Paper Marriage Proposition

Nine

In a sleek black suit and silver tie, Frederic was so arresting it took an enormous effort for Lisa to focus on the matter at hand.  Focus on anything but the rightness of being in her mock husband’s arms, with those piercing thick-lashed eyes on her face.
    “Frederic, I wanted to speak to you about the hearing,” she said.
    “Lisa, I don’t want to talk about this now.”
    “But I do. I was going to bring it up tomorrow after you’d read the book but we might as well discuss it here. The sooner we get Leo back, the sooner we can get divorced, right?”
    She just didn’t trust herself not to do something stupid while married to him. Enduring his proximity every day, knowing he was near every single sleepless night, was the slowest, most painful kind of physical torture she’d ever known.
    She couldn’t take this much longer.
    She licked her lips in nervousness. “The book’s upstairs—you could probably read it in a few hours. How soon could we schedule a hearing?”
    His face was indecipherable, but the firmness of his arms around her gave her the sensation of being both trapped and protected. “We need to be married for a while before I request one. And before I do, I need to make sure we’ll win. I hate to say this, but you can’t afford to lose again, Lalisa.”
    She met Kate’s curious gaze as she danced by with Alex, smiled a little at her, then sighed. “It’s just that every day that goes by I fear I’m losing him. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if it’s too late?”
    “Your son loves you. How could he not?”
    The words touched something hidden inside of her, places she dare not get into for fear of crying. She forced herself to face him. “What if he stops? What if he feels I abandoned him, what if he’s told I’m a monster and he believes it? I know I can’t see him but just the sight of him, to see him smile at me, that’s all I want. Just to know that he…that he’s still my little boy.”
    The tenderness in his eyes loosened a ribbon of sadness inside of her. “You feel like you disappointed him,” he murmured, stroking his splayed hands up her bare back.
    His warm, soothing caresses made her throat clog with emotion. “I probably did.”
    “You feel like you should’ve seen it coming, should have protected him?”
    His hair had grown longer, and the silky raven black tips curled playfully at his collar. Suddenly, disturbingly, she reached upward and delved her hands into the thick silken mass. He stiffened. His hands halted. His chest vibrated as though he’d held back a groan.
    Slowly, they started moving again, to the music.
    She was mesmerized by the depth in his eyes, the stormy understanding, and suddenly she knew he wasn’t just talking about her, not anymore. She lowered her voice, so that none of the nearby dancing couples overheard.
    “You couldn’t have known, either, Frederic. Accidents happen.”
    He pulled her closer, and a muscle worked taut at the back of his jaw as he clenched it. “I could’ve stopped her, Lisa, I heard the door, I knew there was nothing between us, I suspected she wasn’t well.”
    She didn’t realize she tenderly stroked his jaw until she heard him breathe in, deep, as though trying to collect himself. Collect her scent.
    Her nipples pricked at that sensual thought.
    With a low groan, Frederic turned his face into her hand and brushed his lips against the inside of her palm. “So, no, to your former question. It’s not too late for you,” he murmured.
    His eyes held that same smoldering admiration she’d seen all week, and it made her gaze rush away and her hand return to his shoulder.
    He looked hungry and compassionate and strong. Strong enough to hang on to. He was utterly gorgeous, this big bad husband of hers. Which had been creating some big bad problems for Lisa.
    She ached to kiss him, slide her fingers up the thick tendons at his neck, bury her face against his throat and just smell him.
    “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said, quietly, then forced herself to listen to the haunting tune playing while a knot of tension continued growing in her stomach.
    “You’re right, let’s not,” he agreed.
    She heard the rustle of silk as he slid his hand up her back. Her pulse quickened as his thumb grazed the bare skin.
    “You enjoy…dancing?” she asked, starting to pant.
    His lazy smile could disarm a regiment. “I would if you’d start moving with me.”
    She laughed and swayed a little more, allowing him to press her close enough to be aware of every beautiful, hard part of him. He smelled male, clean. Delicious.
    His hands shifted trajectory, sliding down her back, long fingers making goose bumps prick across her bare arms.
    “Mother and Kate are staying over tonight,” he murmured as he studied her with scorching eyes. The deliberate brush of his fingers against the start of her buttocks made her catch her breath. “They don’t want to drive at such a late hour to Alamo Heights. I’m afraid you’re going to have to share my room tonight.”
    Her breath hitched in her lungs. The thought of being near him was hell. She feared she could resist anything, anyone, but him. Don’t don’t don’t make me lose myself, Frederic.
    “What about the other room down the hall, the one—”
    “That’s my son’s room. And it’s off-limits.”
    His son’s room. Her heart stuttered, then her eyes widened in realization. So he didn’t know. He didn’t know, couldn’t speak that way about his son if he knew.
    Pain knifed through her at the thought of knowing something so vile about his past that he didn’t. He must believe that Chrystine and Jungkook’s affair had started after he and Chrystine got married. Lisa had once supposed the same, until the day she’d confronted Jungkook and had learned that he and the woman he was sleeping with apparently went back for years.
    She loathed to think Frederic didn’t know that Chrystine and Hector had fooled around together before Frederic even met her, and that when she ended up pregnant, Frederic hadn’t been the only possible father.
    He’d only been the most convenient one for her purposes.
    Something wrenched painfully inside her stomach at the thought of telling him. She could tell him, yes. That his first wife had been an incredible actress and a very convincing liar. But why open that wound? Why hurt him like that when he’d been wonderful to her?
    God, she needed a drink. A whole lot of drinks. A margarita, a martini.
    Unaware of why she’d stiffened, Frederic eased his hold around her a fraction. “Relax, Lalisa. I’m not going to hurt you.”
    She shuddered, and for one brief moment, let her eyes drift shut and her stiffness melt away into his strength. “I know.”
    And Lisa wasn’t going to hurt him, either. Not this man. Not now, and not with this truth.