He pushed her hand off. “I find you a trifle irritating.”
“Oh, merely a trifle?” She mocked his accent. “So, we’re in agreement then?”
Christian shrugged. “We’re relative strangers. We have to get married, and we’re stuck … alone in my cottage. Yes, I would say we are in agreement.”
He held out his hand, and she shook it. However, it was obvious to Kessen that neither of them was in their right minds. And the last time they touched, something caused them to start kissing, and that something was stirring again within each of them, and their hands tingled in response.
Chapter Eleven
Christian made the horrendous mistake of glancing up while shaking Kessen’s hand. The attraction between them was a straight-up tie between lust and … well, he guessed it was intrigue. Whatever it was, he wasn’t just satisfied with shaking her hand anymore.
With one swift movement, he had her pressed against the nearest wall. Claiming her mouth in the process. Her hands were on his chest to push him away, her lips opened to yell something—probably stop—but instead he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
She let out a feminine moan.
And he was done for.
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck.
And he wanted to cry, just a little bit.
Her mouth was perfect. She tasted like minty cherries, which in his head sounded almost romantic. Bravery caused his own tongue to part into her mouth; her response was electric, as he nibbled her lips and traced more kisses down her neckline.
He was having trouble breathing. Heck, he was having trouble thinking. All he knew was no matter how much he touched her, it never seemed enough. He was always found wanting, and right now he knew exactly what he wanted.
Kessen.
She pushed him away with a drugged look on her face, which was the biggest mistake of all, because at this close proximity, her swollen lips, piercing eyes, and perfect complexion were even more tempting. It was then he realized he would rather have this woman hate him for the rest of his life than have her kiss anyone else with as much passion as she kissed him.
Christian was acting insane. He knew it; she probably knew it, but sometimes a body has a mind of its own, and his body was doing some hard thinking.
Panic welled in his chest as he saw hesitation in her eyes so before she could have a chance to say anything, he kissed her again.
The way they kissed was nothing short of legendary. As if every kiss he’d ever shared had been nothing but practice up to this point. She would give a little, and he would take; then he would give a little, and she would take.
He had always prided himself in being a well-controlled person when it came to physical affection, which was why he was so surprised he had again stolen the opportunity and lifted her up in his embrace, allowing her legs to wrap seductively around him.
“Kessen,” he said in her hair as he kissed down her neck. “Oh my—”
She pushed away quickly—and almost dropped to the floor, except he still had part of her arms.
They stared at each other for a few minutes. Not uncomfortably, more curiously. The heat radiating from their bodies was making him start to sweat—either that or the look she was giving him was. He couldn’t tell. It had been a long time since he had actually “made out” with a girl, rather than skipping ahead a few steps. He had forgotten how great it could be, or maybe it was just Kessen.
She took a deep breath. He had to close his eyes. She was too delicious to look at. He wanted to devour her, which made him sound like something straight out of the blasted Twilight books, making him moan even deeper.
He opened his eyes, hoping she would look different now that the fog of lust had lifted. Instead she looked better.
“Bloody Hell,” he said under his breath.
And then Kessen laughed.
“That…” she said, still breathlessly, “was a good curse.”
“Apparently, I just needed something to be upset about,” he admitted, looking away.
“Upset we nearly lit the house on fire with our kissing?” she teased, patting him on the head. She was so patronizing; forget kissing. He wanted to trip her.
“No, upset we stopped.” He turned around to challenge her, but she was already walking towards the kitchen.
“I’m hungry,” he heard her say.
“Well, there’s always flour,” he muttered, following her in.
****
Kessen was surprised she could walk straight, let alone remember her name.
He kissed her like he was going off to war.
And she kissed him back like it was true.
She had barely kept her composure in that living room; if he wouldn’t have said anything, well, she shuddered at what could have happened.
She was not that type of girl—she didn’t do things with guys, especially fiercely attractive British ones with titles in front of their names. It had to be that. Some part of her wanted to be in that book. It was his stupid last name. She moaned as she heard his steps behind her. They needed distance, and they sure as heck needed to stop all the kissing.
It was unnervingly distracting.
Yet every time they touched, it was as if nothing mattered anymore, which again made her feel like she was part of a cheesy romance novel. She hit her head against the wall just as Christian walked in.
“Perfect timing.” He passed her and slapped her on the butt.
“How dare you!” She lunged for him, but he already blocked her with his arm and put her into a chokehold. She tried to reach for sharp objects, and he laughed.
“Come on, Kessen. How dumb do I look? I had them remove all weapons before we came.”
“Stupid British piece of—” She was still yelling when he released her.
Her stumble made him laugh until she crossed her arms and sent him the iciest glance she had in her repertoire. He straightened and forced a smile. “What is it, America?”
“This has to stop!”
“What has to stop?” He turned around and rummaged through the cupboards.
“This.” She pointed at him then back at herself.
