me worse. “Help me out here, because I’ve got nothing beyond that.”

“What’s the suit for?”

“I always wear suits. Because I work.”

I hold up my chin. “Work out in a suit, do you?”

“You’d be shocked at what I can do in a suit.” His voice turns silky, and it’s a weapon of devastation. “No, wait, you wouldn’t because you already do. I was wearing a suit on the night of our wedding. Never, ever took it off until I got home. So, the towel.”

“I thought you were asking about the room,” I say. “Why do you own a velvet suit?”

“You also went into my closet.”

“Well, technically, we’re married.”

Now his smile grows, and it reaches his eyes, ever feral part of it. “There’s nothing technical about the marriage. We made it real. Wedding night, you in the dress, me in the suit, us and the hot, hard sex.”

I lift my chin. “I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

Great, now we’re both twisting it. No one was too drunk to know better. I know I did it because in a moment of vulnerability, I crumbled and wanted a taste of what everyone else had, and he tasted exceptionally good.

“Why do you have the suit?” I hold the towel with one hand and point vaguely back at the closet with the picture.

He shrugs and steps toward me. “Why shouldn’t I have the suit?”

I actually don’t know.

“B-because it’s sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy,” he says, voice low.

“I think you’re an arrogant asshole.”

“Another reason to have the suit. A sexy, arrogant asshole, put that on, and I’m unstoppable. It’s my superhero costume.”

I almost laugh. It takes real effort not to. He’s funny. “Captain Asshole?”

“Only to friends. It’s usually Captain Sexy. Or Mr. Arrogant Asshole.” He takes another step, and I start to tremble. “What’s up with the towel?”

“My husband’s a brute. Only lets me wear ugly, fluffy towels.”

“That’s not true. He’ll take nothing at all, too.”

If we keep going we’re going, to end up naked and doing it. He should be at work, and I should be showering and getting out of here. So I force myself back to the picture.

“Is this you and your mom?”

The humor fades, and he just nods. Though I wait for more, it becomes clear there’s nothing else coming.

Instead, he takes the picture, brushes past me making my skin burst into life and he puts it face down on the coffee table.

Then he comes back to me.

This time he stays up close and the vibrations between us make all my common sense go haywire. I don’t move.

Noah stops right in front of me, studying me from my half-wet hair to where a bead of water tickles its way down between my breasts and down to my feet, then back up. This time I can’t shake the impression he’s trying to see what’s beneath my towel.

I shift, trying to get comfortable, trying to gather some semblance of will and make myself march out of the room.

But I’m throbbing between my thighs.

“What are you up to today?” he asks.

“Same as you.”

His brow rises. “That an invitation to fuck? Because that’s where my mind went.”

“I have to work?—”

“See, sometimes being president—of my company, not of a country, there’s a big difference—has its perks, like rocking up to work whenever I feel like it. So we can have sex?—”

“I have to walk Angus.”

“—and then some more sex and?—”

“Stop teasing me, I have to meet Katie.”

He laughs softly. “I thought you had to work. Or walk your beast on legs, and now it’s Katie? All in a minute? That’s quite a line of lies or quite the morning.”

“You’re confusing me. I’m meeting Katie after work tonight. But I have to walk the dog, and then go to work, so?—”

I push him, wanting him out of my way, knowing, like he does, I could have stepped around him. He’s so warm, solid, hard under my palm, and I’m betting other parts are hard, too. I drop my gaze but drag it up before I even reach his pants, and I moan.

Noah moves then and finally, finally touches me.

His fingers wrap around my arm. It’s so electrifying I cry out and step back, letting go of the towel I’m holding.

It tumbles to the floor.

Noah grins.

“Are you sure you have to go?” he whispers in my ear. “Or do you want to stay?”

“Stay and do what?”

His gaze burns a trail over me, over my nipples that harden under his gaze, down over my abs and hips to my pussy, and his gaze lingers there for long heart beats of moments.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I…” I should run, I should say no, I should pick up my towel, ask for body wash and shampoo and buy myself body armor and a chastity belt before work, that’s what I should do. I don’t. At all. “I don’t know. Stay and do what?”

He closes the circle with his other hand and brushes a strand of wet hair from my face.

“What the fuck do you think, Aria? This.”