Chapter 7

SEVEN

AURORA

Beep, beep, beep, beep —that’s what I heard. All. Night. Long.

When I woke, I expected it would be to the sound of the incessant alarms that had kept me up half the night. But, it was finally quiet.

Too quiet.

Ignoring the sudden tightness in my gut, I rushed out of bed and popped my head into the hall. Through the missing door to Foster’s bedroom, I noticed the lights were off in his bathroom and closet. The bed was already made.

This was bad.

I’d slept in too late, meaning I’d missed watching him struggle to shake the glitter from his suit as he got dressed. I’d missed his frustration. I’d missed the futility.

Just to be sure, I searched the apartment for him.

By the time I reached the kitchen, two things were certain. One—Foster was definitely already gone. Two—there was no way I was sleeping in the guest room for a second night.

The alarms—there were so many alarms.

During the night, in a groggy haze, I’d stumbled around the room to collect the watches and turn them off. I found seven of them. There were still three more that I had apparently hidden so well no one would ever be able to find them again. They’d become one with the room.

Operation Alarmageddon was officially a catastrophe.

I regretted it.

I loathed it.

The only one suffering from the beeping was me.

None of my schemes bothered Foster at all, and neither did the blackmail. I’d thought for sure I’d had him when I stumbled upon that duffle bag with the ski mask and the wigs.

Why, even with damning evidence, couldn’t I make him squirm? This whole situation was extremely frustrating.

I poured sugar in the bottom of a mug and prepped the coffee machine. I propped my elbows on the counter and watched the dark liquid stream while I breathed in the heavenly aroma.

The glitter could still work.

Even if I hadn’t witnessed Foster struggle this morning with it, there was no way the shimmering flecks weren’t haunting him this very moment. No one would be able to take him seriously at work.

He had to be ruing the day he’d crossed me…didn’t he?

I grabbed my coffee and started toward the living room. Two steps in, I spotted a white bakery box on the counter.

Curious, I peeked inside and found a lemon poppyseed muffin—my favorite.

Did Foster know? How could he? I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned my breakfast preference. Then again, I’d apparently told him I liked coffee, and he’d bought an entire machine just for me.

Maybe it was a coincidence and lemon poppyseed muffins were his favorite, too. Maybe he was counting on eating this for a snack tonight after dinner.

Or maybe this was some sort of trick, Foster’s way of fighting back against my pranks. Maybe he planned to woo me into a sense of calm camaraderie. Or maybe the muffin was poisoned.

My stomach growled. I was too hungry for caution.

Foster wouldn’t cause me any real harm. And if the muffin made me sick, I’d make sure to leave the mess on his bed as retribution.

I took a bite.

My teeth easily cut through the moist cakey crumb. The sharp burst of citrus paired perfectly with the nuttiness of the poppyseeds and the surprise sweetness from honey.

It was easily the best lemon poppyseed muffin I’d ever tasted.

And I wanted to hate Foster for it.

But the giddy feeling swirling inside of me didn’t feel like hate.

It felt…exciting.

It’d been obvious since the night we met that he was the quick-to-take-control type. I’d found it hot, especially since he’d respected my boundaries and hadn’t pushed me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.

Then last night, I’d dared, no practically begged him, to show me that side of him again. He hadn’t. It wasn’t from lack of interest. I’d felt that interest big and hard on my thigh.

So what did our little interaction in the hall last night prove?

My best plan, the only plan that seemed to have any effect on Foster at all, was Codename Hot Pursuit.

Ruby was right. I should be having fun while I worked on my employment situation. I could have fun while driving Foster to his breaking point.

I finished my coffee, got myself ready, then headed out for another day on the job hunt. All the while, ideas swirled through my head. And for good measure, I left my muffin trash on the counter.

After spending the day out, I rode the elevator up to Foster’s penthouse apartment. The doors opened. One step into the apartment, and I heard his voice.

“You’re late.”

His words were clipped. The deepness of his voice sparked my entire body to life.

It was nearly nine.

If I had to guess, he’d been sitting at the table scowling since seven when he expected me to join him. Soup was more delicious the longer it stewed. With any luck, so was Foster.

