His hands went to her shoulders and he began a slow massage. His fingers were strong, digging into the knots of tension in her neck and shoulders. “Relax, Brielle, and just go back to sleep. Everything is going to be all right.”
His breath was warm against her ear as he leaned in to whisper to her. When he leaned close, his cock, hard and erect between the cheeks of her buttocks, jerked and pulsed. It was all she could do not to groan. His girth felt enormous, as if he was stretching the tender skin between her cheeks. She tried not to imagine what it would be like to have him inside her, stretching the walls of her sheath. The craving for him grew in spite of her determination to separate fantasy from reality. Because right at this moment, reality was feeling dangerously close to her greatest fantasy.
“Listen to the sound of the lake, the way the waves hit the shore.” Once more his voice seemed to come out of the night. “It’s really soothing. Can you hear it?”
Brielle made an effort to hear past the thunder of blood in her ears. She pushed air through her lungs and made her body relax as she listened for the sounds he had pointed out to her. The lake. She knew his home was on a lake; he’d told her so as they drove into the large garage. He’d promised to show her the house and grounds in the morning. She was just too tired to take everything in. She knew he had boats and piers and docks and other things she knew little about, but that he said she would enjoy.
The sounds of the waves lapping at the shore were soothing. Rushing forward and receding. A rhythm that was peaceful there in the dark. She concentrated on that sound and the amazing feeling he produced with the unexpected massage. The strength in his fingers kneading the hard knots in her neck and pursuing the ones in her shoulders and down her spine began to help her relax.
Elie wasn’t anything like she expected him to be and that only made things worse. It really bothered her that he believed no one could want or love him and that even his parents hadn’t. She did want him; that was the trouble. Elie Archambault was fearless. She was a coward. She didn’t mind a stranger finding out every dark, humiliating secret she had. She didn’t mind a stranger cheating on her. A stranger couldn’t rip out her heart. Or destroy her. She hadn’t built her dreams around a stranger. She’d built them around Elie Archambault. It wasn’t his fault—it was hers.
Eventually, the heat from Elie’s body, the strength in his fingers easing the tension out of her and the rhythmic waves lulled her back to sleep. When she awoke, the sun was up and Elie was gone from the bed. She was still surrounded by him. His masculine scent was everywhere. On the charcoal-gray sheets and pillows. On the dark chocolate comforter that was folded at the end of the bed.
Brielle sat up and took a good look around the room. It was a man’s room, although the potential was there to be something extraordinary for both of them—if he allowed her to change anything. Directly across from the bed was a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Above her head, the beams appeared to be very solid and hand-hewn from reclaimed wood. The ceiling was white between the rustic beams.
The floor was hardwood and a bank of windows that stretched nearly from the ceiling to the floor took up one entire wall. The windows looked out over a forest of trees in the distance. Two swivel chairs sat at the end of the bed facing the fireplace, both gray in color. There was a short gray dresser on one side of the fireplace with a screen on top of it. On the other side of the fireplace was another dresser with a long deep box on top of it. Otherwise, the very large, spacious room appeared to be empty.
Brielle went to her knees in the bed and inspected the room much more closely, paying attention to the windows and walls. He had nothing on the walls, not even a painting, with the exception of her answers to the sexual questions asked of her by the program for their arranged marriage. Her answers had been laminated and were hung on the wall above the headboard of the bed. His answers had been laminated and were there as well.
She crawled up to the wrought iron headboard to take a closer look at the two multipage documents collated and attached together by a set of rings. Hers were red rings. His were black rings. The rings were attached to the wall. He’d said they were in a frame, and they were, although they could be easily removed to look through. Just seeing what he’d underlined in red made her blush. Hopefully, no one came into their bedroom. Ever. She slid her hands along the ornate headboard and stilled when she realized what she was running into. The twisted spokes of the headboard held several different types of cuffs.