Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
TRIGGER
The knock at the door comes too early, sharp and insistent against wood.
I'm still half-asleep on the couch, my neck screaming from the awkward angle, when something hits me square in the face, soft but startling enough to jolt me fully awake.
"What the—" I start, but Asha's frantic whisper cuts me off.
"Get. Up." She's sitting up in bed, her hair a mess around her shoulders, eyes wide with panic. She's pointing at the door, then at me, then at the bed, her movements quick and urgent.
Another knock. "Hello? Anyone awake in there?"
"Just a second!" Asha calls out, her voice suddenly bright and cheery. She grabs another pillow, winding up like she's about to launch it at my head.
I hold up my hands in surrender, finally processing what's happening. "Alright, alright."
"Now, Trigger!" she whisper-yells across the room, her face flushed. "Get over here. Rohan's at the door!"
"You could've just said that instead of assaulting me with a pillow," I mutter, shoving the blanket off and running a hand through my hair. I'm in my boxers, and I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks down to my chest before quickly looking away.
"I did say it!" She makes a frustrated gesture. "Just get in this bed before he thinks—"
"Before he thinks what? That we had a fight and I slept on the couch?" I cross the room in three strides, unable to resist the jab even as I'm moving.
"Exactly," she hisses, throwing back the covers on my side. "Get. In."
I climb into the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight, and she immediately shifts closer, eliminating the space between us.
"Put your arm around me," she whispers urgently, her breath hot against my neck as she tucks herself against my side. "And for God's sake, try to look like you didn't spend the night on the couch."
"Hard to do when I did spend the night on the couch," I murmur back, but I wrap my arm around her shoulders anyway, pulling her closer.
She shifts against me, her hip pressing into my side, and then she goes completely rigid. Her eyes widen as she feels exactly what morning and her proximity have done to me.
"Are you—" she starts, her face flooding with color.
"It’s morning," I say simply, unable to keep the hint of amusement out of my voice. "Among other things."
"Oh my God." She tries to pull away, but I tighten my arm around her shoulders.
"You're the one who demanded I get in this bed," I point out, my lips quirking into a smirk. "What exactly did you think was going to happen when you pressed your half-naked body against mine?"
"I wasn't…I didn't…" She's sputtering now, and her face is reddening faster by the second. "Can you just...think about something else?"
"I'm trying, but you squirming around isn't helping." I let my hand slide down to her hip, holding her still. "So, unless you want to make this worse, I suggest you stop moving."
She freezes, her breath coming in short bursts. "This is not funny."
"It's a little funny," I murmur, leaning closer so my lips brush her ear. "You're all flustered."
"I am not flustered. I'm—" Another knock at the door cuts her off.
There's another light knock. "Hello? I have breakfast."
Asha's eyes go wide, and the next thing I know, she's throwing her leg over mine and draping herself across my chest in a way that both hides the situation and makes me bite back a groan.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice strained now for an entirely different reason.
"Fixing it," she whispers back. "Now shut up and look like a newlywed."
"That's not going to be a problem," I mutter, my hand settling possessively on her lower back.
She glares at me, but there's no real heat in it. "If you make one more comment."
"You'll what?" I challenge softly, enjoying the way her breath catches when I run my thumb along her spine. "Throw another pillow at me?"
"I'll—" Another sharp knock makes her jump. "Just…can you please try to look less smug?"
"I'm comfortable. Why would I be smug?" But I'm grinning now, and she knows it.
"I hate you," she whispers, but her fingers are curled into my chest, and she's not pulling away.
"Sure you do." I brush a strand of hair away from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "Ready to put on a show, Mrs. Hale?"
She pinches my side hard, and I barely suppress a laugh as she calls out, "Come in!"
The door swings open, and Rohan steps in carrying a covered tray, his expression pleasant and professional. His eyes are a different story. They're sharp, taking in every detail of the room with an assessing gaze that makes my instincts prickle.
"Good morning," he says, almost too cheerfully. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Not at all," Asha says, her voice remarkably steady considering she's still plastered against my chest.
