Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire. Элли Блейк
give in entirely to this attraction simmering between them, couldn’t give into the insane dream to make this marriage real.
She had a life in London, a promotion to nail. Then why the renewed rush of tears at the thought of leaving all this, leaving Nick, behind?
‘Come on, almost done, then we can relax.’
He held her hand the entire time through the signing of the certificates, through the forced pleasantries from the minister and the false congratulations from the witnesses she didn’t know, and the trip in the elevator to the fifth floor.
‘Where are we going?’
Stupid question, for she knew, and every cell in her body was on high alert.
They had to have a fake wedding night for people to believe this marriage was real, she got that. The part she was having trouble with was reminding herself of the fake part.
‘Our suite.’
Two little words that sent a tremor of longing through her as she wished she were being whisked away to a fabulous room with her husband for real.
But this wasn’t real, none of it was, and she needed to keep telling herself that as he held onto her hand as if he’d never let go.
‘It’s one of the hotel’s best. The type of room that allows the occupants to step into a different world and lets all their fantasies come true.’
Her head snapped up at his husky tone, her skin prickling in alarm at the basest desire glittering in his eyes.
Oh, heck, why did he have to go and mention fantasies? It would’ve been hard enough resisting him without the added pressure of envisioning all sorts of inventive ways she could share a room with the hottest guy to walk the earth, possibly seeing him naked, his hair ruffled by sleep first thing in the morning, that sexy smile playing about his mouth…
‘I’m sure the room will be fine.’
Could she sound any lamer?
‘Oh, it’s better than fine.’
She inhaled sharply, Nick’s subtle woody aftershave that had teased her for the last hours warping her senses when she had a precarious enough hold on them as it was.
‘It’s the French suite. Hope you like it.’
The French suite?
Suddenly, her magnanimous decision to share a room for a faux wedding night with Nick took on a whole new meaning.
A basic, boring, run-of-the-mill room she could’ve handled. Something like the French suite sounded way too seductive for comfort. Though right now, with Nick palming a key card out of his pocket as they stopped outside an elaborate ivory and gold door, she had more important things to worry about.
Such as how she could keep the guy she’d loved all those years ago at arm’s length.
More importantly, did she really want to?
NICK gripped Brittany’s hand as he slid their room card into the slot and waited for the tiny green light to flash.
Their room.
They’d be sharing a room, tonight, their wedding night.
He could barely think of anything else as he pushed the door open and gestured to her to step inside.
‘Oh, my.’
Her gasp of surprise had him standing taller. Every inch of this hotel was his idea, from the boutique-styled foyer with its casual elegance to the extensive range of ‘fantasy’ suites designed to please the most discerning traveller.
Having the woman he’d married, the woman whose opinion he’d always valued, admire this room filled him with pride.
‘You like it?’
She nodded, her eyes wide as they swept the room, alighting on the massive four-poster king-size bed covered in gold and ivory cushions and draped in yards of filmy chiffon—he’d labelled it ‘some fancy thin material’ and stood corrected by the aghast interior designer who’d taken him through the hotel suite by suite when he’d first dreamed up the idea.
The memory brought a smile to his face, a smile that quickly broadened when Britt turned her wide eyes, now filled with mischief, towards him.
‘Knowing your sense of humour, for a second there when you mentioned French suite I had visions of a maid’s outfit hanging in the wardrobes rather than fluffy robes and baskets of…’
She trailed off, bit her tongue and he raised an eyebrow.
‘Of?’
With crimson cheeks, she said, ‘French letters.’
He chuckled, urged her into the room with a gentle push in the small of her back.
‘I haven’t heard condoms called those in years.’
She waved her hand at him. ‘Forget I said anything. Speaking before I think.’
She looked adorable with her flaming cheeks and wobbly smile, in stark contrast to her wedding gown and upswept hair.
He shouldn’t tease her, he really shouldn’t, but he didn’t have her on the back foot very often and he couldn’t resist.
‘If this suite is too boring, we could always change to another. The Roman room, complete with marble columns around a central spa bath right in the bedroom, is pretty nifty. Or there’s the Scottish room with its lavish faux fireplace and fur rug in front of it, or if you’re feeling really adventurous there’s always the Tack room, complete with whips, for those who need a little added excitement in their lives.’
‘Whips?’
Her voice came out a squeak and he laughed.
‘Okay, so I’ve just invented the Tack room, but hey, what the hell, it might draw a few customers.’
‘What sort of hotel are you running here?’
‘I resent what you’re implying, lady.’
To his surprise, the mischief had returned to her eyes as she quirked an eyebrow. ‘It’s wifey to you now.’
Just like that, it hit him all over again.
They were married.
It was their wedding night.
And no amount of kidding around or playing the fool would douse his driving need to consummate this marriage.
Business might be the motivator behind their nuptials but his unquenchable need to have Britt in his arms again was a definite bonus.
Taking a step closer, he ran a fingertip down her arm, delighting in the slight tremor, proving she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like him to believe.
‘Wife…I like the sound of that.’
‘In name only, of course.’
Her biting response might have been edgy, but she didn’t move when his finger continued its leisurely exploration, reaching her shoulder, skimming along her collarbone, resting in the hollow just above where her pulse beat frantically.
‘Of course,’ he said, ducking his head to replace his finger with his lips, turned on by her low moan and the way her head fell back to give him better access.
Her skin tasted better than he remembered, deliciously soft with a hint of vanilla, and it took every inch of his rapidly dwindling will power not to devour her on the spot.
‘This isn’t supposed to happen,’ she murmured as his lips trailed slowly upwards, nuzzling behind her ear, nipping the lobe before swooping on her mouth in a fiery kiss that branded her his.
Raging