“I knew it.” She curled against him. “You remembered our song.”
He held her close, stroking her back until he thought she’d fallen asleep. It ate at him that he couldn’t remember meeting her, much less their first kiss. And God help him if he was right about it being more than a kiss. A mixture of shame and remorse tried to invade his soul, but he held the emotions at bay. Surely, if it was that important, that involved, she would tell him.
After all she’d told him about the man that had broken her heart.
“I’m ready for my honeymoon, Mr. Romanov.”
So was he, but making love to an inebriated woman was high on his list of things he never did anymore. “You’re drunk.”
“Am not,” she argued, kissing his neck.
He shivered. “We’ll see.”
“Make love to me,” she pleaded.
“We can’t,” Christian insisted, but his body had other ideas and his arse stayed firmly planted beside her.
What the hell was he doing anyway? It had all started with a good night kiss and had quickly turned into her pulling him to the bed. And of course he’d followed her down. And of course it had made complete sense to kiss her again.
Her toes caressed his ankles while her hands explored the inside of his shirt, rubbing her palms against his chest. And he was acting like a damn schoolboy, running his fingers through her long, silky hair and tickling the side of her face with one of the flowers he plucked from the crown she’d made.
“Yes, we can. All you have to do is insert part C into part Z,” she teased.
He made another pass with the petals of the rose he was holding, highlighting her eyebrows. “You’ve got an instruction manual in your carry-on?” he murmured, pressing his lips against hers.
“It’s written in the language of love.”
“I speak that particular language fluently.” Oh, good God. Someone make it stop. She’d kill him when she remembered the ridiculous lines he’d just used on her.
“Be my tutor.” Her tongue slid in his mouth to coax and tease until his followed. When she sucked on it, his dick throbbed in response.
Holy hell, he had to stop while he could. “Zoe, you’re drunk and I don’t want you to regret this.” He pulled away, resting his head on the pillow beside her. He closed his eyes as her hands ran up and down his back.
“I wouldn’t. Not one bit,” she said, her words feathery light in his ear. She scooted closer, her curvy body molding to his once more.
He untangled his body from hers and sat up, shoving his legs over the side of the bed and gripping the covers so he wouldn’t touch her again. “It’s not that I don’t want to because, God help me I do.”
“Wait! I have to tell you something,” she said, tugging at his shirt. “It’s really important. My name—”
“Just a minute, love.” He jumped up from the bed and strode into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. “No touching the wife. Keep your damn hands to yourself. She’s drunk.” Grimacing, he swiped a hand towel over his face. “Now all you have to do is go in there, tell her good night and sleep in one of the other five bedrooms in this place. Alone. Again.”
Just how many times could they come so close, but never finish? Only for tonight. One more night and then he’d make love to her until he couldn’t or keeled over.
He blew out a long breath, confident he could resist her. He walked back to the bedroom to find his bride sound asleep, with one hand under her cheek and her lips slightly parted.
Gazing at the ceiling, he mouthed a ‘thank you’.
After covering her up and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, he tilted his head from side to side and joints popped, relieving some tension. He ached to join her. And why shouldn’t he? He could wake her up in the morning with kisses and—
She sighed, rolling to her back and making her dress dip dangerously low. Her breasts rose with every breath. Instantly, he was rock hard and throbbing for relief. With a restraint he wasn’t aware he possessed, he back away.
“Good night,” he whispered and left the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Zoe’s eyes popped open. She sat up, looking around the unfamiliar bedroom.
The unfamiliar weight on her ring finger caught her attention as the previous night’s events came rushing back. Flash Mob. Little White Chapel. Skinny Elvis. Kissing Christian in bed. Not only that, she had pleaded and begged him to have sex with her. He’d refused not once, not twice but three times.
Groaning, she fell back on the pillow and stretched an arm over her eyes.
“Good morning, wife. Already regretting last night?”
She jerked up, watching as Christian pressed a button on his way to her. The curtains moved into hidden chambers in the wall. “Of course not.” She blinked and squinted at the sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows.
The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he sat down. He looked completely sexy and ready for the day while she had morning breath and bedhead. A sneaky glance at the mirror directly across from the bed made her want to yank the sheet over her head, and not come out again until he left.
“Feel like eating?” His blue eyes were sympathetic.
Her stomach growled. “Maybe some dry toast and a glass of orange juice.” That usually calmed her stomach.
“I’ll be back,” he said, rising from the bed.
As soon as he left the room, she raced to the bathroom. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she chanted. After seeing to her most pressing need first, she washed her hands, rinsed her mouth out with some mouthwash and scrubbed at her face. There wasn’t much she could do for her hair, but she managed to make the side sticking up lay back down.
Well, at least she didn’t look like she could scare him into an annulment. He was probably used to waking up with women whose hair was gently tousled and their makeup sleep proof. Not smeared to look like a before picture.
She made it back to bed and slid under the covers before Christian returned.
He coughed, then sat down beside her. “We need to talk about last night.”
“Don’t remind me,” she moaned. Insert part C into part Z. Could she have sounded more ridiculous? Oh, wait she could and had. It’s written in the language of love.
“But you were so hot. So wild and uninhibited. No matter how many times I told you we couldn’t do it on the balcony, you insisted. And as your husband, it’s my duty to make you happy.” He stroked the side of her face. “My little wildcat.”
She tried swallowing, but her mouth felt like gauze had been stuffed into it. Not only had they had sex, but she had been an exhibitionist. To make matters worse, she didn’t remember anything. “I…uh, that is…”
Christian looked hurt and his hand fell away. “It wasn’t good for you? Did I fail to live up to your expectations?”
