13. Lena
Thirteen
Lena
F ive years later
On the third floor of the Merritt, a balcony overlooks the casino below. I stand there, hands resting lightly on the rail, and peer down like a queen surveying her kingdom.
A band plays from a podium in the corner of the room, while elegant guests gather around the games tables below. Everyone down there is dressed to impress, with tailored evening wear on the men and jewels sparkling at the women’s throats. The servers weave between tables bearing trays of champagne, while the chandelier glitters high above.
It’s a masterpiece. So much grander than when my father ran this place. Perhaps it’s disloyal of me to be glad that Weston owns this casino now rather than the Merritts… but then again, I barely ever speak to my parents these days. We have yearly awkward phone calls, and that’s that.
I’m always glad to hear that they’re safe, that they’re trying to be smarter, but I can’t handle much more. They keep trying to make amends for what they said to me all those years ago, but some things you can’t take back. They lost their daughter that night.
But Weston, on the other hand, is the world’s most doting husband. He’s down on the casino floor right now, nodding at staff and charming the guests, and maybe I’m biased, but he’s clearly the most handsome man in the room.
His dark hair is thick and tuggable, the memory of it making my fingers twitch against the balcony rail. His shoulders are broad and sculpted, filling his suit with ease, and the dazzling smile that he flashes now and then…
Good lord. I’d fan myself if he were any closer.
You’d think that after five years, the effect my husband has on me might have faded a little. You’d think I’d be less breathless every time I catch sight of him. You’d think my pussy wouldn’t throb with anticipation each time I hear his deep voice.
Nope.
Five years later, the effect has not dulled. If anything, it’s gotten stronger. I’m as addicted to Weston James as I always was, my whole body craving his touch.
My nails dig into the balcony rail as I watch my husband down there, my skin heating with a blush. I shift my weight, trying to subtle as I squeeze my legs together—but like a bloodhound, Weston raises his head and pierces me with his knowing gaze. His mouth twitches.
Weston excuses himself and exits the casino floor.
I stay locked in place, heart hammering.
“Lena,” my husband says ten minutes later, coming up behind me to cage me against the rail. “Were you watching me again?”
“No,” I lie, but I’m smiling blindly at the crowd below. I love our little arguments.
“Liar.”
Weston’s back meets my chest, and I press back against the solid wall of heat with a whimper. He’s playing it cool, but Weston’s affected by this too. His breath hitches, and he ducks down to smell my hair.
“Maybe I was watching someone else,” I say. “A handsome server or a man in the band.”
Weston’s snort ruffles my hair. As if the thought of me looking at another man is simply hilarious. And in fairness… why would I ever have straying eyes? Why would I ever even notice another man that way? I already have the man of my dreams.
It’s bad for his ego to know that though, so I like to tease him. It always pays off well for me.
“I don’t think so,” Weston says, pressing his words against my temple. He’s barely touched me yet, just caged me possessively against his front, but already my nipples are peaked beneath my dress and my blood is thrumming. “You’re mine, remember, Lena? This is mine.”
His big hand smooths around my waist to cup the swell of my baby bump, and Weston’s breath quickens behind me. It’s early days, my bump barely noticeable yet, but already my husband is thrilled by the knowledge of me carrying his child.
We both are. Can’t stop turning sideways every time I walk past a mirror, pulling my clothes taut against my body.
“Am I?” I ask faintly. “Am I yours?”
The chandelier glitters overhead, and the room swims below. It’s so hard to stay sharp when Weston overwhelms my senses like this, but luckily, he knows exactly what I’m requesting.
“You need a reminder,” Weston agrees, plucking my hand from the rail. “Come along, wife. Let’s set your forgetful mind straight.”
My laugh is quiet, but I grin wide when my husband sweeps me into his arms and sets off down the back corridors. On nights like this, our penthouse apartment feels excruciatingly far away—but Weston is always worth the wait.
“My nemesis,” I say fondly, twisting his dark hair between my fingers.
Weston winks. “Your worst nightmare.”
* * *
Thanks for reading Dirty Deal! I hope you loved it :)
For another enemies-to-lovers story, check out His Last Nerve . What does it take to break a man? I’m about to find out…
And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy of Something Sweet . I spend every Valentine’s Day baking cookies for my friends and neighbors. But the bad boy who just moved to town? He’s hungry for something else…
Happy reading!
xxx