Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 22

22

There’s still plenty of awkwardness left in the family dynamic, I discover when everyone starts retiring for bed. A few busybodies linger. And then I discover why. My mom bites her lip and then blurts out, “Ingrid is staying in your old room, but there’s only the twin bed…”

I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter, Mom. Nothing salacious is happening tonight. And when it does, nobody in this family will be within interrupting distance.”

There’s a general sigh of disappointment from the bystanders. Ingrid is blushing furiously, but her lips are twitching too.

“I’ll sleep in the downstairs study,” I declare to put an end to the inevitable debate before we start discussing proximity to the bathroom versus firmness of the mattress. My parents both blink and nod. My mom actually bends to give me a hug, which I manage to return awkwardly. Ingrid beams with pride.

As I pass her on my way out of the kitchen to make up the sofa bed in the den, I lean down to whisper in her ear. “I didn’t say nobody else was going to hear, baby. In approximately thirty-six hours, you’ll be screaming my name loud enough to wake the next town over.”

Her brown eyes widen and there’s a faint pink tinge on her cheeks that’s different from her earlier blush of embarrassment. I don’t wait to hear her reply, but there’s no missing her faint whimper. I grin and set about spreading old floral sheets across the lumpy mattress of the pull-out sofa.

The whole clan descends on the kitchen again for breakfast. Someone had the foresight to bring pastries, so my mom busies herself making coffee. I can see that she’s beginning to feel her age, but I know better than to suggest she sit down and let someone else take over.

“I thought we might check out the farmer’s market this afternoon,” Ingrid suggests hesitantly.

I shake my head firmly. “No. You and I are leaving for Paris this afternoon.”

There’s dead silence in the room as everyone stops mid-bite.

I sigh and explain. “Turning the opinion of the media doesn’t make them go away. If we stay here, they’ll be camped out in the yard and Dad will never get his lawn right.” There are a few snickers at that as my father is notoriously obsessed with making the twelve by sixteen lawn at the front of the house worthy of a grand British estate. Nobody dare walk on it, ever.

“If anyone comes asking, tell them we’re going to Costa Rica for a belated honeymoon.”

“But you’ll come back for a longer visit soon?” My mom asks quietly.

I nod. “Ingrid will make sure of it,” I tease gently.

Everyone smiles and nods. “Oh, that’s all right then.” My mom sits back with a smile .

Naturally, she has to pack us provisions for the three-hour drive. So while my mom makes sandwiches, I let the kids tug me around the block to see all the changes in the neighborhood. I have to say they’re pretty subtle. The big scandal is that Mrs. Rosenbaum at the end of the block has dared to plant red geraniums in front of her lavender house. I wouldn’t have even noticed if Heather hadn’t pointed it out in a hushed whisper.

When we get back my dad has the news on loud enough to hear throughout the whole house. There’s no escaping the shocked tones of the newscasters as they retell yesterday’s events for anyone that might have missed it or just wants to revel in the scandal. The tide has firmly turned. Margot is now persona non grata, but it seems the network had already paid her and can’t get their money back unless she returns to the US. That, right there, is probably the best guarantee that she won’t.

“And we hear the star-crossed couple are finally going to celebrate their happy ending in South America. The notice we received didn’t say where. Do you think there’s a chance they’ll run into Menacing Margot?” One anchor asked with a slight giggle. The other frowns. “I can’t imagine that’s very likely. But we certainly wish the happy couple all the best. I’m sure they have a lot to talk about,” she concludes with a big wink.

Sighing, I extract Ingrid from all the hugs and goodbyes and usher her into the Mercedes.

Justin’s come back into himself, I decide as we take our seats in first class on the direct flight from Quebec City to Paris. But this time he’s happier and less on edge. He accepts the two glasses of champagne from the flight attendant and hands me one, waiting until I’ve settled my purse by my feet. I am so not dressed for Paris, so I’m still a little mad at him for not leaving me any time to shop in Quebec. But he did promise me an entire day of wardrobe shopping without a single complaint once we’re in France.

