Now …
Now I have him smushed up against me twenty-four seven.
How am I going to resist him when he’s so sweet, so charming, so caring?
When was the last time anyone not related to me cared about me as much as he seems to?
I don’t even want to contemplate the answers to those questions, so I focus on the mundane tasks of using the bathroom, changing clothes, and washing my face. It’s still fairly early in the evening. There are hours stretching out in front of us before bedtime, before we spend even more hours under the same blankets on the same mattress. And I’m spending as much time as humanly possible in this decadent bathroom with a walk-in rain shower big enough for a family of four to fit comfortably inside.
Flashes of Colt and I in there together flicker behind my eyes, but I hastily stop those images before they can go too far.
Except I’ve seen recent pictures of him shirtless—he appeared in a spread about a beach trip to Fiji he took with his brothers and their wives last winter. And I’ve hugged him enough times to know he’s still just as defined as he was then.
The idea of water sluicing over all those bumps and grooves of muscle … the V that I know he has, leading to …
Bzzzt. Record scratch. Stop that train of thought in its tracks. Derail it and turn it into a smoking pile of rubble.
That way lies madness.
I can’t be fantasizing about my husband-in-name-only while simultaneously pushing him away. Because I’m well aware that he’d happily turn our on-paper relationship into something more real. Even if it won’t last forever, even if it is a business-based decision, he’d happily explore a physical relationship with me. He’s basically said as much, and I put on the brakes.
Because I don’t know if I’m capable of keeping the business decision and the rest of our lives together separate. If I’m capable of keeping up the pretense if things between us turn sour before our time together is up.
And so I’m hiding.
In a few more minutes, I’ll go back out there and pretend I’m fine.
Because I am fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine.
With those words echoing in my head, I step out of my dress and into my comfy clothes, preparing for a night of conversation and maybe a movie.
Colt is a perfect gentleman on our wedding night and every night after that. We spend a few days in the hotel for appearances’ sake, watching movies, eating way too much, and generally being lazy.
Delores calls to update me that our “leaked” wedding pictures have been well received and she already has entertainment news sites asking for the exclusive on the official pictures. Of course, all that money has to be donated to charity. The fact that I could use it doesn’t really matter, because of my celebrity status, even if I’m on the D-list, keeping the money would look selfish. Besides, the point isn’t to make money off the photos. It’s to make myself marketable for a record label and keep my name in the public eye so I can have a career, which will pay off financially in the long term.
Groaning after our last decadent breakfast, I stand and stretch, making sure to keep my face turned away so I don’t have to see the heated look on Colt’s face. I’ve caught him looking at me like that too many times since we’ve been here, and I don’t know how to handle it, so I’ve just been pretending not to see. “Ugh. Delores isn’t going to be happy with me. I think I’ve put on five pounds in the last three days.”
Colt grunts, but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge my statement as he drains the last of his coffee.
“I’ve missed my guitar, though,” I say as I move to put my things back in my suitcase. I carefully fold my wedding dress and tuck it in on top of everything else. It won’t be in there for long, and I’ll hang it up and send it out for cleaning as soon as we get home.
Home.
The word strikes me a little funny. Because now my apartment isn’t just my home. It’s our home. Colt will be moving in with me.
“Are you coming straight to my place? Or will you be going to your parents’ to pick up a few things before heading over?”
“Do you have a preference?” His smooth voice sounds so close behind me that it startles me, and I jump.
He gives me that boyish grin of his when I turn to face him. “Uh …” I might go a little cross-eyed, but I snap my mouth shut, managing not to drool over the broad expanse of tanned skin in front of my face.
He’s been going shirtless most of the time we’ve been here. Which has been … distracting. And awesome. And terrible. All at once.
Because he’s so so tempting. And I think he knows the effect he has on me. And I think he’s doing it on purpose.
Which is confirmed by the way he casually scratches his left pec and then trails his hand down his torso and over his belly. I can’t help following the motion with my eyes, mesmerized by the way his abs ripple and bunch under his skin.
“Alexis?” he prompts, the smile in his voice as clear as the one on his face.
“Huh?”
He lets out a low chuckle that combines with the sight of him in dangerous ways. “Would you rather I just come straight to your house or swing by my parents’ first?”
“Oh, uh …” I blink, forcing my eyes back to his face, back to that shit-eating grin. Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And he’s not remotely sorry about it. Narrowing my eyes, I force myself to analyze the situation. “You should come with me,” I state assertively. “It would look bad if we left our wedding resort in separate cars.”
His smile dims. “Good point. I’ll figure out how to get the rest of my clothes and other important things later.” He reaches past me and tugs a shirt off a hanger, slipping it over his head.
I manage to stifle the sigh of disappointment before it escapes, but just barely.
We finish packing our things, and Colt schedules a car for us before calling down to the desk to check out.
The honeymoon is officially over.
Chapter Nineteen
Colt
Alexis has more fortitude than I gave her credit for. When I took my shirt off before getting into bed that first night together and noticed the way she practically drooled over me, I took every opportunity to be shirtless around her after that.
But by the end of our few days at the resort, she caught on to my scheme.
And now she’s torturing me right back, prancing around her apartment—our apartment—in nothing more than skimpy tank tops and barely-there booty shorts. She puts on more clothes when she leaves the house, but since she has no scheduled performances or meetings or appearances anywhere, that’s really only to go to the grocery store and the gym.
I will admit that drooling over my scantily-clad wife is a nice distraction from the phone calls and texted demands to call them from my brothers that I’ve been ignoring for the last few days. They already know what’s going on. If Mom didn’t call them immediately after I got off the phone with her, I’d be shocked, but even if she didn’t, they follow the entertainment news, so they’d have seen the pics that Delores put out. I don’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with their judgment. As though either of them have any right to tell me how to handle my life and my career. I’ve asked for their help a million times, and they’ve barely lifted a finger. They’ve made it clear I’m on my own, so I’m doing what I think is best.