Hitched: Volume Two Page 8

  The sour feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies. Great . . . yet another reason why everything in my life is fucked. Not what I need to hear right now. But Rosita doesn’t know that, so I nod and force a smile at her, as if her wise advice perfectly hit the spot.

  “Thanks for the talk, Rosie. I better get back to work.”

  “Anytime,” she calls after me.

  Now I just have to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

  Chapter Eight

  Olivia

  What the hell happened last night? I worked so hard to psych myself up for sex, and Noah was the one who got cold feet? Unbelievable. The man can never stop flirting with me or bragging about how amazing he is in bed, but when the time came to put his money where his mouth was . . . actually, his mouth didn’t go anywhere either.

  And I can’t even ask Noah about it, because I can’t find him. I woke up to an empty bed, with no sign of my husband anywhere in the apartment. He wasn’t in his office when I arrived at work either.

  All damn day, I’ve been trying to catch him alone. He won’t answer any of my calls or texts or e-mails, and his secretary keeps saying “oh, bad luck, you just missed him” every time I stop by her desk.

  Is it really bad luck, though? Is his jam-packed schedule today just an annoying coincidence? Or . . . is he avoiding me on purpose?

  I stomp down the little voice in the back of my head that whispers, He’s changed his mind about you. He finally came to his senses, realized what a huge mistake this relationship is. He regrets everything. He doesn’t want to touch you or even talk to you. That poisonous hiss sounds an awful lot like Brad, and I’m done with him for good.

  But God, I’m still so confused and frustrated. I was all set to confront my sexual hang-ups, and then our showdown was canceled at the last possible second.

  Dammit, I refuse to let my emotional effort go to waste. I’m going to be brave and get laid if it’s the last thing I do. But first, I’m going to find out why Noah suddenly abandoned ship last night. And if I can’t track down the slippery SOB at work, I’ll just corner him tonight. He has to come home sometime, right?

  • • •

  Just as I’m folding a sheet of office paper into a voodoo doll and preparing to repeatedly stab it in the crotch, Camryn swings by my office.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I ask as she slides into the chair in front of my desk.

  “Not much.” She shrugs. “I wanted to see if you wanted to grab an early lunch.”

  I glance at the clock and see it’s only half past eleven, but yes, getting out of this building and escaping the rejection burning through my veins is exactly what I need. “I would eat dog shit right now if I meant I got an hour’s worth of girl time with you.”

  Camryn’s cheery expression falls. “Well, I’m not real keen on eating dog shit, so why don’t you tell me what happened, sweetie?”

  I huff out a sigh and rise to my feet. “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”

  And I do. Over chicken strips and fries (nothing says comfort food like deep-fried anything dipped in generous amounts of ranch dressing), I lay it all out on the table. All my baggage. All the pain and hurt and doubt Noah caused me last night.

  “He had me convinced that he wanted me, wooed me, was on his best, most charming behavior, and then bam! Nothing.” I lick the grease from my fingers and take a big gulp of soda to wash down my lunch.

  “What a twat,” she grumbles, nodding to encourage me along.

  “He slept on the couch and was gone before I got up this morning, so obviously he’s avoiding me like he knows he did something wrong.” I freeze, my straw halfway to my lips.

  “What?” Camryn asks.

  “Unless I’m the one who did something wrong.”

  This earns me a confused look. “Do you think you did something wrong?”

  I shrug. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that it had been so long.”

  “Noah isn’t like that. He wouldn’t care.”

  Camryn’s right. I replay the evening in my head. Dinner. Champagne. Dancing. Flirting. Laughing. Groping.

  “Maybe I was too aggressive. I had my hand in his pants the second the door closed.” I push my hands into my hair, remembering how I acted, in all my horny glory. “The lock didn’t even click into place and I was all up in his business. I started giving him a blow job in the damn foyer of our apartment.”

  “That’s hot,” she commented, taking another bite of her food. “What guy doesn’t want a blow job in the foyer?”

  I don’t know. Apparently Noah. But he’s been practically begging to show me his dick . . . I frown, unsure if my actions last night somehow caused him to pull away.

  She leans toward me, her eyes full of sweet pity. “Sweetie, if you’re sucking his dick, you can do it anywhere, anytime, and it’s okay. It’s almost a rule.”

  The worst part of this whole situation is the growing seed of doubt he left. What’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I good enough?

  “What happened next?” she asks.

  “He took me into the bedroom and stripped me down. We were kissing.” God, the kissing. The man can do incredible things with his tongue. “And then he was rubbing his . . . anaconda . . . all over my . . . honey pot, and I mentioned something about a condom.”

  “Hmm.” She looks as perplexed as I feel. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word honey pot?”

  Shaking my head, I continue. “No. But maybe it was me. Maybe my vagina’s ugly?”

  The guy seated next to us whips his head in my direction so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

  Camryn pats my hand. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your vagina. I’m sure of it.”

  “Then why, Cam? Why? Why would he do that? Because I don’t believe for one second that he was all of a sudden ill.”

  She shakes her head. “No, neither do I.” She sets her fork down next to her Cobb salad. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

  My stomach tightening, I nod.

