Chapter 4: Wedding Night

Alistair's penthouse had a guest room with a lock, and I didn't use it once.

I slept until three in the afternoon, ate soup standing at his counter, and let his assistant buy me a wardrobe I didn't want.

At nine that night I found him in his study with his sleeves rolled to the elbow.

He was reading a contract and not reading it.

"You've looked at the same page for ten minutes," I said from the doorway.

"Eleven."

He put the pen down and didn't stand.

I walked across the carpet in bare feet and a borrowed white shirt of his, and stopped in front of the desk.

"You said I had to say it plainly."

"I did."

"I want you."

His eyes went dark and very still.

"Say the rest," he said.

"I want you tonight, in this room, with the door shut."

"Keep going."

"I'm not angry, and I don't owe you anything."

My voice shook, and I made it stop.

"I want to know what you do with your hands, Alistair. I've wanted to since you looked at me across that ballroom."

He stood up.

He came around the desk in three steps and took my face in both hands.

He held it.

"Good," he said against my mouth.

He kissed me hard and slow, with a patience that made my knees give.

My back met the edge of the desk and papers slid to the floor.

I didn't care.

His hands went under the borrowed shirt and spread wide across my ribs, then lower, thumbs along my hips.

"You're not wearing anything under this."

"Your assistant bought me underwear," I said. "I didn't like it."

He made a sound low in his chest.

He lifted me onto the desk, pushed the shirt up around my waist and went to his knees on his own study carpet.

"Hold the edge," he said.

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