The Billionaire's Wife (8 page)

Beside me, Waters snapped his iPad closed and slid out of the
car. I put my hand on my door, but I was surprised to see him come around and
open it for me. I'd thought he let his servants do that sort of thing.

“Good afternoon, Miss Dare,” he said, formally. “I apologize for
my preoccupation.” And he held a hand out to assist me.

I hated the way my heart leaped in my chest when I put my hand
in his. The moment his skin touched mine, a frisson of desire shimmied down my
spine, causing my back to arch and my pussy to warm. The sudden catching of
breath in my throat thrust my breasts out, and I couldn't help the blush
staining my cheeks.

“That's, uh, okay,” I assured him, my mouth and my manners
running on automatic. Silently I kicked myself as I let him help me from the
back seat and onto the pavement. “I know you're busy.”

He raised an eyebrow, as though inviting me to expand, and,
stupidly, I did. Maybe it was the way those green eyes seemed to look right
into my brain. I'd never seen anyone with such clarity in his gaze...

Or maybe it was my dumb clit making the decisions. Either way I
started to babble. “My dad was always busy, too. He always had to be reading
something for work, even at the breakfast table. Well, when he was around. I
mean, it wasn't often, but it was enough, and he always had the paper out and
got mad if I interrupted him...”

Shut. Up,
I told myself fiercely. The last person I
wanted to think about while semi-aroused was my fucking father. See? He always
ruined things, even when he wasn't actually there.

“So... yeah. Whatever. You're busy. I'm not going to bother
you,” I finished lamely.

He didn't even smile that faint little knowing smile this time.
He just studied me.

Oh god. Why did he have to be so self-assured? Like he didn't
care how awkward it made things: if he didn't have anything to say he wouldn't
say anything at all. I hated him so much. Determined that I wasn't going to be
the first one to say anything, I stared back at him. The other people on the
street parted and flowed around us. I could feel them staring, mostly at
Waters.

Who was I kidding? I broke first. “It's a good thing you're
marrying me,” I said, “because I'll probably never find anyone else willing to
put up with my blather for better or worse.”

At that, the smile flickered across his face and he reached out,
drawing my hand into the crook of his elbow, like some kind of Victorian
gentleman. One of my many weaknesses. Dammit.

“Miss Dare,” he said, guiding me toward the boutique, “you are
going to be my wife. I want you to know that no business report is more
important than whatever you have to say.”

Shocked, and a little gratified, I followed him into the shop.
“I have some pretty inane shit to say,” I told him. “Are you sure you don't
want to take that back before it's too late.”

He laughed, a rich, warm sound, and dropped my hand, only to
slip his arm around my shoulders, as if we were a real couple. I hated that his
laugh danced on my skin like falling rain. I loved it, too. “I promise I will
listen to whatever you have to say,” he told me.

That sounded like a challenge, but curiously, I found I didn't
really want to rise to it. Instead, I could only say, “Thanks.” Hesitantly, I
slipped my own arm around his waist and felt the rock hard body beneath the
crazy expensive suit he wore. In fact, it was the first time I had really
touched him so intimately. He, of course, had been nose-deep in my pussy
already, and yet I hadn't done anything to him, even though I kind of wanted
to. Aside from strangle him, that is. Like, oh, kiss him. We hadn't kissed.
Bite his throat. Run my fingers through his hair. Scrape my nails down his
back. Suck his cock.

The fire he had stoked into a blaze in the little Italian
restaurant flared up again, and I had to swallow around my suddenly dry tongue
and review what I had just thought.

Suck his cock
. I actually wanted to suck his cock. Like,
really
wanted to suck it, not just do it because I wanted him to return the favor,
like I'd always done with my other boyfriends and one-night stands.

Jesus, girl,
I thought.
You have got it bad.

And I totally did, because now that I'd thought it, I couldn't
unthink it, and the lean, well-built body next to me moved with
barely-controlled energy, like a dancer or a martial artist.

Or a tiger.