  She wipes her mouth with her napkin and leans forward. “I think it hit Noah that this unique situation with you isn’t what he’s used to. This isn’t a random hookup, or a booty call that he can duck out on in the morning. Whether you guys like it or not, sex between the two of you is going to mean something.”

  I frown and chew on my thumbnail. “In what way?”

  “You’re a married couple now.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s a business agreement. An arranged marriage. And I proposed we be fuck buddies since we’re stuck together. It’s not some romantic till-death-do-us-part, lovey-dovey marriage.”

  Camryn holds up her palms. “All I’m saying is sex for men isn’t just physical like we sometimes like to believe. And I think something spooked Noah—got into his head.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” But is it? Aren’t those some of the same things I was worried about? My whole objection for us having naked fun in the first place?

  “Ridiculous or not, I want you to know that his backing out had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with something going on inside his head.”

  “So, what do I do now?”

  She grins wickedly. “That all depends. Do you still want to bang him?”

  Stupid question. Is the value of pi 3.14? Does my husband have a horse cock? Yes to all of the above.

  “More than anything.” I grin back at her, my expression equally cheeky.

  Camryn cracks up laughing. “Okay, then here’s what you do . . .”

  • • •

  Later, back at the office, I’m working away when my head snaps up. Walking past my window—was that Noah just now? I jump out of my chair and peek around the doorjamb. Yep . . . I’d recognize that ass anywhere. He turns the corner and I follow him at what I hope is a casual distance. Time to confront him, just like Camryn suggested.

  When I reach Noah’s office, his door is shut and locked. But the lights are on and I can see the silhouette
of his head through the frosted glass window. It doesn’t look like he’s on the phone or having a private meeting with anyone.

  I give his door three loud raps. “Hey, Noah.”

  No answer. So he’s being stubborn. Too bad; I can be stubborn too. I knock again and call, “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”

  The door flies open. Noah looks irritated. Well, good—I guess that makes two of us.

  “Something better be on fire,” he snaps.

  I keep my eyes steady on his. “Sorry, but no. And we should talk in private.”

  His mouth presses into a firm line, but he steps aside to let me walk into his office.

  I shut the door behind me and turn to face him. “So . . . about last night. Care to tell me what happened?”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “Weren’t you there? You already know.”

  “No, I really don’t.” Straightening my back—I can’t match his height, but I’ll still try—I plant my hands on my hips. “The date, the dancing, the wooing . . . and then the bailing.”

  “I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Really? Because you don’t look sick to me right now.” And if he was sick last night, then why sleep on the couch? No way. Not buying it.

  Noah throws up his hands. “Maybe it was something I ate at dinner. Maybe I just got a headache. What’s with the damn third degree?”

  Then he drops his gaze. It was only for a second, but I saw it, and I know evasive maneuvers when I see them. So I press harder.

  “It really seemed to me like you were scared of having sex.”

  He blinks, his mouth open, then forces a laugh. “What? We’re still talking about me, right? You’re always sniping at me for . . . how did you put it? Fucking half of New York City?”

  “But I’m not your typical conquest. I’m your wife. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your style tends more toward ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ than ‘until death do us part.’” I pause to raise my eyebrows at him for emphasis. “Last night wasn’t going to be just a casual screw where you forgot my name five minutes later. I think you backed off because you were worried that sex would make things too real between us. You’re scared you might feel something for me.”

  For a moment, he just stares at me with a look I can’t read. It’s wry, almost bitter, but at the same time, it almost seems somehow . . . relieved?

  When Noah finally replies, his voice is much calmer. “What a bunch of horseshit. You’re reading way too much into this. I already told you why I stopped last night, so quit inventing crazy stories.”

  I blink, surprised by how much his words sting. He calls the idea that he might love me . . . a bunch of horseshit?

  But what do I care? I don’t love him. Romance was never part of this marriage, and it’s not part of our bedroom experiments either. So why does his vehement denial feel so . . . disappointing? I was just trying to get him to acknowledge what Camry and I discussed, that sex between us might seem like a big deal, but it’s not. We can keep it casual.

  Disguising my twinge of hurt, I reply briskly, “Well, if you’re feeling better, then let’s reschedule sex for tonight. I already picked up some condoms at the drugstore on my way here this morning.” I watch his face carefully. “Unless there’s a problem with that?”

  He frowns, but says, “Sounds good to me.”

  “Great. See you at home.” I open his door and leave, heading back for my own office. Hopefully I can get some work done now that I’ve set my personal life straight again.

  Chapter Nine

  Noah

  The conversation with Olivia at work today is still ringing through my ears when I make it home just before five. I skipped out on my last meeting, asking my assistant to cover for me, because I know Olivia will be expecting sex tonight. And I know I need to figure out a way to tell her everything. The contract. The bouncing baby we’re supposed to make.

  She thought I was scared of having sex because I was worried about feeling something for her. But she’s wrong. I already feel a lot for her. I always have.

