Chapter Seven

Annabelle

By the time I wake up, it’s after eight. I groan. I can’t believe I let myself sleep so late. First coherent thought is: Nonny. She needs to get off to scho—

The scent of hot coffee cuts through my morning fog. Elliot is sitting on the bed with a heavy ceramic cup, smelling fresh and soapy himself. He’s in a pale gray cotton shirt and denim shorts. His hair is damp from a shower, probably after his exercise. He runs on some mornings.

“For me?” I ask, eyeing the steaming mug hopefully.

“Yes.”

It is impossible to be annoyed with a man for not waking me up earlier when he comes bearing java. “Thank you.”

“Are you feeling better?”

I take a sip. “Getting there.” I take another sip. “You should’ve woken me up. Nonny—”

“Why? You were sleeping, and I can handle Nonny. She only wanted some cereal anyway.”

“Did she look more rested?”

He nods. “A little bit.”

“Has she shown any signs of stress? Maybe she’s not getting along with her classmates?” I know she likes Elliot. Maybe she’s shared something with him that she hasn’t with me.

“No. She seems to be adjusting well to the new school. My assistant followed up and he said she was doing fine.”

The mug hovers in mid-air. “You checked up on her?”

“Of course.”

I flush, embarrassed. “That should’ve been my job.”

“You were busy. Besides it was nothing. I delegated.”

I sigh. “I wonder what’s going on then. She doesn’t sleep well when she’s stressed. Do you think she’s still upset about passing out at the dinner? I know she really wanted to meet Ryder.”

An inscrutable expression crosses his face. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and we can talk?”

“‘Talk’?”

“Yeah, But it’ll be better if you have some caffeine in you beforehand.”

Now I’m really worried.

“I’ll fix something for breakfast. Toast? Eggs?”

“Toast,” I say, not thinking at all about food.

He leaves, closing the door behind him. I gulp down the coffee as fast as I can while going through my morning ritual, including a quick shower. After throwing on a white tank-top and a denim skirt, I go to the dining room, my bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor. My hair is still damp on my shoulders.

Elliot takes a couple of slices of bread and puts them on the table in front of me, along with a fried egg and a few strips of crispy bacon.

“I only wanted the toast.”

“Gotta have some protein. Ninety-five percent of your body’s tissues are made of it,” he says, pouring two glasses of orange juice.

I shake my head. “Okay, Mom.”

“I thought the name was A?”

I flush.

Elliot rubs his eyebrows, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “There are things I need to say, and they’re pretty messed up, but I want you to hear all it from me rather than someone else.”

Unease ripples over me, but I manage to say, “Okay.”

He waits, eyeing my food. One thing I know about him is that he can be stubborn, and he isn’t going to take no for an answer. I start eating.

“I’m telling you this because I trust that you will be discreet. I also don’t want you to feel bad about yourself over it.” He pauses. “You’re perfect the way you are, and nobody you meet, whether they’re my friends or family, is better than you.”

I swallow, and the toast sticks in my suddenly dry throat. I choke it down. “If you’re worried about me bailing on dinner with Gavin and his wife, don’t be. I’ll go and do my best to enjoy myself there.”

“This isn’t about them.” He takes a sip of his OJ. “Okay. First item. Our contract is for one year because I needed to be married for a year in order to inherit a portrait.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Isn’t marriage a bit extreme for a picture?”

“Normally, yes. But it isn’t just any picture. Thomas Reed—my grandfather on my father’s side—was a famous painter. Still celebrated. His works are sold for millions.”

“Oh,” I say without really understanding why he’s telling me this. “But…you’re rich. I can’t believe you need the money.”

A self-deprecating smile ghosts over his lips. “It isn’t about money. More of a sentimental thing.”

Right. Elizabeth said something like that, too.

He takes a slow swallow of his juice. “When my siblings and I were old enough, our parents shipped us off to Europe to attend boarding school. The best education money could buy…without the hassle of actual parental supervision. An excellent situation for the adults involved.”

