“This is one of my favorites,” Elena says wistfully, pointing at a small painting on the wall. “It makes me think of the beach, with sand beneath my feet and a drink in my hand.”

  Elena’s been great company all evening, but she must be losing it because this painting is definitely not a beach or anything remotely ocean related. In fact, the dark purple, black, and neon green abstract remind me more of Halloween. Or maybe The Joker.

  “Interesting,” Luna replies. “What about this piece makes you think about the beach?”

  What a polite way to ask whether someone is batshit crazy.

  Luna’s usually on the quieter side, but when the subject is art, the words come out easily and effusively. The conversations aren’t one-sided, either. She asks us questions and shares her thoughts. It’s a sight to behold when her eyes light up with every new piece, and I find myself holding my breath and watching her instead of the art, waiting for her commentary to see the art through her eyes. And to piece together an opinion of my own because I’m discovering more and more that art and I are not friends. I think some of the works are pretty or well-done, but I don’t have the same visceral reaction Luna and Elena do.

  Elena touches the frame gently. “Thomas and I went on a vacation, something we rarely did. There was always a reason—a meeting, an investment, something specific we wanted to see or do—for any trip we took. But he surprised me, smack out of nowhere, no birthday or anniversary or holiday. He booked the whole dang thing and took me to the Seychelles.” Her eyes go misty and vacant like she’s not here with us but traveled back in time to that trip.

  “Aww, that’s so sweet,” Luna coos. “Did you find this at a gallery there?” she guesses.

  Elena shakes her head, coming back to the present a bit. “No, we went for a walk and found a young lady sitting on the beach, painting her heart out with everything from her fingers and brushes to a palette knife and even sand. Thomas asked if we could sit a spell with her while she worked, and we had such a great visit.” Her eyes drift over the colors. “I thought it was odd that she wasn’t painting the beauty in front of her, but something else instead. When I asked why, she told us that even in paradise, people dream of more. She dreamed of space . . . said she’d wanted to go to the moon ever since she was a little girl. Of course, she didn’t have the opportunity to do anything like that, but she could imagine it even from her paradise prison.”

  She smiles at us warmly. “Space was Sandrine’s dream, but that beach with Thomas was mine. This reminds me of that.”

  “I wanna be a horse acrobat,” Gracie pipes up. I’m honestly surprised she’s been listening so closely to the art tour, but Luna somehow keeps it interesting for us all. “I saw it on TV, and I’ve been telling Pegasus about it.”

  “Pegasus is her horse,” I explain.

  Elena bends at the waist to get closer to Grace. “Then you’d best keep working at it, and one day, you’ll do it.”

  “And now when you remember this painting, you’ll dream those big dreams too, like Sandrine,” Luna tells Grace, tapping her temple.

  We all look at the piece once more, and then Elena claps her hands. “Ooh, let me show you one Thomas painted, m‘kay?”

  “It’d be an honor.” Luna might as well have hearts popping out of her eyes and she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. In her heels, it makes a tippy-tap sound. It’s a little ridiculous considering it’s a bigger reaction than she had to the Degas we already saw, but also quite adorable. And it seems to please Elena, which is supposed to be the point.

  Elena laughs as she tells me, “Carter, can I give you a piece of advice from an old lady?”

  “Only if you know one,” I reply with a lopsided grin.

  She swats my way, hitting at the air. “Flatterer. My advice is, you’d best keep this wife of yours happy with all the art she wants to see and make. Look how she is over seeing some old man’s doodles.”

  I look at Luna, and she catches her breath, going statue-still. Too soon, she drops her eyes to the floor, but I can see the slight lift of her lips. I need to see that smile. Placing my finger beneath her chin, I lift her head back up, willing her eyes to mine. “She is quite beautiful.”

  It’s the truth. Luna’s not a classic beauty, certainly not one of the blonde bimbos she all but accused me of dating. But there’s a magnetism inside her that draws people to her, even me. I don’t know how I never noticed it before.

