Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife (14 page)

Unfortunately, I make eye contact with a man wearing a cowboy hat bigger than the rest of him. He starts to swagger over, his eyes flicking to my hand, then my chest.

I look down. Engagement ring, yes.

Wedding ring, no.

I am in Vegas. I possess a vagina. I have the flushed cheeks that come from arousal or embarrassment (or both). I have no wedding ring on while walking around in a casino in my new black Louboutins that Declan insisted I wear, my Vera Wang dress slit up to my tampon string line.

But most important, I made a lethal error.

I made eye contact with a strange man in a casino.

Warm, wet lips kiss the soft spot under my ear as the cowboy stares at me. I scream from surprise and swing the giant chocolate penis around, whacking what turns out to be Declan with it, bashing his head. The box breaks open and he reaches up with his hands in shock, looking down to find himself cradling half of the enormous chocolate penis, tip up, white chocolate gleaming inches from his mouth.

And this is how I know he is meant for me, because his reaction is simply to grunt and say, “Shame. White chocolate. Ick.”

“That’s $119.99, miss,” Martha says, palm out. “You break the penis, you buy it. Cash or credit?” 

“Charge it to the house,” Declan says. “McCormick.” Martha’s eyes flash as she takes us all in, calculating exactly who Declan is.

“What are you kids up to today? Getting married, finally? Don’t consummate before the ceremony!” Mom says, Dad trying to look at anything that isn’t phallic, and failing.

“Why do you constantly joke about sex?” Declan replies, mouth twitching with tension. He’s inverting the situation, re-asserting control by throwing Mom off guard. 

Mom looks shocked, her mouth in a little O, eyebrows clenched. “I never,
ever
joke about sex. I take my sex very seriously.”

“She does,” Dad agrees.

“Sex is how we make sense of the world,” Mom adds, her voice going into a sing-songy lecture, a sound that makes my throat feel like Darth Vader picked me to choke at the conference table. If we stay here, we’ll get a twenty-minute discussion about passion and sensuality, nuance and bendy yoga, and I can’t handle one more second of this. 

“Look, Mom, we need to talk.”

“Yes, we do. But not now. I’m busy,” she says.

“Then how about dinner? Tomorrow?”

Her eyes light up. “Just you and me, honey?”

Declan squeezes my arm.
It’s your call
, that squeeze says.
You’re in charge here
.

“How about we make it a foursome?” I say.

“We have videos on that,” Martha offers.

“Nice upsell attempt,” I tell her through gritted teeth. “But no.”

She gives me a nonchalant shrug.

I think my fangs are showing, because she retreats into her phone without another word.

“Eight o’clock. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Dad says in a low, hurt voice. “Why tomorrow?” 

“I need some time, Daddy. I’m so tired.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize how true they are. “Can you handle staying here while we sort this all out?”

He has an empty look, but his eyes go soft with understanding. “Sure can, sweetie. Whatever you need.”

I give Declan a slightly harried look.
Where?
I mouth.

“We’ll get a private table at the members-only club on the twenty-third floor. Choice seats for the nighttime fountain display.”

Mom looks like she did the day she confirmed the Farmington Country Club for our wedding.

“Perfect,” she says, looking at the broken dong in Declan’s hand. “I hope they have good desserts.”

Deftly, Declan hands the two halves of the broken monstrosity to my father, who shudders in sympathy at the sight of a broken penis, even if it isn’t real. Mom takes the top half and shoves the tip in her mouth, taking a bite.

“Mmmmm, this is so good. Shannon, you need to try this.”

“The only penis Shannon needs in her mouth is mine,” Declan declares, grabbing my arm. Before I pivot, I see Mom’s face flaming in the dim light. Finally.

Finally, someone actually embarrassed her.

Too bad it had to involve embarrassing me, too.

“Did you have to say that?” I hiss. Cowboy looks at Declan, and shakes his head slowly, whistling some country tune as he decides I’m off limits, giving Mom a looksy, making faces of approval until Dad gives him a cold look.

Get along, little dogie.

“Yes, I did have to say that,” Declan replies. 

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

“Just because you
can
do something doesn’t mean you
should
.”

“I’m taking you out of this sexual device orgy and doing
you
. Upstairs. Now,” he whispers. 