That’s so far from what I experienced that I can’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve been like. Yes, there were times I chafed at my parents’ restrictions and rules, but ultimately home was the anchor that provided stability.

“When holidays came around, we didn’t come back to the States. Our parents weren’t all that interested in having us underfoot, so we usually ended up going to Italy to stay with our grandfather. We were complete terrors, except for Elizabeth, of course. She was an angel back then too. Anyway, he loved us unconditionally. He’s the one who told me and Lucas we could be anything we wanted, do anything we wanted so long as it was something we were truly passionate about. When each of us turned eighteen, he had us sit for a portrait. He spent the entire summer, and they’re…stunning.” Elliot closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they’re focused somewhere beyond me, and his voice is tinged with awe. “And humbling too, at least in my case. He saw all the potential in me when I didn’t really believe in myself. Back then I was too busy being an asshole rich kid.

“After he passed away, the portraits ended up with Dad. I tried to buy mine, but he refused to sell it. Then suddenly he decided if all of us marry within six months and stay married for at least a year, we can have them.”

“That’s…unusual.” I had no idea people still did stuff like that. “Is that even legal?”

Elliot snorts. “It’s not, but if we don’t do as he says, he’ll stack the portraits up in his backyard and burn them. His words.”

I gasp.

“Don’t be shocked. It’s more or less par for the course with my father.”

“I’m sorry.” My dad was a fraud, but at least he was a good parent. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Elliot to grow up with a father who didn’t want or care about him.

Elliot shrugs, but his throat works. “It wasn’t that horrible. At least we had enough money.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

He drops his gaze to the huge six-carat Asscher-cut diamond ring on my finger, the one he gave me. “No, it isn’t,” he agrees quietly. “But sometimes it’s all you’ve got.”

The pensive expression makes my heart ache. I’m beginning to realize he doesn’t think he has anything to give other than money, and that is the most tragic thing about this whole ridiculous situation. He’s too brilliant, too gorgeous and too talented to feel this way, and I hate his parents for having done this to him.

Elliot huffs a breath out. “Second item,” he says.

“Okay,” I whisper shakily.

“I know Annabelle is your name. I just don’t like it.”

My mind connects the dots—Annabelle Underhill has to be the reason. I wait, all the while my imagination going wild with what she could’ve done to make him unable to tolerate even her name.

“You already know my dad’s on his sixth marriage.”

I nod.

“His first wife was Geraldine Pryce. She’s the mother of Blake, Ryder and Elizabeth. My mom was Wife Number Two. Geraldine and my mom married Dad without prenups. So when those marriages ended in divorce, they took huge chunks of Dad’s money. After that he wised up. His third wife didn’t get a penny, even though they stayed married for about three years. Then quickly he moved onto the fourth one. Within a month if I remember correctly. Some people thought he divorced his third wife just to get the fourth one.”

I cringe at the story. It sounds like something out of a bad soap opera, except this is Elliot’s life.

“He married for the fourth time a week before my twenty-first birthday. I was forced to attend that particular ceremony.”

Ugh. Who would like to watch their father marry like that, especially to a younger woman? The more I hear, the more I despise Julian Reed. “How…” I search for the least rude word, and finally settle on “…awkward.”

“Yeah, it kind of was. Especially since my girlfriend was the bride.”

“What?” Thank god I wasn’t drinking anything when he said that.

“Annabelle Graham—now Underhill—was my girlfriend. We dated for a couple of years, very low key and very quietly since I was in a working relationship with her uncle. I was crazy about her. She was dazzling.”

“Oh my god.” My fingers rest on my lower lip. “I’m so sorry.” Elliot is a proud man. How deeply must this have cut him?