“Talking? You want us to stop conversing?”
Kessen groaned. “No, Christian. I want us to stop kissing. What is wrong with you?”
Apparently he didn’t care for that accusation, because as soon as the words were out of her mouth, he was in front of her, seething. “What’s wrong with me? What about you? You’re responding!”
She took a few deep breaths, and then let out a little sigh; he was inches from her face. Christian looked at her lips, then at her eyes, then her lips again as his forehead rested gently against hers.
“Okay,” he said huskily. “I may regret phrasing it like this, but you are right.”
Her humor had left her, just like her memory and good sense. She could only nod and continue to stare at his gorgeously shaped lips.
Christian cleared his throat. “Um, are you still hungry?”
“Hm, yes,” she teased.
Ignoring her sarcasm, he went back to the cupboard and hunted. “We have nut spread, some wine, crackers, and I think there is some cheese in the cooler.”
Kessen’s eyes lit up. “Cooler?”
“You know, where you store all the things to—”
“Keep cool?” Kessen interrupted tilting her head to the side, as mocking as she could possibly be.
“Push off.”
“Okay, Harry, whatever you say.”
His expression turned complex. “Why did you call me Harry?”
Should she strike his pride again? Yes. Yes, she should. “Because you just sounded like Harry Potter.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Perfect.”
“I always did like that movie.”
“I hope you mean that in an un-creepy way, such as you enjoy the special effects, but don’t have a crush on Harry Potter himself.”
She sighed. “Well, he does have those glasses.”<
br />
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, then pulled out the contents of the pantry. “Now that I’m ignoring your baited sarcasm, I’ll have you know I actually do have more than just cards planned for us. And because of our recent agreement, I’ve decided it’s best for us to proceed outside, where it’s raining, and your body will be bundled up rather than … that.” His voice cracked a bit as he pointed at her.
Pride welled in her belly; it wasn’t every day a future duke had to fight to keep his hands off her. It’s also not every day she wanted to also return the favor. She straightened and grabbed the basket while he stacked food inside.
“So can we go for a walk?”
He nodded and off they went. He was a man of few words when he wanted to be, which was irritatingly annoying. She hated silence. Silence was of the devil. What she wanted was good conversation, good food, and his lips, but that was out of the question.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with each of them awkwardly avoiding any sort of bodily contact. It would have been funny had it been her watching it or reading it, but not while living it. Living it was complete torture. The anticipation or anxiety was nearly killing her. By the time the car came back to pick them up she was exhausted.
Consequently, they had succeeded in getting to know more about one another. Favorite foods, colors, sports, et cetera. Why did the man have to be so interesting? Every time he talked, his eyes lit up. She wanted his eyes to light up when he talked about her.
The thought was humbling. She’d never vied for any man’s affection until now, and he was in all respects her soon-to-be husband. How humiliating.
If Nick and Sammy found out, which they probably already had, considering they didn’t live under rocks, they were going to come unglued.
Nick would tease her mercilessly, while Sammy shook her head apologetically. It would be awful.
No paparazzi were waiting at her grandmother’s house. She grabbed her purse and clothes, which had made their way back into her clutch, and ran inside.
By the time she reached her room on the second level of the house, she was wiped out. Her clothes were soaked from the earlier rain. Mascara was running freely down her face, and her hair was matted to the top of her head, thanks to Christian insisting she remove her hat.
“He didn’t have to be so forceful about it,” she grumbled, picking at her hair. It would take an entire bottle of conditioner to get the tangles out. The tangles he put there. It wouldn’t have been a problem had he been able to keep his hands to himself.
Why couldn’t she shake the obvious attraction she felt for him?
It was bordering on dangerous, exciting and saddening her at the same time, because it was just one more thing pulling her towards London and away from her mother’s memory.
Kessen shook her head; if she tried hard, she might convince herself it was merely a high school crush, a flirtation, but when she remembered his hands on her body, all she could do was shiver, and the room temperature was anything but chilly.
Then again, he could be playing her for a fool. He obviously had lots of girls he could choose from, and no matter what he said, she wouldn’t believe he hadn’t jumped on the opportunity to date hundreds of women, regardless of his inability to commit. Just how many women had he dated? Not that she wanted to ask him, because naturally he would assume she cared, which she didn’t … or so she told herself.
Too tired to shower, she collapsed onto her bed. Confusion made it impossible to do anything except over-analyze every single thing which had happened that day.
She was marrying a future duke. One of the most powerful men in England. She shook her head to clear the fuzz that had descended on her brain. If he weren’t such a good kisser, it wouldn’t be an issue. She didn’t ask for this; she didn’t ask to fall for the first British guy who stole a kiss.
Since it was forced on her, she could only gather it would be a marriage of convenience. The only problem was that her blinding attraction to him made it nearly impossible for her to reconcile to that fact. All she could think about was how big and warm his hands were.
