A Smart Choice: Arranged Marriage Romance Page 2

  Dad and Randy are at the bar, drinking gin and tonics and talking about whatever it is they talk about.

  Truth is, they might not have their priorities straight when it comes to the Foundation's budget and they're both controlling sons of bitches that make me want to put my fist through a wall most of the time, but they're not all bad.

  My folks have their good points and even though requiring me to get married before I'm allowed to officially become the Compass Foundation's new president is complete crap, I think they really do think a wife and a family will make me settle down and maybe even make me happy.

  I guess it's not out of the question-- the folks have been hitched for about 34 years now and I think they actually like each other. I can't say the idea of having someone permanent in my life doesn't have some appeal.

  Someone to keep my cock warm sure, but I could stand the idea of a woman around the house for all that other shit that comes with being married. Sitting on the sofa watching TV and shit decorating my place and dragging me off to stupid festivals and making me laugh. All the crap that guys don't like to admit to wanting in their life.

  The kind of crap that I'm sure as hell not going to admit to wanting. Fuck it, I think, it's just a convenience thing. I need a wife to get the job and then we're done. Even a professional match maker isn't going to find a woman out there for the likes of me.

  While we're waiting for Stephany to show up, I humor Mom and Aunt Joanie by letting them tell me how many kids we'll have and how long we'll wait before having them. They yatter on about schools and music lessons and shit.

  I'd rather hang out here with the women talking about wedding planners than be held hostage by Dad and Randy, standing around pretending to agree with whatever view they've taken over whatever news story is on the bar TV.

  I want to tell them both to drop the act. It's OK to relax now and then, let the politics go and just watch a damn game, but I'm not sure they even know how. I turn my head and look at them, standing in the bar, both of them wearing suits and ties like this is a board meeting.

  Besides, my family seems to have decided that even though Raven's no alcohol on the first date doesn't apply to them in the slightest, somehow it still applies to me. So while Dad and Randy are in the bar and Joanie's already told our server what wine to have chilled for dinner, I'm expected to stick with coffee or pop.

  I excuse myself for a minute so I can get some air and sneak a swig of bourbon. When I finally return from my self-guided tour of the restaurant's parking lot I find my party already seated in the dining room.

  Trying not to be too pissed off that Mom couldn't bother to text me, I make my way through the dimly lit room and grab the only empty seat at the table, directly across from the woman I've never seen before.

  It takes me a few seconds of getting my drink order in-- water-- and checking out the menu before I even get around to eyeing the woman across from me.

  I can feel her eyes on me, silently waiting for me to look up and give her the time of day. She needs to know that's not what I'm about. I'm not some love sick puppy dog that's desperate to buy a fucking diamond ring. This is a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience and I don't want her expecting me to fall down and worship her or anything.

  She needs to know I'm not desperate.

  I'll look at her when I'm good and fucking ready.

  The waiter comes by with drinks and the appetizers that were ordered before I made it to the table. I lay my menu down and wait for the waiter to make his way around the table before taking my order.

  I see the manicured nails that adorn her petite hands as they reach into my field of view to hold her water goblet around the stem.

  I don't know if she's abiding by the no alcohol rule voluntarily or if she just doesn't drink.

  I can tell I'm making her nervous. I've barely acknowledged her since she got here.

  When the waiter leaves I take my time to really look at her, my eyes get stuck on her rack. She wearing a low cut top, stretchy and skin tight that shows off her assets real well. She's gotta have some sort of push up bra under there that's creating all that cleavage that makes my dick come to life suddenly as thoughts of the titty fucking I could give her slam in to my head. I'd love to see those babies wrapped around my cock but I'd also like to see the way they move up and down on her chest while she's getting shit fucked out of her.

  Images of this woman under me, moaning in pleasure fill my mind so vividly I have to check myself to keep from saying something nasty to her out loud.

  Like she knows what I'm thinking, I watch her the tip of her little pink tongue dart between her lips and move over the top one slowly. Her eyes remain lowered but I can see her peeking through thick, dark lashes to watch me.

  Her lips are moist and they glisten in the flickering light of the fake candles in the centerpieces and then they part slightly as she sucks in a sharp breath like she just heard what I was thinking.

  My cock's so hard it hurts and I have to take a sip of my damn water so I don't groan from the pressure.

  I'm not gonna pretend I can't be as much of a dog as any other man and I've never had any trouble getting what I want from women. I'm used to getting away with staring and when a girl calls me on it, I'm used to getting away with telling them exactly what I'm thinking. More times than not that approach gets me laid.

  I don't know why looking at Stephany feels different. Maybe it's cause my family is sitting at the table with us, pumping her for information. Maybe it's cause I already know this woman's here because we're getting married.

  Hell, you'd think that'd ruin it, right? Kill the thrill of the chase and all that? But no. It's like lighting a long fuse and watching it burn toward a box full of dynamite.

  While I listen to her field questions from my family I start to notice something else about her. She's got grace. She takes every one of my uncle's sexist remarks and serves them back with such dignity that even I almost miss some of the barbs she gets in.