I feel her try to shift away, but I keep my hand firm on her lower back, holding her in place. She shoots me a warning glance, but I just give her an easy smile, playing the part of the satisfied husband who's in no rush to let his wife leave the bed.
"I brought a bit of everything," he says, placing the tray of food on the table in the sitting area.
"It looks amazing," Asha says, finally managing to extract herself from my grip. She sits up, pulling the covers up, very aware that her nighttime attire is revealing. "Thank you, Rohan."
I prop myself up on one elbow, letting the sheets pool at my waist. If Rohan's going to scrutinize us, I might as well give him something to see. "Your mother's hospitality is top tier. Sending her son to bring us breakfast is next level,” I call his visit to our room.
"She likes to take care of her guests." Rohan's smile is warm as he pours two cups of coffee with practiced efficiency, but when he glances up at Asha, there's something in his gaze, an intensity and curiosity that lingers too long. I reach for Asha’s hand and lace my fingers through hers.
His gaze follows the movement, studying her with his trademark intense focus.
"I actually came to ask if Asha would be willing to take a look at Sahara this morning—the mare we discussed at dinner. "
Asha's interest is immediately piqued. "Of course. How far along is she?"
"About seven months, we think. But she's been off her feed the last few days, seems uncomfortable.
" Rohan pauses, his eyes still locked on her face.
"Our regular vet says everything looks fine, but given how valuable she is, both the mare and the foal, I'd feel better with a second opinion. From someone with your expertise."
The way he emphasizes 'your' makes something twist in my gut. It's not just professional interest; there's something else, something that feels too personal for a man talking to a married woman he just met.
"I'd be happy to examine her," Asha says, all business now. "Seven months and off feed could be several things. Give me thirty minutes to get ready."
"Perfect. The stables are just behind the main house. I can show you the way," Rohan offers.
"I'll come with you," I say immediately.
Asha turns to me, and there's a flash of irritation in her eyes. "You don't need to."
"Actually," Rohan interrupts, "my mother asked me to pass along a message.
She'd like you to meet her out front in an hour, Trigger.
She wants to show you the other side of the ranch, the training facilities, and the breeding program.
Said she thought you'd appreciate seeing how we run things here, given your background. "
The timing is too convenient. Way too convenient.
"The tour will take most of the morning," Rohan continues smoothly.
"Mother's quite thorough when she's showing off the operation.
And honestly, with a pregnant mare, Asha will need to take her time.
It could be an hour, could be several, depending on what she finds. These examinations can't be rushed."
He's boxed me in, and he knows it.
"Sounds like we both have our mornings planned, then," Asha says, and I can't tell if she's relieved or annoyed that I won't be tagging along.
"Seems that way." I keep my eyes on Rohan, who meets my gaze with that same pleasant, unreadable smile.
"Well, then." Rohan moves toward the door. "I'll see you in thirty minutes, Asha. And Trigger, Mother will meet you out front. She's very punctual, so I wouldn't be late if I were you."
There's something almost like a challenge in those last words, like he knows exactly what he's doing by separating us. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should.
Asha immediately scrambles out of bed. "Don't start."
"Start what?" I sit up fully, running a hand through my hair.
"Whatever you're thinking." She's already pulling clothes out of her bag, not looking at me. "I can handle examining a horse without you hovering."
"That's not what I'm thinking." I stand, pacing toward the window. "I'm thinking it's awfully convenient that they've managed to split us up. You with him, me with Dar, both at the exact same time."
"Then what is it about?" She looks up at me, challenging.
I could tell her it's about the way Rohan looks at her like she's something to be figured out. About the way my gut is screaming that something's off. About the way the thought of her alone with him makes every possessive instinct I have roar to life.
But what comes out is: "Maybe if you weren't parading around in that…" I gesture at the silky camisole that's barely covering her and the thin straps that keep sliding off her shoulder. "He wouldn't be finding excuses to get you alone."
Her eyes widen then narrow dangerously. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I cross my arms, knowing I'm being an ass but unable to stop myself. "Did you see the way he was looking at you? He could barely keep his eyes off your bare shoulders."
