“I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Really? Because you don’t look sick to me right now.” And if he was sick last night, then why sleep on the couch? No way. Not buying it.

Noah throws up his hands. “Maybe it was something I ate at dinner. Maybe I just got a headache. What’s with the damn third degree?”

Then he drops his gaze. It was only for a second, but I saw it, and I know evasive maneuvers when I see them. So I press harder.

“It really seemed to me like you were scared of having sex.”

He blinks, his mouth open, then forces a laugh. “What? We’re still talking about me, right? You’re always sniping at me for . . . how did you put it? Fucking half of New York City?”

“But I’m not your typical conquest. I’m your wife. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your style tends more toward ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ than ‘until death do us part.’” I pause to raise my eyebrows at him for emphasis. “Last night wasn’t going to be just a casual screw where you forgot my name five minutes later. I think you backed off because you were worried that sex would make things too real between us. You’re scared you might feel something for me.”

For a moment, he just stares at me with a look I can’t read. It’s wry, almost bitter, but at the same time, it almost seems somehow . . . relieved?

When Noah finally replies, his voice is much calmer. “What a bunch of horseshit. You’re reading way too much into this. I already told you why I stopped last night, so quit inventing crazy stories.”

I blink, surprised by how much his words sting. He calls the idea that he might love me . . . a bunch of horseshit?

But what do I care? I don’t love him. Romance was never part of this marriage, and it’s not part of our bedroom experiments either. So why does his vehement denial feel so . . . disappointing? I was just trying to get him to acknowledge what Camry and I discussed, that sex between us might seem like a big deal, but it’s not. We can keep it casual.

Disguising my twinge of hurt, I reply briskly, “Well, if you’re feeling better, then let’s reschedule sex for tonight. I already picked up some condoms at the drugstore on my way here this morning.” I watch his face carefully. “Unless there’s a problem with that?”

He frowns, but says, “Sounds good to me.”

“Great. See you at home.” I open his door and leave, heading back for my own office. Hopefully I can get some work done now that I’ve set my personal life straight again.

Chapter Nine

Noah

The conversation with Olivia at work today is still ringing through my ears when I make it home just before five. I skipped out on my last meeting, asking my assistant to cover for me, because I know Olivia will be expecting sex tonight. And I know I need to figure out a way to tell her everything. The contract. The bouncing baby we’re supposed to make.

She thought I was scared of having sex because I was worried about feeling something for her. But she’s wrong. I already feel a lot for her. I always have.

She was adamant. Tonight. Sex. Period. Even picked up some condoms. What the fuck am I going to do? Fake a latex allergy? No way in hell will she buy that. It’s such a stupid idea; I can’t even believe I’m thinking it. I’m so rattled, so panicked, all sorts of crazy shit is pouring through my head.

I kick off my shoes and stow them in the small entry closet. Loosening my tie, I head into the bathroom, where I stare at my reflection.

When I signed those papers, it seemed like the right thing to do. Save the company? Check. Get a shot with the woman I’ve always dreamed about? Check. And make a baby? No problem, right? But now that this is all happening, it’s become real, and I’m fucking losing it. Losing my edge.

Just over a week into our marriage and I’m already the world’s worst husband. Rosita was right about the dark circles under my eyes. I look like hell. I splash some cool water on my cheeks, hoping it might help. No such luck. I still look confused and tired and scared.

Well, fuck that. I straighten my shoulders. That’s not me. I’m not some wimpy little boy who’s too afraid to take care of his woman. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Olivia has needs. And I’m supposed to be the one to take care of those needs.

I have two choices when Olivia gets home tonight. I can come clean with everything, tell her about the heir clause, show her the section in the contract she missed. Or . . . I can keep my fucking trap shut and go along with what she wants. No-strings sex.

We’re just beginning to click. She’s just beginning to trust me. If I fuck her tonight and she enjoys herself—which I have no doubts she will—that’s a big step toward bringing us closer as a couple. And isn’t that what we need if we really are to parent together? I think that’s what Rosita was trying to say today, that Olivia and I need to enjoy ourselves. We’re in our honeymoon stage of marriage, after all. Baby-making can come later. After our relationship is strong enough that the heir discussion won’t bring it crashing down around us.

If safe sex is what she wants, with condoms galore, I’ll do it. If I don’t, I’ll arouse her suspicions. What choice do I have? The only thing I can do for now is buy more time to think. I just need to shut up and do my husbandly duty until I can figure out the best way to broach the topic of babies with her.

Glancing one last time in the mirror, I exhale a deep breath. Just go with it, man. This can be good for both of us. It can be the start of something real. For now, my wife wants to be fuck buddies, and I’m sure as hell not turning my nose up at that opportunity.