His annoyed tone proved I could affect him. It set the mood for our night exactly the way I wanted it.

I grinned as I strutted not for the kitchen, but straight down the hall instead. “I’m here when I want to be.”

“Dinner’s cold.”

His voice sounded a little closer than it had before. Was he following me?

I paused in front of Foster’s doorless bedroom and called back, “I’m not hungry.”

The sound of his footsteps carried down the hall. He was definitely following me.

I sucked in a sharp breath and waited until I could feel his presence before I let it slowly out. My every nerve responded to him simply being in the same space as me. My skin felt charged, waiting for his touch. My heartbeat quickened in my chest.

“You agreed to nightly dinner with me,” he said so sternly that my nipples tightened at the sound. “It’s a key stipulation to our agreement.”

Codename Hot Pursuit required confidence. With enough boldness, I could force Foster to lose control. I could make him take charge.

I slipped off my shoes.

The weight of his attention made my fingers clumsy as I unbuttoned my pants. Knowing he was watching made my chest feel lighter and my stomach feel tighter at the same time.

Was I nervous? Yep. But more than that, I was excited to see what reaction I could coax out of him next.

I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my jeans and panties on my hips. I glanced over my shoulder.

Foster was there, just as I knew he’d be. Two things were immediately obvious. One—his gorgeous mouth was downturned on the sides—a great start. Two—his lapels, his dark beard, even his cheeks weren’t spared the spread of my glitter attack—even more glorious.

In trying to clean the sparkles off, he’d only managed to spread them around. I pressed my lips together to stifle the giggle that bubbled up through my chest. Oh yes, I was getting to him, no question.

To make it worse, I said as evenly as possible, “I already ate.”

His expression went volcanic.

My insides melted in response.

My breath caught in my chest. I let go of my pants and my plan to strip right in the hall. I hurried into Foster’s bedroom, what would be our bedroom tonight, grabbed some clothes, and walked back across the hall to the bathroom I’d claimed.

I took a moment and a breath.

Maybe this would all be more impactful if I took over the bathroom attached to the bedroom. Would it drive him completely mad if I used his soap or left my dirty towel on the floor? It was worth a try tomorrow if we were still playing this game, if the rules didn’t change tonight, if I didn’t lose my nerve.

I left the door open and slipped my pants down over my hips, taking my panties with them. I tossed my blouse and bra on the floor with them.

I should’ve been going slow for maximum impact. I should’ve been waiting to see that he was watching. Little acts of boldness were all I could manage, and that was okay. Each act of defiance pushed me further from being what I’d forced myself to be through college and since—the work-focused, no fun, no-time-for-men directionless me.

This was my new direction.

This was my new me.

A full blush crept across my body. I ignored it.

All of this was a game. No reason to feel nervous now. Foster had already seen me naked in Christmas Village.

My body was my power.

I turned on the shower and stepped inside. Warm water cascaded over my chest and streamed down my body.

Through the opaque shower curtain, I could make out his massive silhouette in the doorway.

He was here.

“I see you watching me,” I said.

“You left the door open.”

Yes I did. “Apparently no one in this house believes in doors. It’s our thing. Privacy is for suckers.”

“That’s a change in perspective.”

“Mm-hmm,” I said. “Speaking of changes, you look like the product of a six-year-old girl’s birthday party with the confetti sparkles all over you.”

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

I poured body wash into my hand, then rubbed the velvety cream over my skin. I imagined it was his hands on me. I wondered how well he could see through the curtain, and if he was imagining the same thing.

“Glitter looks good on you. Cuts away the edge of your scowl,” I said. “Want me to stop messing with you?”

“I want you to come to dinner like you agreed.”

His voice sounded strained, or maybe that’s just what I wanted to hear. And his answer—it wasn’t a yes. Was he enjoying my acts of torment?

I said, “Tell me what the deal is with your bank robber mask.”

“I’ll tell you when I can.”

“I’ll come to dinner when I can.” Through the curtain, I watched his unmoving shape, lingering in the doorway. He wasn’t coming in and taking off his clothes to join me. He wasn’t leaving, either.

“Your absence was unavoidable?” he asked.

That was implied, wasn’t it?

