Page 40 of The Contract Marriage

I wake up in a cocoon so warm and sweet it feels like it should be its own deadly sin. I could get used to this, since I usually wake up alone in my cool bedroom in the penthouse. I turn and bury my face in the solid warm wall. A smile plays on my mouth at the loveliness, until I realize it’s—Liam.

I open my eyes and blink a few times. The control on the nightstand next to the bed provides very faint orange light. Liam’s strong, heavily muscled chest fills my vision. Damn. I didn’t get to appreciate his body as much as I would’ve liked to in the dark last night. There still isn’t much light, but I can make out the lean lines of his pecs and the sprinkling of chest hair.

Holding my breath, I listen. Even breathing. Nothing unusual. Perfect. I lay my hand over his heart and feel it thump against my palm, like I need to know he’s safe here with me.

God, I’m so paranoid. But after losing Mom and Pochi, could anybody blame me? They aren’t the only ones who left me. My boyfriends did too—somehow Brielle always found a way to sink her talons into them, and then it was over. Frustrating and infuriating as hell if you ask me. She probably did it on Hugh’s behalf. The man’s evil, but he’s not stupid. He knows how the trust works as well as John Highsmith, the lawyer-trustee Mom put her faith in. She shouldn’t have trusted him since he hasn’t done a thing to honor her wishes. Even when I spoke to him, he brushed me off, saying there was no evidence to prove Hugh did anything to hurt me. Then I knew Highsmith wouldn’t do a thing until there was a figurative knife stuck in my chest, so I hired Prescott Huxley, cutting out Highsmith and his firm from doing any legal work for me.

Liam’s heartbeat picks up. His muscles flex.

“No more Sleeping Beauty,” I murmur.

“I think I’m supposed to be the prince,” he says, his voice soft and husky with drowsiness. He hits a button on the nightstand, and the outer shade rises silently, then stops halfway, leaving only the sheer ones for some early sunlight. His hair’s tousled and messy, a night’s growth of beard on his jaw. His eyes are velvety, like the tranquil morning ocean. “Sleep well?”

“Yes. Your bed’s very comfortable.”

“Good.” He swipes his thumb over my cheek, the gesture slow and tender. “How do you feel?”

Heat rises to my face. “Married, I guess?” I blurt out. “You?”

“Like your husband.”

Air clogs in my throat. Him calling himself “husband” makes it sound like a declaration that he’s mine, forever and ever. “The said husband didn’t have to make me come quite so many times.”

“Only four.” He sighs lazily. “Or was it five?”

The bedroom suddenly grows too hot. “What I mean is that four—or five—orgasms aren’t, uh, strictly necessary.”

He gives me a quizzical squint. “They are to me. Don’t deny me all the privileges and rights due to me as your husband, Olivia.”

My heart skitters. Why can’t he be one of those simpler men who’re happy with just one? He seems obsessed with making me spiral out of control—the one thing I can’t afford to lose.

Regardless, I don’t want to argue the point. The day’s too nice. It’s our first morning as a married couple. I should try to be a good wife, go along for now. I thumb the bands on my rings. “What made you pick this red diamond?”

“Because it’s the best we have. The lab guys weren’t even sure if we could grow one to that size, and when they did, I think they went out and got drunk. It even has a name.”

“Really?”

“The Rubedo.”

“Wow. I’ve never owned a stone that came with a name.” I look down at the gem, gleaming under the soft light. “The Rubedo. Too bad it doesn’t come when you call it. That should be your next technical improvement.”

He laughs. “Alas, my lab isn’t that advanced. It’s only able to turn humble carbon into diamonds that—hopefully—people will like.”

“Isn’t red difficult to make?”

“Very. Most labs can’t make them reliably. Even we end up with a lot of failures, but our success rate is better than most places. I’d say KSD is the place to go if you want a decent red diamond. Barron Sterling and Ted Lasker wanted that rock on your finger. Oh, and Gavin Lloyd, for his wife.”

I raise my eyebrows at the names of some of the world’s wealthiest and most famous men. “They must’ve offered you a lot of money.”

“Uh-huh. Turned them down. Didn’t feel like they deserved this masterpiece.” He takes my hand and kisses the fingertips.

A tingling sensation spreads all the way to my heart. The man knows how to charm. But it doesn’t feel like a performance. Something about him is very genuine. “And the wedding band?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my pulse is going haywire.

“What about it? It’s just some platinum.”

“Yours has an inscription.”

He nods. “Always yours.”