  Uncle Randal seems oblivious to her jabs. Everyone, in fact, seems to approve of Stephany.

  This woman is more than just a nice piece of eye candy, she's educated and witty and she's in this whole arranged marriage thing with her whole heart.

  She doesn't deserve what I'm going to do to her and by the time the server comes around asking about desserts, I've had enough.

  This woman is too good for me and she's had 4 courses to figure that out.

  Chapter 5

  Stephany

  I can't decide if I'm thrilled to have skipped the interview process by Devon's team or if meeting his family would have been a giant wake up call to get the fuck out while there was still time.

  Devon. I keep sneaking looks up at him, trying to get a feel for the man that the best professional matchmaker in the US thinks is right for me. I'm starting to think Raven's off her game.

  He's a few years older than I am. OK, I knew that from his file. He's tall. I knew that too. He's, erm, kinda totally obviously so not that into me. Or anyone at this table. Or being here at all.

  He is kinda hot though. Well. In a rough-around-the-edges, bad boy sort of way. He looks like he spends more time in jeans than in the button front shirt and sport coat that he's wearing now.

  Bernard and Randal-- Devon's father and uncle-- are so out of place in their suits and ties and the women, his mother and his aunt Joanie, are so stiff and formal while they eat that I find myself worrying about which fork I'm using.

  It's California. Sure, it's a really nice restaurant, but everyone in here is wearing jeans or shorts and no one's going to look at the old men in their shorts and sandals sideways because we all know they're the richest dudes in the place.

  "So would you be willing to relocate then?" Dorothy asks politely between carefully chewed and swallowed bits of salmon.

  Her question catches me slightly off guard. I not sure why. I mean, she and Devon's father and uncle have been interrogating me since the first round of drink
s was ordered.

  Not that I'm drinking anything stronger than iced tea.

  Bernard, Devon's father, has been very strict on making sure that Devon and I don't drink. It's one of Raven's rules for the first meeting.

  I took it to mean that no one at the meeting was supposed to be drinking, but I guess Devon's family thinks it only applies to the couple seeing as how the men are both drinking gin and both Dorothy and Joanie are on their third glasses of wine.

  Devon's family is full of questions for me. They're polite enough but I don't feel comfortable. I feel more like I'm interviewing for a job than a marriage.

  Devon himself barely talks.

  I'm pretty sure everything about me is a disappointment to him.

  The sound of a chair moving against the floor pulls my attention off of my would-be father-in-law and I notice Devon making a much envied escape.

  The server is taking orders for coffee and dessert and I'm pretty sure I hear the words "fuck no" as Devon waves his hand dismissively on his way out of the dining room.

  I watch him stalk out of the restaurant and even though he hasn't said much to me all night, I can't help but feel abandoned.

  I silently shake my head no when the server looks to me for my dessert order, "I'm sorry," I say politely as I begin to push my chair away from the table, "I didn't realize it had gotten so late, I need to get back home."

  Bernard and Randal both stand politely, Dorothy and Joan gush about how nice it was to meet me.

  Once the women have said their polite goodbyes they're busy with their dessert course as they whisper to each other. I'm sure they'll be talking about me for hours.

  Randal takes his seat after shaking my hand and turns his attention to the conversation between Dorothy and Joan.

  Bernard comes around to my side of the table and offers to walk me to my car after assuring me that I don't need to chip in for dinner.

  It takes a little doing to convince him that I'll be fine walking out on my own.

  "I apologize for my son," he adds quietly as I gather my purse, "I'm not sure where he's gone off to, I'm certain he'll be disappointed that he missed seeing you off."

  I give him a tight smile and mumble something about being sure that I'll have plenty of time to get to know Devon in the future. Honestly, I'm already working out the wording I'm going to use when I leave a voicemail on Raven's service as soon as I get home.

  Between Devon's lack of interest in me and the way his family made me feel like I'm barely adequate, I'm ready to call the whole thing off. Not just Devon, but the whole arranged marriage thing.

  Chapter 6

  Devon

  "I think they like you."

  I watch her jump as she walks past me in the parking lot. I came out here for some fresh air and a couple shots of bourbon. I figured I'd make myself scarce and let Stephany make a break for it before my family suggested we take a fucking moonlight walk on the beach or some shit.

  I know I was a jerk during dinner, I just hope she takes the hint and calls this thing off. There's no hope for me, one way or another, I have to find a wife. Stephany doesn't need to get caught up in my mess though. The biggest favor I can do for her is treat her like shit and convince her to move on.

  I'm sitting on the curb, smoking a damn cigarette that I bummed off the bartender. I don't even smoke but fuck, after the worst date of my life with the hottest woman I've ever seen-- a smoke sounded like a good way to calm the fuck down.

  Her shoulders almost hit the little silver hoops hanging from her ears when she hears my voice.

  "I thought you escaped," she tells me with unrestrained sarcasm in her voice.

  I can't help but notice that my short laugh sounds bitter.

  Stephany gets a little closer, still standing just out of reach. If I really wanted to grab her she wouldn't be able to get away before I had a hold of her. I don't know if she knows that or not though, and I have no intention of grabbing her so what the hell.

