Beautiful Illusions Duet Bundle: Eighty-One Nights and Beautiful Ever After Page 17

  “Oh shite. How did you explain that?”

  “I pretended to be taking advantage of the boss being away.”

  “So the sister-in-law just walked into Hutch’s bedroom? She didn’t call out for him?”

  I’ve been so flustered over the whole thing that I haven’t considered that. “Fuck, you’re right.”

  “Don’t you find that odd?” Rachel says.

  “I do and now that I think about it, she showed up looking like she’d spent hours getting ready.” Her hair, her makeup, her outfit—all of it was pristine. And sexy.

  “She could be one of those women who always looks well put together.”

  “She comes from money so that’s a possibility. Or she could have gotten all fixed up for her dead sister’s widower.”

  “Is she married?”

  “I have no idea.” But I plan on finding out.

  “You live in his house. You’re the woman in his bed every night. He went to a lot of trouble to have you. He wants you. Not her.”

  Rachel is right. He wants me. He tells me often and I believe him.

  “Our relationship is supposed to be uncomplicated, an arrangement with clear expectations, but nothing about it feels clear anymore. The lines are blurring.”

  “Because you’re falling in love with him. I think I’ve told you this already.”

  “I don’t want to, but he’s so good to me. He’s making it very hard to not fall in love with him.”

  I can’t believe I just admitted to that.

  Rachel’s mouth is a straight line. She’s trying so hard to hold in that “I told you so.”

  “He’s taking me to Spain next week.”

  She kicks her legs beneath the table, nails me in the shin. Damn, that hurt.

  “Shut the hell up,” she says.

  I reach into my purse and hold up the credit card he gave me. “We’re staying at a luxurious beachfront house, and he wants me to buy new clothes and bikinis for the trip.”

  “He wasn’t lying when he said he would show you the time of your life,” Rachel says.

  “I felt guilty when he gave me his credit card. He’s already given me so much money.”

  “He’s delivering on his promise. And you have two more months with him. Live it up. Let him spoil you and don’t feel guilty about it for a second.”

  Rachel’s right. Hutch and I discussed what he wanted out of this relationship. He told me that he wanted to pamper me and make us feel genuine. This is him following through with his part of the bargain. If he wants us to feel real, I can give him real.

  24

  Maxwell Hutcheson

  Fuck my life. Mina’s father is ruining everything I wanted to do for Lou’s birthday.

  I can’t believe that Thomas decided to send one of the new guys to Alicante with me next week. I’ve always made that trip alone. It’s as though he can sense that I was making special plans for the new woman in my life.

  Lou is turning twenty-three this Friday. Or at least I think that’s when, based upon her statement that our birthdays are a week apart.

  She hasn’t mentioned hers again. I believe she would tell me the date if I asked her, but I prefer to surprise her with a special gift. And I think she’s going to love what I’ve gotten her.

  I tip the bellhop, and Lou and I tour our honeymoon suite at Glenskirlie. Aye, I booked the honeymoon suite in hopes that it might somehow make up for missing Alicante.

  Lou walks over and runs her fingers down the sheer fabric draped over the canopy. “I can’t think of a word to describe this room. Romantic isn’t enough to do it justice.” She sits on the bed and bounces a wee bit. “It’s pretty and comfy.”

  “Then we should be able to fall asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows.”

  She grins and shakes her head side to side. “I certainly hope not. This bed was made for things other than sleeping.”

  “I’m open to any suggestions you may have.”

  “That’s a discussion to be had tonight.”

  “As keen as I am to have that discussion, it will have to wait until much later tonight. We have plans. Big ones.”

  God, I love when she smiles like that. Genuine happiness. It can’t be faked. “What kind of big plans?”

  “I’m taking you to a concert.”

  “What kind of concert?”

  I’ve considered keeping it a secret and letting her figure it out when we get there, but I can’t hold it in any longer. “Southern Ophelia is playing at the Hydro tonight.”

  Her eyes widen. “Southern Ophelia? You mean with lead singer Charlie Williams? The country music band from the US is here? In Glasgow? Tonight? And we’re going?”

  “Yes to all of those questions.”

  Lou squeals and jumps in place. “Oh my God. Do you know how much I love Southern Ophelia?”

  “I sort of gathered it by how much you listen to their music.”

  “Charlie Williams is the hottest guy in country music. I would drink his bathwater.”

  “I get the picture, Lou. You like Charlie Williams.”

  “I don’t like Charlie Williams. I looooove Charlie Williams. And I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

  “No worries, mo maise. I have some ideas about how you can thank me later tonight.”

  She presses a sweet kiss to my mouth and rests her forehead against mine. “Is that so?”

  “Aye. I have very naughty ideas.”

  “You always do. And I’m happy to oblige.”

  The tickets cost a small fortune but our seats are bloody good. Center stage, second row. Lou is ecstatic about her nearness to the stage. I’m not sure I am since I didn’t consider how mesmerized she was going to be by the close proximity to her country music star crush.

  Fuck, I think I may be a little jealous of the way she’s looking at him.