“She wanted money, and she got it. Of course, if she’d waited a week longer, Lucas and I would’ve sold our company. Then she could’ve had both money and a younger husband. Since I was too young to know any better back then, I would’ve probably married her without a prenup. What a disaster that would’ve been.” His gaze is directed at me, but his eyes are lost in the past. “Dad knew Lucas and I were up to something. He just didn’t know what, which is why he went after Annabelle. He discarded her fairly quickly once he’d gotten what he wanted. He knew I’d never take her back, and he never really cared about her anyway. He just wanted to take something of mine to show that no matter what, he was still one step ahead of his kid.”

“But marrying your girlfriend? That’s…disgusting. I’m sorry, but father or not, that’s the kindest thing I can say about what he did to you.”

“Nobody knows the story but you. Well, Dad and Wife Number Four do, but they aren’t talking.”

I blink away the tears forming in my eyes. “She must’ve meant a lot to you.”

“Did. Past tense. But yes.”

It’s such a horrible story. No wonder he didn’t want to share it. “Elliot…”

He brushes a thumb at the corner of my eye. “Does this mean you aren’t going to call me A anymore?” He’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not really working.

A part of me is glad he told me, but I know it cost him to recite the ugly and humiliating story, the way my telling him what happened when I was fifteen hurt me. I shake my head. “That was mean of me.”

“I think it was human of you. And it gives me hope that I’m with a woman, not some perfect celestial being out of my reach.” A rueful grin tugs at his sensual mouth. “I could’ve at least given you a nickname.”

I squeeze his forearm. “Nonny calls me Anna.”

“I know.” His forehead rests gently on mine. “But I’d rather call you Belle.”

“Belle?”

“It means beautiful.”

My lips part.

He puts his index finger on my chin. “When I called you beautiful, it wasn’t just some empty nickname I use with all the women. Most of the time that would be ‘babe’ or ‘sugar.’”

“Cliché.” I tilt my head down and kiss the finger. “But I can be sweet like sugar,” I whisper. My tongue brushes his bare skin and I taste salt and Elliot. Longing pools in my belly. I curse the fact that I’m on my period. The timing really is rotten.

A slight shudder runs through him, and his eyes darken. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were beautiful…and you looked at me like you wanted to slap me.”

I giggle, my cheeks warm at the embarrassing memory. “I looked ridiculous.”

“The outer packaging was maybe a little overdone. But there are a lot of ways a woman can be beautiful. Some women are pretty on the outside but ugly inside. Some women are the other way around. You? You’re beautiful inside and out. You have a gentle soul, Belle.”

I close my eyes as I soak in the nickname. I love the way it sounds on his lips, husky and reverent at the same time. I don’t want anything to remind him of the painful betrayal, and if calling me Belle helps keep the old memory locked away, I’m a hundred percent on board. Belle is the perfect antidote to Annabelle.

His finger drops. We stay like that for a while, sharing the same air and breathing in each other’s scent. Elliot smells amazing—warm, strong and male that’s uniquely him. Nobody comes close to this man. My heart knocks against my chest. The longing becomes more acute, almost knife-like in its intensity.

He tilts his head. I lean forward, and our lips touch—the barest of brushes. It’s so sweet, it makes me ache. His hands cradle my face as though I’m a precious treasure. And I’m being sucked into him, surrounded by his touch, his scent, his taste, his heat.

But I’m not lost. He is my light, my anchor in the violent need that sweeps over me. I open my mouth wider. His tongue flirts with mine, each caress bolder than one before. My breath quickens, hot want winding through me. I can kiss him like this—forever, until the end of time—so long as the sweet moment remains unbroken.

As lovely as his revelation and gesture have been, what we have is more fragile than a newborn butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. He doesn’t have to spell it out; I know that Julian is counting on us to fail…and that Elliot’s ex is back in his life for some inexplicable reason. I’m not naïve enough to believe that the previous Annabelle stopped by just to congratulate him on his marriage.

