CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“Food is the way to Gage’s good graces though. He probably loves these.” I fold my hands into a plea.
“This is about the Big Guy?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I mean, I’ll get some for Ty and Wells too. But I have a hunch Gage is a dick because someone screwed him over. It’s my mission to fuck with his head by making him like me.”
Liam howls. “That’s a good reason to show up with beignets. I’m in.”
Back in the suite, I slip into my swimsuit, waiting for Ty to wake up. I’m hoping he’s refreshed and talkative tonight, so I can figure out what the hell is wrong with everyone. When I walk out into the living room, I notice Wells’s door is shut. He must finally be back .
As if he can hear my thoughts, his door handle clicks a moment later.
Holy hell. I’m not ready.
A swarm of deadly butterflies assaults my insides as I watch Wells swagger out of his room, freshly showered and scrumptiously casual— for him —in gray slacks and a black button-up, flawlessly hugging his trim, athletic form.
My mind instantly swirls with questions about last night—the kiss, the orgasm, and the touches that keep floating over my skin and circling my being like a lost ghost. A haunting.
I’m curious if that life was ever real, or if it was merely a vision of wishes.
A butterfly’s kiss.
But then, of course, there’s the question of where he’s been. Who he’s been with.
We exchange brief greetings, and I spit out my courage as I follow him back to his bedroom. “So, last night?”
He turns, cocking his dark brow at the same moment his lips lift at the corner, as if they were threaded together. “Yes?”
Voice steady and fingers pulling over the fluffy comforter to keep me grounded, I lock my eyes on his emerald gaze with feigned confidence. “I was wondering what happened.”
“Hmm.” That smirk spreads to a devious smile that would weaken the Devil himself. “With what specifically? The vile man who dared to touch you?”
“Sure.” Easing into the what-made-me-orgasm question is probably smart, and I barely remember that guy. “Start there.”
“Taken care of.” His chin dips while he relaxes into the leather chair across from the bed and casually drops a few Sour Skittles into his mouth, as if he’s daring me to continue, but wondering if I’ll back out now.
“That’s not exactly an answer, but whatever.
” I wave my hand, shooing away the thought of that creepy man weighted at the bottom of the ocean as shark bait.
Too many Mafia movies and dark romance novels have sullied my reality.
“I’m more interested in what occurred after, in the room, when we were together. ”
He tilts his head, and his tongue slips out in a captivating sweep of his lower lip, probably gathering up stray granules of sugar crystals. Lucky bastards. “You don’t remember?”
Flashes of him licking sugar off every inch of me batter my mind. Those Skittles could be downright filthy. Sweet and sour. Spicy.
“No.” I shake my head, crashing through my pornographic stupor to realize his answer suggests something did happen. It wasn’t all in my imagination. My thighs ache to squeeze away my need while my breathing becomes shallow. “Did we …”
He kicks his legs up onto the small table before him, ankles crossed, tongue seductively sucking the lifeblood from that damn candy while he studies me as though I were the answer to his most troubling issues. “Are you asking if we consummated our marriage, Ivanna?”
My full name on his lips should be annoying, and yet it’s the sweetest it’s ever sounded. No longer pretentious, but poetic, endearing.
Even though he tends to use it as a taunt or warning.
His warnings excite me more than they should.
My skin heats and flushes. Too mortified to verbally confirm that I am indeed asking if consummation took place, I nod, slack-jawed at his lewd tasting.
He springs up with the same intense resolution all his movements hold, coasting fluidly until he’s right before me, leaning down and tucking a wisp of my hair behind my ear, his lips following the movement.
His rasp wets my lobe and neck and … bikini bottoms. “Trust me, Little Storm, if I fucked you, you’d know.
You’d be feeling me for days. An experience you’d never forget. ”
Good God.
A traitorous whimper escapes me, and aggravation boils in my veins that he remains cool and collected, unaffected, while I crumble in his essence. One deep breath and a bold move for the win .
“Good to know. Are you planning to? Just curious. You’re always so thorough, and it’s the only way to take annulment off the table.” That last part lands somewhere between a pathetic plea and an empty threat. Not what I was going for.
He chuckles, his arm wrapping around my bare lower back to draw me closer, as his thumb grazes over my lips and chin and jaw. Throat. There, he plants his palm, my erratic heartbeat thrashing to reach his fingertips, as though it were caged and he was freedom.
He tsks. “Greedy little thing, I see. That’s not generally how I complete my business transactions.”