“We’re not actually staying in Paris, by the way,” he mutters just as the crew start going through the emergency procedures. I gape at him, but the flight attendant is standing right next to him so I can hardly start cross-examining him until they’re done.

“What do you mean?” I finally hiss. “I’m buying clothes in the airport?”

He shakes his head with amusement. “No. I promised you a day of shopping and I intend to deliver, but then we’re driving to the southern coast to stay in a small secluded chateau.”

I blink at that. “Why?”

His eyes get that banked fire look I’ve seen only a few times before. “Because I intend to make you scream and I’d rather not have an audience.”

I gulp. “What kind of screaming?”

His eyes relax into laughter. “The good kind. Did you do something I don’t know about that would warrant a spanking?”

I shake my head violently. “No. I just can never tell with you.”

He leans down to kiss my lips softly. “You’ve got a better grasp of me than even my own family, Ingrid. I think you know I would never intentionally hurt you.”

I guess I do. “So I’ll be screaming because —?” I ask cautiously, wanting him to spell it out.

He leans down to barely whisper, “You’ll be literally begging to cum on my cock, baby.”

I roll my eyes in disbelief. I’m sure it will be nice and all, but I’m not the screaming sort. I take out my book, determined to finally read the happy ending and then I’m going to hand it to Justin and make him read the entire thing so he understands what romance is really all about.

Kitty’s eyes blinked open, and she stared into the darkened room, trying to get her bearings. Heat radiated down her left side and from the weight slung over her abdomen. She blushed. Oh, Rafe. She peered at his slumbering form without moving her head.

He’d made her beg last night. And the subtle smirk of satisfaction visible on his elegant lips in the candlelight had implied he’d greatly enjoyed it. Which meant it would likely happen again. Kitty’s body trembled at the thought. She could still feel him inside her, when he’d taken her completely after she’d begged for him to end the torment. The torture of his lips all over her body while he held her arms still above her head.

He’d told her just as he pushed inside her tight channel, “Tomorrow night, you’ll learn how to pleasure me with your mouth, dear wife. You’ll need a few days to recover, anyway.”

Kitty felt her core turn liquid at the thought. Tomorrow night was actually tonight, and she could hardly wait. Rafe shifted slightly next to her. His arm tightened across her bare stomach.

“And how is my most unfashionable bride this morning?” he growled near her ear, having turned on his side.

“Unfashionable?” she made a moue of protest in his direction.

“You screamed my name at least five times last night, love. Delightful, but hardly the behavior of a diamond of society. I’ll have to keep you hidden away from scrutiny for quite a while longer until you learn more decorum.” His tone was deeply disapproving, but Kitty determined otherwise when his hand drifted up to cup her right breast, his thumb gently moving back and forth over her nipple, causing it to stiffen to an almost painful peak.

“Yes, my lord. I’m sure you know best, my lord,” she murmured, daring to bring her own hand up to explore the muscles of his shoulder .

His sudden bark of laughter settled any lingering nerves before his mouth descended on hers.

I blink in consternation at the immediate reference to screaming and snap the book shut with fiery cheeks. Justin’s lips purse with amusement like he knows what I just read, which is impossible. But he’s smart enough not to say anything.

Not long after, they dim the lights for the ‘sleep’ phase of the trip and I decide to hide my burning cheeks in the pillow after reclining my seat. I could definitely get used to first class. When I mention that to Justin, he just rolls his eyes. “Sweetheart, you could afford two or three private jets if you wanted them. I think you can safely assume first class will always fit your budget.” He keeps his voice low, but that doesn’t stop me from glancing around to make sure nobody overheard him. It’s hard to tell really with the way the individual pod seats are arranged. I suppose nobody would care, anyway.

I bite my lip and tell him seriously, “Promise you’ll tell me if I start thinking my money makes me important?”

Justin regards me with calm eyes before his hand comes up to cup my jaw. “How’s this? If you start misbehaving, I promise to spank you until you get distracted by other things.” Then he kisses me gently.