This was not going to work.
She let out a moan and closed her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
Christian felt like he had just been run over by a train repeatedly, and it had nothing to do with alcohol sickness. Actually, he would welcome any sort of liquor which would push thoughts of Kessen from the forefront of his mind.
Alas, that was not going to happen. His fingers still burned where he’d touched her skin. And her hair—oh, for the love of all that was holy and good—her hair was like sunshine and incredibly silky and soft. In all actuality, he could very happily just marry that beautiful head of hair and be done with it.
What was he thinking? Marry her hair? Who thought things like that?
His sanity was slowly declining ever since their first meeting; he hated to think about what would happen once they were married, and he could take … certain liberties. Certain liberties? His thoughts were nearing impure, when he heard a knock on his door.
“Come in,” he said gruffly. It was late and he needed sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was think about certain liberties with Kessen before dozing off. No doubt she would torture him in his dreams as well.
He was just beginning to bang his head against the wall when he heard a male chuckle behind him.
“Ah, Duncan, how good of you to come by and see how I am faring.”
“You’re a bloody mess.” Duncan eyed Christian’s wet clothing and disheveled look. He also wisely covered up his laugh with a cough. “Is, uh, everything well?”
Christian contemplated throwing a shoe at his head. If anything, it would erase that smug grin from his face. “Fine,” he said, teeth grinding.
“Ah … how was the cottage?”
Christian refused to make eye contact but felt his face growing hot. “It was perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” Even he was impressed by the evenness of his voice.
“You don’t seem to be in such a good mood. Perhaps I should return in the morning, when I’m not worried you’ll strike me with a blunt object, eh?”
“Out with it.” Christian groaned, half wanting to hear what he had to say, the other half wanting to find the suggested blunt object and throw it.
Duncan seemed hesitant, and then pulled out a manila envelope from his coat.
“Why do I feel like we’re doing some sort of drug deal?” Christian muttered.
“Careful what you wish for. I’m sure you’d rather it be drugs.”
“That can’t be good,” Christian said.
“I didn’t say it was bad.”
“What is it, then?”
Duncan cleared his throat and handed him the envelope. “Somehow we messed up on the security in the cottage; these were taken when you two arrived.”
Christian felt his face growing hot as he opened up the envelope. Picture after picture fluttered to the floor of him and Kessen kissing, embracing, fighting. It was like something out of the movies. Something very, very bad. She was going to be livid.
“Who has access to these?” Christian’s eyes darted to Duncan’s.
Duncan licked his lips before answering. “Everyone.”
“How?” Christian growled.
“Christian, what do you expect? We live in a technologically savvy world. Someone took the pictures, or hid a camera, and the pictures were leaked online.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “This made page six in New York. Page six! Have you any idea what kind of press that is?”
“Duncan, I don’t care what kind of press it is! It’s our lives, our private lives, and this makes Kessen … well, it makes her look like—”
“An American sl—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Christian warned.
“Well, it’s what our papers are saying.”
Christian sighed; it wasn’t fair her name was being dragged through the mud, especially because it was mainly his lack of self
-control which got them into this position in the first place. “I thought everyone loved her.”
Duncan shrugged. “She’s still American.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Christian snapped.
“You know as well as I do how people feel about foreigners marrying into our aristocratic circles. They may love her because she’s famous, but they don’t have to like the fact the most eligible bachelor of the century is marrying someone who has been living in the mountains of Colorado all her life.”
“She’s a blue blood!” he yelled.
Duncan took a step back, putting his hands up in surrender. “Half blue blood. Her mother was American. What’s wrong with you, Christian? You know I like her, all right? I think she’s perfect for you. I’m just trying to get you to understand what the people are thinking. It’s the best press we’ve had in years for Newberry and Co., and honestly, it’s better for your family name that you’re caught up in this whirlwind romance. People are sick of the Vandenbrooks ripping hearts out of every blue-blooded family in this hemisphere. But you should also know it’s not going to be an easy road. These pictures have gone worldwide.”
“Obviously,” he muttered, putting his hands over his head. He felt a headache coming on. He needed to see Kessen … to warn her. “Have you talked with her grandmother or Kessen herself?”
“I was going to leave it to you,” Duncan said dryly.
Christian looked up to the ceiling. “Of course you were. Right. Well, I’ll figure it out in the morning. Call their butler and make sure he doesn’t show any of the morning papers to the family until I arrive.”
Duncan pulled out a recorder and pressed play. “Do you have a statement for the press, Lord Vandenbrook?”
Christian closed his eyes. “I’m appalled at the lack of privacy the press has given Miss Newberry and myself. In the future, if there are any questions about our relationship, we will be happy to sit down to an interview or a press conference when the CEO and founder of Newberry and Company arrives in London. Until then, please continue to respect our privacy, as we are in the critical part of our wedding planning. Thank you.”