Horrified, she shook her head. There was no way she was going to admit she didn’t remember their time together. “Oh, no, you were… awesome.” Awesome? She was a best-selling novelist and that’s the best adjective she could come up with? She racked her brain. “It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Almost like I wasn’t myself.” It had to be, because blanks kept coming up when she tried to rewind her memories. She had the absurd notion to scream her fool head off in frustration.
A grin tugged at his mouth. “Don’t you mean almost like it didn’t happen?”
She gasped, then grabbed the pillow beside her and began smacking him with it. “You mean, teasing thing.”
He laughed and blocked her blows. In one swift move, he had her wrists pinned to the bed.
“I missed you, Zoe.” He licked at a small spot on her neck. Heat spread through her body in languorous waves. “Tonight, I’m going to make love to you until you’ve forgotten your name. Until you only exist for my pleasure and me for yours. I’m going to be so deep inside of you that we fuse from the heat of our bodies.”
“Knock, knock. Are you two indecent?” came a male voice, with a British accent.
Christian looked at her with such longing that it took her breath away. Releasing her wrists, he turned to face their intruder. “Have I ever told you, Sasha, that your timing leaves much to be desired?”
“Hello, beautiful. Here’s the toast and orange juice you ordered.” Sasha gestured to the tray now resting on the nightstand. He sat down beside Zoe. “Gave the butler the day off.”
“Um, thank you,” she said.
“Shall I feed it to you, dear?” asked Sasha with a wink.
Zoe’s eyes grew as round as DVDs before she looked at Christian with ‘help me’ practically written all over her face.
Christian pulled her over to his lap and reached for the tray, balancing it with one hand and settling it in her lap. “My wife can feed herself.” He grabbed the toast out of her hand and held it up to her mouth. “Here.”
She took a small bite. As she chewed, he could almost see the gears turning in her head.
Sasha’s knowing eyes roved over Zoe, and it was all Christian could do not to punch him. Good God. He was jealous. Pure and simple. He was now one of those guys, with the potential to punch another bloke out first and ask questions later.
“He’s such a spoilsport,” Sasha said. “Never lets me do a damn thing. Are you into ménage, darling?”
The toast fell to the tray. “Excuse me?”
Christian felt her body tense. “For God’s sake, Sasha, this is my wife.”
“Never stopped you before.”
She made a face. “You two—”
“Not with me, of course. He did that with—”Christian punched him in the arm. “What?”
“Alexander, you are not helping,” Christian ground out.
“I thought his name was Sasha?”
“Only when I like him.”
Sasha raised a brow. “I thought we were getting to know one another.”
“That’s called too much information, Alexander.” She set the tray to the side, then grabbed the glass of juice.
Sasha cupped his hands behind his head and shifted his hips from side to side. “This bed is actually quite comfortable. A lot of spring to help with—What now?”
“Out.” Christian pointed at the bedroom door.
Sasha crossed one ankle over the other. “Think I’ll stay here, mate.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, slipping from Christian’s lap and running to the bathroom. Her drink went with her.
“Let me know if you need help washing your back, dear,” Sasha called out, his phone in his hands.
“Why are you still here?”
“To compliment you on your exquisite taste in wives.”
“Glad you approve,” Christian replied. “However, it’s wife in the singular sense and you keep your bloody compliments to yourself.”
An evil grin lit Sasha’s face. “Surely you can’t be thinking to keep her all to yourself?”
Christian glared at him, until he heard the shower running and the television blaring. Apparently, she had turned it to one of the five thousand music channels because in the next heartbeat, Zoe was singing along to some hideous pop song.
“Still want her?” Christian asked as Sasha’s expression became one of pain.
“Please tell me she doesn’t do that when you shag her.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Less than twenty-four hours of being leg-shackled and you’re already boring.” Sasha tucked his phone back into his pocket.
“Where were you last night?” Christian asked, ignoring the smirk on his cousin’s face as they walked out of the bedroom.
“I was otherwise occupied.”
“You mean you were shagging some woman blind, then got pissed.”
“You say tomato and I say…We say it the exact same way. Anyway, after satisfying the very lovely Kianna and getting a text from you, I left her sleeping in bed while I performed my duties for you.” He gestured to the living room, where several packages were piled on the coffee table. “As you can see, you interrupted my night.”
“Yes, a virtual martyr you’ve become. Shall I look for marks of self-flagellation?”
A woman walked by, disappearing into his bedroom with what he assumed were Zoe’s belongings. Her purple laptop was plugged in and humming on a nearby desk. An enormous vase of sunflowers sat on the corner beside it.
His cousin sauntered over to a nearby table and gathered a packet. “I’ve got a whole list of details on your new wife, but I’m afraid she’s rather boring. No love child. Used to be a waitress. No drug history. Lives near her parents. Volunteers at the food bank, church and the local library.” He pulled a face. “Ugh, make it bloody boring. However, the bit about some legendary local springs and only true love finding them sound interesting. Marginally.”
“You can thank me later by actually paying me,” he added, waving the papers at Christian.
Christian grunted as he eyed him, taking note of the designer pants, slim-fitting button down and Italian handcrafted shoes. Sasha wasn’t hurting for anything. “Where in God’s name did you get all this information so quickly?”
“Imagine, if you will, a search engine that allows you to type in the object of your knowledge quest and presto,” Sasha snapped his fingers, “It’s laid down at your proverbial feet. Anyway, Zoe Martha Ambrose of Holland Springs, North Carolina, has four brothers and one sister who posts YouTube videos of herself singing. One of them you might know. His name is Dr. Luke Ambrose and he has a reality show on HBO.”