  I look up at her from where I'm sitting damn near on the ground. If she'd come a little closer I'd be able to see up that skirt she's wearing. It's short, damn short, but it's not tight. It's one of those flowy things and if she turned around fast enough it'd flare out and show me what she's got on under it.

  Part of me wonders what it would take to get her to spin on her heels and give me that shot. Part of me wants to make sure she never leaves.

  Her long legs move a foot closer to me. The heels of her strappy little sandals making a clicking noise against the pavement.

  I still can't see up that skirt, but I can see the shape of her legs. The way her calves are toned as they narrow at her knee and then the way her thighs flare as they disappear under the hem of that little skirt. I get a real good idea of where those thighs go. I picture the way they join at the hinge of her hips and the way her ass is round and soft.

  Maybe I'm interested in grabbing her after all. I could catch her behind the knees right now and pull her onto my lap, forcing her to straddle me.

  The scene plays out in my head, the sound she'd make when I first touch her-- that little gasp of shock and refusal as I pull her knees apart and her body falls onto mine.

  My dick jumps to attention behind my zipper and I shift positions on the curb so the fucker has room.

  "They came all the way out here to meet my new wife," I look up at her and jerk my head back toward the restaurant, "I figured I'd give them some time alone with you so they can tell you all my secrets."

  "I don't think there's any danger of me being your wife at this point."

  My fiance sounds pretty bitter as she spits the words down at me, but those legs move one more step toward me.

  Now she's standing right over me. I turn my head to look up at her face, but I let my eyes take their time getting there. I let my gaze slide up her legs, real slow, like I'm thinking I'd like to do with my hands.

  I get a glimpse of what's under the skirt, the slightest flash of a pale lace triangle covering a nicely shaped mound so smooth I wonder if she's got any hair there at all. She's not wearing nylons. It's like women in California have never heard of pantyhose-- can't say I miss em.

  From where I'm sitting on the ground I can't see how perky her tits are, but I remember them from my first good look at her earlier.

  By the time I get up to her face, my eyes on hers, my dick's so hard I could hammer nails with it.

  "You're probably right about that," I give her a lopsided smirk.

  "Are you drunk?"

  I flat out laugh at her. She sounds so fucking shocked to see me take a swig from the flask I had stashed in my inside pocket just in case.

  "I fucking wish," I tell her honestly, "here," I raise my hand up and offer her the bourbon.

  "There's not even supposed to be alcohol at the first meeting."

  Damn if she doesn't sound genuinely disappointed, shaking her head in refusal of my offer and making her dark hair dance around her shoulders.

  I get to my feet slowly until I'm standing in front of her. Now it's my turn to look down at her and fuck if she isn't just as interesting from this angle. Although I can't see those panties anymore. Her head comes up about even with my throat and I can't help but think that she could be licking my nipples without having to bend over.

  She's welcome to bend over though. Bend over and lick anything she wants.

  "You always play by the rules?" I crush the cigarette under the hell of my shoe. I wasn't smoking it anyway.

  I'm crowding her space on purpose, standing so close that her tits almost touch my chest and I like watching her fight the urge to take a step back. I like that she's fighting it. I can see her chest rising and falling as her breathing picks up and she looks nervous with me hovering over her like this, but she stands her ground.

  "When they make sense I do," she tells me in a little voice that sounds like she's on edge about something. I can't help but think I'd like to put her on the edge of something-- a table, a countertop, a soul sh
attering orgasm.

  She looks up at me and fixes me in those eyes. Out here in the dark I can't make out the color, but inside the restaurant I could see the bright hazel just fine. The kind of eyes that she probably thinks are just brown, but they're really an amazing warm caramel color with a touch of fire that lights them up when she's all worked up over something.

  Now she's looking up at me with her head tilted back because I'm standing too close for her to make eye contact with me otherwise. And she isn't shy about making eye contact either. That just gets my dick harder, thinking about how much I'd like to get her worked up and see that fire in her eyes while she's looking at me.

  Not like she is now, her delicate little jaw set in a hard line as she glares at me.

  Uh uh, not like this. I want to see her undone. Her lashes fluttering over those pretty eyes and that pouty mouth swollen from hard kissing and sucking my cock as she pants my name-- fuck.

  This chick is smart and she's gorgeous and she deserves a lot better than the likes of me. She sure as hell deserves to marry into something better than the raw deal I'm offering.

  I'd like to give her a raw deal, all right, I think as I stare at those lips.

  As forced marriages go, I could do a lot worse than this little firecracker. I sure as hell wouldn't mind sinking my cock into any one of her holes. I'd like to make her stop looking at me like she is right now too. Like I'm a total asshole. Like I'm not what she's looking for.

  Maybe I am an asshole, maybe I'm not what she's looking for but I could prove to her that I'm what she needs.

  That's a thought I can't keep hold of. This woman needs to run as far away from me as she can, and if she doesn't do it soon I might not let her get away.

  I leer down at her, making no effort to conceal the filth that's going through my head while I put the flask to my lips again, "rules are made to be broken, Babydoll," I tell her.