Marrying the Enemy (9 page)

CHAPTER NINE

R
UBY
woke as she did every morning. In the wee small hours, savouring the darkness and peace when she produced her best work.

She loved slipping into her fluffy pink dressing-gown and worn leopard-print slippers, snagging her hair into a messy ponytail with elastic and padding downstairs to her workshop.

There was something almost furtive about it, as if she was stealing a few extra hours in the day compared with everyone else by sneaking around in the darkness.

It was why her mum had bestowed the apartment over the showroom to her. Both her mum and Sapphie had been light sleepers but they’d quit complaining about her nocturnal wanderings when they saw the pieces she produced.

When she’d hit twenty-one they’d moved out, her mum to a modern apartment in Toorak, Sapphie to a Californian bungalow not far from their showroom on High Street.

She’d missed them initially but had found comfort in her creations as she always did. They’d sustained her through bad dates and bad break-ups, through losing her mum and then Sapphie being ill a year later.

Her fingers tingled and she stretched, eager to head downstairs, pick up her pliers and start creating magic.

One problem.

When she stretched, her foot encountered another.

Her eyes flew open and the first thing she saw was Jax Maroney’s handsome face inches from hers.

In that moment it all came flooding back.

Seaborn’s on the skids.

Proposing to Jax.

Marrying him yesterday.

Telling Sapphie.

What she couldn’t remember was how she’d ended up in this bed.

She’d been shattered after her confrontation with Sapphie, emotionally overwrought. She’d built up this perfectly plausible marriage scenario in her head, prepared to rationalise it to her sister, not lying but not telling the direct truth, when Sapphie had seen straight through her.

In a way she’d been relieved. Sapphie hadn’t freaked out too badly, she hadn’t dismembered Jax, and having her sister know the truth alleviated some of her stress.

But it had finally taken its toll. She hadn’t wanted to talk on the drive to the B&B. Besides, Jax didn’t seem the comforting type. Baring her soul to have him dismiss her or close down as she suspected he might would’ve made her bawl.

As it was, his caring side had almost made her cry. What had he said, something along the lines of ‘a woman like you deserves a special wedding night’?

He’d almost undone her.

She could’ve happily fallen into his strong arms and blubbered all over his designer tux if she hadn’t seen the dawning horror in his eyes.

Right, got the message. New husband doesn’t do emotions.

He’d bolted while she slumped on the sofa...and that was the last she remembered.

She must’ve fallen asleep and he’d carried her into the bedroom. And the fact her foot had encountered his meant he’d taken off her shoes.

Which begged the question: what else did he take off?

Sliding a hand under the top sheet, she encountered the sheath dress.

Who would’ve thought her brooding, charismatic husband was a gentleman too?

She studied him, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never was awake. He’d lost the frown lines, the tightness around his mouth, his lips relaxed into a semi-smile.

He had an inherent toughness that faded when he slept and seeing him sleeping soundly, susceptible, humanised him more than the understanding he’d demonstrated on the drive here yesterday.

His thoughtfulness in carrying her to the bed and tucking her in impressed her and made her like him more than she should.

She didn’t want to feel anything for him, it wouldn’t be wise, but with his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheek and his mouth slack with sleep, her heart wriggled.

Unable to resist, she brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and his eyes instantly snapped open, the fear she glimpsed in them making her heart ache.

What would make a tough guy like him scared? And wake so quickly? Something in his past, to do with his dad?

In the second it took her to process it the fear was gone, replaced by a familiar heat, the time to question him lost.

‘Sleeping Beauty awakes.’

She smirked. ‘That’s debatable.’

He quirked a brow and she scanned his face. ‘You’re not so beautiful.’

His mouth eased into a grin and her heart kicked. ‘I was talking about you.’

‘Technically, I wasn’t sleeping, because I woke first.’

‘Are you always this argumentative first thing in the morning?’