With a grin on my lips, I turned around and let the warm water rinse the body wash from my back. “No.”

He didn’t respond. He just stood there, motionless, giving me no idea what he was thinking. I hung out in the falling water, unsure what my next move should be.

I’d planned if he hadn’t joined me in the shower that my next step would be to step out fully naked and take my time drying in front of him.

But I hesitated, uncertain.

I turned off the water.

I reached a hand out the side of the curtain and snatched my towel from the sink.

Then I dried off a little and wrapped the towel around myself like a tube dress.

I could do this. He’d seen me naked. Being in a towel in front of Foster was no big deal.

As I stepped out, and I saw the expression on his face, my near-nakedness felt like really a big deal. I froze up.

The intensity I’d seen in his expression before had doubled, tripled, exploded by tenfold. He held his jaw clenched tight, his lips flat in a firm line, and his brows furrowed.

Instead of letting my hesitance show, instead of letting myself get caught under his scrutiny, I snatched the clothes and hurried past him.

Our fingers touched.

Was it on purpose? Had he been unable to help himself but to reach out for that brief, brushing contact? Or was it just an accident?

I walked across the hall in quick but measured steps, straight into Foster’s bedroom.

“If you thought the muffins and coffee would win me over, your manipulation has failed,” I said without looking at him.

“I didn’t buy them to manipulate you.”

“Yeah right.”

I set my clothes down on the nightstand, pulled back the covers, and laid in the bed with my towel still wrapped around me.

His gaze lingered on my neck before flicking up to my mouth.

“I bought them to be nice,” he said.

It was softer than the tone he’d used before.

But there was nothing nice about the way he was looking at me. He looked like a predator ready to pounce.

I was the one in control here. Me.

Heat crept over my skin just from that look on his face. It spread like wildfire, leaving a whisper in its wake.

“There’s no door on my bedroom to lock me out,” he said.

“I remember.”

Why did my voice have to come out so breathless? Why did I have to notice how hot it was that he was still fully clothed in his perfectly tailored suit while I was so close to naked?

“I will sleep here tonight,” he said, completely matter-of-fact.

It felt like a warning.

So I offered a warning of my own. “You should know I’m a thrasher. You’re likely to get kneed in the balls and punched in the face while you sleep.”

“I’ll try to watch out for that.”

That was all he was going to give me? No real reaction?

“Are you going to get dressed? I’ll leave if you ask me to.”

“No. I wanted to sleep in my towel. I like to,” I lied. There wasn’t much worse than a wet pillow from my not-dried hair, or feeling vulnerable without clothes at night in case there was a fire and I had to race down to the street where the whole world could see.

A small smile ticked at the corner of Foster’s lips.

He knew I was lying. It amused him.

I moved to the middle of the bed and spread my arms out. “I have to sleep on the center of the mattress, too. So instead of punched, you’re going to get elbowed, right in the nose.”

“Fantastic. That’s how I like to sleep.” He took off his shoes. His jacket and shirt. His pants.

I watched as he stripped down to a white undershirt and briefs. The thin fabric left little to the imagination. My imagination was happy to fill in any blanks, with my memory high-fiving and correcting along the way.

Then he climbed into bed beside me.

We were only inches from each other, shoulder to shoulder, as we lay on our backs. Foster pulled up the blankets.

I could hardly breathe with anticipation of what would happen next.

I was going to have fun and take exactly what I wanted. This was how I’d win. This was how I fixed my life and became the person I was always meant to be.

“You don’t want to take a shower first?” I asked.

“No, you’re wet enough for the both of us.”

My breath caught in my chest. “Is that what you think?”

“Look at my pillow.”

Oh, that kind of wet. Maybe a bit of both kinds, though. Maybe more than a bit of both.

“You’re going to have to deal with it. That’s the kind of fake wife I am.” I scootched a little closer.

He rolled to his side to face me. I stayed on my back, but turned my head to face him, too. Our thighs brushed together. He was warm and firm and rough with hair, and I loved it.

And it was only then that I noticed his eyes weren’t a dark shade of brown like I’d thought. Maybe I hadn’t been paying attention when I’d been this close before. Maybe we’d never been this close before, even when he’d been inside of me, even when he’d transformed me from the woman who wanted to be someone else to the woman who was.