Since the mere thought of him with another woman has bile burning my esophagus, that knowledge is quite comforting, as is this stronghold he has on me. I wish he’d tighten his grip, shove me against the wall, and make me his damn wife in the most depraved ways imaginable.
“Of course,” I whisper, peering at him from under my lashes. “It’s wise to stay in your lane, so you don’t disappoint , especially since it’s something I’d most certainly never forget.”
That hand around my throat tightens as his eyes, which normally hold a twinkle of humor and humanity, grow cold and still.
An eerie winter forest. My words may have hit a nerve.
The questions—which nerve and why? His two-day-old stubble shadows the set of his flexing jaw, and I wonder how long he’ll stay like this, searing my soul with anger he chooses not to voice.
There are plenty of other ways we could settle things, I’m sure.
His hand on my throat and his sheer dominance have me cataloging several tantalizing avenues, but by his own admission, this is business.
Finally, as if the silence he’s exhibiting is my fault, he rushes a breath, moves his hand to the wall behind us, and regains himself.
“As much as I’d love to stay here and spar with you, Ivanna, watching you beg for my cock, I have unfinished business.”
Asshole.
“Fine, Gavin . Run away from this, but try not to let your business associates realize how much you fear me. ”
An emotion I can’t quite identify passes through him as he rakes his gaze over my body. “Swimming?”
Him not noticing my bikini until this moment infuriates me to the point of nearly spitting.
Ducking under his arm and strutting away to my own room while he follows, I pluck my packed bag from the dresser—book, phone, cover-up, wallet, and a dull dagger, coming in three … two … one. “Dinner and drinks with Rena and whomever else she brings. Should be exactly the stimulation I crave.”
His fingers drag through his hair, mussing his damp yet styled black tresses. “That’s enough.” Disappearing into the closet, mutterings and the squeaking of hangers filling the room with angst, he emerges at last, a periwinkle-blue sundress dangling from his finger. “Put this on.”
“Isn’t that thoughtful? Thanks.” I snatch the dress, neatly folding it and placing it inside my bag. “Always good to be prepared with a change of clothes in case I misplace something.”
I’ve never been particularly good at knowing when to stop.
Filling a balloon until it pops.
Feeding a goldfish until it swims upside down.
Poking the gorgeous erasing king until he combusts.
Wells steps into me, hand fisting my hair with a sting of warning that sends a jolt of electricity shooting between my thighs, voice a low rumble, like a tumultuous sea. “We have an agreement, and you will conduct yourself appropriately. Put on the goddamn dress.”
“Fine.” I drop my bag with a grunt as he releases my hair.
Taking out the dress, I slip it over my aqua-and-white bikini.
“We’re meeting at the pool first. Might go for a swim.
I will not be wearing the dress while in the water.
I’m sure your associates will understand.
” I consider threatening skinny-dipping, but even in my red-hot state, I’m aware that’s a kamikaze comment.
He says nothing, but plunges into his pocket for his phone and begins texting, holding an index finger up to me—a command to wait until I’m dismissed.
Yeah, that won’t be happening. I saunter out to the kitchen, packing a bottle of water into my bag, and walk toward the door when his barking tenor breaks my stride.
“Wait for Ty. Rena will meet you both at the North Tower pool, and you may have dinner at the bistro beside it. Both have been cleared.”
“Cleared?” I hiss through gritted teeth. Why is he making everything so difficult?
His shoulders are relaxed once again, his demeanor controlled, and his unruly hair suddenly smoothed. How the hell did he manage that? “Yes, you’ll have the pool to yourselves and have a private area in the restaurant.”
A huff flows from my lungs, one part tantrum, one part disbelief at the mess I seem to have gotten myself into. “That was wholly unnecessary. Ty will be with me.”
“Safety precautions, Ivy. Can you simply enjoy the evening I’ve provided without the snark?”
The question and exasperation catch me off guard. I’ve never seen him ask anyone for anything. Atypical Wells behavior, for sure.
It nearly evokes sympathy in me. Although that makes little sense. Sympathy for what exactly? Why are they all acting so weird today?
“Whatever. Thanks.” I’m so irritated with him, with myself. With my bruised ego and insatiable lust for a man who doesn’t want me, but for all his flaws, he appears to be everything I’ve always hoped for in a husband . A crushing blow.
“When will you be finished?” I inquire, attempting to hide my burning disappointment.