  Lou sings along, never missing a word. It’s easy to see that she knows every lyric by heart.

  Grabbing my hands, she places them on her hips. She takes a step back and her whole body rubs against mine while she sways to the rhythm of the music. Damn. My NOLA girl is entranced by the music, and I’m not sure that she realizes exactly what she’s doing to me.

  It’s dark and all eyes are on the stage. No one is paying attention to us. I see no reason to not have a wee bit of fun with this, so I slide my hand from her hip to between her legs. She leans her head against my chest and looks up at me over her shoulder. “You just can’t keep your hands off of it, can you?”

  “How am I supposed to keep my hands off of it when your arse is rubbing against my cock?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do that to you in public. Will you punish me later?”

  Is that an invitation for kink? “Do you want me to punish you?”

  “Maybe.”

  Lou places her arms on top of mine, tightening my grip around her, and sings, “I’m waiting for your heart to wake… so you will ask me to stay… my heart is impatiently waiting around… to hear the words it’s begging you to say… but if I remain and the words never come… it’s a pain I don’t think I can take.”

  Fuck. Those lyrics are poignant.

  Lou turns when the song ends, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I love that song. The lead female singer who once sang with Southern Ophelia wrote and performed it when she was them. She left the band and married the man she wrote the song about, so I guess his heart must have awakened.”

  “I remember the female lead who used to sing with them. She’s hot as fuck.”

  Lou’s palm comes down hard against my chest. “Shut up.”

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “Don’t talk to me like that about other women. I don’t like it.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well maybe I don’t like the way you’re swooning over the lead singer up there.” Damn, I sound like a talking pussy.

  Lou tightens her hold on me. “Any swooning that I do is completely for you.
Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Lou stops at the entrance to the bar inside of our hotel. “I’m in the mood for a beer. What do you say about having a drink before we go up to the room?”

  “Trying to postpone your punishment?”

  Her face becomes a mask of confusion. “Punishment?”

  She’s forgotten so soon? “Aye. For rubbing your bum against my cock at the concert.”

  She laughs. “Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “If I have a punishment coming to me then I should definitely have a drink. Maybe two.”

  The bartender places two beers in front of us, and we reach for the mugs at the same time, both of us taking a long drink.

  “Mmm… that tastes good. And the cold feels good on my raw throat.”

  “You were quite the singer tonight.”

  “I had so much fun. Thank you for bringing me to Glasgow and surprising me with tickets to Southern Ophelia. It was amazing.”

  We only get tonight and part of tomorrow in Glasgow, and then we’re back to Edinburgh. “It doesn’t make up for missing Alicante with me next week.”

  “It’s fine, Hutch. I understand why I can’t go.”

  “I know, but I feel horrible for inviting you and then telling you that you can’t go.”

  Lou has never traveled. I love seeing her eyes widen with wonder when she sees new things. Makes me want to show her the world.

  “I don’t want you to feel bad about it. Not for a second.”

  “I’ll make it up to you another time.”

  “You already have, Hutch.” Lou twists on the barstool. “I need to go to the bathroom. Did you see it when we came in?”

  “Aye, to the left after we entered.”

  Lou leans closer and presses a sweet kiss against my mouth. “I may be a minute. You know that there’s always a line in the ladies’ bathroom.”

  “Want me to grab a table if one becomes available.”

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  A table in the corner opens up and I dash over to claim it, placing my beer on the table right before another man making a move for the same table. I lift my chin, giving him the better-luck-next-time nod.

  “You’re bloody quick, mate.”

  “My wife prefers to sit at a table rather than the bar.” My wife. I like the way that sounds coming off of my tongue.

  “Your wife?” A chuckle follows his question.

  What the fuck is that chuckle about?

  “Aye, my wife.”

  “What the wife wants, the wife gets?”

  “If you’d ever been married, you’d know the answer to that question.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “A month.” That’s how long it’s been since our arrangement began. I can’t believe that a third of our time together is already gone.

  “Your missus looks more like a whore than a wife.”

  Did I hear that correctly? Surely not. No man would say that to a stranger about his wife. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t think she’s your wife at all. I think she’s a cheap whore you picked up outside a Soho walk-up.”

  I stand, and what happens next, some might call a sucker punch. I call it a well-deserved lesson in how to not talk to a man about the woman he’s with.

  The rude fucker is lying facedown on the floor and I hope he gets up. I want him to come back at me. “Go ahead. Say something else like that and see what happens.”

  I hear a soft gasp behind me. “Chambers? How–”

  Chambers. I remember that name and where I’ve heard it before.

  I turn and look at Lou. “This is the man who tried to rape you at the Inamorata cocktail party?”

  The man chuckles. “As if it’s possible to rape a whore. That’s amusing.”

  Lou’s attacker is in Glasgow ? In this bar inside of Glenskirlie? That isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. “You followed us here?”

  He stands and straightens his shirt and jacket. “I have eyes and ears everywhere… Mr. Maxwell Hutcheson.”