  The smile takes over her lips, lifting them fully. Her inner beauty radiates, and I feel lucky to be so close to it. And then I see the shutters close deep in her eyes when she remembers what we’re doing. She thinks I’m faking, but I meant it. She is beautiful in a distinctively unique way all her own. She laughs awkwardly, the sound choked, and turns back to Elena. “You’re right, he is a flatterer. But I really would like to see one of Thomas’s paintings before we go.”

  Go? I’m not going anywhere until the deal is done. But a quick glance at my watch shows that it is late, and Grace is yawning widely. I bet she’ll be asleep in the car before we’re out of the driveway.

  Elena leads us to a large library where a poster-sized canvas portrait of a much younger version of her likeness hangs on the wall. It’s surrounded by simply framed sketches, clearly precursors to the final creation. “See? An old man’s doodles.”

  Thankfully, she’s fully dressed in the painting. However, I will admit that Elena was a good-looking woman in her youth.

  Luna nearly has her nose pressed to the glass of the sketches. “You can see the eraser marks and sketch lines.” She looks back at us excitedly, and I can imagine her saying ‘are you seeing this?’ but she whirls back around, moving to the next one. “Did he always sketch this many versions before beginning on the canvas? Or only for special subjects?”

  “Just for me. When he did other work, he would dive straight in, sometimes not even knowing what it was gonna be. He used to tell me he’d work on it until it felt done.” She smiles at the portrait, almost laughing at her image. “But me? He’d have me sit and pose. We’d talk while he sketched. I think that was his trick to spend time with me, but whoo, I always felt like such a silly goose sitting there like a statue while he studied my every flaw.”

  “He didn’t see flaws,” Luna corrects wisely. “He saw the woman he loved.”

  I hear Elena’s swallow of emotion as she takes Luna’s hands, patting them gently. “Thank you, honey. That’s sweet of you to say.”

  A soft snore from behind us gets everyone’s attention. Grace has curled up in one of the chairs, her head resting on the arm and her eyes closed. It tugs at my heart. She looks so innocent and sweet when she’s asleep. Nothing like the wild child she can be in her waking hours.

  “Looks like she’s arted out,” Luna whispers. “I suppose she’s got to build her art muscles some more.”

  “It’s so late. Y’all should stay here in the guest rooms and do the long drive back tomorrow when you’re fresh,” Elena suggests. “Your pup will be fine staying the night too. We’ve got plenty of chicken around, maybe some hamburgers that can be cooked up.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t impose like that,” I tell her, but I’m disappointed that I’m not leaving with a hand-shake agreement on her portfolio management. “We don’t have an overnight bag or anything, and Grace can sleep on the way back.”

  “It’s no bother. It’ll do this old house some good to have a little life in it for the night. It’s usually just me and the staff. And I’ve got everything you could need. Thomas bought monogrammed T-shirts and sweatpants for the guest rooms, and the bathrooms are fully stocked.” She’s thought of everything, but then she really puts the cherry on top of her offer. “In the morning, after breakfast, we can look at more of Thomas’s collection and maybe talk a bit more business, too.”

  She flashes a wink, knowing she’s got both of us by the short hairs. I don’t look at Luna because I don’t want to give her a chance to say no. Instead, I nod graciously, accepting her offer. “We’d be delighted. That’s really kind of you.”

  When Elena steps over to a desk phone to place a call, Luna steps in front of me, giving her back to Elena, and though her eyes are wide and angry, her voice is barely above a whisper. “What the hella-rama-ding-dong?”

  “I couldn’t refuse. She’s willing to talk business in the morning. And more art,” I remind her, hoping she doesn’t walk out the front door and ditch me.

  “Elena?”

  I jerk in surprise and realize a tall, thin man in pajamas and a robe has appeared silently in the doorway.

  Well, shit. I guess for all Mrs. Cartwright’s sweet talk of her deceased husband, she has a new special friend.

  “Oh, I am so sorry for bothering you, Stanley. Why didn’t you say you were already lying down? I could’ve gotten them set up for the night myself,” she fusses. Okay, so I was wrong. He’s not her boyfriend but rather another member of the house staff.

  “I wasn’t asleep yet.” He smiles, but his bloodshot eyes give away that he was definitely long gone to Snoozeville. “I’m happy to show them to the guest rooms.”

