So, she’s not comfortable lying to me—that’s interesting.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Color returns to her cheeks in a rush of pink, and her eyes widen. They drop to my mouth.
A slow, teasing grin pulls at my lips. She’s fucking cute.
I had no intention of making this a real marriage.The honeymoon was planned as a business trip to my father’s resort. I’d intended to go over the renovation and marketing plans with mywife, but now… all I can think about is if the color of her blush matches her nipples.
How far is Charlotte willing to take this ruse?
I wrap one arm around her waist and pull her close to me. Her sweet floral scent only draws me in more.
I grin. “No wrinkles.”
Then I tug her close enough to feel what she does to me. “And no problem getting it up.”
Her lips part in a surprised gasp, and I kiss her.
She’s like putty in my hands and fire in my blood, making it impossible to care why she is here instead of Eloise.
“Well, Mrs. Phillips, this is going to be fun.”
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLOTTE
Stupid jawline.
Stupid bedroom eyes.
Stupid sexy mouth.
I run my finger over my bottom lip. I can’t believe he sucked on it—in a church.
I slide my gaze over my shoulder, to the other side of the car.
He’s watching me, smirking.
Heat creeps up my neck.
I snatch my finger away and look out the window.
Stupid hormones.
It’s just a reaction to the kiss. He’s not even my type.
I sneak a look at him again—tight jaw, broad shoulders, muscles that seem to fill out the suit jacket. He looks capable of lifting me onto the kitchen counter or holding me up as I wrap my legs around his waist.
Get your naive, virgin mind out of the bedroom, Charlotte. He’s your brother-in-law. Kind of.
The car pulls into a tree-lined drive that opens up to a resort. It looks like a tourist hot spot where I’d expect a billionaire to stay. It’s the last place I’d want to spend my honeymoon.
Good thing this isn’t a real honeymoon.
Instead of pulling up to the circular driveway, the car continues down a sand-covered drive and stops at the door of a beachside villa. It’s cute, with cottage-style gardens and rustic painted wood.
“Are we staying here?” I ask in surprise.
