More Than a Convenient Marriage?

Especially Nic.

A stuttering sigh ripped through her chest, hidden by the drone of the engine and the rush of the wind. She glanced at him to see if he was tracking her inner struggle.

He kept his attention on the road, his profile starkly beautiful in its intensity, his cheeks still shiny from his morning shave, his mouth the only thing about him that seemed to relax. She longed to trace his mouth with her fingertips.

Maybe she needed to give herself to him in order to get over him once and for all.

Her stomach swooped and her head grew light. The thought of sex with him scared the hell out of her, but her shudder wasn’t all trepidation. It was also a delicious betrayal of anticipation. She wanted him.

She forced her hands to uncurl on her thighs, aware that she was kidding herself if she thought sleeping with him would help her get over him. She wanted to go to bed with Nic because deep down she thought maybe, somehow, it would make him like her. All night she had tossed and turned, tormented by the mistakes she’d made that had led him to look down on her. She wanted to make up with him. Sleep with him. He was the only man she’d ever wanted to sleep with. That was what it came down to.

But she was a virgin.

And he didn’t want anything from the experience but to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to rock her world and then drop out of it.

Those rather pertinent details filled her with serious misgivings about sliding into bed with him. What would he say? Would it be good? Or awkward and disappointing? Would they be able to part with a sense of closure? Or would it be relief on his side and a mortifying memory for her that tortured her forever?

Would he even want her? Or would he lose interest once he realized she wasn’t a sex symbol like her mother?

The fluttering tents of the outdoor market came into view. Nic pulled into the parking lot that was always crowded in the middle of summer, but sparsely occupied today. They drew attention—not just because of the flashy car and the quiet time of year, but because locals knew who they were. It made for a poignant hour of shopping as they fielded questions about the called-off search.

Her Greek was passable, Nic’s impeccable, so she let him talk even though what he said took her aback.

“No, we’re not planning anything except a follow-up retrospective in select publications and international programs.”

Rowan had come to Rosedale thinking to mark the anniversary privately, but if the plan was now to put a final stamp of acceptance on their loss something more definitive was needed: a memorial service and a proper laying to rest.

She was about to bring it up with Nic, but he turned and pressed his hand to the middle of her back, steering her toward the pastry stall. It was a fairly innocuous bit of handling, but she felt as though his chilled fingers reached through the layers of leather and fabric to caress her bare spine. All thought left her beyond an awareness of the cottony scent of his shirt and the muskier warmth near his throat.

He glanced down to see why she’d frozen in her tracks and a moment of electrified tension grew around them like a force field. Nic didn’t move, but he seemed to grow bigger, becoming more intimidating and more of a threat to her self-possession. Her heart started to pound hard in her chest. He was only being Nic—sex-god with a hot physique and a way of looking at her as though he knew exactly how completely her senses came alive the second she was near him.

“You’re getting curious about me,” he accused in a husky scold.

She couldn’t help it, despite her qualms. Her palms grew damp and she lowered her gaze to the nearly invisible golden hairs lying flat against the warm skin of his chest where it was exposed by his open collar.

This was a disconcerting experience, being pursued and wanting back. Saying no had always been easy because she had never felt drawn to the men who propositioned her. Suddenly she was susceptible to her own inner weakness and that scared her.

“There’s curiosity and there’s high-risk behavior,” she managed to toss out, retreating a hasty step as a nervous lump formed in her throat. “I’m actually quite choosy. More than you, if the rotation of women on your arm is anything to go by.” She kept her tone slightly jaded so he wouldn’t guess how genuinely put out and intimidated she was by the extent of his experience.

As she pretended to deliberate between French éclairs and honey-soaked baklava, he came up behind her and requested, “Two of each,” from the heavyset baker.

Rowan never allowed herself those sorts of treats, but she couldn’t contradict him. Her whole body was paralyzed by the brush of his body against hers.

He waited until the plump woman turned away before saying quietly in English, “And yet I keep getting the impression you’ve chosen me.”

Her knees nearly unhinged. It was too fast, too much of an assumption.

“My hormones might have, but I’ve given up more than just alcohol and parties. I didn’t like not being in control of myself—”

Big mistake. He leaned forward to exchange a few bills for the box of pastries and cut her an eloquent look rife with the anticipation of a challenge.

Her heart took a heavy swing and a dangerous dip. “I’m trying to act like an adult rather than follow silly impulses,” she defended. “That should impress you.”

“This isn’t an impulse. It’s an inevitability.” Nic couldn’t help putting his hand on her again, finding the spot just above her tailbone where her jacket had ridden up.

Her buttocks tensed and a tiny shudder rippled through her before she started back toward the car. Rowan wasn’t a fidgety person, but Nic was getting a distinct impression of skittishness. Was it because what she was feeling was stronger than what she thought she could control?

His mind went into a meltdown of smugness and desperation. He’d be damned if he’d admit it was the same for him, though. Part of him already felt defeated at the way he’d let things progress this far, this fast. He told himself he was playing her at her own game, but he was succumbing to exactly what he’d called it: inevitability. A tight coil of desire held him in its grip and all his focus had shifted to having her.

It was a weakness he could only bear if Rowan felt the same. If she didn’t... A barbed hook caught at his chest, giving a merciless yank. To reassure himself he set his hand on her thigh once she was seated, stroking lightly to part her knees and press her to make room between her boots for the bag of groceries.

Rowan’s leg jerked reflexively and she let out a subtle hiss, her eyes lifting to reveal pupils that went black as a hole in the universe.

Nic deliberately shifted his touch to a gentle caress of her knee. “Did I bump a scrape?” he asked silkily, but with genuine concern. He picked up her hand. “I see the bandages are off.” He turned up her palm to see the cross-hatched skin was red and tender, but healing. “Looks better. That’s good.”

Rowan’s fingers trembled revealingly before she quickly tugged from his grip.

“Men are so predictable,” she said with an exasperated shake of her head. “You think you hear a dare and now your ego demands you prove something. I’ve been pressured too many times into doing things I didn’t want to do. I won’t let you bully me.”

“Of course not,” he said, oddly affected by how vulnerable she seemed all of a sudden. Beautiful, stubborn, and hesitantly anxious behind a wall of determination. A protective feeling flickered through him, but the fire was still there, always there, raging unceasingly. He let a smile touch his lips as he very gently smoothed her hair behind her ear, taking his time so they could both enjoy the quiet, deliberate caress.

A pretty flush gathered under her cheeks and her lashes fluttered with confusion while her lips seemed to bloom into a plump pout.

“Don’t worry, Ro. I understand a woman’s need for foreplay. I’m not going to rush you.” He almost went for a kiss, but remembered how public they were.

Straightening, he let the wind slice through his shirt and cool his scalp for a moment before noticing the sky was gathering for another downpour. They might outrun it. He was certainly motivated to hurry back.

* * *

Nic’s stark promise kept replaying in Rowan’s head. Foreplay. Was that why he grazed his knuckles against her thigh as he shifted gears? And played that music with the sexy Latino beat that echoed the thick pulse of her blood and put a soundtrack in her hips?

He had almost kissed her before he’d rounded the bonnet and climbed in on the driver’s side, and despite her plucky talk about holding him off all she could think about was hurtling back to Rosedale. Quiet, secure, private Rosedale. Where they might kiss.

And do more? She didn’t know—literally didn’t know—what to do.

He pulled up unexpectedly beneath the sprawl of a huge olive tree.

Rowan swung a wary glance at him, both relieved by the reprieve and mildly terrified that he had changed his mind about going home.

“It’s starting to rain.” He stepped out of the car and pulled his seat forward. “Didn’t you notice?” he taunted lightly.