A Beaumont Christmas Wedding (10 page)

“Oh, Matthew,” she whispered against his skin.

Yeah, lunch could wait.

Then the doors opened. “Come on,” he said, pulling her out of the elevator and into his penthouse.

He wanted to go directly to the bedroom—but Whitney pulled up short. “Wow. This is...perfect.”

“Thanks.” He let go of her long enough to set the lunch bag down on a counter. But before he could wrap his arms around her again, she’d walked farther in—not toward the floor-to-ceiling windows but toward the far side of the sitting room.

The one with his pictures.

As Whitney stared at the Wall of Accomplishments, as he thought of it, something Phillip had said last night came back to him.
You always went for such boring women.

They hadn’t been boring. They’d been
safe
. On paper, at least, they’d been perfect. Businesswomen who had no interest in marrying into the Beaumont fortune because they had their own money. Quiet women who had no interest in scoring an invite to the latest Beaumont Brewery blowout because they didn’t drink beer.

Women who wouldn’t make a splash in the society pages.

Whitney? She was already making waves in his life—waves he couldn’t control. And he was enjoying it. Craving more. Craving
her
.

“This...” Whitney said, leaning up on her tiptoes to look at the large framed photo that was at the center of the Wall of Accomplishments. “This is a wedding photo.”

Eleven

“Y
es. That’s my parents’ wedding.”

The tension in his voice was unmistakable.

“But you’re in the picture. That’s you, right? And the boy you’re standing next to—that’s Phillip? Is the other one Chadwick?” The confusion pushed back at the desire that was licking through her veins. She couldn’t make sense out of what she was looking at.

“That’s correct.” He sounded as if he were confirming a news story.

“But...you’re, like, five or something? You’re a kid!”

A tight silence followed this statement. She might have crossed some line, but she didn’t care. She was busy staring at the photo.

A man—Hardwick Beaumont—was in a very nice tuxedo. He stood next to a woman in an exceptionally poofy white dress that practically dripped crystals and pearls. She had giant teased red hair that wasn’t contained at all by the headband that came to a V-point in the middle of her forehead. The look spoke volumes about the high style of the early ’80s.

In front of them stood three boys, all in matching tuxedos. Hardwick had his hand on Chadwick’s shoulder. Next to Chadwick stood a smaller boy with blond hair. He wore a wicked grin, like a sprite out to stir up trouble. And standing in front of the woman was Matthew. She had her hand on his shoulder as she beamed at the camera, but Matthew looked as though someone were jabbing him with a hatpin.

When he did speak, he asked, “You didn’t know that I wasn’t born a Beaumont?”

She turned to stare at him. “What? No—what does that mean?”

He nodded, nearly the same look on his face now that little-kid Matthew had worn for that picture. “Phillip is only six months older than I am.”

“Really?”

He came to stand next to her, one arm around her waist. She leaned into him, enjoying this comfortable touch. Enjoying that he wasn’t holding himself apart from her.

“It was a huge scandal at the time—even by Beaumont standards. My mother was his mistress while he was still married to Eliza—that’s Phillip and Chadwick’s mother.” He paused, as if he were steeling himself to the truth. “Eliza didn’t divorce him for another four years. I was born Matthew Billings.”

“Wait—you didn’t grow up with your dad?”

“Not until I was almost five. Eliza found out about me and divorced Hardwick. He kept custody of Chadwick and Phillip, married my mom and moved us into the Beaumont mansion.”

She stared at him, then back at the small boy in the photo.
Matthew Billings.
“But you and Phillip seem so close. You’re planning his wedding. I just thought...”

“That we’d grown up together? No.” He laughed, a joyless noise. “I remember her telling me how I’d have my daddy and he’d love me, and I’d have some brothers who’d play with me, so I shouldn’t be sad that we were leaving everything behind. She told me it was going to be perfect. Just...perfect.”

The way he said it made it pretty clear that it wasn’t. Was this why everything had to be
just so
? He’d spent his life chasing a dream of perfection?

“What happened?”

He snorted. “What do you think? Chadwick hated me—deeply and completely. Sometimes Phillip was nice to me because he was lonely, too.” He pointed at the wedding photo. “Sometimes he and Chadwick would gang up on me because I wasn’t a real Beaumont. Plus, my mom got pregnant with Frances and Byron almost immediately and once they were born...well, they were Beaumonts without question.” He sighed.

His dad had forgotten about him. That was basically what Jo had said Hardwick Beaumont did—all those wives, mistresses and so many children that they didn’t even know how many there were. What a legacy. “So how did you wind up as the one who takes care of everyone else?”

