The car cranks loudly, making its first circle as he taps his chin. “I was more wound up then. Like I was turbo-charged and caffeinated.”

  I squint, trying to picture a manic Christian. “I can’t see you that way at all.” He has a relaxed ease about him. Perhaps that’s because he’s a true man of leisure. Young retirees can come and go as they please.

  “I was like a coiled spring when I was twenty-one. I worked non-stop. I wanted so much. I think the fact that I’d had so little focus in uni for a while changed me. Once I had it, I was filled with the need to do things. To make money, to buy and sell, and keep flipping investments into bigger investments,” he says, as the car whirs higher in the air then stops as more passengers get on below.

  “And all that ambition played a part in your marriage not working out?”

  He nods. “We didn’t want the same things in life. We didn’t want the same things from the marriage. I suppose that’s similar to what happened to you.”

  I scoff. “Safe to say we wanted very different things.”

  The car ascends to the top of the wheel, rising in the twilight sky above the top of the other rides. The panorama of the capital city comes into view—palaces and canals, and all the twinkling red, white, and green lights of the park below us.

  “But really, the hardest part of my marriage not working out was reconciling that I wasn’t like my father,” Christian adds, and I jerk my gaze back to him. This is the first time he’s mentioned his father.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been married and divorced three times. I think that’s another reason my grandfather was so specific about marriage in the details of his company handover. He didn’t want us to wind up like my dad, especially since Dad hurt my mum so much.”

  The picture of him fills in, details and angles becoming crisper and clearer, and another pro reminds me of its existence—the way Christian cares for his mom. Hell, the woman herself is a pro in the list; she’s a doll, and I love her. “He was looking out for you, and for his daughter, in a way.”

  Christian nods as the ride circles low then rises once more. “He didn’t like the way our dad treated our mum. He wanted to see us all happily together forever like he was. I think Erik got that from him.” He hums, a sad little sound. “And look at us, all split up, just like dad. But it’s for the best, for me at least. I’m completely content with my single life.”

  There.

  That’s it.

  The big con.

  He’s married to his lifestyle, and that’s exactly what I needed to know. And what I wanted to hear, in fact. It’s better this way. Knowing he’ll never fall in love makes it easier to enjoy the pure entertainment value of Christian Ellison. Who cares if he has so many pros? They won’t ever amount to anything that can hurt me, since we’ll never truly get close enough.

  He grabs my hand. “And I’m pretty content with our arrangement so far. With one exception.”

  Oh. Perhaps there’s an even bigger con. A girl can hope. “What’s that?”

  When we reach the top once more, the ride slows as it begins letting people off below us. “It’s our wedding night and we’re not screwing right now. Instead, we’re talking about our previous marriages. That’s backward.”

  I laugh. That is indeed a drawback, but it’s easily rectified. “In our defense, screwing is an inevitability.”

  Sex with Christian sounds delicious, and a clear pro. In fact, it sounds so delicious, I’m pretty much done with the fun and games of Tivoli, especially since I know this marriage will be like this park—just fun and games, no matter how many times he’s thoughtful and asks how I am.

  As the Ferris wheel chugs down, I tug him close, and whisper, “Want to get out of here?”

  He lets out a dirty groan. “It’s all I want. To get you back to my house and show you exactly what a wedding night should be like.”

  We exit the ride and practically race past the sparkling lights in the center of the park. This might not be the field of flowers I dreamed of as a little girl, and it’s not the vineyard where my family toasted with Eduardo and his friend. Instead, I’m at an amusement park, with a husband who hardly asks anything of me, but the glittery setting is a fairy-tale land in its own strange, unexpected way.

  Do fairy-tale heroines have hot sex?

  Of course they do.

  Especially if they get married to save the hero’s brother’s company.

  A fresh urgency powers us as Christian takes my hand and guides me through the park. We have to weave through the carnival games to reach the closest exit, marching past a group of rowdy teens playing basketball.