"So now it's my fault he was staring? My fault he came to the bedroom I'm sharing with my husband?" Her voice rises, color flooding her cheeks.
"I'm saying maybe put on some actual pants before you go meet him in the stables."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She stalks toward her bag, yanking out clothes with more force than necessary. "I didn't realize I needed to dress for your approval. Last I checked, this is what I sleep in. You know, sleep—that thing I was supposed to be doing alone, in my own room, which was the agreement?"
"Yeah, well, plans changed."
"Clearly." She whirls back to face me, holding up the silk shorts and tank top set she pulled from her bag, somehow even more revealing than what she's currently wearing.
"And for your information, I wear silk because I get hot when I sleep.
Not because I'm trying to seduce anyone. Least of all you or Rohan."
"Could've fooled me. And apparently fooled him too, based on how he couldn't take his eyes off you."
She drops the clothes onto the bed. "You know what I think? I think you're jealous. And I think you don't trust me."
"That's not—"
"You were real quick to point out my flaws last night," she cuts me off, taking a step toward me.
"How I don’t let people in. How I hide because I'm scared.
" Another step, and now she's close enough that I can see the fury and hurt warring in her eyes.
"But you can't trust me either, can you?
Can't trust that I can do my job without throwing myself at the first guy who brings breakfast."
"Asha…"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
The challenge hangs in the air between us. I open my mouth, then close it, because what can I say? That she’s right? That I am jealous? That the thought of her spending the morning alone with a man who looks at her like he's trying to solve a puzzle makes me want to punch something?
Her expression shifts when I don't answer. "That's what I thought."
She turns away, grabbing her clothes from the bed, and something in me snaps.
"You're not wrong," I say, my voice rough. "I am jealous, and it's eating me alive." She freezes, her back still to me. "But it's not because I don't trust you, Asha." I take a step closer. "I don't trust him, and I can't compete with someone who could actually offer you something real."
Slowly, she turns to face me, her expression unreadable.
"You want to know what I'm scared of?" I continue, the words coming out before I can stop them.
"I'm scared that you'll realize you deserve better than a fake marriage with an expiration date.
I'm scared that some guy like Rohan will show up and offer you exactly what you should have, something permanent, something that doesn't come with decades of family baggage attached to it.
" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm scared of losing something I don't even have the right to claim. "
Her lips part, and for a moment, she just stares at me. "Trigger..."
"You asked me to tell you if you were wrong," I interrupt, my voice dropping.
"You're wrong about one thing. This isn't about me not trusting you.
It's about me knowing that on paper, I'm your husband.
But in reality?" I meet her eyes. "I don't have you.
Not really. And the thought of watching you realize that someone else might be a better option… that's what's killing me."
The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged. Her clothes are still clutched in her hands, and I can see her throat work as she swallows.
"We're wasting time," she finally says, her voice tight. She won't look at me. "We both need to get ready. You have to meet Dar in…"—she glances at the clock—"forty-five minutes. And I need to be in the stables in fifteen."
"Asha..." I try.
"I said we're wasting time." She moves toward the bathroom.
"I'm taking a shower." She pauses at the bathroom door, her back to me.
"And for the record?" Her voice is quieter now, almost defeated.
"It doesn't matter who I'm thinking about.
It doesn't matter what I want. We have a year. That's it. That's what we agreed to."
It doesn't matter what I want.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair.
She's still running. Still hiding behind the contract, behind the expiration date, behind every excuse she can find to keep those walls up.
And I just gave her exactly what she needed—a reason to retreat.
My jealousy, my lack of trust in what we could be, my inability to just say what I mean.
Well, I'm done with that.
I'm done dancing around what I feel. Done pretending this is just business.
Done waiting for the perfect moment or the right words or for her to magically decide I'm worth the risk.
She'll run, she'll hide behind the contract and the feud, but it's my turn to show her that not everyone leaves, especially when they have something worth fighting for. It does matter what she wants. It matters because I think it’s me.