New York Billionaires Series

Her voice turns teasing. “Right. All you wanted was to win.”

“I don’t like being accused of things I haven’t done.” I turn to her, meeting eyes that never looked at me this boldly before I married them. “Trust me, Cecilia. I’m very aware of all the things I haven’t done since we got married.”

The temperature in the gym rises another degree.

“Well,” she murmurs. She runs a hand over her forehead and pulls her ponytail up higher. She’s in a tank top, the smooth, strong lines of her arms on display. Then she jumps off the treadmill.

“Well?”

“I think I’ll try this machine.”

I sit up on the bench and watch her assault the shoulder press. She’s shoving, not pulling. I put down my weight and cross the space to her. “Like this,” I say, my hands atop hers.

This close, she smells like shampoo. Floral and warm and womanly. “Oh,” she breathes.

“You pull like this… can you feel it between your shoulder blades?”

“Yes. Wow. I have no muscles.”

“Building them will help you sit in front of the computer all day.” I brush her ponytail aside and place my hand on her upper back, right between the wings of her shoulder blades. Hair curls along the delicate skin at her nape. “Right here.”

“I didn’t know that,” she says.

I press a kiss to her neck. The skin is warm and fragrant beneath my mouth. “Now you do.”

“Uh-huh.”

I slide my hand down to her waist and continue my exploration of the long expanse of her neck. Dangerous, this. But my body is in control now, my stomach tightening with need.

“Victor,” she murmurs.

She twists on the bench and I kiss her. Her lips are soft and pliable beneath mine. She tastes minty from toothpaste, fresh and warm and irresistible.

Her hands come up around my neck. I’m sweaty, but so is she, and we’d probably break a sweat in bed together anyway. Hell, if Myers is as feisty there as she had been negotiating our marriage, it’s guaranteed.

I slip my tongue between her lips and she sighs, deepening the kiss in response. The sound goes straight through me and I feel my body responding, need sharp in my lower body.

I hadn’t lied to her. It had been a long time.

I pull her into standing and she follows me fluidly, the length of her body pressed against mine. Finally, I think, and slide my hand down to cup her ass through her workout tights. The ass I only noticed a few months ago, but that has taunted me every single time she’s worn these tights around the apartment.

“Victor,” she says again, and I like it. Want her purring my name in all kinds of ways.

“What are we doing here?”

“Does it matter?” I tug her tight against my body and let her feel just how much I need this. “We can do whatever we like.”

“Mmm.” Her lips return to mine and I wonder if we can do it right here, right now, and indulge in a different kind of exercise.

Then her hand slips down my neck and strokes the spot through my T-shirt where the diagonal scar starts. “I’m sorry about this,” she murmurs against my lips.

“It was a long time ago.” And not something I want to talk about right now, not when I’m gripping your ass and your mouth is on mine.

Happy place, right here.

“Will you tell me how it happened?”

I press another kiss to her lips before I lift my head. It hurts to pull my hands away from her, and I know I’ll have to take a cold shower or use my right hand before I’ll get any work done today. “I’m keeping you from your workout,” I say.

Her swollen lips shift into a frown, and I turn, not wanting to see that I’d put it there. “Victor… I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Come back,” she whispers.

I sling my towel over my shoulder. The one I should have used to wipe my face instead of my T-shirt, and all this would have been avoided. “I should shower. Tomorrow evening, though.”

“Tomorrow evening,” she repeats.

I shut the gym door behind me and leave the heady smell of bodies and want. The rest of my apartment is in order, clean and fresh and quiet. It’s like a balm across my feverish senses, even if it doesn’t ease the aching length between my legs. What have I set in motion here?

My arm is through Victor’s, and with every step we take, my body reminds me of that fact. He’d offered it casually, like we do this all the time. Like we’re a couple. The scent of his cologne and his steady presence are as distracting as the grandeur of the opera house we’re approaching.

Victor gives our name to the attendant by the vaulted entrance. “The St. Clairs,” he says.

Tonight’s another night to show a strong united front, to flaunt the success of our marriage. He’d warned me that one or more of his business partners might be here tonight.

That journalists, photographers, and New York’s elite would be.

Which means for the purposes of tonight, we’re very much in love.

“This place is gorgeous,” I say. Light beams in from above, through the glass domed ceiling, making the limestone floor gleam.NôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

“It took too long to construct,” Victor says. “The architecture firm the city hired went over time by three months.”

I lean closer. “I understand that must have been a major disappointment for you, considering that I worked for you for a year and not once did you have me schedule appointments to go to the theater or the opera.”

He snorts. “I suppose I haven’t gone as much lately.”

“By lately, do you mean the past decade?”

“I might, yes. You’re in a good mood tonight.”

My fingers tighten on his arm. I am, and it has nothing to do with the opera. Excitement and anticipation is a heavy weight in my stomach. Against every one of my principles, I liked kissing him. The memory of his touch in the gym is powerful enough to make me shiver.

“I am in a good mood,” I say. “Nadine came with me to shop for this dress. We had a great afternoon.”

Victor looks down at me, dark blue eyes sweeping over my form. The dress is red and clings to my body. Nadine had called it a fuck-me dress, but the lite version. The one you can wear to a function… and ask a man to peel you out of afterwards.