Chapter Seven
Furious, he finished cleaning up in the bathroom. Why would she give her virginity to him? And she was twenty-two, almost twenty-three. He’d seen her age when she handed her passport over at the courthouse. How had she not had sex before? She was a dancer who’d traveled the world. They were like gypsies. At least that’s what he’d read on the internet.
When he’d found out she did ballet, he’d checked out what he could online. He’d found pictures of her in different performances, always with the tight bun, and that chin of hers held high.
She’d acted the part of seductive temptress. Luring him into her web. Insisting he take her, even though her ankle had to be killing her.
Why didn’t she tell him? Was she playing some kind of game? He wouldn’t have rammed himself into her like that. Shit, that had to have hurt for a first time.
He tossed the condom in the trash and washed his hands.
Storming back into the bedroom, he was ready to give her hell.
But she was curled around one of his pillows, sound asleep. It was the small smile on her lips that gave him pause.
So beautiful and satisfied. There were no tears on her cheeks. That was the face of a happy woman.
Dammit.
He gathered up his clothing and boots and was about to head to the other suite.
Leave her alone after her first time?
Way to go, asshole.
Wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do sleepovers.
Her first time. His conscience was a motherfucker.
He glanced down at her again.
Fuck.
He dumped his shit in a chair and climbed into bed. Just this once, he’d break his rule. He didn’t want her waking up not a virgin and alone. That was just shitty.
But he was going to give her hell. He didn’t like deception. This may be a fake marriage, but they should at least be honest with one another. He’d make that a rule. He wasn’t a fan of surprises, and he didn’t like being blindsided like that.
Propping the pillows up, he leaned back, one arm behind his head.
Why did she smell like lemons and honey? It wasn’t right. They’d just had sex. She should be hot and sweaty.
She sighed and turned toward him. “Hey,” she said sleepily. Then she put a hand in front of her mouth as she yawned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He wanted to be mad, but the words came out as a whisper.
Her eyes fluttered open again. God, she’s gorgeous.
“Tell you what?”
“That you were a virgin.” His eyebrow lifted of its own volition. He was trying not to be accusatory, but fuck. It bothered him that he’d hurt her and been so rough. No woman deserved that her first time.
She pursed her lips. “Oh, that. It’s not like it’s some big thing. I’ve been really focused on my career since I was fourteen. I have no free time. I mean, I maybe go out with my friends once a month, if that. I’m always rehearsing for the next show, in the studio taking classes, or sleeping. There isn’t much time to meet guys, and though I’ve never done it, I don’t think I’m someone who’s into random hookups. And guys in my world are pretty much diva assholes, even the straight ones. And I don’t date where I work. And then there’s this whole ballerina myth that sex widens your hips, which I don’t really believe, but if I was going to have sex and risk it, it had to be with the right guy. I’m rambling. So today I slept with the guy I married. No big.”
“No big? You’re twenty-two, and you’ve never had sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me that I’m old. I’m nearly ancient in my profession. Why do you have to make a big deal out of it? It was sex.”
“But you said you didn’t mind it rough. How the fuck would you know what you like if you’ve never done it before?”
The woman was clueless.
“Well, as long as you didn’t tie me up or want to beat the shit out of me, I figured we were good. And you’re hot. Was it bad? I have no point of reference, but I had a good time.”
He chuckled. And then he pulled her on top of him. “It was fucking unreal,” he said. “I just would have been more gentle if I’d known.”
“Then I’m glad I didn’t say anything. I liked what we did. She wiggled against him, and his cock hardened again.
“Fine. But this time, we’re going to do it the right way.”
And they did.
…
Amy didn’t want to move. Her body ached all over. In a good way. She’d finally had sex. Three times, actually. And now she knew what everyone was talking about it.
Yep. It was awesome. It’d hurt like hell at first, for about five seconds, and then he’d taken her over the edge. She stretched and reached across to find the bed empty.
He was probably at work. He’d said he had to go in early.
And it was probably best he not see her right now. She forced herself out of bed. She’d gotten up and taken her makeup off in the middle of the night. But her hair was a mess. She turned on the jets in the ginormous shower. Her stuff was still upstairs, so she used his soap and shampoo. It had his pine scent, but she didn’t care. The hot water was amazing on her aching bones and muscles.
Last night had been quite the workout.
She smiled.
Don’t get too attached.
She leaned her hands against the stone wall and let the water run over her back. Just because they had sex didn’t mean he liked her. At all.
While he’d tried to hide it, he’d been furious with her after. She had no idea how he’d figured out. The pain had been instantaneous and over just as fast. As a dancer, she as used to dancing with pain all the time. She seldom showed it.
When she’d opened her eyes after he’d gotten back in bed, he’d been glaring at her, his eyebrow up, and it had taken everything in her not to laugh. He could act mad, they’d been good together. Inexperienced as she was, even she could see the passion there between them. Something that had been confirmed over and over again later.
He could pretend he wasn’t affected, but he couldn’t hide his moans of pleasure. That had given her a sense of power she’d never known she wanted. Heady stuff. For years, she’d heard her friends and other dancers talk about it, now she understood. Her body had never been so thoroughly used, and she loved it.
After that third time, he’d positioned her head on his shoulder and brushed the hair from her cheek. She’d fallen asleep blissful and—dammit—happy.
Happy wouldn’t be smart. This guy was using her just like she was using him.
They’d made an arrangement. And sex was just one of the side benefits. No way would she be one of those silly women who thought it meant more than something that felt good for both of them.
It’s a business deal.