He moved, stepping back and wrapping both arms around her. “I had to prove I belonged—that I was a legitimate Beaumont, not a Billings.” He lowered his head so that his lips rested against the base of her neck.

She would not let him distract her with something as simple, as perfect, as a kiss. Not when the key to understanding
why
was right in front of her.

“How did you do that?”

His arms were strong and warm around her as they pulled her back into his chest. All of his muscles pressed against her. and for a moment she wondered if he was going to push her against the wall and make her cry out his name again, just to avoid answering the question.

But then he said, “I copied Chadwick. I got all As, just like Chadwick did. I went to the same college, got the same MBA. I got a job at the Brewery, just like Chadwick. He was the perfect Beaumont—still is, in a lot of ways. I thought— It sounds stupid now, but I thought if I could just
be
the perfect Beaumont, my mom would stop crying in her closet and we’d be a happy family.”

“Did it work?” Although she already knew the answer to that one.

“Not really.” His arms tightened around her, and he splayed his fingers over her ribs in an intimate touch. She leaned into him, as if she could tell him that she was here for him. That he didn’t have to be perfect for her.

“When Frances and Byron were four, my parents got divorced. Mom tried to get custody of us, but without Beaumont money, she had nothing and Hardwick’s lawyers were ruthless. I was ten.”

“Do you still see her?”

“Of course. She’s my mother, after all. She works in a library now. It doesn’t pay all of her bills, but she enjoys it. I take care of everything else.” He sighed against her skin, his hands skimming over her waist. “She apologized once. Said she was sorry she’d ruined my life by marrying my father.”

“Do you feel the same way?”

He made a big show of looking around his stunning apartment. “I don’t really think this qualifies as ‘ruined,’ do you?”

“It looks perfect,” she agreed. But then, so did the wedding photo. One big happy family.

“Yeah, well, if there’s one thing being a Beaumont has taught me, it’s that looks are everything. Like when a jealous husband caught Dad with his wife. There was a scene—well, that’s putting it mildly. I was in college and walked out of my apartment one morning and into this throng of reporters and photographers and they were demanding a good reaction quote from me—they wanted something juicy, you know?”

“I know.” God, it was like reliving her own personal hell all over again. She could see the paparazzi jostling for position, shouting horrible things.

“I didn’t know anything about what had happened, so I just started...making stuff up.” He sounded as if he still didn’t believe he’d done that. “The photos had been doctored. People would do anything for attention, including lay a trap for the richest man in Denver—and we would be suing for libel. The family would support Hardwick because he was right. And the press—they took the bait. Swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I saved his image.” His voice trailed off. “He was proud of me. He told me, ‘That’s how a Beaumont handles it.’ Told me to keep taking care of the family and it’d be just fine.”

“Was it?”

“Of course not. His third wife left him—but he bought her off. He always bought them off and kept custody of the kids because it was good for his image as a devoted family man who just had really lousy luck when it came to women. But I’d handled myself so well that when a position in the Brewery public relations department opened up, I got the job.”

He’d gone to work for his brother after that unhappy childhood. She wasn’t sure she could be that big of a person. “Do your brothers still hate you?”

He laughed. “Hell, no. I’m too valuable to them. I’ve gotten Phillip out of more trouble than he even remembers and Chadwick counts me as one of his most trusted advisors. I’m...” He swallowed. “I’m one of them now. A legitimate Beaumont—the brother of honor at the wedding, even. Not a bastard that married into the family five years too late.” He nuzzled at the base of her neck. “I just... I wish I’d known it would all work out when I was a kid, you know?”

She knew. She still wished she knew it would all work out. Somehow. “You know what I was doing when I was five?”

“What?”

“Auditions. My mother was dragging me to tryouts for commercials,” she whispered into the silence. “I didn’t care about acting. I just wanted to ride horses and color, but she wanted me to be famous.
She
wanted to be famous.”

She’d never understood what Jade Maddox got out of it, putting Whitney in front of all those people so she could pretend she was someone else. Hadn’t just being herself been enough for her mother?

But the answer had been no. Always no. “My first real part was on
Larry the Llama—
remember that show? I was Lulu.”

Behind her, Matthew stilled. Then, suddenly, he was laughing. The joy spilled out of him and surrounded her, making her smile with him. “You were on the llama show? That show was terrible!”

