The Marriage Agenda by Sarah Ballance Page B

some version of the truth, but she’d backed off. “I wouldn’t say—”
    Knox walked in. To their bedroom. Everything had happened so quickly. Forty-eight hours ago, she’d been complaining about missing a date with her sofa and a carton of ice cream, and now she was engaged to a man who had literally been named DC’s most eligible bachelor two years running. She just couldn’t get over the fact she and Knox shared a bedroom. And a bed. And soon, vows. False ones.
    “I’ve got to go, Lila.” Chloe ended the call to the sound of Lila’s unanswered protests and drank in the sight of Knox leaning against the doorframe. Though his stance was casual—and effortlessly so—he stood as if he had been sculpted. The man was a model of physical perfection. He looked more like an athlete than a politician. It was no wonder he was polling favorably…he probably left every woman in his target demographic quaking. That lopsided, boyish grin just begged to be tasted, and she’d yet to wrap her brain around the fact she was the only one whose mouth would get anywhere near him. She was the one he wanted.
    She was the one he didn’t want to love.
    His gaze toured her unapologetically, and she returned the perusal as good as she got. How did a man who probably spent ninety percent of his waking hours in a suit manage to be so tan? He looked as if he had just stepped off a yacht. Hell, he probably had a yacht. They were to be married in a matter of days, and she didn’t even know. She’d tried to make up for the year of ignoring his existence with an hour of Googling him that morning, but the yacht thing hadn’t surfaced.
    Interestingly enough, neither had any other women. She didn’t think him dishonest, but it was so hard to believe that he’d managed to keep his hands to himself—however literally—since they’d split. She had no doubt the Pierce girls had their sources, but they couldn’t know everything. They hadn’t known about her.
    “Have you really been flying solo since you broke up with me?”
    His lips quirked. “In what way?”
    Her field of view narrowed with her eyes. “Sexually.”
    “You first.”
    “I already told you I had.”
    “And I already told you the same.”
    “A year is a long time to abstain,” she said. Just because the internet hadn’t spewed forth any candidates didn’t mean they didn’t exist. He’d managed to date her for months without drawing attention to their relationship.
    He raised his brow. “Where are you going with this?”
    Too late, she realized this conversation might be taking a dangerous turn, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of thinking he was getting to her. He had enough evidence of that already. She smiled sweetly. “I don’t think you’ve made it more than ten hours since we were reacquainted.”
    He graced her with a smug, tilted grin, which couldn’t be more kissable if it tasted of chocolate and wine. He crossed the room, his bare feet toe deep in the most ridiculously plush carpeting that could possibly exist anywhere, and leaned so his lips grazed her ear. “I haven’t heard any complaints.”
    Well, he had her there. The sex was incredible, but wasn’t that the problem? She wasn’t a Neanderthal—she couldn’t be the recipient of those tender touches and mind-bending orgasms and not fall harder. And then there was that whole morals charge… As ridiculous as it sounded, she didn’t want to be the mistress to his almighty principles. It didn’t matter how sincere his purpose for refusing love. He refused it all the same.
    And if she wanted to keep a single piece of her heart intact, she’d have to refuse him back.
    “Are you suggesting I can’t go without sex?” he asked.
    “I bet you can’t.” She was flailing. And with that challenge, she was flat-out crazy.
    His eyes narrowed but not with suspicion—more like interest. Enough interest to suggest she’d just taken a misstep of epic proportions. “Can’t what?”
    She