The Billionaire’s Marriage Of Deception

Besides, there was a soft, regular, grunting sound coming from the walk-in closet that was starting to freak Amanda out. She slowly pulled back the covers and slipped out of the huge four-poster bed, her feet sinking into the plush carpet, the conditioned air cold on her bare torso. Padding across the vast expanse of the bedroom, Amanda peered through the closet doorway and came to a dead stop.
The closet was empty, but it was laid out with more shelving and rods and hooks than was really strictly necessary for any self respecting wardrobe. One of the rods was about seven feet off the ground, meant to be double-stacked over a lower rail. That lower rod was propped up against the closet wall, and the top rod was currently serving as a chin-up bar for Michael Deaton.

Who was wearing nothing but a pair of red basketball shorts, sweat running in trickles down the most impressive back that Amanda had ever seen, muscles flexing as he lifted himself up and then dropped back down.

Amanda drew in a sharp breath, and Michael instantly dropped to his feet and whirled around. When he saw Amanda, he relaxed. “Oh, hey. Good morning.”

“Morning,” Amanda returned absently. There was sweat pooling in the hollow of Michael’s collarbones, glistening off of pecs that were even bigger than they’d looked under the skintight black clothing, and tracing rivulets down a finely sculpted set of abs that Amanda’s tongue suddenly wanted to taste. She was actually leaning forward and slightly opening her mouth before she collected herself, shaking her head to clear it.

When she looked up, Michael had a tiny smirk gracing his wide mouth. “I usually do a workout before breakfast. Hope you don’t mind, but the gym is on the other side of the resort and I can’t leave you.”

“No, that’s…okay,” Amanda said, hating that her voice sounded breathless. Really, going from suspicious of to lusting after this tall drink of chocolate goodness was not the key to a healthy emotional state. She needed to get a grip. Her gaze dropped below the waistband of Michael’s shorts, and she mentally smacked herself. Not that kind of a grip.

“You just,” Amanda waved a hand. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Awesome.” Michael reached for a towel hanging over the closet rail and wiped it over his neck and down his chest. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

Amanda cleared her throat. “What’s that?”

“Hold my ankles? It’s easier to do sit-ups if someone’s holding my feet down.”

Amanda’s gaze dropped to a pair of feet that were as large as everything else about the man. “Sure,” she said before she could think about it, and then she wanted to smack herself again.

“Thank you Amanda.” Michael dropped to the floor and onto his back, feet planted on the carpet, knees bent up and legs spread open. Ever so polite…she wanted to eat him up.

Amanda took a deep breath and dropped to her knees, looking away from Michael’s legs where the basketball shorts dipped low and offered her a glimpse of the backs of strong thighs. She shouldn’t have agreed to this before coffee. Her mental processes were obviously not working at full steam.

Michael had his hands under his head, elbows jutting out, displaying a set of shoulders and biceps that Amanda was half afraid of and half wanted to lick. Amanda lowered her head and encircled Michael’s ankles with her hands, leaning forward to put her weight into it. “Okay,” she muttered.

Amanda lasted about three sit-ups before she had to look up. Her gaze flicked from the carpet to the smooth, sweat-sheened skin over Michael’s abs, flexing and releasing with his movement. She quickly turned her head, but then Michael’s calf was right in her field of vision, sprinkled with curly hair and solid muscles, like he could go for hours without stopping.

Run for hours without stopping, Amanda mentally corrected herself. God, had it been that long since she got laid? Calvin and she had made a pact to wait until after the wedding; well she had anyway. Calvin had been all gung ho about possibly getting her pregnant before the ‘I dos’. She guessed some instinct had made her wary of being all in even as the wedding plans went ahead. The marriage was as much strategic as it had been about love. Amanda was aware of that. Calvin’s firm was a big deal on the East coast allegedly…that was before Amanda had discovered they were going bankrupt and using his impending marriage as collateral to induce venture capitalists to inject some much needed cash into their business.

It had been a blow, Amanda could admit. She had thought at last she’d found someone with whom she could be equally yoked. And then it had all gone to hell; and the worst part was, no one could know.

Amanda sat back on her heels, and Michael yelped as he tried to sit up and his legs went flailing without Amanda’s weight on them. “Girl, why?” Michael reproved, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees.

That put his sweaty, toned, massive chest way too close to Amanda for comfort, and she scrambled to her feet. “I, uh, I gotta go. You know.” Before she could find out if Michael was going to insist on keeping her in sight at all times, she dashed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She fished her phone out of her pocket to see if Wyatt had replied. There was a two word reply to her text.

ETA 1100hrs

Amanda sighed with relief. By the time she came out, the smell of coffee and bacon was wafting upstairs. Amanda threw on a shirt dress over her bikini and followed her nose down. She saw two plates set at the table with bacon and waffles, but she made a beeline for the white mug and the ambrosia-like scent wafting out of it.

The coffee tasted as delicious as it smelled, and Amanda moaned appreciatively as she drank half the cup without stopping.

When Amanda lowered the mug, she saw Michael watching her from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest and lips curled in amusement. “My last girlfriend didn’t sound that enthusiastic during cunilingus, much less a cup of coffee,” he drawled.

Amanda nearly sprayed the coffee back out over the table. “Excuse me?”

Something flashed across Michael’s face, and he straightened up, all hint of teasing gone. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze cutting away from Amanda’s. “Last night, I thought you said you had a husband. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I did. I mean, I’m not. That is, I would have, only…it’s—” Amanda took a deep breath before draining the rest of the mug and trying again. “I’m supposed to be here on my honeymoon. With my husband. But…we didn’t make it.” She shrugged. “So here I am.”

“Sh*t, that’s messed up,” Michael uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his broad forehead wrinkling in concern. “I’m so sorry, Amanda.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged again. “I mean, it’s not okay, it su*ks, but I’m dealing with it, you know?”

Michael slowly shook his head. “So you came here to get away from all of that, and instead I came crashing through your window. I am so sorry.”

“Better than what else was crashing through that window, right?” Amanda said weakly.

Michael’s expression softened. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. I’m going to keep you safe, and we’re going to catch the guys who were doing the shooting, and you can get back to your quiet vacation.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Amanda shrugged one shoulder. “It’s nice having someone around, though. I mean, you seem like a nice guy.”

Michael scoffed and looked away. “Don’t hear that too often with my job.”