They were blue like mine, only so dark they looked like a midnight sky.

The flecks of glitter in his eyebrow that shimmered in the light—stars.

“Can I touch you, Aurora?”

“Mmm,” I said, because words seemed impossible. He smelled like fresh linen, and gazing at the stars on a blanket in a summer field, and man. I could hardly breathe. “But then I’ll win.”

He put his hand on my hip and gently pulled me flush against him. He was hard beneath those briefs, so hard. I could probably rock my hips a couple of times and fall to pieces just like that.

“I like something to hold onto while I sleep,” he said.

“You’re asking me to be your teddy bear?”

His lips were so lush, I needed to taste them. It was all too much, too sweet, too everything.

I rolled over to find relief from the tension, from the strong desire to kiss him. But the feel of him behind me offered no relief.

He draped his arm over my middle and circled a finger over my belly button—skin to skin. My twisting must have loosened the towel. I wasn’t near-naked. I was naked, and he was touching me.

The heat inside me kept rising until I thought I might explode. I arched my back, leaning into his touch, pressing my ass against his erection.

“You’re not a toy to me, Aurora.”

“A fake wife,” I whispered.

“If that’s what you want to pretend.”

How was I pretending? “None of this is real.”

“What do you want it to be?”

What did I want? I couldn’t quite remember what the answer was supposed to be. Right now, all I wanted was him.

His hand trailed up my ribs, teasing ever so slightly an inch beneath my breasts. I reached up and grabbed onto his hand, to take him a little higher. He wouldn’t let me move him.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I felt nervous to say it.

I rocked my ass against him again to show him exactly what I wanted.

“You have to tell me explicitly,” he said.

Because he was Mr. Consent. It was sweet and frustrating and forced me out of my comfort zone by forcing me to share my desires in words.

I said, “Touch my breast.”

As soon as the words left my lips, his hand was on me fully. If being small was ever something I’d felt self-conscious about, it wasn’t when he was touching me, not like this.

His fingers roamed, worshiping every inch, gently testing how much pressure I liked with a pinch of my nipple between thumb and forefinger.

My body was what fire would feel like if it could catch on fire. I was a sky of arousal filled with sparks.

He moved to the other breast and worked his magic on that one, too.

Then he slid his other arm under me, fully pulling me flush against him. He held possessively to my thigh, as he palmed my breasts.

“What else?” he whispered, brushing his whiskers against my neck.

I chewed my lip. It was so hard to think, so hard to articulate anything beyond need and you and yes. I wanted his hands everywhere. I wanted to feel him everywhere, to run my tongue all over his body, for tonight to never end.

“Touch my clit,” I said.

He ran his fingers up my thigh and cupped my mound. Apparently the towel hadn’t come completely off yet, because I felt the last bits fall from my skin as I became completely exposed everywhere to him.

It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t reach him like this. It wasn’t fair that he could be so in control while I completely spun out.

He slid two fingers against my clit.

I was trapped in the best way, held tight and worked expertly like he knew exactly how to make every wound up part of me spiral and come undone. With every move of his fingers, I found myself rocking to meet him. I gasped and whimpered and ached for more.

His lips pressed gently against my neck.

I lost where I was, who I was. I lost every meaningful thought in the otherworldly magic he worked between my legs.

It was like the man was the clit whisperer or a musical prodigy transforming strokes into a quickening symphony.

And then all at once, fireworks.

My vision sparked. My nerves lit up. Pleasure burst through every fiber of my being.

“So fucking beautiful,” Foster said.

I came down from the sky, back to the earth, back to Foster’s bed. I realized I was a complete mess, while Foster was completely unfazed. This was the aftermath of my choice.

His hands lingered on my skin, but as I stilled, he pulled them away.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

I realized it wasn’t me who was in control at all. I didn’t have any power. I wasn’t discovering me—I was completely losing myself in him.

All that heat, all those sparks faded into dark, cold reality.

“I…I am so tired,” I said. “I’m going to sleep now.”

He didn’t say a word. He let me scoot away, all the way to the other side of the bed.

I didn’t sleep a wink.