That was when it hit her. Though they hadn’t finalised living arrangements yet—she wouldn’t budge from her apartment above the workshop and he wouldn’t move in with her—in all probability they’d have to cohabit for some length of time to convince people of the validity of this marriage. And it stood to reason that she’d find it increasingly difficult to ignore the simmering attraction between them, so she might be waking up next to him every morning for the foreseeable future until they both got what they wanted out of this deal and the marriage dissolved.

‘Depends.’

He propped up on one elbow, the sheet slipping and revealing a spectacular bronzed, broad chest.

‘On what?’

She curled her fingers into her palm to stop from reaching out and seeing if that wall of muscle felt as good as it looked.

‘On what you plan on doing to shut me up.’

His gaze roved over her face, her chest, and lower. ‘Plenty.’

How could one word pack so much punch, so much promise?

‘As a wise guy once told me, big statement, but can you deliver?’

He lifted the sheet and she mouthed ‘wow’.

Yep, he could definitely deliver.

‘I’m not the one who fell asleep last night.’

Still reeling from the size of what she’d seen under that sheet, she swallowed. ‘You’re not the one who had to tell her sister she’d married the enemy.’

His smile faded and she mentally kicked herself. ‘Is that how you see me?’

‘You were undercutting our gem prices and driving us out of business. What do you think?’

He paused, several emotions flitting across his expressive face—regret, annoyance, pride—before he deliberately blanked.

‘I think if this is your idea of pillow talk, it leaves a lot to be desired.’

She knew what she was doing. Deliberately sabotaging this. Too scared to fully commit to a marriage she’d barged into with the finesse of a wounded rhino.

Not that she was a simpering virgin, far from it, but maybe her subconscious was holding up a warning sign,
Danger Ahead
?

Waking up next to Jax was too cosy, too intimate, too soon.

She didn’t want to fall into his arms, didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. They might be married but she had no intention of acting the dutiful wife.

He chose that moment to run a fingertip across her shoulder and down her upper arm. Slow. Teasing. Leaving a trail of tiny goose bumps.

‘Because I can think of more interesting versions of pillow talk...’

His fingertip lingered in the hollow of her elbow, lightly skating across her skin with the barest of touches but enough to make her yearn to have him touch her all over.

She bit her lip as he picked up her hand and nibbled on the pad of her thumb, inching his way towards her wrist where he licked her pulse point and she moaned.

The way she saw it, she had two choices. Do this the hard way and deny them both a good time. Or do this the easy way and have scintillating sex as a bonus to a dodgy business marriage.

His lips trailed up her arm, nipping at her skin, setting her alight until she couldn’t stand the minimal contact and wanted more.

She wanted it all.

Determinedly ignoring her residual doubts that this was a very bad idea, she tugged on the sheet, exposing his entire chest in all its magnificence.

‘Maybe I don’t want to talk any more?’

‘Me either.’ In one swift movement he rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed, and she sighed with pleasure at his weight pressing her to the mattress, his erection pressing into her pelvis.

Her arms slid around him, sliding down his back, encountering an exceptionally taut, exceptionally grope-able butt.

Nuzzling his neck, she murmured, ‘One of us is gloriously naked, the other is way overdressed.’

‘Easily rectified.’ He rolled off her, taking her with him, so now she lay flat on top of him.

He ripped her zip down, eased the straps off her shoulders and pushed the dress down with the finesse of a man desperate for a little skin-on-skin action.

‘No bra, smart girl.’

He palmed her breasts, kneading them with firm strokes, tweaking her nipples until she groaned.

‘You’re so responsive,’ he said, his hands lifting her torso so his mouth could pick up where his hands left off.

He laved and suckled her nipples until she writhed, begging him for more in unintelligible gibberish.

Lifting his head, he blew on her nipples and they pebbled, his cool breath sending hot fire streaking to her core.

He flipped again, laying her on her back, rising up on all fours to hover over her like some erotic fantasy lover come to life.

‘You’re magnificent,’ she said, reaching up to skim her palms across his chest, his abs, edging lower.

He growled in approval and ripped off her panties, tossing the scrap of silk over his shoulder.