That brought her up short. She needed to make sure Bo got the money. After finishing up her shower, she was about to head upstairs when she noticed something pink in his closet.
He’d moved her clothes down.
Wow. That was nice. She checked the drawers in the closet, which was bigger than her whole apartment in Paris. Yep. Her stuff was here. He’d hung up her dresses and put her workout gear in the dresser next to her hanging-up stuff. It was all very organized. She wasn’t messy, but she lived out of suitcases and dance bags most of the time.
When had he done all of this? Was he one of those people who never slept? Even though she’d known him a week and been more intimate with him than she had with anyone else, she knew so little about him.
For a grease monkey, the dude was kind of a neat freak. His T-shirts were folded in tidy stacks on shelves in the closet. He had to have at least thirty, maybe forty, black ones. And his jeans hung crisply on hangers. There were a couple of suits. That was unexpected, especially since he’d worn jeans to their wedding.
She had her first appointment with the therapist, so she put on her workout gear. She was about to get an Uber when the doorbell rang.
She glanced through the peephole. It was a courier.
“Package,” the guy said as she opened the door. “Need you to sign here.”
She did what he asked and then took the box inside. It was addressed to her. She sat down on the bed.
Hmm.
She opened the box to find another one inside. This one was gift wrapped.
The card had Ballerina on it.
He was sending her gifts? Maybe last night had affected him the way it had her.
She smiled.
She opened the card.
Get ready.
Hmmm. Wonder what that means?
She slid the ribbon off the box and opened the lid.
What the hell?
A rubber ball with a mask.
He’d given her a ball gag.
Oh. That asshole. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to ruin what had been a really great night?
Was this some kind of message, like she talked too much during sex? Or was he really into this sort of thing? Maybe last night had been a fluke, or he’d been taking it easy on her. Hell, her body didn’t feel like it’d been easy.
Shit. What did it mean?
Her phone buzzed an alert. Dammit. She had her appointment. But then she was going to show him exactly what he could do with his ball gag.
…
Four hours later, she was dressed in her sexiest outfit. Well, it wasn’t that sexy. She wore it to opening-night parties. But it was tight and short. She’d curled her hair. He seemed to like it long and flowing. Her makeup was perfect. She added the red lipstick in the Uber on the ride over to the dealership.
She had a black ballet flat on one foot and the boot on the other. Gelsey had screamed at her for trying to wear shoes. She’d very nearly killed Amy during their first workout. There were a couple of times when she thought she might puke from the pain.
It was a combo of Pilates and stretches. By the time she was done, all Amy wanted was a nap.
But she had to give the asshole a piece of her mind first. How dare he tarnish what had been a really good night for her.
Jerk.
The dealership was huge. She’d never seen so many motorcycles in all her life.
All glass and chrome, it was modern and kind of beautiful in its own way. She’d been expecting something closer to a garage.
The car dropped her near the front door.
Just inside was a beautiful woman with a name tag reading “Belinda” on her chest. Her dark hair was teased up, and her fitted tank top showed off her body art. And the boobs under the white tank, well, they were impressive. Figured Hawke would have someone like her working his front desk.
“Hi. I’m looking for Hawke.”
Belinda gave her the once-over. “You the wife?”
Straightening her posture, Amy took a deep breath. “Yes.” She’d danced around the world and dealt with some nasty human beings in her business. She wasn’t about to take shit from anyone. Hawke had warned her to make everyone think what they had was real. She was about to speak when Belinda stuck out her hand.
“Not what I would have expected, but it’s really nice to meet you.” They shook hands. “He couldn’t stop talking about you this morning.”
Part of her wanted to believe that he did care about her, but then she remembered the ball gag. It was an act. These people had to believe him if he wanted his company.
“I’m guessing he has a type, and I’m not it.”
Belinda chuckled. “Well, hon, obviously, you’re his type. He married you,” she said. Smart choice of words. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Amy held up a hand. “I’d really like to surprise him.” She winked. “You know. Keep him on his toes, that kind of thing.”
“I like you.” Belinda grinned. “Go down that hallway and up the steps. His office is up there.” She pointed up to the glass overhang.
Amy saw Hawke pacing in his office, but he wasn’t turned their way.
Good.
“Thanks.”
As she walked away, she heard Belinda make a call. “Granny, she’s here. The wife. Yep. She’s headed up to the office.”
Granny? Must be one of the other employees. Probably they all wanted to gawk at the woman who took down their boss. Let them. She was ready for a fight. Funny how in the dance world she’d always bitten her tongue and avoided confrontation. But something in Hawke brought out the absolute worst in her, and she was seeing red.
After the intense workout she’d just had, she eyed the stairs warily. Using her arms, she hopped up on her good foot. She didn’t bother knocking, just walked in.
Hawke was still on the phone, his deep voice talking about some shipment. He turned and stopped dead.
“I’ll call you back tomorrow.” He hung up on the other person.
“Ballerina?” His eyebrow went up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Don’t ballerina me, asshole.” She tossed the ball gag on his desk.
“You can use this with someone who is not me. The only thing I’m doing with that is sticking it so far up your ass you can feel it in the back of your throat. I told you that last night. Did you think a second toy would be any funnier? Well, ha!”
“Oh, I like her.” An older woman came in behind her. “Ball gag. Good choice, honey. That boy could use a lesson or two.” The woman, who had long gray hair tied back in a braid, patted her on the arm. She wore jeans and a T-shirt that sported the Motorhead logo.
“Granny, meet my wife, Amy.”
Granny, as in his grandmother?
Amy stared down at the ball gag and then back at the woman.
His grandmother.
“Shit.”