The Fiancé by Stefanie London
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Daniel
IALMOSTDOZE off between combing through documents for the acquisition negotiations that are supposed to take place next week. But Henry Livingstone is avoiding my emails and I can feel the deal slipping through my fingers. Even if Marc hasn’t gotten in his ear, one look at the media makes our company seem like we’re one bad headline away from having our own trashy reality TV show.
And the worst thing of all... I feel numb.
My heart is hollow and my brain spins like a tire slipping against an icy road. Everything I have worked for, everything my grandfather and uncle built our company for...is family. Even while my parents’ marriage fell apart, my mother would hold Marc and me and tell us over and over: family is everything. Blood is thicker than water. You must love each other.
But maybe familial relationships are just as risky as love relationships. When your guards are down, you’re inviting someone to take aim with their strongest weapon.
Shaking off the pointless ruminations, I reach my hands above my head and stretch. My body is tight from hours of sitting. Ava has spent the first part of the trip watching movies, her giggles cutting through the silence every so often in a way that makes me smile. But when I look at her now, she’s curled into the couch and her eyes are shut. The flicker of the screen makes light play over her face.
She can’t be comfortable squished up like that. What’s the point of owning a luxury jet if you can’t have a decent sleep on an overnight flight?
I push up from my chair and go to her. She’s snoring lightly, her long hair tangled beneath her head. At some point she’s kicked off her sandals and they lie haphazardly on the floor. She looks so peaceful. Content.
I push a button on the wall to call one of the staff and a second later the cabin chief, Marisa, appears. “Can you make the bed up?” I ask.
Marisa’s eyes drift down to where Ava is currently sitting on the couch that is to be transformed into her bed. “Sure, let me grab the pillows and blankets.”
I contemplate waking her, but a gentle shake of her arm results in nothing. Not even a murmur of discontent about being interrupted. Literally nothing.
“Ava?” I try again, but she remains completely surrendered to slumber.
Sighing, I slide an arm under her legs and one behind her back and lift her up. Her curvy body presses against mine, suffusing me with warmth. The rub of her breasts against my chest stirs something primal inside me and the enticing peaks of her nipples through the fine cotton of her dress—stirred by the cool air-conditioning—has all the blood in my body rushing south. I hope she doesn’t wake up now and feel my cock growing stiff against her like some fucking pervert. Her eyelids flicker, like she’s dreaming, and for a minute I think she might wake. But she doesn’t.
Chalk that up to things I’m learning about her: she sleeps like the dead. Thank god.
Marisa makes the bed and I lay Ava down onto the fresh sheets, pulling the blanket up over her. She’s got a pair of earrings in with those long backs that look like they might poke into her skin. So I slip them out and place them on the little table beside the bed. Immediately, she snuggles into the covers, wrapping herself up like a human burrito.
It’s better for me this way, with her fully clothed and covered in blankets. Easier for me to think of last night as something I dreamed up while getting off. Easier for me to keep that version of Ava totally separate from the sweet and spirited woman I see during the day.
I turn to head back to my chair but I halt when I hear a rustling behind me.
“Daniel?” Her just-woken-up voice is sexy and husky and my poor cock leaps to response. “What happened?”
When I turn to face her, she’s sitting up. Her hair is a fluffy cloud around her shoulders and she scrubs a hand over her face.
“I put you to bed.”
Is it my imagination or do her eyes seem to get darker?
“You were asleep on the couch,” I continue, refusing to let my brain catch on anything that might tempt me to get closer. “I thought you might be more comfortable in a proper bed.”
“I was just resting my eyes.” She yawns and stretches, causing her bust to strain against the confines of her cotton dress.
“You should rest more than your eyes.”
“What about you?” She’s slipping her cardigan off her shoulders and the bare skin of her arms is way sexier than it should be.
“I have work to do.”
Ava frowns. “You said the work never ends. Does that mean you never sleep?”
“Are you asking me if I’m immortal?” I try to make light of the situation. I know what she’s doing.
“Are you avoiding sleeping because of me?” Her eyes nail me with a direct look. She has no hesitation in calling me on my bullshit.
“You made a comment about there only being one bed, so...” I gesture in her direction. “I always want my guests to feel comfortable.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s like, what—” She gropes for her phone “—five in the morning? You have to sleep.”
“I need less sleep than the average person.”
She makes a noise of frustration and gets out of the bed. “I’m going to put my pyjamas on and when I get back, I expect you to be changed and in bed.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“We’re engaged, remember,” she says softly. “Don’t you think the airline crew will find it odd that you refused to get into bed with your fiancée?”
Well, fuck.
“It’s not unusual for a man in my position to work through the night,” I reply crisply. “It’s part of the job.”