Without breaking the kiss, he squeezes my butt and moves me until I’m straddling his hard thighs. His hand cups my breast. But the tank-top and bra are in the way, and I need a more direct touch. I want his hand on my bare skin.

I take his hand and guide it under my top. He brushes against my quivering inner belly. A trail of heat prickles my skin, and I groan against his mouth.

Still we do not break our kiss.

He travels upward until his hand pushes my bra out of the way and finds my breast. My breath roughens as he toys with my nipple. His clever fingers roll it, then tug it and brush over it, every time changing the pressure and intensity as though he’s trying to find the best way to torment me. Pleasure pulses from my nipple all the way to my clit, making me squirm.

His other hand pushes my skirt up. I dig my fingers into his hair, my mouth now ravenous and unrestrained over his. Our tongues tangle and teeth scrape for every bit of taste. He positions me so my hot core is rocking against his thick cock, pulling a moan deep from my chest.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he rasps.

“For you…”

I move against him. It’s close but not quite.

“Greedy, greedy girl,” he whispers.

“You make me greedy.”

He keeps the pace, his hands controlling my hips, and his mouth plundering mine until it’s all I can do to cling to him. His thumb is against my clit now, and my toes curl in my shoes.

The pleasure winds tighter and tighter. He pinches my nipple hard. His rough breathing fuels me, and he orders, “Come for me, Belle.”

I let go, my head falling back. My mouth opens in a broken scream as a white hot orgasm sears through me.

When I open my eyes, I feel his erection against me, and I flush. I cannot believe I was so shameless, much less while I’m on my period.

“You’re embarrassed now?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“I’m…” I bite my lower lip. I can’t take him inside me.

“I know.” He presses a tender kiss to my mouth. “It’s okay. I love watching you come.” But unsated lust glitters in his eyes, and I want to replace it with satisfaction.

“I can do other things to make you feel good,” I whisper. Then I kiss him.

I’ve never actually wanted to give a blow job before, but I do now. I want Elliot to feel at least a fraction of what I felt.

I glide down his body until I’m kneeling in front of him. His gaze is hot as he watches me. I pull his pants and boxer briefs down. His cock springs out, dark veins standing out in sharp relief against the thick, smooth shaft. The wide tip is slick, and I lick my lips. I don’t know why I’ve never considered taking him this way, given how often he buries his face between my legs.

I suck him deep into my mouth. Salty pre-cum coats my tongue, and I stroke him, while pulling my cheeks in for stronger suction.

He exhales roughly, his hands digging into the seat. A low growl spills from his parted lips. He lets me set the tempo, explore him at my own pace. His skin is silken although what it encases is as hard as concrete. The contrast is driving me crazy; his scent is strong, earthy, and I can’t get enough of him. I relax my face, trying to pull as much as I can, while my hand grips the base and pumps. His cock twitches and pulses, and I suck hard, my head bobbing.

The muscles in his thighs tense, and his pelvis thrusts in sync with my rhythm. From his rough breathing and the raw groans deep in his throat, I know he’s close. I speed up, my entire being focused on making him feel good.

He lets out a guttural moan a fraction of a second before spurting hotly in my mouth. The climax stuns me for a moment, but I swallow and wait for the pulsing to subside before I come up. A dark flush colors his cheeks, and his face is relaxed in utter satisfaction. It feels good that I’ve given him pleasure the way he gave it to me.

“Belle…” He pulls me up and kisses me deeply, his tongue sweeping in. But then he pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

“You…um…want me to go rinse, or…?”

Elliot laughs. “No.” He licks my lips. “You taste amazing. Like you and me. Us.”

Us.

The word stirs such longing that my eyes tear up. I want that connection and possession…and I want it with Elliot.

I finally acknowledge something I’ve known for a while now. It’s too late for walls around my heart. Elliot is already inside.

This time, when he dips his head again, I kiss him back. Willing him to feel what I feel for him, because I don’t have the courage to voice it.