The Marriage Agenda: The Marriage Conspiracy / The Billionaire's Baby Plan

“Well, okay then. Prove it.”

Joleen rose to the challenge, letting her mouth go soft and her eyelids drift down.

Several seconds passed. Very lovely seconds.

Dekker’s mouth opened slightly against hers. She felt the warm flick of his tongue.

It was…shocking.

Dekker’s tongue. Touching the moistness just inside her lips.

Shocking.

But not the least bit unpleasant.

Some part of her mind rebelled. This, after all, wasn’t what the two of them were about. Not Joleen and Dekker. Brushing kisses—quick, fond pecks on the cheek—those were all right. But nothing mouth-to-mouth. Nothing involving wetness. Nothing including tongues.

However…

Somebody ought to teach those reporters a lesson. And this would do it—though she wasn’t quite sure how.

But Dekker knew. And that was good enough for her.

She sighed.

He made a low, teasing sound in his throat and went on kissing her. With tenderness. And considerable skill.

Not deeply, though. He never did more than skim the secret flesh right inside her mouth.

Not deeply…

A memory flared, bright as those photoflashes on her mama’s front porch earlier that night.

Herself at the age of eleven. Spying on a sixteen-year-old Dekker, who was with Lucy Doherty, his first serious girlfriend.

They were kissing, Dekker and Lucy. Sitting on that little iron bench in the corner of Lorraine’s backyard, kissing long and deep and slow. Joleen, behind the fence next door, could see them through the space between the fence boards.

So strange. All these years later. Here she was, her mouth against Dekker’s mouth. Thinking of him kissing Lucy Doherty, of her own naughty young self, with her snoopy little nose pressed to the fence.

The way he’d kissed Lucy, now that had been a deep kiss.

Joleen was starting to wonder what it might feel like if Dekker were to kiss her deeply when she realized he was pulling away.

She sighed for the second time and let her lashes drift open.

His blue, blue eyes gleamed at her. “Good job.”

“I aim to please.” The words came out as a throaty purr. Did she intend them to? She wasn’t sure. “Um, what now?”

“Now, we get up from this table and we go into your bedroom with our arms around each other. We want it to look as if, when we get in there, we’re going to do what newlyweds usually do.”

What newlyweds usually do…

The words set her pulse throbbing. Which was so silly. They were not really going to do what newlyweds do.

They were only going to make the reporter think that they would.

Why are we doing this, really? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t quite dare. She still faced the window, and the light overhead seemed way too bright, too revealing. Whoever was out there might know what she said. That would ruin Dekker’s plan—whatever his plan was, which she didn’t know yet.

She didn’t want that, to ruin her friend’s plan—her friend who, as of tonight, was her husband, too.…

But then, not really her husband. At least, not in that way.

“Ready?” he asked.

She swallowed. Nodded.

He held out his hand to her.

She laid hers in it—her left hand, the one on which she now wore the shining band of diamonds he’d given her at the courthouse. Holding on, he rose and came around to her side of the table, his eyes locked with hers the whole time.

He pulled her out of the chair and wrapped an arm around her, tucking her in close to the side of his big, hard body. It was six steps to her bedroom door. He flipped the wall switch as they passed it. The kitchen went dark. He drew her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them.

She started to reach for the light switch, but he caught her hand. “No. Not the overhead light…” His breath teased her ear.

He left her, a shadow moving on silent feet, drawing the shades. Since her room was at a back corner of the house, there were two windows, one on the left wall next to the bed and one to the right of the headboard.

She remained at the door, waiting.

“And now?” she whispered, when both shades were lowered.

She heard a click as he switched on her bedside lamp. In its soft glow, he returned to her, took her shoulders in a gentle grip.

She frowned up into his shadowed face. “Dekker, what—?”

“Wait here. By the door. Don’t get in front of the lamp. The light should draw him, but he shouldn’t be able to see anything, really.”

“But what are you going to do?”

Again, he refused to answer. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

“But—”

He touched her mouth for silence. “Just wait.”

She rolled her eyes at him and shrugged.

“Is that a yes?”