  Elena clucks. “This is Stanley. Stanley, this is Carter and Luna, and that little cherub over there is their niece, Grace. Bernard has their dog, Peanut Butter, out in the barn too.”

  I’m not used to shaking hands with men in their pajamas, but in this case, I’ll definitely make an exception. I hold my hand out, and he looks at it in surprise but takes it slowly. His grip is stronger than I expected. “Nice to meet you, Carter.”

  “I don’t know how he keeps this place running, but he’s been doing it for decades at this point. I couldn’t do much of anything without Stanley,” Elena gushes.

  Elena bids us good night, promising that Grace will get chocolate chip pancakes in the morning, and with Stanley’s help, we manage to get Grace and Peanut Butter into a guest room. Grace is remarkably easy to coerce into bed despite it usually being a three-ring circus to get her to lie down at night. But one mention of pancakes in the morning and a reassurance that we’re right down the hall make her snuggle in with the dog, both of whom close their eyes quickly, though I don’t think Stanley is particularly excited about having a dog and a child in one of the luxury linen-covered beds.

  Stanley then shows us to our room, pointing out the king-size bed, dresser full of clothing, and doorway to the bathroom. “If you need anything, pick up the phone and dial six-two-six. It’s my direct line and I always answer. If that’s all?”

  “Thank you so much,” Luna says kindly. “We’ll let you get back to bed.”

  Stanley still looks at me for confirmation, and when I nod, he closes the door behind him. Alone, I sigh in relief. The sound seems to set Luna off because she starts pacing around the room, muttering under her breath. “This is such a mess, all because Zack said he’d buy me books. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could’ve stayed home, in sweats, and worked on Alphena, but noooo, I got greedy. And now look where I am. Alone with Carter freaking Harrington, as his wife. Like that’s remotely believable.”

  At first, I’m amused by her useless rambling and pacing and the way she’s nearly vibrating with emotional energy. But then I hear what she’s saying. I take her arms, stopping her steps, and say firmly, “Luna. Stop. Look at me.”

  A soft gasp escapes her lips as fiery eyes flash behind her glasses. She holds my gaze for a moment, and then, as her cheeks go rosy, she looks at my shoes.

  “This is crazy, I know,” I admit. “But I couldn’t say no.”

  To me, that’s obvious. The deal isn’t closed and I very much need it. It’s taken on a life of its own in my mind, a symbol of my success, a competition between me and Cameron that he doesn’t know is happening. But I do, and I’m going to win. And I’m already in this far. What’s a few more hours and breakfast?

  “This is more than we agreed to,” she argues with the floor.

  I swallow, not sure how to explain why I’m willing to go to such lengths to her. I don’t discuss our family dynamics, not with anyone. Well, Zack sometimes, but we talk more about last night’s game or upcoming deals than our deep, dark emotions. It’s just not what guys do.

  “It is. I swear I’ll make it up to you somehow. But for now, let’s stick with the plan. Bed, breakfast, portfolio talk, art tour.” I tick off the agenda items on my fingers, and she lifts her eyes to watch.

  I feel the submission in her body even though she doesn’t say a word, so I turn her to the dresser. “Let’s find some pajamas.”

  She nods woodenly but lets me guide her over, where we discover Elena was right. There’s every size of T-shirt, sweatshirt, and sweatpants in the drawers. Not to mention socks, underwear, swimsuits, and flip-flops, all neatly folded and placed. Luna grabs an oversized sweatshirt and socks, holding them to her chest as though they’re a shield. “I’m changing in the bathroom.”

  When she closes the door behind her, I fight to keep my chuckle quiet. She acted like I asked her to strip right here in front of me or might follow her in to sneak a peek.

  Instead, I grab a pair of sweatpants of my own and make quick work of changing before she comes out. I’m still hanging up my clothes when the bathroom door opens.

  “Want me to hang up your dress?” I offer. But when I turn around, Luna doesn’t have her dress in her hands or anywhere else. It’s just her . . . in a sweatshirt that hangs long, cupping the fullness of her hips and then the middle of her thighs. Her socks are pulled up, hitting just below her knees.