I pause and look at Declan, realizing I’ve mistaken his stony demeanor for anger. He’s hiding
arousal
. Whoa. My heart hammers in my chest, the sound of the slots behind us and murmurs and shouts a reminder of the social element of waste and outrageous, boundary-blasting behavior. 

“I retract my earlier statement.” We walk through the crowds, my heels wobbling on the thick carpet that runs in a wide line between marbled tiles. Declan’s reassuring hand on my elbow helps. He finds the private double doors and the secret elevator. As he presses the button for our floor, he looks at me, giving a speculative sigh. 

“Three-foot chocolate penis?”

“What? That was Mom. Not me.”

His voice lowers. “If you could go back in that exhibit hall right now and pick out any item from all the displays, what would you pick?”

Oh. We’re going
there
, are we? While sex with Declan is fantastically orgasmic and amazingly tender, rough and ready and ripe as it needs to be when we have it, we’ve never, um, headed into this territory.

I blush like a bride on her wedding night.

Which is utterly appropriate.

“I wouldn’t pick a thing,” I admit, his body going slack with released tension. Mischief courses through me as I add, “I’d pick a person.” 

“You’d
what
? Who? Was it some hot dancer in there? That guy your mom was oiling up with the chocolate mint oil that hooks up to the wristband thing and lets you track his boners with a smartphone app?” 

Blink.

Declan paid far more attention to that exhibit hall than I’ve realized.

Setting aside what he’s just said—there’s an app for that?—I give him a bashful smile. Not sure why I’m suddenly shy, but I am.

“No,” I say, reaching for his arm. The wool suit jacket is wrinkled, his white shirt cuff poking out, the hair on his wrist making a web of patterns that is easier to focus on than him. “You.
You
are the only thing in that room I would pick.”

A dazzling smile, eyes brimming with lust and love, greets me. A quick tug and I’m in his arms, the tickle of his warm breath making me shiver and break out into a sweat at the same time.

“While that’s a lovely sentiment, I’ve ordered an assortment of, shall we say....tester items. They’re being delivered to our room as we speak.”

I laugh. “No, you haven’t.” The elevator arrives and we get on.

“No, I didn’t,” he admits. “Can’t fool you.”

“Why would you want to?” 

He gives me a look of appraisal, then leans his head against the back of the elevator, letting out a long breath.

“Why, indeed, would I?”

“Especially when it comes to putting something edible in my mouth.” Those words ring out nice and loud as the elevator doors open and reveal James McCormick, standing next to Amanda’s mom, Pam. 

Holding a three-foot chocolate dong.

“Dad!” Declan booms.  

“Pam?” I didn’t know she followed us to Vegas. She and James take a step away from each other, her arm weighted down by her handbag. Spritzy’s face pops out, pink tongue poking between little teeth too cute to cause damage. 

Hmmm.

“Hi.” James plays it cool and casual. Declan’s practically apoplectic, and he grabs the box, turning it so the clear plastic display front is hidden.

“What are you doing?” Pam asks, her voice curious. There’s challenge to it. Given the fact that Pam can’t talk about tampons without needing smelling salts, this is quite a turn of events.

“Why are you walking around our resort carrying a giant chocolate penis?” Declan asks James, his voice loud enough for Pam to hear.

Sure enough, she goes weak in the knees, her face beet red in a flash, and I have to grab her elbow before poor Spritzy gets dumped on the floor.

“What?” James asks, recoiling. He snatches the box back from Declan’s hands and turns it around.

“The Eiffel Tower,” the box reads.

“We were across the street at that fake Eiffel Tower restaurant. Pam wanted a souvenir. I was carrying it for her.”

“Oh. Not a penis?” Declan asks stupidly.

“Why would I carry my own penis for her?”

Pam’s eyelids flutter and she starts to breathe erratically. I take the handbag off her arm and patiently stroke Spritzy’s little bow-covered head, because this could be a while. Two McCormick men talking about penises usually involves more than a minute. 

“Would you two cut the peen talk?” I snap before I realize I’ve said it. 

They both wince. “Please don’t use the phrase ‘cut the peen,’ Shannon.” James and Declan both fold inward a tiny bit.

