Mistress to the Magnate: Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation. Michelle Celmer

      “You’re not ready for sex.”

      “Which is why I don’t expect anything from you. I was perfectly content just making you feel good. Most guys—”

      “Most guys would not expect their fiancée, who just suffered a serious head injury, to get them off. Especially one who’s still too fragile to have him return the favor. Did you ever stop to think that I might feel guilty?”

      Some of her anger fizzled away. “But it’s been months for you, and I just thought … it just didn’t seem fair.”

      Fair? “Okay, so it’s been months. So what? I’m not a sex fiend. You may have noticed that my puny reptile brain functions just fine without it.”

      That made her crack a smile. “It didn’t seem right that you had to suffer because of me. I just wanted to make you happy.”

      Is that what she had been doing the past three years? Making him happy? Had she believed that she needed to constantly please him sexually to keep him interested? Did she think that because he paid for her school, her room and board, kept her living a lifestyle many women would envy, that she was his … sex slave? And had he ever given her a reason to believe otherwise?

      For him, their relationship was as much about companionship as sex. Although, in three years, of all the times she had offered herself so freely, not to mention enthusiastically, had he ever once stopped her and said, “Let’s just talk instead?”

      Was that why she cheated on him? Did she need someone who treated her like an equal and not a sex object?

      If she felt that way, she should have said so. But since they were stuck together for a while, he should at least set the record straight.

      “The thing is, Mel, I’m not suffering. And even if I was, you don’t owe me anything.”

      “You sure looked like you were this morning when I woke up,” she said.

      “Mel, I’m a guy. I could be getting laid ten times a day and I would still wake up with a hard-on. It’s part of the outdoor plumbing package.”

      She smiled and he offered his hand for her to take. She had to let go of the sheet on one side and it dropped down, completely baring her left breast. It was firm and plump, her nipples small and rosy, and it took all the restraint he could muster not to lean forward and take her into his mouth. He realized he was staring and tore his gaze away to look in her eyes, but she’d seen, and he had the feeling she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

      “Not suffering, huh?” she said with a wry smile.

      Well, not anymore. Not much anyway.

      “I honestly believe that we need to take this slow,” he said. “If you’re not physically ready, we wait. Both of us.”

      “Okay,” she agreed solemnly, giving his hand a squeeze. “You mind if I use the bathroom first, or do you want it?”

      “Go ahead.”

      She rolled out of bed and he assumed she intended to take the sheet along to cover herself. Instead she let it fall and stood there in all her naked glory, thinner than she’d been, almost to point of looking a little bony, but still sexy and desirable as hell.

      Instead of walking straight into the bathroom, she went the opposite way to her suitcase, her hair falling in mussed waves over her shoulders, the sway of her hips mesmerizing him. He expected her to lift her case and set it on the bed, but instead she bent at the waist to unzip her case right there. She stood not five feet away, her back to him, legs spread just far enough to give him a perfect view of her goods, and he damn near swallowed his own tongue. He saw two perfect globes of soft flesh that he was desperate to get his hands on, her thighs long and milky white, and what lay between them … damn. Doing him must have turned her on, too, because he could see traces of moisture glistening along her folds.

      He had to fist the blankets to keep himself from reaching out and touching her. To stop himself from dropping to his knees and taking her into his mouth. He even caught himself licking his lips in anticipation.

      She seemed to take an unnecessarily long time rifling through her clothes, choosing what to wear, then she straightened. He pulled the covers across his lap, so she wouldn’t notice that conspicuous rise in his pajamas, but she didn’t even look his way; then, as she stepped into the bathroom she tossed him a quick, wicked smile over her shoulder.

      If that little display had been some sort of revenge for snapping at her earlier, she sure as hell knew how to hit where it stung.

Seven

      They got back on the road late that morning—although it was Melody’s own fault.

      She’d already had a mild headache when she woke up, compounded by the sexual arousal, but bending over like that to open her case, and the pressure it had put on her head, had been a really bad move. The pain went from marginally cumbersome to oh-my-God-kill-me-now excruciating. But it had almost been worth it to see the look on Ash’s face.

      She popped two painkillers then got dressed, thinking she would lie down while Ash got ready then she would be fine. Unfortunately it was the kind of sick, throbbing pain that was nearly unbearable, and exacerbated by the tiniest movement.

      Ash’s first reaction was to drive her to the nearest hospital, but she convinced him that all she needed was a little quiet, and another hour or so of sleep. She urged him to go and get himself a nice breakfast, and wake her when he got back.

      Instead, he let her sleep until almost eleven-thirty! It was nearly noon by the time they got on the road, and she realized, with a sinking heart, that they would never make it back to San Francisco that evening. On the bright side she managed to stay awake for most of the drive, and was able to enjoy the scenery as it passed. Ash played the radio and occasionally she would find herself singing along to songs she hadn’t even realized she knew. But if she made a conscious effort to remember them, her stubborn brain refused to cooperate.

      When they stopped for the night, this time it was in a much more populated area and he managed to find a higher-class hotel with two double beds. However, that didn’t stop her from walking around naked and sleeping in the buff. The truth was, when it came to sleeping naked she wasn’t really doing it to annoy Ash. She actually liked the feel of the sheets against her bare skin. The walking-around-naked part? That was just for fun.

      Not that she didn’t think Ash was right about waiting. When she’d invaded his pj’s yesterday morning she really hadn’t stopped to think that maybe he didn’t want to, that he might feel guilty that it was one-sided. If she wanted to get technical, what she had done was tantamount to rape or molestation. Although, honestly, he hadn’t seemed quite that scandalized.

      Really, she should be thrilled that she was engaged to such a caring and sensitive man. And she supposed that if the burden of pent-up sexual energy became too much, he could just take care of matters himself. Although deep down she really hoped he would wait for her.

      Despite wishing she was in Ash’s bed, curled up against him, she got a decent night’s sleep and woke feeling the best she had since this whole mess began. Her head hardly hurt and when they went to breakfast she ate every bite of her waffles and sausage. Maybe just knowing that in a few hours she would be home was all the medicine she needed for a full recovery.

      Ash spent a lot of the drive on the phone with work, and though she wasn’t sure exactly what was being discussed, the tone of the conversation suggested that they were relieved he was coming back. And he seemed happy to be going back.

      They crossed the Bay Bridge shortly after one, and they were finally in San Francisco. Though the views were gorgeous, she couldn’t say with any certainty that it looked the least bit familiar. They drove along the water, and after only a few minutes Ash pulled into the underground parking of a huge renovated warehouse that sat directly