His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes hooded and his lips pursed.
"Honey." She stroked his face. "You look…flushed."
He didn't smile at her teasing. In fact, his face went harder than the insistent erection pulsing against her backside.
"That should do it," he growled.
"Do what?"
"Give the photographers what they need." He moved her hand from his face and kissed her palm, but it was a flat kiss, his expression equally so. He shifted out from under her and stood.
She didn't like this "business as usual" guy. She liked rumpled, sexy, kissing guy. She liked couldn't-control-himself guy.
"I'm going to grab a quick shower." A twitch of his lips didn't give way to a real smile before he vanished belowdecks.
Picturing him in the shower without anything on sent a flood of warmth to her belly. Reese had lost control with her and he didn't like it. She pressed her fingertips to her lips to smother a smile.
She liked it.
Too much.
* * *
Reese rested his fingertips on the blotter of his desk, nostrils flared, his mind a tangle of silken skin and sex and hot kisses that stole the breath from his very lungs.
Only two of which he'd sampled this past weekend.
He'd spent a total of two days aboard Luna, but after the sunrise that accompanied his dick-rise, he'd spent a lot of time avoiding his wife. He'd returned to the deck with coffee for each of them, his body under its best behavior.
He couldn't afford to let go of his control. There was too much at stake. Crane Hotels. CEO. His legacy. The position he was born and bred and groomed to take. He wouldn't lose it over an attraction of convenience.
She's more than convenient and you know it.
Merina was a long game: lasting months, not one night. The attraction between them was as volatile and unstoppable as a brush fire in California's dry season. Dangerous.
He frowned.
As of this morning, he could take solace in the fact that their ruse did its job. A gossip column in the local paper had offered up photos of spring in Chicago. A section called "Love Is in the Air" featuring budding trees and flowers and a photo of Reese and Merina's sunrise kiss.
The shot was from too far back to see much more than their faces pressed together aboard Luna. But the headline was key and what had Penelope phoning him first thing this morning to punch the air in triumph.
REESE'S ROCKET UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!
To be fair, he may have felt less homicidal today if his "rocket" had been well tended to.
"No to dinner with the city council," he answered Bobbie, who was standing in front of his desk jotting things onto a pad of paper. "I'm not in the business of being a social puppet.
Yes, sir." She finished writing, overlooking his bad mood. But he knew she could tell. He could tell. The idea had been to go right back to work after the wedding and carry on as usual, but ever since he'd unzipped his bride's dress in their shared bedroom, he hadn't stopped wondering what it'd be like to get her out of her clothes and into his arms. Even when he wasn't thinking about it, he thought about it. Which was inconvenient. Ill-advised.
Unexpected.
That last description irked him the most. He thought he'd known what to expect from Merina when he'd offered this arrangement. Now life was throwing him a curve ball and he did not like it. Not even a little. Worse, he'd be going "home" tonight, which meant his current method of dealing—avoidance—was about to come to an abrupt end. Workdays didn't last all day. Not anymore.
Given the mansion's sheer size, he should have enough breathing space to ignore the potent attraction and get his brain back in the game. But there was no way around sharing a bedroom. The house staff may not be there at night, but come morning, they'd see the sheets disturbed in two separate bedrooms and suspicions would be raised. For the most part, he trusted his staff, but when it came to getting fifteen minutes of fame, he only trusted Magda implicitly. He had one shot at making the public believe in him and Merina. They'd have to keep their guard up in front of everyone.
Bobbie left, but the doors didn't swing shut before Tag strolled in.
"Would it kill you to wear a fucking suit?" Reese barked.
Tag waited for the doors to shut completely behind him, then crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. "Bro. You have got to find a way to work off this sexual energy or everyone is going to know the truth in a day or two."
Reese let out a breath that was loud enough to rattle the windows behind him. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
Dammit.
"You are crouched like Wolverine ready to pounce."
Reese took in his posture, hunching over his desk, fingernails white from the amount of pressure he was applying. He was strung tight. He stood, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck.
"Guess you should've taken a mistress alongside your bride," Tag observed, coming to the guest chair and plunking into it. A half-smile suggested he was kidding, but Reese didn't find it funny. The only woman he could picture beneath him, legs spread, back arched, face flushed as he drove into her, the air filled with her moans of pleasure, was Merina. What horrible irony that he'd married the one woman he couldn't fuck.
"I know why you're stressed," Tag pointed out, because he was being oh-so-helpful today.
"It's work."
"No, it's not."
Reese didn't sit; he was too wired. He affected a bored expression. "Fine. What is it? Enlighten me."
"You have to go back to the house and live there," his brother answered matter-of-factly.
"And?" But Reese knew where this was going.
"And your suite here at the hotel will be neglected for the first time in years. You're returning to the scene of the crime, man, and don't think that's not going to affect you. Having Gwyneth take off was one thing, but having her take off with Hayes was the fuck-you to end all fuck-yous."
Hayes. The second-to-last person Reese wanted to think about was his ex-best friend. The first being Gwyneth.
"Ancient history," Reese said. The mention of their names sent a wave of regret through him, but most of that sting was because he'd been taken advantage of—had allowed himself to be taken advantage of—and hadn't stopped it. "Right now my focus is on surviving the next six months." Or less. Maybe the board could be wooed before then and they could divorce before his dick shriveled and dropped off. He repressed a shudder.