“That isn’t what I asked,” I mutter when he pulls back a moment later.

Justin grins. “No, but you know better than to negotiate with me, baby.”

I suppose that’s true. I sigh and roll to my side. I get to go shopping in Paris. I deliberately fill my head with thoughts of filmy lingerie and well-cut summer dresses until I fall asleep.

We walk down the quaint cobblestone streets of old Paris. Watching Ingrid charm the haughty Parisian shop attendants delights me. The best part is, she’s not even trying. She’s simply being Ingrid. And when Ingrid sees beautiful things, her face lights up. Her grammatical errors in schoolgirl French are waved away as she ponders color choices and combinations. And I think that’s her magic. She’s not asking about trends or labels. She’s engaging with the salespeople for what will suit her, which is their specialty. Although I’m sure the lack of a budget makes the whole thing easier.

They also seem to love that she has no interest in consulting my opinion. “He’s already proven he has no taste,” Ingrid tells them at one point with a teasing sniff.

I imagine that might be a dig at her original bedroom decor, but I can’t be sure. I’m glad she has the confidence to know what she likes. She’s still wearing the flirty yellow sundress she picked out at our first stop and wore out of the store. I’ve been visualizing stripping her out of it at every shop since.

Loading the last of the bags into the trunk of the rental car, I ask her, “Do you want to grab a late lunch here or wait an hour or so and find some quaint roadside bistro?”

I already know the answer so I don’t blink when she gushes, “Oh, the bistro definitely. Then I can send some pictures to your mom and sisters. I don’t think Paris is really their speed.”

I have to stop and kiss her for being so sweet as I tuck her into the vehicle. I’m more eager to get to our destination than I am to leave the city, but I keep that to myself. If I’m not careful, Ingrid will work herself into a full case of nerves over tonight.

It’s more like two hours before we find the perfect place to stop. The nearby hills are covered in grapevines and the small stone inn features a cafe. There’s also outside seating under a charming trellis with chickens roaming a nearby enclosure. “Do you suppose French chickens cluck differently than American ones?” Ingrid muses out of the blue.

I watch the birds scratching in the dirt. “I don’t know. And even if these started clucking up a storm, I don’t have enough frame of reference to judge.”

Ingrid grins. “We haven’t talked about where we’re going to live…”

I raise my eyebrows. “But you want it to be someplace with chickens?” I ask dryly.

She nods. “I know we have to compromise. You can’t exactly move your entire law practice to Montana.”

“No, I can’t. But what I can do is cut back on the hours I spend in the office. The accident did prove that the office can function without my daily presence, so I’m willing to consider something within, say, a two-hour drive from the city.”

Instead of smiling, Ingrid frowns. “That’s too much driving. I don’t want to get a call that you’ve been in another accident.”

“Then did you have another idea?” I’m becoming slightly exasperated because if she doesn’t like Manhattan and doesn’t like the suburbs, what else is there?

She nods firmly. “What if you sell your penthouse and we bought one of those old mansions in Riverdale? We could fix it up and then I’ll buy us a getaway spot in Montana where you will promise to spend one month every year without work relaxing.”

I consider that plan. It’s fairly sound. Not exactly the spur-of-the-moment kind of idea. “With that kind of price tag, you might have to give up one of your private jets,” I say slowly.

Ingrid simply smiles. “I only need one to kidnap you and take you to Montana.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” I ask, wondering if I’m the last to know and figuring I probably am.

She shrugs. “A while. Rose pointed out that I was being a tad selfish, expecting you to throw everything away to do what I want to do.”

I frown at that even harder. “I still think your friend is a bad influence.”

Ingrid giggles. “Why? Because she thinks your career is important to you? She’s right and you know it.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s not more important than you are, Ingrid.”

“I know. That’s why I’m willing to evaluate alternatives.”

As if by mutual concession, we return to our meals without saying more on the topic. I have a feeling it’s settled.

There’s still one more hurdle to jump, however, and I turn my attention to it on the final leg of our journey.