The Fiancé by Stefanie London
CHAPTER TEN
Daniel
THEENTIREWAY home I don’t say a word, and neither does Ava. I’ve shown her the worst side of my family tonight—the ugliest, darkest parts I’ve worked my whole life to hide away. The parts I’m ashamed of.
But my brother is a fool. He claims to have seen a photo of Lily and me kissing—a photo that I know cannot exist. Either he’s lying...or someone else is lying. All I know is that I never laid a hand—or any other part of me—on his wife.
By the time we make it home, I’m all but shaking with anger. I need a shower and then I need a stiff drink.
“I’m sorry you had to be party to that,” I say as we enter my apartment.
Ava grips her bag against her stomach like she needs a shield. I can’t say I blame her. “All families have baggage.”
The apartment is dark. The huge windows show a view of Melbourne at night—lights reflecting off the rippling river, cars trickling along the streets. The sky is a blanket of navy velvet and for some reason, I think of the ring on Ava’s finger.
I shrug out of my jacket and sling it over the back of the couch. “Even yours?”
She lets out a hollow laugh. “Uh, yeah. My mother thinks the only way I can live a decent life is to find a man to support me, and my father is a ghost.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have no idea where he is.” She lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. “I have no idea if he’s dead or alive. I couldn’t even tell you his name.”
Sometimes I wish my father had never been around to inflict the harm he did on my family, but then I hear the hurt in her voice and I know this option isn’t any better. “He abandoned you and your mother?”
“Before I was even born. He didn’t stick around to meet me, took off the second he found out my mother was pregnant.” Her eyes are burning hot, defiant. Angry. “And my mother thinks she partied for too long and that was her punishment. She’s worried I’m going to be left on the shelf, and that I’ll be miserable like her and die alone.”
“Wow.” I let out a snort of disbelief. “That’s messed up.”
“So you’re not the only one who’s got more than their share of familial baggage, Mr. Moretti.” She pokes my chest in a way that’s almost playful, daring. Like she’s trying to show me she understands without saying the words aloud.
Something deep inside me wants to reach out and touch Ava. To connect with her. To be soothed by her. I want to lose myself in something good for once, in a pleasure so strong and deep it burns away every bad memory and hateful word, turning it all to ash in my palms.
“I don’t have any ulterior motives here,” she says softly. “I feel like you keep waiting for me to do something to prove you shouldn’t trust me—”
“It’s not that.” Although maybe it should be. It wouldn’t be the first time someone got close to me and tried to use it to their advantage.
“Then what is it?”
She steps closer, her beautiful copper-flecked eyes glimmering like embers. In the dim light, my senses are heightened. I smell the perfume on her skin—sweet and girlish, vanilla and flowers. I feel the heat radiating from her. I sense the flutter of her heartbeat, the quickened pace of her pulse.
“I’m sick of talking, to be honest.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Sick of questions.”
“What would you prefer?” She steps closer again, her hand brushing my arm. It’s all so innocent, so innocuous. And yet... “Silence?”
Need grips me at the base of my cock and I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I want her. I want to be lost in her. I want her cries to erase the worries in my head.
I need...
“We should go to bed.” My voice is low, rough as gravel. I’m holding on to the promise I made her—this relationship is for show. Behind closed doors we’re nothing to each other. And I expect nothing from her.
“We?” she whispers, trailing her hands along the line of buttons on my shirt, mimicking the way I touched her that first night.
I stand my ground, even though my entire body screams at me to claim her. “You were the one who was concerned about making sure our arrangement didn’t include sex.”
“I said you weren’t entitled to it,” she clarifies, her big eyes looking up at mine. Moonlight and the flickering city reflect off her skin, creating shadows and hollows. “I wanted you to understand that paying me doesn’t mean I owe you my body.”
It makes sense. Her mother believes that only a man can give her a proper life and here she is, making a deal with a man for the benefit of her future. It must eat her up inside.
She’s going to regret this in the morning.
I know that with certainty.
“Go to bed, Ava,” I say, taking her hand and removing it from my shirt. No matter how much I want her—need her—right now, what I need more is her playing the part outside my apartment. I can’t mess that up. “Your bed.”
I don’t wait to see her reaction. Instead, I turn on my heels and head toward the metal staircase and climb the steps two at a time until I’ve got enough distance from her. My entire body pulses and aches. She’s under my skin already. It’s too much, too quick.
It’s not her. It’s this whole damn situation. You’re messed up and it’s affecting your thinking.