“Oh, I know it. Llamas are
weird
. Apparently everyone agreed because it was canceled about six months later. I’d hoped that was the end of my mother’s ambitions. But it wasn’t. I
dreamed
about having brothers or sisters. I didn’t even meet my dad until I became famous, and then he just asked for money. Jade’s the one who pushed me to audition for
Growing Up Wildz
, who pushed them to make the character’s name Whitney.”

His eyebrows jumped. “It wasn’t supposed to be Whitney?”

“Wendy.” She gave him a little grin. “It was supposed to be Wendy Wildz.”

“Wow. That’s just...” he chuckled. “That’s just wrong. Sorry.”

“It is. And I went along with it. I thought it’d be cool to have the same name as the character. I had no idea then it’d be the biggest mistake of my life—that I’d never be able to get away from Whitney Wildz.”

He spun her around and gazed into her eyes. “That’s not who you are to me. You know that, right?”

She did know. She was pretty sure, anyway. “Yes.”

But then his mouth crooked back into a smile. “But...Lulu?”

“Hey, it was a great show about a talking llama!” she shot back, unable to fight back the giggle. “Are you criticizing quality children’s programming written by adults on drugs?”

“What was it ol’ Larry used to say? ‘It’s Llama Time!’ And then he’d spit?” He tried to tickle her.

She grabbed his hands. “Are you mocking llamas? They’re majestic animals!”

He tested her grip, but she didn’t let go. Suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore and she wasn’t, either.

She found herself staring at his tie. It was light purple today, with lime-green paisley amoebas swimming around on it. Somehow, it looked good with the bright blue shirt he was wearing. Maybe that was because he was wearing it.

He leaned down, letting his lips brush over her forehead, her cheek. “What are you going to do?” he asked, his voice husky. “Tie me up? For making fun of a llama?”

Could she
do
that? It’d been one thing to let him bind her wrists in a silk necktie yesterday. He’d been in control then—because she’d wanted him to be. She’d wanted him to make the decisions. She’d wanted to be consumed.

But today was different. She didn’t want to be consumed. She wanted to do the consuming.

She pushed him back and grabbed his tie, then hauled his face down to hers. “I won’t stand for you disparaging llamas.”

“We could sit.” He nodded toward a huge dining-room table, complete with twelve very available chairs surrounding it. The chairs had high backs and latticed slats. But he didn’t pull his tie away from her hand, didn’t try to touch her. “If you want to.”

“Oh, I want to, mister. No one gets away with trash-talking
Larry the Llama
.” She jerked on his tie and led him toward the closest chair.

“Larry was ridiculous,” Matthew said as she pushed him down.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” She yanked his tie off. It still had the knot in it, but she didn’t want to stop to undo it. She didn’t want to stop and think about what she was doing.

“Will I?” He held his hands behind his back.

“Oh, you will.” She had no idea how to tie a man up in the best of times. So she looped the tie around his wrists and tried to tie it to the slat that was at the correct height. “There. That’ll teach you.”

“Will it?” Matthew replied. “Llamas look like they borrowed their necks from gira—”

She kissed him, hard. He shifted, as if he wanted to touch her, but she’d tied him to a chair.

She could do whatever she wanted, and he couldn’t stop her.

Sexy. Beautiful. Desirable. That was what she wanted.

She stepped away from him and began to strip. Not like yesterday, when she’d been trying to get out of her clothes so fast she’d kicked him. No, this time—at a safe distance—she began to remove her clothing slowly.

First she peeled her sweater over her head, then she started undoing the buttons on her denim shirt—slowly. One at a time.

Matthew didn’t say anything, not even to disparage llamas.

Instead, Matthew’s gaze was fastened to Whitney’s fingertips as one button after another gave.

A look of disappointment blotted out the desire when he saw the plain white tank top underneath.

“It’s cold here,” she told him. “You’re supposed to dress in layers when it’s cold.”

“Did the llamas tell you that? They lie. You should be naked. Right now.”

She was halfway through removing her tank top when he said that. She went ahead and pulled it the rest of the way off, but said, “Just for that, I’m not going to get naked.”

His eyes widened in shock. “What?”

She stuck her hands on her hips, which had the handy effect of thrusting her breasts forward. “And you can’t touch me, because you’re tied up.” Just saying it out loud gave her a little thrill of power.

For too damn long, she’d felt powerless. The only way she’d been able to control her own life was to become a hermit, basically—just her and the animals and crazy Donald up the valley. People took what they wanted from her— including deciding who she was—and they never gave her any say in the matter.

Not Matthew. He’d let her do whatever she wanted—be whoever she wanted.

She could be herself—klutzy and concerned about her animals—and he still looked at her with that hunger in his eyes.