Page 65 of Bride Under Contract

No, he would not be asking.

He would be telling.

In fact, he might call Arif and ask to meet him. Give it back to him and tell him to damn well return it to where it belonged.

Arif’s father might have saved his life, but he was surely no longer beholden? He’d taken that week off work to look into things, and now—not that Arif knew it—he was possibly going to marry a woman when he didn’t want...

Except he did want.

Constantly.

Usually, sex was a like a prescription for him.

To be taken as required.

Necessary, pleasurable, it relieved an ache, took care of a basic need.

Now he was seeking her needs, turned on by her climaxing, feeling her at times holding back...

Her thigh was over his now, her hand low on the side of his stomach, and he was hardening as if he were reaching for her, almost willing her hand to slip further down. Wanting her to react to his desire as his more vigilant lovers would have...

And yet he liked the chase, the flirtation, and so he lay there, feeling her even breathing, her inhalations so deep she was on the edge of a gentle snore. The horror of the nightmare had faded, it was nice to simply lie there and hold her...

‘Carter?’

He frowned at Grace’s groggy voice.

‘We’ve overslept.’

‘No.’

He turned to the clock. He never overslept. And neither did he fall back to sleep after a nightmare.

It was a bit of a rush.

Grace forgot to wear a shower cap and, no matter how brilliant the hairdresser, there wasn’t a product invented that could tame her curls. To see the lawyer, she settled for the very pale powder blue trouser suit, and pulled on the awful underwear—a little bandeau bra thing that she had to put on over her head, and knickers that were sheer enough not to be noticed whatever she wore. The unfortunate pay-off being they came up close to her belly button.

God, she’d have preferred red velvet and suspenders, she thought, or at least she’d thought Carter would have preferred that.

She added a little cami, and then the suit, and slipped on some heels.

‘We need to get a move on, Grace,’ Carter warned.

‘Then lucky for you I’m ready.’

‘Back to curls?’

He looked at them, all pinned up, and was about to say he preferred them—though that wasn’t his place. Nor was it for him to say that he missed her red sarong, and the dusky pink top, the coral on her nails.

Grace had said she was sorting out her clothes and her hair herself, and who was he to debate her choices? Even so, he did comment on her tension.

‘Are you okay?’ he checked. ‘You look nervous.’

‘Well, it’s not every day you sign a contract for two million dollars.’

‘It’s just the NDA today.’ He waved away her concerns. ‘Then he’ll walk us through the prenup. He might get a bit personal, but it’s necessary.’

‘Why?’

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