Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Caleb
It takes her forty-eight hours to call.
Honestly, I expected longer from my stubborn supermarket angel.
I don’t mind admitting that I paced a lot during those two days, primarily because the fact that she’s married—and to an abusive buffoon, no less—is a crime against humanity. Could I have tracked her down and stolen her away from him in the wee hours of the night? Yeah. I have those capabilities.
But I’m a smarter man than that.
Kidnapping or force will not work with this woman.
She needs to come to me. What happens between us needs to be her decision.
I look at my watch.
Ashley and her husband, Waylon, are set to arrive at my office in three minutes. When I hear the muffled croon of Willie Nelson blasting in the parking lot, followed by the crank of a parking brake, my pulse begins to beat low and slow. A sniper waiting in the hills for the perfect moment to pull the trigger. And I will be pulling it this afternoon.
For Ashley’s sake.
For my own sanity.
I refuse to leave this woman in a situation making her so miserable. Not to mention, his behavior will only escalate—and I don’t allow villains to win anymore.
I take matters into my own hands.
In this instance, I will be taking her into my own hands, too. Come hell or high water.
There’s a loud knock on the door of my office, but I don’t move right away from my cross-armed lean against the lip of my desk. I listen.
“I’m only staying for fifteen minutes,” Waylon snaps. “I’m meeting the boys for the fishing trip in an hour and I ain’t even packed my equipment yet.”
Fishing trip. Perfect .
There’s a sigh from Ashley and my stomach tightens in response, the anticipation of seeing her again— finally —prickling my palms, my scalp.
“Is there any chance the boat will sink?” she asks, hopefully.
Alone in my dark office, I smile. Then I let it drop.
Put my game face on and push off my desk, crossing to the door and opening it, my attention zeroing in on her face. Her pupils expand as our eyes meet, her chest dipping almost unnoticeably. I notice. I can’t imagine a world where I don’t notice every little thing about her. For instance, her hands meet and clasp below her navel when I murmur her name in greeting, as if she’s unconsciously trying to block her pussy from view.
Is it already having a response to me?
Maybe that’s why she looks so annoyed.
God, she’s beautiful. Glasses in place, hair in a tight braid. An oversized pea coat.
You can’t hide perfection from me, angel. I see you.
Her husband, on the other hand, has his thumbs tucked under his armpits, chin thrust out, like a belligerent clown. Impatient to go pack his tackle box, instead of focused on fixing his marriage to this goddess who is a million miles out of his league.
“I’ll enjoy taking her from you, Waylon,” I say.
His eyes bug out. “ What? ”
“Her coat,” I say smoothly, stepping back to let them cross the threshold. “I’ll enjoy taking her coat.”
He hesitates, trying to puzzle through my statement, before roughly nudging Ashley inside. And just like that, I’m picturing his blood staining my walls.
Easy, Caleb.
Play the long game.
Keeping a censorious eye on Waylon, I hold out my hand for Ashley’s coat, but she shakes her head, bundling the wool tighter to her body. “I’ll keep it on.”
“Very well.” I just barely manage to avoid slamming the door behind them. “Have a seat.”
Waylon stomps deeper into the office and drops onto the couch that faces my leather wingback chair, sniffing. “Just what the hell are we planning to do here, exactly? I don’t have a lot of time.”
His back is to me and Ashley, so instead of wasting my time answering the buffoon, I meet her guarded green eyes and mouth the words, “Are you okay?”
With a heavy swallow, she inclines her head. Outwardly calm.
But the vein at the bottom of her delicate neck is pounding wildly.
I want to pull her close and reassure her that everything is going to be fine now, but she doesn’t like being touched. Yet. She doesn’t trust me. Yet.
But she trusted me enough to come here. To read the message on the back of my card and take the leap. I refuse to let her down.
A moment later, I’m sitting across from Waylon and Ashley, clipboard resting on my knee. Pen wedged between by index and middle fingers. “First off, I would like to get some preliminary information. Waylon, how old are you?”
His knee starts to jiggle. “Thirty-one.”
“And Ashley…”
“Twenty.”
I desperately want to judge the age gap, but I can’t, considering I’m thirty-three, myself and fully intend to make this woman mine. “Right. Let’s start at the beginning,” I say, after making a note. “How did you two meet?”
Silence.
Waylon crosses his arms stiffly.
Ashley looks down at her lap.
“Everything you say inside this room remains between us. I encourage you both to tell the truth, so we can produce authentic results.”
Ashley clears her throat. “He was…he is my family’s landlord. Two years ago, his father bought the ten acres on which my family’s dairy farm operates and put the land in Waylon’s name. He’s been coming around to collect the payments since then.”
“I’m a businessman.”
“Your dad is a businessman,” Ashley corrects him. “You’re a bill collector who took advantage of your position.”
Waylon turns an angry red. “I did your family a favor . Forgave all that debt—”
“In exchange for a human being!”
“I don’t see the point in this,” Waylon shouts with a mottled complexion. “We got one problem in this marriage and it’s that she won’t fulfill her marital obligations.” He gives Ashley a disgusted once-over. “I got myself a centerfold who acts like an old shrew.”
“I didn’t ask to be in this marriage,” Ashley says, eyes closed. “I was forced .”
“Well, you’re here now. Why not make the best of it?” Waylon drops his hands, and I watch them carefully, prepared to intervene if they go anywhere fucking near her. “You could do a lot worse than me, you spoiled brat.”
And I’ve heard enough.
