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Nodding, I stand up, and my hand falls to the small of her back with natural ease. We’re being photographed, and I want anyone seeing these pictures to at least understand that she will be my wife, and I protect what’s mine.
I willkillfor what’s mine.
Isabella takes out a pink dress and puts it in front of her. She looks down at it with a genuine smile, and it gives me a chance to take it in, too.
“That is beautiful. It will look great on you.” I take a lock of her long, dark hair in my fingers and hear a staccato of shutter clicks behind me.
“Thank you,” she breathes and then sets the dress back on the rack. “The house felt empty without you this week,” she whispers.
“I was home.”
“Not much.” She smiles and holds up a midnight blue dress with a high neck and long sleeves. Conservative and classy, but with a dangerous slit that damn near goes up to her hip. “Do you like this one?”
“I do.” I move closer and whisper back to her. “Show me something else you want.”
“Okay.” She eyes my chest, and something snaps in me.
I grip her arms until her breasts pin against my chest, making every muscle in my body rigid. Including the one in my pants. More shutter clicks have me glancing over my shoulder. Alvin brings his hands together and puckers his lips. For fuck’s sake, he wants me to kiss her.
I can’t help but want that, too. Which shocks the hell out of me since I haven’t kissed anyone since Norah. It’s been a hard and fast rule that has served me well. I had stupidly thought I could keep that rule intact when I came up with the plan to take a fake wife.
“Will you be away at night like that all the time?” Isabella says softly.
“I don’t know.” I clutch her hips, easing closer to her, pulling her scent deep into my lungs. “It’s not up to me when people piss off Lachlan.”
She snorts a laugh, and her head falls onto my shoulder. The camera noise fades into the background, and I don’t look for cues anymore.
But Alvin has to be wondering why the hell I’ve not thrown this gorgeous woman down and kissed her.
He doesn’t know that we’re not in love.
Yet, Isabella makes the blood pulse hot under my skin. I certainly feel lust for my fake wife-to-be. Enough to make good on my need to get her pregnant when the time is right.
It should start with a kiss.
I stroke her neck and lean in. “Just breathe,” I whisper. “This won’t hurt.”
As I hover over her mouth, she utters, “Speak for yourself.”
When her lips part, I brush my mouth over hers, and I’m shocked at the warmth and the softness. Isabella’s body melts into to mine. Fuck, she tilts her hips into me. The memory of her naked in that bathtub removes all rational thought. If Alvin and his friends weren’t here, I’d drag her to that couch and stick my hands up her dress. Make her come again with my fingers.
Maybe it’s for my own good that they’re here.
Our lips stay closed for a breath, and before I can tap the seam of her mouth with my tongue, she opens for me. I deepen the kiss, and my spine quivers.
Holding back the instinct to go wild, I grip Isabella’s hips with bruising strength and push my hard-on into her stomach. Do I have to wait for the wedding night?
That answer is looking like a big, fat no. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and everything around me crackles with electricity. My pulse buzzes under my skin. I’ve not been this charged up since…
Ever.
Shit, how can that be?
I never had a fake fiancée before.
Isabella feels anything but fake right now. And she won’t be a fake wife if I let her share my bed. I want a child with her. The way she writhes against me, suggests she’ll enjoy making our wee ones, as well.
She breaks the kiss before I do, looking flushed and confused. “Wow,” she whispers.