  They’re having a blast, and I am too.

  Until someone shouts duck and a basketball slams into the back of my head, knocking me down.

  21

  CHRISTIAN

  I open my palm. “Take these.”

  She pops the two Tylenol in her mouth and chases them with a glass of orange juice I give her.

  “I’m shocked.”

  “By the horrific aim of drunk teens shooting basketballs?” Wincing, she rubs the back of her head, settling farther into my couch. I brought her back to my place seconds after she crash-landed on her knees.

  “I’m shocked at you. I had you down as the worst patient ever.”

  “See? I’m full of surprises. I love being doted on. Now, please cover my scrape with a Band-Aid,” she says in a deliberately dainty tone, pointing to the tear on her knee. “Since you like being a nurse.”

  The funny thing is, I do like taking care of her. I like that I was the one to wrap an arm around her, shield her as we walked out of the park, and hail a cab faster than any man has ever hailed a cab in the history of men hailing cabs.

  I head to the bathroom, grab a bandage, and return to her, so I can press it over the scraped-up bit of skin.

  “Why did you think I’d be a terrible patient?”

  “You’re so stubborn I figured you’d be completely pig-headed about letting me take care of you.”

  “I guess you were wrong.”

  “I guess I was.”

  I smile to myself, but I don’t tell her how much I like being wrong on this count.

  When I’m done, I sit next to her. “Okay, so the head still hurts?”

  “Yes, but it’s getting better.”

  “And the knee smarts?”

  “Definitely, but I’ll live.”

  “Living is good. I recommend it. Does anything else hurt?”

  She seems to consider the question, then taps her forehead. I lean to her and press a kiss to it. “Anything else?”

  She hums as she runs her hand over her cheekbone.

  I know where this is going, and I like it. I brush a kiss to her cheek next. “What else?”

  She gestures to her lips and pouts. “This hurts a little.”

  “Let’s see if I can make it better.” I kiss her lips, and I’m rewarded with a soft, sweet sigh as her arms loop around me.

  When I break the kiss, I meet her eyes. “So, you’re all better?”

  She shakes her head, affecting a shy little smile. “I realized there’s one more thing that hurts.”

  “What’s that?”

  She taps the hollow of her throat and then drags her finger down to her breasts, and I groan. “Definitely, that needs a lot of TLC.”

  I dip my face to her neck, kiss her there, then travel down her chest to her cleavage. She wriggles against me and yanks me even closer. I kiss the tops of her breasts, and she gasps, arching her chest against me.

  I look up. “Does that hurt a lot?”

  “So much.” She drags her hand down her belly to right below her waist. “And there. Definitely there.”

  I grin as my hands make their way to her back, and I find the zipper on her dress. I slide it down and make quick work of the rest of her clothes, till she’s down to her white lace panties.

  “Ah, you did wear white.”

  She smiles, then her smile disappears, and a flicker of nerves seem to pass over her brown eyes. “I wore them for you. I thought you’d like them.”

  White. Wedding night. It’s almost too much to contemplate that this is where fate, or life, or circumstance has led us. That even though we agreed more than a week ago that we wanted each other’s bodies, we haven’t been able to have them till now.

  I don’t want to linger on the fact that I’m finally going to fuck her on our wedding night, but I can’t deny that this moment feels like precisely the right time. Elise doesn’t just excite me sexually. Her mind captivates me. Her quick wit, her big heart, and her blunt honesty are huge turn-ons. She’s been turning me on since the day I met her, and tonight there will be no stopping me from showing her how much.

  I wrap my fingers into the waistband of those perfect white lace panties. “I do like them,” I say, in a rasp. “I like them so much, I want them gone.”

  I drag them down her legs, then feast my eyes on the gloriousness of her naked body. Smooth, creamy skin, perky breasts, and a landing strip that points to where I want to be.

  “White was perfect,” I add, as I cup her between her legs, then stroke her with my fingers.