The events that led them here have come together like a fucked-up puzzle. Protectiveness over this woman has been a flood in my stomach since meeting her and it has hardened now to iron. This man preyed on her vulnerability, did he? Forced her to marry him, which she obviously did only out of desperation. To save her family farm.
He couldn’t win her heart on his own merit, so he bought her with daddy’s money.
Expects her to thank him.
And he has the nerve to call her a spoiled brat?
I stand up, carefully setting down my clipboard on the seat I just vacated.
There is only one way to deal with this type of man. He is a follower. A simpleton. He only understands one thing with his animal brain.
Hierarchy.
Recognizing the alpha.
It’s why I take three measured steps toward the couch and backhand him across the fucking mouth. “A man speaks to a woman with respect,” I say in a low, authoritarian voice, looking down at him from above, while he gapes at me, in total shock. Good. That’s right, chump. I’m in charge. Now you’re the victim. “ Especially his wife. Next time I’m required to warn you, it’ll be with a closed fist. Is that perfectly clear, Waylon?”
“Did you just fucking hit me?” he spits.
“Are you going to cry?” I ask him, eyebrow raised. “Would you like a tissue?”
Face fuchsia, he sputters through a few curse words, looking to his wife, whose wide eyes are trained on me, lips parted. Moist. Knees pressed together.
Tightly.
We’re only beginning, Ashley.
“What kind of shrink is this guy?” Waylon whines, holding his cheek.
“My business card warned you that my methods are unconventional.”
“That’s true. It did,” Ashley whispers. “If I’d known that meant bitch slapping, I would have made an appointment sooner.”
“You shut the—” Waylon starts, coiling. Preparing to strike out at Ashley.
Not me. The man his own size who just slapped him.
Which explains everything about him. About men of his low caliber.
“Don’t even think about it,” I bite off, pleased when Waylon freezes.
Recognizing the alpha in the room.
“You came here to better understand your wife, so that this marriage might function in a way that makes you both happy. Correct?”
“There’s no making her happy!”
There’s my opening. Thank you, Waylon.
“Oh, I’m sure there is.” I return to my chair, pick up the clipboard and sit down, slowly, noting that Ashley’s fingers are curled into the hem of her coat, knuckles white, green eyes watching me with reluctant awe. “But I’m not sure you’re the kind of man who enjoys putting in the work, Waylon. You’re more of a shortcut guy, aren’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he complains, gingerly testing his eye for pain and wincing as a result.
“It means, you sound like someone who lets other men do the work for you, then step in and benefit, such as your father buying land for you to profit from. Another example might be…” I nod at the gaudy ring on his finger. “You played football in high school.”
“Hell yeah, I did.”
“State champs?”
“Damn right.”
“How much time did you actually spend on the field, though?”
I haven’t even raised a hand and he looks like he’s been slapped again.
Ashley undoes the first two buttons on her coat and it takes every ounce of willpower in my body to stay seated. Stay calm. When all I want to do is carry her upstairs and whisper in her ear until the coat is on my floor and she’s opening her legs for me.
Patience.
“How long is your fishing trip, Waylon?” I ask.
He frowns. “Three days. Why?”
I write the word idiot on my clipboard. “Go on your trip. While you’re gone, I’m going to counsel your wife. I’m going to learn what makes her happy, so you don’t have to put in the work.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice even, because I’m imagining the time I’ll be spending alone with Ashley. Learning her. Earning her. Because this man is too stupid to do so himself. “By the time you come back, I should be able to share those results with you.” I move my focus to Ashley. “That is, if she chooses to be counseled by me. Every decision from here on out will be made by her and her alone.”
Her lips part on an uneven breath.
Her fingers are no longer curled in the hem of her coat and the too-big garment rides up and over her smooth, feminine knee. A knee that I can already feel fitting into my palm.
Waylon splits a concerned look between me and Ashley—and he should be concerned. Very concerned. Because if I have my way, I’ll be fucking his wife like an animal by the time our three days together are up. What’s more, she’ll be screeching for it.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Waylon says.
“What do you propose, instead, Waylon?” I ask, drawing a hangman’s noose onto my clipboard. Six spaces underneath. Just enough to fit the letters W-A-Y-L-O-N. “Continuing on the way things are? If you choose that path, the three of us know what’s going to happen. Don’t we?”
“He’s going to make me consummate this marriage, with or without my say so,” Ashley says, her voice vibrating with a combination of fear and indignation. “He’s going to keep…hurting me. It’ll only get worse.”
“And I’m not going to allow that to happen, am I, Waylon?” I say, looking him dead in the eye. Making sure he sees my willingness to slaughter him with a smile on my face. “I’ll have to kill you first, won’t I?”
After a long, drawn-out pause, I laugh, as if I’m joking. I’m not.
Waylon, moron that he is, laughs, too, his relief clear. “What kind of…counseling are you planning to do with her?”
“That’s between me and Ashley.” I lean forward, my hands clasped loosely in front of me. “But let me be very clear, how we proceed is up to her. If she wants to use this opportunity to learn more about her own wants and needs, so that I can get a clear picture of what she requires in a marriage, I’m going to accommodate her.”
Waylon shakes his head, visibly confused. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“Then allow me to be very clear.” I stand up, so that he’s forced to look up at me again, this beta who flew too close to the sun. “If Ashley wants to spend three days talking, that’s what we’ll do. If she wants to be taken on a date by a real man, that’s what we’ll do. But listen very carefully, if Ashley asks me to fuck her, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I enunciate every word. “I’m going to fuck your wife, Waylon.”