Page 9 of Stick to the Deal
A partner. That sounds nice.
When I watch Bree with her husband, it’s not the looks of adoration that make me jealous. It’s the way they act as a unit. How he supports her dreams and she his. Love may be a major inspiration for art, but the pictures don’t show when passion fades and the work begins. Love alone doesn’t make miracles.
“So not a petite blond who smiles at galas or in Easter photos with three perfect kids?”
That ghost of a grin plays around his shapely lips again. What would it look like for him to smile for real? “Well, I would need to have children—eventually. But otherwise, that sounds dreadful. If I’m to spend my life with this person, I’d like to have a conversation without dying of boredom.”
Hmm, good answer. “What if she has a career? Would you expect her to quit her job to support your family name?”
“Of course not. That’s antiquated.” Reginald’s brows pinch, making him look adorably insulted. “There will always be expectations and some required events, but what you describe sounds like a recipe for resentment.”
Surprisingly insightful for a silver spoon prince. I take a breath to ask about his family, but what comes out is: “We should get married.”
He jerks back. “Just like that? I could be the next Jack the Ripper for all you know.”
Amused, I fight a smile and lean into his space. Sandalwood invades my senses. Flicking my eyes back and forth, I whisper, “Are you?”
“Am I what?” he whispers back, those stormy eyes darting between mine and my lips.
“A historic serial killer with a thing for ladies of the night?” I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then his lips spread into a smile. My heart speeds up. It’s small, showing the slightest hint of white teeth, but it’s real—unlike the polite ones he’s given to the flight attendant. “No, haven’t had time around my polo matches.”
I let out a surprised snort and sit back slightly.
“Seriously? Let’s get married, just like that?” His brows knit again and I find myself missing his smile.
“Just like that. You haven’t done anything particularly objectionable in the two hours I’ve sat beside you. If you’re in the file, that’s good enough for my needs. With,” I check my watch, “five-ish hours until you have to decide, you don’t have time to be choosey. So, are you in, or should I give one of these other lucky bachelors a call?” I wave the folder at him.
Reginald’s jaw clenches as he snatches the packet from my hand.
I’m half convinced he’ll say no—I haven’t exactly proven myself countess material in the last few hours. He says he doesn’t want a simpering socialite, but I’ve acted a complete shrew. I can’t seem to help goading him, even knowing the lecture I’m bound to get from Grandmama on my behavior.
It takes me a moment to notice his hand stretched out. I return the gesture and his warm palm and fingers engulf mine, sending a zing up my arm. There’s a curious callous on his second and third finger, not the buffed and smooth hands I expect.
“It’s a deal.” His words echo with finality.
My eyes raise to his and find determined steal. Those full lips stretch into a confident smile, and I’m left wondering if I finally bit off more than I can chew. I swallow, pushing down the rising tide of uncertainty.
Don’t let it show, Nic. “Just like that?” I mock his earlier question, glad my voice is steady.
His head tilts. “As you said yourself, you’re in the folder. That’s good enough for my father. You’re certainly not boring. That’s good enough for me. What else matters?”
“Ok, I’ll bite.” I lean in, curving my lips into the femme fatale smile that leaves men eating out of my hand. “What about physical needs? Confident you’re up for the task? Not sure I’m you’re usual type.”
“I think we’ll get on fine.” He leans forward. His nose whispers against the sensitive skin of my jaw, erupting tingles down my neck. When he continues, his voice is a growly whisper, pitched only for my ears. “But if you need a hands-on demonstration, I’m up for slipping into the lavatory. With or without biting.”
Heat uncurls in my belly. I think he may be right.
My thighs press together to ease the sudden ache in my core, and I force a bored look on my face. “Fair enough. So realistically how does this work?”
“We’ll have to make this seem legitimate. A few public dates, maybe some staged paparazzi photos. Then an engagement announcement and a society wedding before your birthday.”
His effortless shift from flirt to business leaves me dizzy. Have I met my match? “Ok, but what about after? We don’t even live in the same country.”
“I’ve been spending a lot more time in New York, but I can honestly work from anywhere right now. When you are in the city, I can meet you there. Or in Florida. When necessary, you can come here. Let’s say a week a month, otherwise our lives are our own.”
I arch an inky brow at him. “Our own? As in complete autonomy? An open marriage?”
