The Billionaire's Runaway Fiancé (Invested in Love) Page 9

  “Did I tell you what I think of that dress?” Sarcasm laced his jaded voice. Curtis stood a few steps higher than her, the front door open at the top of the stairs, and the suitcases in the foyer. He stared at her, his bright eyes half shuttered, his words shadowed with meaning.

  “I said I was sorry.” Her chin trembled under the weight of her emotions. She’d seen her life become perfect and then had ruined it with one swift turn.

  He reached out a hand but quickly stuffed it in his pocket and rocked back on his heels. “Robyn, I don’t want to be walking on eggshells. I don’t want everything I say to make you cry. I can’t handle tears.”

  As if she wanted to be an emotional wreck. What she wanted to do right now was hide in one of the nine bedrooms. The house was so big it would take him an hour to find her, and she’d have her composure back. She hitched her skirts in her hands and lifted her foot to the first step.

  Muscled arms enveloped her, lifting her off her feet and against Curtis’s broad chest. On instinct, she clung to his neck, afraid of them both toppling down the stairs as he started up. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying the bride over the threshold. I’m a full-service groom.” Once inside, he kicked the door shut and set her gently on her feet. “Now to get you out of that dress.”

  …

  The dress was gorgeous, no doubt about that. He hadn’t given much thought to having a wedding, or how Robyn might look. He’d been pleased, proud for those fleeting moments before she’d turned tail and run.

  He hadn’t expected her to transform so completely from secretary to bride. He blinked at the mental hitch. Robyn hated to be called his secretary. Executive assistant. Still, she’d always been conservative and wrapped up, hidden behind her glasses and suits. He’d never imagined how sexy her shoulders looked bare, how green her eyes shone, how the curve of a woman’s neck could be so impossibly alluring.

  The strapless bodice pressed against her breasts, the silk material gathering at her hip then flaring into a full skirt that rioted with sparkling beads. Fantastic, and yet all he wanted to do was get her out of it. He stepped closer, and she backed up all the way to the panel doors closing off one of the living areas.

  “I’ll do it myself.” Her voice went up an octave.

  “Are you sure you don’t want help?”

  She cleared her throat, barely hiding her shudder.

  “Robyn, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”

  “I know.” The whisper was barely audible, her gaze dropping to the floor.

  It took everything in him not to pursue her now. But he’d pushed too fast before, and he didn’t want to make the same mistake with her again.

  He stepped away, lifting their suitcases. “Are any of the bedrooms made up?”

  “The whole house is ready. I wanted you to see how each room was decorated originally.”

  “Well, which would you like to stay in?”

  “I redid the French room. Second floor, left at the landing.”

  She started toward the wide mahogany staircase to the left of the foyer. The house was built in the early seventies and decorated with dark woods popular at that time, but flooded with natural light. It was desperately in need of redecorating, but they’d hire someone once they decided on a theme and budget.

  “I thought you wanted me to see the rooms as they were.” He fell into step behind her, trying to ignore the swell of her hips as they swung up each riser.

  “It was truly horrid. Really, awful.”

  “But we were planning on having a theme for the resort. Why redecorate one room?” It didn’t make sense, and then it did. Maybe she’d planned on sharing the room with him, seducing him while they worked here together, and wanted something new, not outdated.

  “It’s just one room. It didn’t cost much, really.” Robyn pushed open the door and stepped inside. Curtis followed, setting the cases inside and taking in the space.

  From the crystal chandeliers over the bed and sitting area, to the peach walls with cream panels, to the pale blue bedding with ivory fringe on the pillows and bed crown covered in the same fabric and beige draperies hugging the bronze bed, it was perfectly put together. Elegant and yet not so feminine to be off-putting. Exactly what he wished for at home.

  “French provincial it is. You sold me.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a sell. I just wanted the room to look welcoming.” Robyn turned, holding her hands in front of her. The demure look clenched his gut. She’d wanted this to be her happy ending. He didn’t have the heart to tell her they only existed in fairy tales. Especially now, when she looked as if she’d stepped out of the pages of one.

  “It’s gorgeous. And so are you.”

  Her cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank you. When someone gives you a compliment, you say thank you.”

  Robyn nodded, wringing her hands.

  Comforting her with kisses seemed to be the right thing to do, but he still wasn’t sure if it was pushing. Damn. He was used to women with stop and go signals. Robyn was all caution and yield.

  “It’s still early. We should rustle up some dinner and do a tour of the house.”

  Robyn nodded and then started toward the door. He caught her arm. “You need to change. I love the dress, but wearing it all the time is a little too Miss Havisham for me.”

  One brow arched, and she smiled for the first time all day. “Great Expectations? I love that book.”

  So did he. It felt like the story of his life. The hidden past, not being who everyone thought you were, pining for perfection. Thankfully, he wasn’t the idealist Pip was. Reality meant making your own future, not waiting around for someone to dictate it to you.

  Except Robyn. She’d torn a page out of the book of his life, but it was still up to him to rewrite it. Without letting her down this time.

  The bare skin on her arm was warm beneath his touch, the scent of the spiced perfume she wore lilting in the air over the smell of the clean linens. In frustration, he dropped his hand. Why was he always trying to push her, rush her?