I licked my lips and tried not to think about where our bodies
met and instead tried to focus on what he was saying to the gushing young man
in a fedora and vest who could barely bring himself to breathe the same air as
Waters.

“Something elegant. Not too flashy,” he was saying.

Dimly I realized he was talking about my wedding dress. I
frowned in disappointment. “I always wanted one of those huge tulle skirts,” I
said.

The sales assistant nearly fainted with disdain, but Waters, to
my disappointment, let his arm drop from my shoulders and stepped away. The
loss of him was a physical pain. He turned and regarded me.

“Why?” he said simply.

I shrugged. “One of my nannies was addicted to telenovas.”

Waters gazed at me coolly for another moment, then gestured to
the sales assistant. “Both styles. Bring one elegant wedding gown and one
telenova gown.

“I don't think we have telenova gowns,” the assistant whispered,
still clearly gagging on the idea.

“Whatever you have that is closest, then,” Waters told him and
he scurried off, back stiff with indignation.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling stupid.

Waters shrugged. “Anything for my bride,” he said.

I shot him a sharp glance. Was that... had that been a glimmer
of self-reflection?

No. Couldn't be.

I didn't have time to analyze his comment, though, because the
shop assistant came bustling back almost instantly, towing two dresses behind
him. I took them and thanked him, and turned toward the dressing rooms, which
were nestled in the back of the shop with a lovely little platform for
expectant brides to parade before their admiring public. I had no public. I
wasn't even sure why I was trying dresses on, to be truthful. If Waters wanted
to control what I was going to wear, he should have just gotten my measurements
and been done with it.

My vague questions were quickly answered when Waters shouldered
his way into the dressing room with me.

“Ex
cuse
me?” I said as he sidled inside. There was room,
but it was supposed to be two women in here. And Waters seemed to take up so
much more
space
than seemed possible by the physical limitations of his
body. He loomed. He hulked. He was all I could think about. I clutched my
Telenova dress in front of me and glared at him.

He sighed diffidently. “I thought you might require some
assistance,” he said, as if his eyes weren't tracing over every inch of my
body, staring straight through the armload of tulle I carried in front of me.

He was too close. The scent of his aftershave and, underneath
that, the slight scent of man, delicately tempted my nose. We faced each other.
My back was against the wall. The last time we had been in this position, we
were on about minute five of our first meeting and his hands were already on my
breasts. The memory rose, sudden and unbidden, and I pushed it down.

Green eyes glittered at me, and I knew he was remembering the
same thing. Slowly, he licked his lips.

I swallowed and thrust the dress at him. “Here,” I managed to
say, and started to undress.

He devoured me with his eyes. Every inch of skin revealed became
fuel for the fire I saw building inside him. In his throat, breath rasped, and
his body became taut as a bow.

I couldn't get enough air as my blouse slipped from my shoulders
and my jeans slumped to the floor. I'd never felt so exposed. Standing there in
my bra and panties, I felt as though he were studying my very bones. I wished
he would reach out and grab me. I wished I could reach out and grab
him.

He stood very still, watching me as my heartbeat began to race
and my lips parted in anticipation.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed. “Close your eyes.”

Licking my lips, I did as he bade. There was a rustle of too
much tulle and satin, and then he was dressing me in my bridal gown, sliding it
over my head, guiding my arms through the off-the-shoulder sleeves. The skin of
his fingertips was just the tiniest bit rough, and it sent  my nerves dancing
as they glided over the sensitive insides of my arms.

The thick material passed over my face, and he pulled it down.

“Turn,” he said.

I did.

Strong hands smoothed over my skin, arranging, plucking,
settling. Then I felt the dress tighten and hear the hiss of the zipper as he
slowly pulled it up.

The bodice became tight, tight, tighter, and I realized that the
dress was a size too small. “Er,” I said, “I think I need a size up?”

“No,” he said, his voice thick. “No, I don't think you do.”

The bodice cinched me in tight, and by the time it was done I
could barely breathe. Warm hands on my waist turned me around.

“You may open your eyes,” he said.

