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“Before Matthew left, he sold it to me.”
“This is Matthew’s house? Shocking how that hasn’t come up before.” She waved it away before he could formulate a response. “But I’m not shocked you bought it. It’s beautiful, and I’m sure you’ll be happy here for a long time.”
It hadn’t come up before because it hadn’t been important. When she’d first proposed this deal, the house represented a place to live, which he had been able to access quickly and easily, and it had provided a good foundation for their fake relationship.
Now, as he sat at the patio table with his wife, eating dinner in a house he owned, it represented a potential future. A real future. One where he could fulfill the expectations that came with being a Wheeler.
“Actually...” He traced a line across the back of Cia’s hand and then threw every last card and a whole second deck on the table. “I’d like for you to be happy here, too. Married to me. Long-term.”
The sip of wine she’d taken sprayed all over the flagstone patio. “That wasn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke. We’re partners, and we’re amazing together. Why ruin a good thing with a divorce?”
“Why?” Fire shot from her expression and singed the atmosphere. “Why? Because we agreed. If you don’t file for divorce, I can’t access my trust fund and I’ll tear up the Manzanares contract. We both have a huge stake in this.”
Interesting how her argument summarized the deal instead of listing the evils of marriage. He shrugged. “But the divorce isn’t necessary if I give you the money for the shelter.”
She sprang to her feet and both palms slammed the table, rattling the dishes. “Are you sure you have a business degree, Wheeler? You’re forgetting about a minor detail called operating expenses. Without the trust fund, I won’t have a dime once we open the doors. The residents have to eat. There are administrative costs. Utilities.”
Like that, they were back to Wheeler and insults. And logic. No, he hadn’t considered the operating expenses because his involvement in any deal ended the moment papers were signed. Poor excuse, regardless, and a huge miss. It had been much easier to coax her into his bed.
He blew out a frustrated breath. “What if we could get donations for operating expenses? Would you still want a divorce?”
Her eyes flared wide, deepening the blue. “What have you been drinking, Wheeler? Our whole agreement centers on the divorce.”
Okay. He’d botched this up. Clearly. He’d opted to go with money as his negotiation instrument and had ignored what he’d learned about Cia over the past few months.
Figure it out, or lose everything.
Pulse tripping with a rush of sudden alarm, he rose and cornered her against the table. The heat between them, the absolute beauty and inexpressible pleasure of making love—that was his best bargaining tool, his best shot at getting her to stay.
Her arms came up and latched into a knot across her chest. She was not budging an inch.
“Darlin’,” he said and slid a hand through her curtain of hair to cup the back of her silky neck. “I’ve been drunk on you since the moment you said I look like a Ken doll. Loosen up a little. We’re just talking.”
The rigid set of her shoulders and the corded neck muscles under his fingers were the opposite of loose and getting tighter by the moment. “Talking about how you’re second-guessing our divorce.”
He leaned in and set his lips on her forehead, mouthing his way down to her ear. “Not second-guessing. Presenting a possible alternative. Can you blame me? Honey, the things you do to me are indeed mind-blowing. I’d be a few cows shy of a herd if I was willing to give that up so easily.”
His hands found her breasts, and she moaned. “Animal analogies. That’s sexy, Wheeler. Talk to me some more like that.” Her arms unknotted and fell to her sides, melting into pliancy as he sucked on her throat. She didn’t move away.
“You like that? How about this?” He backhanded the dishes to the ground, and amid the crash of breaking pottery, set her on the table, splaying her legs wide to accommodate his hips. Her dress bunched at her thighs and hot pink flashed from the vicinity of her center. “You make me crazier than a monkey on fermented melons. Hotter than a rattler on asphalt. Shall I go on?”
“No. No more animals.”
She was laughing, and he captured it in his mouth, then parted her lips and tasted the wine lingering inside with firm strokes of his tongue. She arched against him, rubbing her heat against his blistering erection.
He worked a hand under her bottom and pushed, grinding that heat hard against his length. “You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you do to me. I want to be inside you every minute of every day. I want your gorgeous naked body under me, thrashing with climax, and my name on your lips. I cannot get enough of you.”