  He shook his head as if to clear it, then walked to her suitcase, lifting it to the mirrored vanity and popping the locks.

  “I still think this can work, Robyn.” He watched her wide-eyed response behind him in the mirrors as he opened the case.

  “Even though—”

  Her mouth stayed open, but no words emerged as he lifted a pale pink negligee from the case by its ribbon straps. She’d packed lingerie in every color and texture—peach silk, creamy satin, green lace, and sheer lilac. A doorknob sign stating Honeymoon in Progress. Do Not Disturb! made him wince. Lotions, lubricants, and condoms spilled out of a bright pink bag.

  Okay, so she hadn’t run because she was afraid of his expectations. Hers were much higher. Which could be a very bad thing. If they slept together, she might read more into it. He didn’t want her to think he loved her when he didn’t. And he never would. Losing his mother had destroyed his father completely, and he never cared to open himself up to that prospect.

  He met her gaze in the mirror, not the least bit surprised by the crimson blush covering her from the roots of her hair to the bodice of her dress.

  “Those aren’t mine.”

  “They should be.” In the mirror, his eyes held an ironic gleam.

  “I didn’t buy any of it.”

  “Too bad. Looks like fun to shop for.” He set the lingerie back in the bag and turned to face her.

  “But I don’t shop for things like that.”

  “You should.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

  Robyn pursed her lips together. “I’m not explaining the suitcase very well.”

  “No, but I am enjoying watching you try.”

  Robyn slapped her hands against the skirt of her dress. “This is an impossible situation. I don’t know what it is you want from me, why you’re being nice about today, why we’re a
lone together now, why—”

  A step forward and a finger on her lips was all it took to silence her. He’d already told her all she wanted to know—he still wanted her, for all the reasons he had before. Nothing had changed, much. His pride stung, but he knew the media well enough to try to salvage the situation in the best way possible.

  The fire in her green eyes sparked his curiosity. What would she do if he gave in to the feverish reaction swirling within him? He couldn’t risk it, because more than likely the twinkle in her eyes was not a sinful invitation, but the glisten of idealism.

  “Let’s get you out of your bridal regalia, then we’ll talk about it.”

  “But I don’t have anything else to wear, and there isn’t much under this.” Her lips pulled tight before she erupted in laughter. “I can’t believe I’m trapped in a dress.”

  “We’ll get you free in no time.” With a hand on her bare shoulder, he moved her in front of him, facing the mirror. “How do I get this out of your hair?” He stared down at the artfully constructed riot of curls with the veil seeming to float out of nothing.

  “I couldn’t figure that out, either.”

  “Weren’t you watching when they did your hair?”

  She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling. “No, there was someone putting my face on.”

  “So you didn’t plan on running out.”

  She pursed her lips together, her glare reflected in the mirror.

  “I’m just curious.” He found a hairpin and tugged it out.

  Robyn winced in the mirror. “Or spiteful.”

  “Spiteful would have been leaving you to the vultures at the marina.” Two more hairpins came out, and her hair still didn’t budge. “Here, we can work out what is wrong and be yesterday’s news before the month is out.”

  “Curtis, I can’t do it anymore.” She wrung her hands, speaking to the floor.

  “But you still want to.” A few more pins and her hair loosened enough for him to see where the veil erupted from the curls.

  “What I want never mattered to you.” Anger tightened her features. He jerked the veil out harder than he needed to and set it on the vanity. She’d embarrassed him, damn it.

  “I provided everything you could ever want, Robyn.” He’d plucked out all the pins he could find, yet her hair still stayed piled on her head. He shrugged. “At least I got the veil out.”

  She reached up and tugged her fingers through her hair, the curls falling down around her bare shoulders. “They used a lot of hair products. I think the curls will stay until I wash them out.”

  “I like it better down.” He brushed the locks in front of her shoulders and examined the back of the dress. It looked easier than he’d expected. It laced up the back, if he could just find where they’d tied the ribbons.

  “Wait!” Robyn crossed her arms over the bodice of the dress. “What am I going to wear?”

  “You have a suitcase full of options I’d love for you to try.”

  “Be serious.”

  He met her gaze in the mirror. “I am.”

  “That would cloud the issue.”

  “Or clear it up completely.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t going to seduce me with arguments like that.”

  “So you can be seduced.” He slid his hand beneath her arms, circling her waist and pulling her back against him.

  “That might work with the women you usually date, but not with me. I don’t know how to play the kind of games you do.”

  He eased his grip but didn’t let go. “And what kind of games are those?”

  “I’ve read the articles. Seen the pictures.”

  “I haven’t. Enlighten me.”

  “I know how quickly you tire of the women you sleep with. And I don’t look like they look. Especially with my clothes off.”

  He chuckled, wrapping both arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He met her gaze in the mirror. “I haven’t seen as many women naked as you think. And I haven’t dated anyone since before you started working for me.”

  She tried to wriggle away. “What about Christina?”

  “The singer? She had an album coming out and an ex-husband in a very public romance with her rival.”

  “And Patrice? Carmen?”