Oh,
may
I?
I wanted to say, but I didn't. I wanted
him to keep touching me, too, and those two desires were at odds.

I opened my eyes. The smile had returned to his lips. “You
look... romantic,” he told me.

That... was probably not a good descriptor. “May I see?” I said,
gesturing towards the door, and he obligingly moved out of my way. I exited and
made my way up on the platform. Only then did I let myself look in the mirror.

It was... well. It wasn't exactly a Telenova gown, but even so I
suddenly realized why the assistant had made such a face.

I was swathed—nay, swaddled—in white, frothy fabric. My chest,
never my greatest asset, was completely lost in the riot of fiddly flowers and
glitz. My shoulders, always narrow, couldn't hold the weight of the neckline,
and my body, which had always been a little more boyish than I'd wanted, was
lost inside the excessive skirts. I looked like a kid trying on her mother's
wedding dress. I wasn't womanly enough to carry it off.

Shouldn't have been a surprise, really. I still felt like a
little girl, and never more so than now, with my whole life running away from
me.

I stood in the boutique and felt the weight of the situation
press down on me suddenly. I was wearing my dream gown, and it looked awful on
me. The universe couldn't even give me this one little thing.

For some reason,
that—
not the fact that I was marrying a
man I almost didn't even know, not the fact that my shithead father was getting
a second chance after emotionally blackmailing me, not the fact that my
mother
was sick and she didn't even tell me—
that
was what made tears well
in my eyes and my throat close.
That
was the last straw.

I was just so stupid. Sadie was right.

Swallowing my tears I turned and picked up the ridiculous skirt
and hightailed it back into the dressing room.

Anton stood there, his brows raised. “You don't like it?” he
asked me. My disappointment must have shown more on my face than I'd thought.

Bravely I shook my head. “You were right,” I said. “I should go
for something more elegant.”

To his credit, he didn't say anything about how he was always
right, which is what I would have done, because I'm an asshole. Instead I shut
the door and rubbed at my eyes while he stood there, looking faintly
bewildered.

“What is wrong?” he asked me.

I looked at him. He seemed genuinely concerned. So. Maybe he
didn't like tears. I'd have to file that away, maybe, but right now I didn't
want him to see my weakness.

“Nothing. I just...” My throat closed.

So much for not showing weakness. Record time from resolution to
collapse.

I swallowed. “I just thought a dress like this would be great.
And it's not. I've always wanted to wear one and look like a princess, but...”
I shrugged helplessly. “Whatever. It's not important.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I think I understand,” he said.
“Perhaps it could be altered?”

I shook my head. I didn't want to dwell on it. “No, it doesn't
matter.” I started twisting and turning, trying to get at the zipper.

“You've wanted to wear a dress like that since you were a little
girl,” he said, like he wasn't willing to just let it go.

I forced myself to laugh. “Yeah, but I'm not a little girl any
more, even though I kind of look like one.”

He spread his hands and appeared to think for a moment. “I
am
sorry. The gap between fantasy and reality grows larger with time,” he told
me, which was some serious Buddha shit that I was not at all prepared to be all
zen about. I just wanted him to shut up.

“Whatever,” I said. Tears blurring my vision, I turned away and
twisted, reaching around behind me to unfasten the dress. This wasn't what I
wanted. I didn't
want
to wear his dumb elegant dress. I didn't
want
to
do this without my mom and my girlfriends. And I definitely didn't
want
to
marry Anton Waters.

“Felicia,” he said. My name. The first time he had said it. For
a moment, I caught genuine concern in his voice.

A large, warm hand alighted on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug
him off, but some pathetic need stopped me. Everything was so
wrong.
I
just wanted someone to make it right again. Why wasn't I shopping for wedding
dresses with my mother and Sadie? Why wasn't I getting married to a man I
loved? Why did it have to be this way?

The comforting hand on my shoulder tensed. I felt him begin to
pull away.

I reached up and grabbed his hand.

I didn't really know what to do with it when I had caught it, so
I stayed there, struggling to maintain my composure.