“And part of your job as a future-husband is to get into bed with your soon-to-be wife.” She plucks her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment and without another word heads in the direction of the bathroom at the end of the cabin.
For a moment I stand there, my feet stuck to the spot like roots are holding me in place. Lying next to Ava all night long, knowing what it sounds like when she comes, is going to be pure torture. I feel like we’re playing chess, each maneuver analysed and countered. And just when I thought I have my strategy under control, she queens me.
I almost choke at the double entendre. Christ. I really need to get a grip.
Yeah, you do.
Cursing under my breath, I stalk up to the crew’s section and inform Marisa that Ava and I are both turning in, so not to disturb us until it’s time for breakfast service. Then I pop the buttons on my shirt and toe off my shoes. I toss my clothes messily onto one of the chairs, which is highly uncharacteristic. But I want to be in bed before Ava gets back so I can avoid seeing her wriggling those perfect, ample hips as she walks out of the bathroom.
Part of me wants to call her bluff. I’m not one for losing at games, and I certainly don’t enjoy letting others get the upper hand. If Ava wants to play with fire, then I’ll show her that I don’t burn.
Not for anyone.
I slip into bed and a second later the cabin becomes dim as Marisa turns the lights to sleep mode. Only the safety lights along the walkway are lit, which is a good thing. It means I don’t see Ava in great detail when she climbs into bed beside me. I only feel the shift of the bed and the rustle of the sheets. I smell the sweet vanilla on her skin and feel the gentle brush of her hair as she gets comfortable.
But my head is filled with flickering images of her standing at the top of my staircase, watching me. It’s filled with the way her body shuddered and trembled as she touched herself. It’s filled with the reflection of her in my bedroom window, the perfect O her lips made as she sought release by her own hand.
My cock is so hard I’m sure I’m tenting the blankets.
I force myself to stare into the darkness, lying still. Keeping my distance. This whole situation is outside the realms of how I view sex—which is for recreation. No emotions. No future. But I can’t draw that neat little line in the sand with Ava, because we’re going to be together for a while.
Forced proximity. Right now it feels like a challenge of willpower.
“Are you not attracted to me?” Ava asks in the darkness.
I growl. She’s determined to push me, this woman. “What kind of a question is that?”
“A genuine one.”
“Do you think what happened last night...” I shake my head. “Yes, I’m attracted to you.”
While I don’t believe that anyone has to stick to a “type,” there are certainly common attributes in the women I’m attracted to—I like a woman with a curvier figure. I like a woman who has something to say and speaks her mind. I like a woman who’s herself. Some of the women I’ve been with in the past seemed to change from one day to the next, like chameleons always trying to be what they think others want. I prefer to know someone honestly, whether it’s for a romantic dalliance or something platonic. I prefer to know the real them, so I know exactly whom I’m dealing with.
Unfortunately, that becomes less common the older I get.
“I’m attracted to you, too,” she says, though I don’t need the confirmation. I could see it in her eyes the night we met.
Under the sheets, I feel something brush the back of my hand. It’s her knuckles, her fingers, searching mine out.
“I keep thinking about last night,” she says and I press my head back against the pillow, wanting to groan in pent-up sexual frustration. “About...”
“What?” I snap.
She sucks in a breath. “About how I wish you hadn’t ordered me away afterward.”
“And what would you have preferred, Ava?” I’ve been trying to be a gentleman, but she’s making it very fucking hard to keep my wits about me.
“I would have preferred for you to come up behind me,” she says. “I would have preferred for you to put your hands between my legs and feel for yourself how wet I was.”
I reach down and squeeze myself under the covers. “You were the one who didn’t want this arrangement to include sex.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind. You’re...” The bed shifts as she turns. My eyes are adjusting to the dark and I can tell she’s facing me. “I want to explore this attraction between us.”
What if it feels far too risky to sleep with Ava and then continue being around her? What if it feels way too risky because she speaks to me on some level that goes beyond sexual? Beyond the lines I draw carefully around myself so I have complete control over my life?
“If I touch you now and you’re not hard as a rock, then I’ll leave it be,” she says softly.
Check fucking mate.
I feel her warm breath puff over my skin and the subtle movement of her hand beneath the sheets. She’s getting closer to me. I feel the brush of her fingertips at my thigh, then up and over. Inching closer.
Closer.
When her palm skates over the hard ridge of my cock, every muscle in my body grows tight. But it’s the sharp hitch of her breath that undoes me. It’s the crackle of tension that builds and builds until it’s so explosive and bright I have no hope of stopping it now.
“Fine. You want to play games, Ava?” I growl. “Then let’s play.”