  I feel Lou’s hand on my upper arm. “Let’s get out of here. Please. I want to leave.”

  I see the bartender eyeing us while he’s on the phone, and I’m certain that he’s calling for security to come throw us out.

  “Aye, let’s get out of here.”

  I take Lou by the hand and we leave the bar. I open and close my fist after we get on the lift and realize how damn bad my hand hurts. I feel certain that I broke something in it, but I don’t regret hitting that fucker. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  “He’s Cora’s son? The one who attacked you at the cocktail party?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s no coincidence that he’s here. You know that, right?”

  “Yes. And I’m afraid that you were right to think that he wasn’t finished with me.”

  “I don’t know what his being here means, but you’re safe with me. I won’t let him near you.”

  “I know.”

  Lou has ice sent to the room for my swollen hand, and I ice it down while she prepares for bed. I find it easy to forget the pain because I’m thinking of what’s about to happen. And I don’t want to wait any longer.

  She watches me in the mirror as I move to stand behind her and place my hands on her upper arms. I kiss one of her shoulders, and she reaches up to touch my injured hand. “You’re bleeding.”

  She turns in my arms and takes my hand. “You need to wash this so it doesn’t get infected. We’ll get some ointment and bandages for it tomorrow.”

  She turns on the water and soaps a lather onto her fingers, washing my knuckles until the dried blood is gone. Still holding my hand, she looks up at me. “You punched Chambers before you knew who he was.”

  “Because he pissed me off.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  Your missus looks more like a whore than a wife.

  How in the world do I explain that to Lou?

  Reaching out to hold her face, I lean forward and kiss her, and her lips on mine bring calmness.

  When our kiss ends, I take her hand and pull her into the bedroom toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, I pull her hips toward me, and she stands between my legs. Her fingers play in my tousled hair. I love when she does that.

  “Tell me what he said.”

  “He said ‘Your missus looks more like a whore than a wife.’”

  “Chambers knows that I’m not your wife. Why would he have called me that?”

  “Because I told him you were.” Fuck, I feel stupid telling her this. “I thought he was a stranger and wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “You told him that I’m your wife?”

  Fuck. It sounds even worse coming out of her mouth.

  “I know. It’s ridiculous and I’m a dobber for pretending to be your husband.”

  “Hutch…” That’s all she gets out before her mouth slams against mine. At the same time, her hands are at my chest working to unfasten the buttons of my shirt. Unsatisfied with the slow progress, she reaches for the bottom and pulls it over my head while it’s still buttoned.

  Fuck. That was hot.

  She undoes my belt buckle and yanks open the button on my trousers, this time more successful with the unfastening process. She slides my zipper down and puts her hand inside my Y-fronts, her hand enclosed around my cock as she glides it up and down. Damn, this lass knows how to give a hand job.

  She kisses me hard while her hand pumps me. I’m so fucking close to coming, but she doesn’t let me. “Where are the condoms?”

  “Outer pocket, big suitcase.”

  She kisses my mouth. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  Hell, there’s no chance of that.

  I get up and remove all of my clothes while she’s digging for the condoms. She comes to me twirling a foil square between two fingers. “I’m putting it on you this time.”

  She’ll get no argument from me.<
br />
  Using her palms, she pushes me down on the bed and kneels between my thighs. She opens the packet and I lift my head, watching her put it on me. When she finishes, she gets off of me and stands at the bedside, shimmying her panties down her legs. Fuck, that wiggle thing that she does with her hips and arse wrecks me every time.

  She climbs one knee at a time onto the bed and straddles me. My hands are splayed over her hips, waiting for her pussy to slide down the length of my cock. But it doesn’t.

  My tip is at her wet entrance. She’s rocking her hips back and forth, teasing me. “You’re my husband, huh? Show me.”

  25

  Caitriona Louden

  Hutch flips us over and a little bit of breath is knocked from my lungs when I land on my back. He’s kneeling between my legs and he hooks them around the bend of his arms, pushing them back and apart. He’s not gentle about it. Not even a little. But his aggressive handling of my body is nothing compared to the merciless drive of his cock inside me.

  “Ohh!” I scream.

  Barbaric. Brutish. Blunt. That’s how this is going to be.

  Hutch’s mouth sucks my earlobe, and his words sound as though they’re squeezing through the spaces between gritted teeth and barely parted lips. “You’re mine. Understand?”

  There’s an angry edge to his voice. And maybe that should frighten me, but instead, it turns me on.

  I curl my body around his, pulling him even closer. “Yes.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  We’re positioned sideways on the bed and each thrust shoves me farther across the mattress until my head is hanging off the edge.

  “I’m.” Thrust.

  “Yours.” Thrust.

  “No.” Thrust.

  “One.” Thrust.

  “Else’s.” Thrust.

  He releases one of my legs and slides his hand down between them. “No one else touches you like this.”

  I’m panting as I rock against his fingers. “You’re the only one who touches me like this.”

  These aren’t romantic words exchanged between two people making love. These are possessive demands made by a jealous, greedy lover. A man dominating a woman.