  “Robyn. Kendra arranged those events with you so they’d fit in my schedule. Do you think I’d let you do that for someone I was interested in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t arrange dinner when I proposed our agreement or when you met my family. And for the record, I’m dying to find out what you look like up close, without the dress.”

  “I’m not ready for that.” Robyn raised her gaze to his in the mirror, wishing his sigh didn’t sound so much like a groan of frustration.

  “I understand.” His blue eyes practically glowed.

  “No, you don’t.” She couldn’t help but smile. He had a knack for saying the right thing and not meaning it at all.

  “You’re right. I don’t understand.”

  “Thank you. Honesty is always appreciated.” She squinted her eyes and looked about the room in the mirror’s reflection. “Maybe I could make a toga out of a sheet or use the curtains.”

  “Okay, Scarlet.” He released her and stepped back, giving her room to breathe—well, breathe as deeply as she could still being tied up in the dress.

  She closed her eyes and tried to think of something other than the warm and willing man in the room with her, whose scent filled the air with innuendo. What would it hurt to have a few rounds of hot-and-sweaty, tangled-sheets, down-and-dirty sex with him? Goodness knows they’d both sleep better tonight.

  But true to the old adage, she’d hate herself in the morning. She was in love with him, so it would mean something to her. He was negotiating a business deal. His attentions would last only until he got what he wanted, and it wasn’t sex.

  Confessing how differently she saw their future was akin to emotional suicide. There was nothing she could do except wait out the media frenzy and plan the rest of her life. Once they returned to the real world, Curtis would have nothing to do with her, and she’d need all of the preplanning she could manage to pull free of his sexual energy.

  Curtis’s fingers against her bare skin opened her eyes. His gaze met hers in the mirror, and he grinned. She swallowed hard at his shirtless reflection. The broad chest, bunching muscles of his shoulders, and hard slab of his belly made her want to turn around and examine what was hidden behind her.

  She gripped the vanity for support and swallowed again. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking off your dress, and I’m not looking at you in sheets or drapes. If you don’t want to wear what you brought, then you can wear my shirt.”

  An amorous rush of possibility ignited her imagination. The part of her not intoxicated by his pheromones and lusting after his half-naked body tried to remain in control. She could not sleep with him. Could not.

  She watched the mischievous gleam in his eye as his hands trailed down the bodice of the dress, then his gaze dropped to his task. The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile he was trying to hide.

  Her skin heated, prickling in a blush. She looked at her hands on the top of the vanity to keep from facing the truth. She wanted his hands on her, undressing her, taking whatever he wanted. Her mind’s eye showed her his hands as they untied her binds, loosening the laces so she could breathe, but the air was filled with the scent of her longing and his desire.

  His hands on her were all she could think of. Until today, they’d never been so intimate. It was like something out of a storybook, where all physicality was saved for after the marriage. Except she hadn’t married him. She hadn’t saved herself for marriage, either.

  “Curtis—”

  “Do I pull it over your head, or do you step out of it?”

  “Over my head.” If that wasn’t the truth.

  “Hands up, then.”

  She raised her hands ab
ove her head, and he lifted the bodice up and over, followed by the billowing skirts. She heard the gown rustle as he tossed it on the chaise behind them. Quickly, she wrapped one arm across her bare breasts and reached for his shirt. The soft cotton slipped in her fingers.

  “Can you wait?” The words were barely a whisper.

  Robyn caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and her stomach flipped. He held her gaze, but not his hands. He wrapped his fingers around her hips, and every nerve between where he touched her and her core pulsed as he stared at her nearly nude body. Power flooded her. She’d done that to him, made him want to stare. He was looking at her, seeing her as something other than employee, and he liked what he saw. Well, he liked the bridal thong she wore, with a veil covering her bottom. She grinned at her newfound ability. He moved his hands up to her waist and then to her ribs. It was all she could do to stand still. She wanted to bend onto the vanity, to turn and push him to the bed. But not with so much unsettled.

  She shook her head slightly, letting him know she hadn’t changed her mind. He nodded but stepped closer, and delicious longing bolted through her body like lightning.

  Her imagination ran like a cheetah, wild and free. He was hers for the taking, hers to have and hold, even if it was only while they were here, waiting out the bloodhounds. If loving him was going to be her one great regret, she really ought to have something to lament.

  Curtis leaned closer, his mouth grazing her earlobe, his hand firm on the soft flesh of her hip. “You are so beautiful.” His voice, rich and resonant, made her quiver.

  He held her flush against him. Pulling her lobe between his teeth, he nipped at her ear, his hot breath sending prickles down her arm, which shifted involuntarily, baring her breasts to the mirror.

  His pupils widened, darkening his eyes as he focused on her beaded nipples. She stole a glance at him beneath her lashes, unsure what she was supposed to do. Sex, for her, had always been in a bed, in the dark. This openness was the stuff of her fantasies and more than a little thrilling.

  The urge to protect her heart and run battled with the possibility of staying. And then she saw herself in the mirror. Hippy, chubby Robyn, nearly naked, standing in front of one of the most perfect male specimens ever created. She stiffened, reaching for the shirt.