I head straight to my shower, undressing as I go, trying to think about anything but how I’m never going to be able to fall asleep knowing she’s lying downstairs.
But I have to try.
The conversation with Marc tonight was a disaster. He’s so convinced I betrayed him. And I won’t let anyone see it, but... It fucking hurts. It hurts like he’s taken a knife and stabbed me right in the chest. He’s my little brother and I’ve loved him since the second he was born. I took care of him for years, taught him all my soccer moves until he did them better than me. I helped him with his homework, taught him to drive a stick, showed him how to tie a Windsor knot.
All the things I had to learn on my own.
I walk naked into my bathroom and wrench the taps until hot water jets out and steam fills the glass cavity. I step under, slapping my palm against the tiles as the hot water hits my back.
How could he accuse me of this? Ever since I was named CEO, things have been different. It’s like he resents me getting to be number one. But I’m the first son. My uncle has been grooming me for this since I was a kid.
The water beats down and my muscles start to loosen. I stand there, forehead against the tiles while everything swirls in my head. If I can’t convince Marc of my innocence, then I’ll have to settle for the next best thing: clearing my name in the media. I need Ava for that. Because as much as I want my brother to believe me, my priority has to be ensuring the family business isn’t ruined by this.
I’m in charge for a reason, because I know how to prioritise.
Eventually, the hot water brings me back down to earth. I turn off the taps and step out of the shower. Steam swirls and I swipe my hand across the mirror. My reflection is distorted, dark eyes and dark features warped by anger and condensation.
The apartment is silent.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief. I did the right thing walking away from Ava tonight. As much as it wasn’t what I wanted, I need to keep my head in the game. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have needs to take care of.
I towel my body off and head into the bedroom. The upstairs floor of the apartment is mostly open, like a loft. A low metal railing rings the edge, allowing me to look down into the loungeroom and kitchen below. My king-size bed sits in the middle of the space. I need to be quiet.
What is she doing to me?
I flop down on my bed, the springs squeaking under my weight. The cover is soft against my back and cool air prickles along my damp skin. I lie there for a moment, staring into the fractured darkness, watching the lights shimmer outside. I strain, trying to hear if Ava is awake below me. But there’s nothing.
Good.
I run my hand down my stomach and reach for my cock. I’m impossibly hard, even now. The shower did nothing for that—perhaps I should have taken a cold one instead of a hot one. I wrap my hand around myself and squeeze, flexing my hips and tightening my ass. I did this only a few hours ago, but Ava has me hot and bothered again. I can’t let this get out of hand... No pun intended.
The drawer next to my bed has a bottle of lube and I squirt some into my hand, rubbing it up and down the length of my cock, coating myself in it. I close my eyes and press my head back against my pillow, letting myself sink. Behind my shuttered eyes, she’s there. This time I don’t push the fantasy away.
I don’t think about what it means, about whether it’s real or simply a product of this fucked-up situation. I don’t temper myself.
I glide my hand up and down my cock, twisting when I reach the head. My other hand palms my balls. In my mind, she’s here. Stripping off that simple black dress and exposing her curves to me, letting her long dark hair tumble over her tits. I love a woman who’s got hills and valleys, whose thighs touch.
I was that kid who felt nothing toward the actresses of my day, instead getting hard over vintage films with Sophia Loren and Marilyn Monroe. I’ve always been attracted to softer women with flared hips, round bums and cleavage for days.
I stifle a grunt as I jerk myself, tugging on my cock in a way that makes the fantasy rich and bright. I pretend it’s her hand working me over. Her in my bed instead of empty space.
Sex has no place in this arrangement, I know that. Even with Ava sending me mixed signals, I know better. But my libido—which has been forced to take a back seat this past year while I threw myself into taking over the helm of my family’s company—has jumped back into the driver’s seat. I’m hungry, wanting.
I want her.
Temptation rolls around in my head, like the ball of a pinball machine. She’s the one who laid the suggestion down and opened that door.
I’m hard as marble remembering the way she looked up at me, with big, sultry eyes. Lips parted just so. The muscles in my ass and thighs clench as I squeeze myself, sliding my hand up and down slowly. Deliberately.
Flinging my other arm across my eyes, I thrust into my hand. I try to be quiet, stifling each grunt and groan. It will never be as good as the real thing, but this flickering reel of fantasies pulls me in. I can almost feel the softness of her tongue against my cock, and the tight pressure of her mouth.
I pretend she’s here with me now.