“Stop talking about sex or we’re going to need an ambulance for poor Pam.”

“I thought we were just having a lovely visit and talking about Paris,” she says faintly. 

“We were.” James gives us a dark look, then focuses on me. “You’re just like your mother.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Declan’s protective streak kicks in.

“She can’t have a conversation without making it about sex.”

Dec opens his mouth to argue, frowns, and turns to me.

“He has a point, honey.”

“You’re the one who accused him of carrying a phallic piece of chocolate around! Not me!” 

“She has a point, Declan,” James says.

“Shut up, Dad.”

“Hey, now—”

I half-drag poor Pam over to a small bench while Dec and his dad argue. “You okay?” She reaches out for Spritzy, who looks like he’s watching tennis, eyes bouncing between Pam and James. 

“I think so. Is there really a three-foot piece of chocolate in the shape of a...you know...here at the hotel?”

I nod. “Yeah.” She makes me think for a second. “You definitely don’t want to go anywhere near the convention center right now. Steer clear.”

“Why?”

“There’s a sex toy and adult product industry trade show going on.”

“They have conventions for those? Like a software convention?” 

“Well, there’s software...”

I think about the electro-conductive oil and the smartphone app for boner tracking and decide not to describe it. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” I add, backpedaling. “But...” 

She shrugs. “Your mom insisted I should come along, so I did. It’s still Sunday, and I telecommute, so I went home, got my laptop and some clothes, and joined the entourage.”

“Entourage?”

“Me, Jason, Marie,” she ticks off people on the fingers of her right hand. “James.” She blushes.

I say nothing, but I tuck that reaction away for my future gossip-fest with poor Amanda.

“All four of you flew out here?”

“With Andrew and Amanda, yes. Six of us on the ‘lesser’ corporate jet.” Pam laughs. “Those were Andrew’s words.” 

No wonder Andrew and Amanda are so eager to get away from everyone. My flight with Declan involved a private jet with a bedroom. They got to spend their first few hours of reunion at a medical facility and then on a long flight with their parents.

Not the best way to celebrate new love.

“You definitely don’t want to join Mom right now,” I warn Pam.

“Really?” She’s surprised. “Marie keeps saying I need to come check out some big food convention in the ballroom.”

“No,” Declan jumps in, palm out. “Don’t do it.” I find his sudden concern for Pam touching. 

James frowns, looking at the Eiffel Tower. “You mean the sex convention?”

Pam whips around on him, her face somehow both pale and pink. “You knew about it?”

“Of course. It’s my resort. I know about everything.” James puffs up like a grey peacock. 

Declan clears his throat and flexes his neck and arms. “Technically, Dad, it’s my resort.”

I cringe, but say it anyhow. “It’s
actually
Andrew’s. He’s CEO.”

You ever have two highly-attractive men pissed off at you simultaneously?

Yeah. It’s not as much fun as you’d think.

Declan fake-yawns. “I think I need to go to my room now. I need a nap. We’ve been through a lot.”

Nap. Right.

His fake yawn triggers a real one in me. I stretch up, blood flowing into sore, exhausted muscles, my movement catlike and thorough, a little vulnerable. My body doesn’t care, though, so I go with it and stretch all the way, not worrying if people watch.

Declan watches, all right. Mad at me or not, he can’t help it.

Knowing that is a gift. Being adored isn’t a state of being. It’s a process, and understanding it in your soul takes time, love, nourishment, and the endless, ongoing attentions of a horny guy who really does make you the center of his world, every day, by choice.

Every day.

The same damn choice.

Thank God.

“A nap sounds great,” I agree. He smiles. I really do mean that a nap, with actual spooning and sleeping and no sex, would be fabulous.

James and Pam pick up on our cues immediately, and with cursory hugs and handshakes, Dec and I are relieved to find ourselves headed back to the room.

“Don’t you have work to do? Calls to fend off from Southeast Asia? Nine hundred text messages from Grace to manage?”

“No.
You’re
what I’m managing now.”

“I’m a pretty major project.”

“My best work yet. Like any great project, I learn more about myself than I do about you.”

“What do you need to learn about yourself?” I ask, yawning halfway through the sentence, sounding like a tired lioness. “You’re so grounded. Focused.”