  There’s only a small strip of her legs showing, but I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It’s like a magnet, pulling me in while at the same time powering . . . thoughts. Ones I shouldn’t have, not about Luna.

  “I hung it up in there.” She points over her shoulder with her thumb and then starts gnawing on the digit nervously. “Uhm, where are you sleeping? You’re not sleeping with me.”

  “There’s a couch right there.” My voice is too low, too rough when I think about us in bed together doing everything but sleeping, but she doesn’t notice, thankfully.

  “Okay.” She agrees easily but then moves toward the couch herself, pulling a quilt from the foot of the bed.

  I can’t help but grin. There’s something quaint and cute about the way she looks padding across the room in a long shirt with a blanket in tow. “I meant that I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Oh.” She freezes like a deer in the headlights before redirecting to the bed. She climbs up, throws the decorative pillows to the floor to make room for herself, and then pulls the bedding back. The whole time, she’s on her knees, her ass sticking out, and my palms itch to grab her, dent the supple flesh there, or maybe see what it takes to make it flush like her cheeks did.

  The dirty turn of my thoughts shocks me. I mean, this is Luna. She’s not my type, and she’s Zack’s sister. Hell, if she breathes one word of what’s happening tonight to Zack, he’ll skin me alive and I won’t even try to stop him. But she’s also voluptuous in a way that makes me want to suffocate in her breasts and drown between her thighs.

  Wait, what?

  “You don’t think she’d expect us to have sex, do you? Like as a young, newly married couple?” The words pop out as a result of the path my mind has disappeared down. As if Elena is outside our door listening or something.

  From her spot on the bed, Luna says dryly, “I’m not having sex with you.”

  “We could fake it,” I suggest, grinning foolishly, continuing down this nonsense path. This is a bad idea, a really bad idea. But also, maybe a brilliant one. If we needed to sell the husband-and-wife image, this surely will.

  Luna pushes her glasses up her nose as she looks at me carefully. “What do you mean?”

  I don’t explain. I climb on the bed with her, making sure to stay on top of the covers, but when she gasps in surprise, I wink and rise to my hands and knees beside her, on my own side of the bed. I shake the bed back and forth a few times, testing to see if it squeaks.

  No luck. This is no IKEA bed. This is one of those heavy-duty, luxury deals meant to last until doomsday, and then some.

  I shake it harder, finally getting a little movement, enough for the headboard to touch the wall. It’s not a bang, exactly, but when I do it again, the rhythm is unmistakable.

  “Carter!” Luna hisses, her eyes widening in horror.

  I stifle a laugh at how scandalized she seems. Instead, I grunt a little before groaning out, “Ohhh, Luna.”

  “Don’t say my name like that!” she whispers hotly.

  “Like what?” I keep my pace. Bang, bang, bang.

  “All grunty, groany caveman like that. It’s gross.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste, but I can hear something in her tone. The lady doth protest too much. It makes me grin harder and bang a little louder.

  Keeping my voice down, I ask, “Are you a prude in bed?” Offended, she pulls the blanket up to her chin and I smirk triumphantly. “Figured.”

  I keep a steady tempo, changing my position every few moments to make the headboard banging sound different. I even find a spot in the mattress that does creak a little, and I bounce on it. “That’s it . . . good girl. Take all of me. I know you can,” I order, as though someone is obeying. “Squeeze it for me . . . fuck yeah.” I’m enjoying the play of emotions that cross her face—horror, interest, desire, denial.

  Luna’s grip on the blanket has gone slack, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips. “Is that what you really say when you’re . . . doing that?” She makes a gesture, motioning to me.

  “Depends on what they like,” I answer quietly. “Why? Was I wrong? Does sweet, little Luna like a bit of dirty talk in her fucking?”

  Her cheeks flush and then her fire is back. With a determined set of her jaw, she kicks the covers off, plants her feet on the bed, and starts bouncing on her own, her hips bridging up into the air before dropping to the mattress. “Oh, Carter! Yessss,” she moans in a voice a solid octave higher than her own. “Make it hurt, baby!”

  I’m shocked to the core for a solid two seconds before I realize she’s playing along.