  She was adamant. Tonight. Sex. Period. Even picked up some condoms. What the fuck am I going to do? Fake a latex allergy? No way in hell will she buy that. It’s such a stupid idea; I can’t even believe I’m thinking it. I’m so rattled, so panicked, all sorts of crazy shit is pouring through my head.

  I kick off my shoes and stow them in the small entry closet. Loosening my tie, I head into the bathroom, where I stare at my reflection.

  When I signed those papers, it seemed like the right thing to do. Save the company? Check. Get a shot with the woman I’ve always dreamed about? Check. And make a baby? No problem, right? But now that this is all happening, it’s become real, and I’m fucking losing it. Losing my edge.

  Just over a week into our marriage and I’m already the world’s worst husband. Rosita was right about the dark circles under my eyes. I look like hell. I splash some cool water on my cheeks, hoping it might help. No such luck. I still look confused and tired and scared.

  Well, fuck that. I straighten my shoulders. That’s not me. I’m not some wimpy little boy who’s too afraid to take care of his woman. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Olivia has needs. And I’m supposed to be the one to take care of those needs.

  I have two choices when Olivia gets home tonight. I can come clean with everything, tell her about the heir clause, show her the section in the contract she missed. Or . . . I can keep my fucking trap shut and go along with what she wants. No-strings sex.

  We’re just beginning to click. She’s just beginning to trust me. If I fuck her tonight and she enjoys herself—which I have no doubts she will—that’s a big step toward bringing us closer as a couple. And isn’t that what we need if we really are to parent together? I think that’s what Rosita was trying to say today, that Olivia and I need to enjoy ourselves. We’re in our honeymoon stage of marriage, after all. Baby-making can come later. After our relationship is strong enough that the heir discussion won’t bring it crashing down around us.

  If safe sex is what she wants, with condoms galore, I’ll do it. If I don’t, I’ll arouse her suspicions. What choice do I have? The only thing I can do for now is buy more time to think. I just need to shut up and do my husbandly duty until I can figure out the best way to broach the topic of babies with her.

  Glancing one last time in the mirror, I exhale a deep breath. Just go with it, man. This can be good for both of us. It can be the start of something real. For now, my wife wants to be fuck buddies, and I’m sure as hell not turning my nose up at that opportunity.

  I head into the kitchen and start pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make dinner. I don’t know how to make many dishes, but there are still a few Mum taught me that I remember.

  Now that I’m in the kitchen, with the soft sizzle of the sauté pan to keep me company, my deception doesn’t seem quite the earth-shattering catastrophe I thought it was going to be. I’m not a coward, not really lying. I’m just being thoughtful—taking care to choose the right moment to bring up a sensitive topic.

  I work efficiently, chopping and dicing as I wait for my wife to get home from work. It all feels so normal, so utterly mundane.

  My phone chimes, and I see there’s a new text from Olivia.

  Olivia: I’m on my way home. Everything still on plan for tonight? Because we’re totally going to fuck. Right, Mr. Tate?

  Reading her dirty words sends a little thrill racing through me. With my heart kicking up speed, I reply.

  Noah: Absolutely. I’m down if you are.

  Olivia: It’s time to put up or shut up. Time to get with the program. And from what I can tell, it’s a big program. ;)

  Noah: See you soon, wifey.

  I chuckle and set the phone aside to finish dinner.

  What the hell was I freaking out about?

  This is going to be fun.

  Chapter Ten

  Olivia

  The smell of fish, lemon
, and fresh green herbs greets me when I come home. Stepping into the apartment, I inhale deeply and my stomach growls. I quickly take off my work flats so I can check out the kitchen.

  I walk in just in time to see Noah bending over to pull a pan of roasted salmon filet and asparagus out of the oven. When he looks over his shoulder at the sound of my footsteps, I try to pretend that I was staring at the food and not his ass.

  “Hey, Snowflake, great timing.”

  “That looks amazing.” I swear I just mean the dinner when I say that. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  With a chuckle, Noah sets the full pan on the counter and turns to pull plates from the cupboard. “Wait until you taste it before you get too excited. I learned how to make baked fish from Mum, and the vegetables and rice from the Internet.” He points at a glass dish full of steaming pilaf that I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Well, it looks good,” I chirp, then immediately remember I already said that. Goddammit. I might be freaking out a tiny little bit. I want this, I really do . . . but it’s still nerve-racking.

  And my butterflies only get worse when Noah glances at me with a catlike half smile, full of sinful promise. “I thought we should ease into things before . . .” He lets his words trail off.

  My mind jumps ahead to where he’ll be “easing into” later tonight. My stomach jumps with it, and almost without realizing, I wet my lips. Then I yank my eyes away from his.

  “I, um, I guess I’ll get the drinks,” I stammer, sweeping past him with more bustle than strictly necessary.

  I find a bottle of chardonnay chilling in the fridge, pour two glasses full, and get the silverware while Noah plates the food. Once the table is set, we take our first bites . . . and a quiet moan of pleasure escapes me.

  Our dinner is just as delicious as it looked and smelled. The salmon filets and asparagus are fresh, fork-tender, and lightly seasoned with salt, pepper, and olive oil. The lemon-herb rice perfectly rounds out the meal with its fragrant fluffiness.