  She’s soft and slick, and so fucking ready for anything and everything. She arches into my hand and whispers, “Kiss me.”

  I oblige, gladly moving down the couch and wedging my shoulders between her beautiful thighs. A sexy, greedy sigh falls from her lips, and she’s already pushing my head to the center of her legs as she parts her thighs for me.

  God, that move, right there. Watching her open for me. Watching the look in her eyes—want and need and maybe, just maybe, a touch of something more I can’t define—sends sheer desire shooting down my spine.

  The lust in her gaze, the vulnerability in her position—it’s a gift. And it’s one I’m so fucking grateful for.

  A gentleman should always thank a lady for giving him the gift of her body. I’ll thank her by lavishing attention on her with my tongue.

  Pressing my hands to her thighs, I dust my lips against her skin, close but not quite all the way to her center. The smell of her makes me crazy; it turns me to steel. But as much as I want to devour her, I love the tease. I nip the flesh on her inner thigh, and she moans.

  I nibble my way up, as she grabs and tries to pull me to her. Smiling against her thighs, I bite again and whisper, "Bientôt, bientôt, ma petite sirène." Soon, soon, my little mermaid.

  “Maintenant, maintenant.”

  She’s a magnificent beggar as she says now, now.

  I switch to her other thigh, peppering more bites and nibbles along her flesh, then I rub my stubbled jaw along her center, and she arches her back and cries out, my name falling from her lips in a desperate pant.

  I’m desperate too. Desperate to taste, touch, have.

  I throw in the towel, and turn my face to her wetness, delivering a hungry kiss there.

  She moves with me, matching every lick with an arch or a bow of her back, her hands curling tighter around my head. I’m as close as I can be, and I love being surrounded by the evidence of her bliss. She murmurs and moans as my tongue flicks faster. She lets her knees fall open wider, like she wants to spread them as far as she can.

  She’s so open, so surrendered, so completely unabashed in her sensuality. I can barely take it, and I swear I’m not just licking her. I crave her so damn much that I’m fucking her with my tongue, devouring her with my mouth. She cries out, arching her back high and shuddering as she comes on my lips, her taste flooding my tongue, her sexy scent filling my head.

  She moans for ages, saying my name, panting wildly, and making incoherent sensual sounds that I want to bottle and listen to again and again. I could get addicted to the way she comes, how she lets go so completely. She makes me want to give her orgasms over and over—she makes me want to give her everything.

  For a moment, that thought terrifies me. This should be just sex. I know that’s all that we’re having. But somewhere along the way, it’s started to feel more than just physical. It’s started to feel like something else entirely.

  I need to shake off those thoughts. We have a deal, and sex is part of that deal.

  I stand, strip off my shirt and trousers, and get down to nothing, reminding myself that just because she’s easy to fall for, that doesn’t mean it would be wise to let go.

  She props herself on her elbows and stares at my cock. “Well, I think you’ll be more fun to ride than the eagle.”

  Laughing, I say, “I should hope so.”

  “Hey, the eagle was a lot of fun.”

  “Then get on me and let’s see how I compare.” I flop beside her. We already had the safety talk and decided we could go bare, so she straddles me and positions herself over my length. She rubs her thumb along the head, sliding over a bead of liquid that she brings to her mouth. She sucks it off, closing her eyes, as if she’s tasting the most delicious thing ever.

  Holy fuck. I’ve seen nothing sexier in my whole life than my wife savoring me.

  I blink away that word.

  Elise.

  Elise.

  Elise.

  But she’s also my wife for the next three months, and that turns me on in some base, filthy, and wonderful way. “I want to fuck my wife.”

  “I want to fuck my husband,” she says, just as fiercely.

  My breath hisses as she takes me in hand and rubs me against her. I groan at the extraordinary feel, then I grunt loudly as she lowers herself onto my shaft, sending sparks of electricity through my body.