She gasped as he splayed her legs. She moaned as he lowered his head and licked her. She screamed a few short licks later as her orgasm slammed into her in a raging crescendo that left her boneless.

Smug, he snagged a foil pocket from the bedside table, tore it open and sheathed himself, while she continued to lie there almost comatose.

She liked sex. Sex was healthy and fun, especially with the right guy.

Considering the aftershocks of the orgasm still rippling through her, those other guys had been nothing more than a prelude to the real thing.

‘Nothing to say?’ He nudged at her moist centre and her hands bunched the sheets. ‘That’s a first.’

She arched her pelvis, vindicated by the flare of passion in his eyes as he battled for control.

‘One word for you.’ She strained upwards, taking him in an inch. ‘More.’

With an exultant groan he thrust into her and she saw stars. He filled her to the point of exquisite pain and she clung to him, mindless, as he drove into her repeatedly.

Their bodies slid over each other, slick with sweat, as she dug her nails into his shoulders, clamouring for release.

As the tension built he stopped and she stared at him in disbelief.

‘What are you doing—?’

He silenced her with a kiss, his tongue miming what he’d been doing below, keeping her excitement at fever pitch.

He kissed his way towards her ear, where he murmured, ‘Turn over.’

She did and within a second he was inside her again, his hand snaking beneath her, wedged between the bed and her clitoris, pleasuring her.

With every thrust, with every stroke, the inner tension coiled.

She rose onto all fours as her orgasm neared, and Jax roared, driving into her with a practised frenzy that sent them both over the edge at the same time.

Stunned, she couldn’t move, her body shaking with the mind-numbing pleasure.

He rested his forehead on her back, cradling her waist to him, as she absorbed the enormity of what had just happened.

She’d had the best sex of her life.

Truly connected physically with a guy.

Not just any guy: her husband.

Who would be doing this to her on a regular basis if she let him.

Marriage to the enemy wasn’t looking so bad after all.

* * *

Jax didn’t cuddle.

He didn’t snuggle or linger after sex.

He headed for the shower, dressed in record time and left.

Not today. Today, he had his sexy, sated wife curled into his side, her arm draped across his torso, as if she intended never to let go of him.

Worse, he kinda liked it.

‘Is it always that good for you?’

He heard a hint of vulnerability in her curious tone and his first instinct was to lie. He didn’t want to label what they’d shared as special, didn’t want to acknowledge it had moved beyond good to freaking spectacular.

Admissions like that bred a closeness he couldn’t afford.

Then he made the mistake of glancing down, to see her staring at him with guileless green eyes still tinged with passion and his intention to lie faded.

‘No. What we just did? That was something else.’

‘Good.’ She nodded, her smile smug.

He didn’t want to question why it was good because that implied possessiveness and a depth of feeling he didn’t dare question.

‘Can I ask you something?’

Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. This was what came of lingering after sex: questions he had no wish to answer.

‘You can ask, but don’t expect me to answer. I’m not the deep and meaningful kind.’

‘Bull.’ She raised herself and propped on an elbow, her probing stare focused on his face. ‘You hide behind that austere mask when inside you’re a big softie.’

‘What gives you that idea?’

‘Last night.’

She pointed to her clothes strewn across the floor where he’d tossed them. ‘You carry me to bed, you take off my shoes, you tuck me in and let me sleep.’

She touched his cheek with a fingertip. ‘The actions of a thoughtful guy. A guy who understood how drained I was yesterday and didn’t push me. A guy who let me sleep ahead of his own needs.’

She blushed as the sheet tented.

Personally he couldn’t be more relieved he was ready to go again, for sex would put an end to talking and the infernal questions he’d do anything to avoid.

‘So what I wanted to ask was why you do it?’

‘Well, it’s quite easy, actually. I have this thing called a libido and—’

She didn’t laugh. ‘Why do you present a tough-guy front to the world when there’s obviously more to you?’

Hell.

What could he say?

That tough guys didn’t get hurt when their dads ripped off friends and couldn’t care less about their sons who idolised them?