Chapter 28
TRENT
We got back to Texas late that night, the drive from the airstrip to my house completely quiet. The shift from being free of both our families to being back in the real world was hitting both of us harder than I’d expected.
Almost like stepping out of warm water into cold air.
Once we got home, I parked, grabbed her suitcase out of the truck bed, and carried it inside on autopilot. Muscle memory had me heading for the room she’d used the last time she’d stayed here, but halfway down the hall, I stopped.
I didn’t know why. My body just knew to do it before my brain had even caught up. Behind me, she suddenly spoke, her voice soft and uncertain. “I guess we’re, uh, married now. Do we… share a bed, too?”
I set the suitcase down slowly, like it might explode if I handled it wrong. I turned to face her. The hallway light framed her in a warm golden glow, and for some stupid reason, my stomach did that drop it only ever did around her.
The whole dang flight, I hadn’t been able to stop looking at her. Her head had been tipped to the side, her hair falling across her cheek while she slept all the way from Vegas to Dallas. I should’ve slept too, gotten rid of the rest of the hangover. But I just hadn’t been able to do it.
My wife.
The words settled in my head with a weight I didn’t hate. This time around, it felt too good. Better than it probably should’ve.
Charlotte didn’t know this yet, but Alex hadn’t even pushed me into this. That was the part that kept looping through my head like a bad song.
He hadn’t cornered me, hadn’t brought up duty, or the ranch, or the legacy. I’d walked into Douglas Westwood’s office on my own two feet and told the smug bastard that I was marrying his daughter, but he could keep her inheritance locked in a damn vault if that made him sleep better.
I didn’t care about the money. Still don’t, but the thought of someone else having her?
That had knocked something loose inside me. I didn’t have words for it, but the mere thought of losing her to another man, any other man, hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Her voice tugged me back to the hallway, back to her standing there with her hands knotted together, watching me like I’d drifted somewhere far away. I hadn’t said a damn thing for way too long, it seemed.
Yeah. I need to get my shit together. It’s not that deep for her, I reminded myself. She’s a Westwood. This is business. A chess move. Stability. Optics. I’m just… convenient.
I swallowed that thought like gravel.
“I, uh, I think we should lay out some ground rules,” I said, not prepared for the way her face fell.
It was just a fraction, quick, like she tried to hide it, but not quick enough. A tightness pulled at my chest and I took a step closer.
“Not like that,” I added, a little gentler. “I’m just, hell, I’m trying to do this right.”
Her chin lifted, but the expression in her eyes was guarded.
“I’m a traditional man,” I went on. “If you want to work, you can do it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.
I’ve got money. More than we’ll ever need, and I’ve got connections to charities and foundations like the ones you worked with in Chicago.
You could do that again. With my full support. ”
Her expression didn’t lighten. If anything, it got heavier. Almost like she was disappointed. Again. I had no idea why that hit me like a blow, but I suddenly felt compelled to really spell it out for her.
“I take this seriously, Charlotte.” My voice came out rougher than before. “You’re my wife and I won’t mess around with that. The most serious thing about my life now is you.”
Her breath caught, but something bitter flashed through her eyes. I frowned, really not understanding what was so wrong about what I’d said.
“Because it’s your duty to protect me,” she spat, almost like the words tasted wrong in her mouth.
The accusation caught off guard, stinging more than I wanted to admit. “No, not because it’s my duty. Because you’re my wife—”
“So was Savannah.”
I blew out a deep breath through my nose. “We’re talking about that again, are we?”
I stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, but as I held her gaze, something clicked. Something I should’ve seen sooner.
Charlotte wasn’t like her brothers. She had sharp edges, sure, but she was also soft. Open. Honest in a way she didn’t seem to realize. She wasn’t good at hiding the things she felt, even when she wanted to.
“You married me to save me from marrying someone I didn’t like,” she said quietly. “I know that. I don’t want you to feel obligated to actually… act like a husband.”
A low groan came out of me, but the next thing I knew, I was closing the distance between us and my arm was snaking around her hips. I tugged her into me hard enough that she crashed into my chest, her eyes wide as she looked up at me.
I didn’t stop moving, kissing her to shut her up, but keeping my grip on her gentle enough to let her pull away if she wanted to. I wasn’t a man of sonnets or poems. Words got tangled on my tongue and came out wrong.
Action, however? Now that I understood.
Her lips went soft under mine, then still, like she was trying to figure out what was happening. Or why. Maybe I was trying to figure it out too.
All I knew was that I wasn’t kissing her out of obligation and it sure as hell wasn’t duty either. It was her. I needed her to stop saying things that made it sound like she thought I was only in this because I had to be.
Fuck, I didn’t even just need her to stop saying those things. I needed her to stop thinking it. To feel, just for a second, what I felt every time I looked at her.
I hoped that the kiss was enough to show her I was serious. That I wanted the same things she did, even if love wasn’t part of whatever equation she’d devised in her mind.
Commitment, partnership, and choosing each other day after day? I could give her that. Gladly. She softened against me.
Her hands lifted, hesitantly at first, and pressed lightly to my chest. Her lips parted on a quiet, breathy sound I felt straight down my spine, the base of it tingling in a way I liked.
My control slipped and if she’d pushed me away, maybe I would have stopped. Maybe.
But she didn’t. She leaned in, letting me hold her like she was a woman I desperately wanted instead of just another responsibility. In that tiny shift of her body, with her weight leaning on mine and her mouth fitting perfectly against my own, something cracked open in my chest.
A thought slid in, unwelcome, but impossible to shove out. Maybe love isn’t something that’s dead in me. Maybe I can feel it.
She made that sound again, even softer this time, and any hope I had of pretending I couldn’t do this with her because of who she was went up in flames.
I backed her up against the nearest wall, still not holding her so tight that she wouldn’t be able to stop me if she wanted, but her fingers curled into the front of my shirt, pulling me closer instead.
“Charlotte.” My voice came out rough and strained. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”
“I don’t want you to stop, Trent,” she whispered against my mouth. “Please don’t stop.”
Aw, fuck. God help me, but I can’t walk away. She even said please. It would be rude not to keep going.
Sliding my hands to her hips without any hesitation, I lifted her up, her legs wrapping around me, and carried her to the bedroom. My bedroom that had suddenly become our bedroom.
As I carried her to the bed, I realized that for the first time in years, I didn’t feel hollow doing this. It wasn’t just a physical itch I needed to scratch. I felt alive. Hungry. Wanted and definitely wanting in return.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice was whispering something about remembering who she was related to, but I shut it down. Right now, she wasn’t anything other than my wife.
We were newlyweds and I had absolutely zero intention of letting her go to sleep tonight without knowing exactly how I planned on acting like her husband.
I might not have planned for it to happen like this, or so soon, but I was painfully attracted to my wife and she was finally about to find out just how much.