  Sliding down, she takes me all the way. Pleasure ripples through me as she rises up. My gaze drifts to where we meet, and my dick throbs harder as I watch us, the way she takes me in, then how I slide nearly all the way out.

  My hands grip her hips tightly as she rocks, taking her time at first, then finding a faster rhythm. I run my hands up and down her body, over her belly, cupping her breasts, memorizing her everywhere.

  I settle a hand between her legs, my fingers stroking, and in seconds, she’s shaking and shuddering on me. She falls forward, slamming her hands to my shoulders, her body trembling as she whispers savagely, “I’m coming.”

  I didn’t need the heads-up. I could tell. But it’s so erotic, so incredibly sexy to hear her say it unbidden, like the sensation is so intense she had to voice it, that I fuck up into her harder, thrusting faster. As she comes down from her high, I flip us, so she’s on her back. I hike her legs over my shoulders and drive deep into her again.

  She ropes her hands around my neck, urging me on. “Come with me.”

  I’m nearly there, and the thought that she might come again is nearly too much. “Can you? Come again?”

  She nods. “I think so. Just keep doing that. Keep doing everything.”

  Her eyes don’t stray from mine, and the connection between us is so intense, so electric. I’m not sure at all why, or where it’s coming from, but it’s wholly new and completely fantastic to feel this sort of ecstasy racing through every cell in my body.

  Her eyes flutter closed, and her lips fall open, and her face turns into a picture of exquisite bliss as she trembles and lets out the neediest, sexiest moan I’ve ever heard, chasing it with a wild yes, yes, yes.

  Whatever teasing, whatever fun and games have existed between us, are gone, and a raw, honest desire is all that’s left. And it’s all I need to join her. Her pleasure flips the final switch in me. I thrust deep and hard, coming inside my wife, the pleasure blotting out the warning sign in my head that tells me not to develop any feelings for her.

  Correction—any more feelings.

  22

  ELISE

  “And that’s how I envision Durand Media marketing the Luxe Hotel’s new European resort locations.”

  The CEO, Nate Harper, leans back in his leather chair in the boardroom at his Place de la Madeleine offices, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, what do you see as the single biggest marketing challenge in entering the new marketplaces?”

  I push up my glasses, and I answer with confidence. “The biggest challenge is also the biggest opportunity. It’s reaching millennials, who will then become loyalists. But we need to connect with them first, and I’m prepared to,” I say, detailing more of how my agency can reach that key market for his hotel.

  He fires off more questions, and for each one I have an answer. The market insight is spot on, he says, and I have my . . . husband to thank for that. A whiz, sharp with insight and concise with analysis, he provided exactly what I needed to complement the creative vision I have for this campaign.

  At the end of the meeting, Nate rises and clasps my hand in a long, hearty shake. “Very impressive. We hope to make a final decision soon. Thank you so much for coming in, and I’m glad Armand made it possible for us to meet.”

  I beam. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  I’m giddy as I leave his offices. I practically punch the sky once I’m a block away and can properly let all my excitement bubble over.

  I grab my phone and sit on the steps of L’église de la Madeleine, the massive church that’s the anchor of this section of the city. Briefly I contemplate texting Veronica or Joy, or maybe even my brother. But honestly, there’s only one person I want to share this news with first.

  The person who made it possible for me to go in there today and kick ass. I haven’t seen Christian in ten days, not since the weekend we were married in Copenhagen. He left for London to meet with board members and a few key shareholders the day after our wedding. As the married one now, Christian’s fronting the firm, but Erik is running it as he’s always done. Once Jandy’s shares are bought back in a few months, Christian and Erik will run the company as the majority shareholders, though Erik will still be the front man.

  I do love their closeness and the way they depend on each other and trust each other unconditionally. Sometimes I wish I was closer to my brother, Ian. He looks out for me, and I know he cares for me deeply, and I love the little necklace gifts he gives me. But we don’t have the sort of connection Christian and Erik have. Ian is busy with his life and his family over in New York, and I’m busy with my life here.