Chapter 24 Fawn
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
fawn
Exhaling hard, I ready myself for the thundering presence of Clay Butcher. I hear his footsteps approaching. Hugging myself, I stare at floor-to-ceiling mirrors framing my trembling reflection.
My eyelids flutter shut, bracing for the heat of his disappointment. The weight of his gaze would be too much to bear, so I hide behind closed eyes, as if darkness might shield me from it.
“Jasmine, take my sons and wait outside,” he orders.
I hear Jasmine leaving. “Yes, Boss.”
Don’t look.
“You’re angry with me?” I squeak, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Open your eyes, little deer.” He cups my face, cradling me with that gentle dominance laced with understanding and warmth.
Oh, Sir.
With a sigh, I flutter my eyelids open to his blue gaze full of concern and… regret.
“When did I miss this?” he rasps, each word rough with remorse, and deep with severity.
“Miss what, Sir?” My throat tightens.
“This—” He sighs roughly. “I am not fulfilling something for you, sweet girl. It pains me. Distracts me. I was in the middle of a meeting with some unkempt new colleagues of mine when I received the text. Why? Tell me how I failed?”
“You haven’t failed.”
“I have, little deer.” Dipping his huge six-foot-five frame down, he kisses my nose. “You’re too sweet to admit that I have missed something. A need. Deeper than simply fun or friendship, what is it?”
“Just… since I saw her, then the letter…” I throw my arms outwards, huffing. “It’s not like I have people from my past lining up to be a part of my new life. She was there. I went against my better judgement. I’m a silly little girl.”
“No, you’re not silly.” He pulls me into his chest, wrapping me in long, powerful arms, inundating me in his masculine scent—cigars and whiskey.
For a moment, I see my stepmother’s eyes.
As I consider that expression, how it guts me, more eyes appear.
Nicer ones, like HJ’s when he saw the dress, and Jasmine’s while she shovelled honey-nuts into her mouth, a fist at a time, and Clay Butcher’s right now, gazing down on me.
I don’t need a mother. I don’t need someone on the bride’s side.
Not really.
While I was looking backwards, at my past, I missed what was right in front of me.
I don’t want to miss what is right here, not ever, not when it is so wonderful.
“I don’t need a mum to approve of my dress—” I gasp when I remember I’m in my wedding dress, even though it’s mostly covered by the robe.
“Sir!” My eyes widen. “I’m in my dress. It’s bad luck. ”
“Christ.” He chuckles deeply. “Of course it is.”
“Oh.” I playfully shove him. “Don’t mock.”
He lifts a single brow.
I just playfully shoved Sir…
And he didn’t budge.
He is like a fucking rock.
I blink fast. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Get yourself changed,” he says, voice warm but somehow immovable.
There’s a finality in it that demands compliance.
He flicks his gaze towards the ottoman where my denim skirt and pink shirt are slung in two puddles, exactly as I’d peeled them off and thrown them.
For a second, I see the urge in him to stride over, fold them into military perfection, but he clamps it down and keeps his attention on me.
I tease, “You want to fold them, don’t you?”
The very edge of his mouth ticks into a half-smile. “I want to order Jasmine to fold them.”
“I’m the mess that most needs tidying, Sir.”
“I wouldn’t tidy a single piece of you.”
I pout. “But—”
He lifts a finger, and the interruption dies on my tongue.
“No buts.” His gaze darkens, cutting a line of heated intent across my face.
“Not an outburst, not a misguided decision, not your hope, not your eccentric behaviour, not even your moments of vulnerability. I desire no change. Understand? Let me see these lips say, ‘I understand, Sir.’”
My heart balloons. “I understand, Sir.”
“Go get changed. I will see you in no more than an hour. I assure you.” He thumbs my lower lip. “I very much need you on your knees, and I don’t wish to wait long.”
I don’t want him to go.
The lights overhead glare down, creating a shadow on the lower half of his face, rendering him both beautiful and more formidable.
It’s never wise to challenge him when he’s serious, but I still want to.
There’s some stupid, shy part of me that knows I am the exception—the rule-breaker who gets away with everything.
I could drop to my knees here. Could reach out and grab the beautiful bulge between his thick thighs, stroke him, until he is so overcome with longing or concern that all of his priorities rearrange, and I become the only thing he can see.
But I know that to be the right woman for him, I need to understand that he is a businessman.
So instead of being eccentric for once, I don’t do that. He grants me a small, almost paternal smile. “Despite how this happened, little deer, I am very proud of the way you stood up for yourself.”
“Jasmine stood up for me,” I mumble.
He tucks a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear. “You didn’t freeze. You didn’t shrink. Now do as you’re told. Wait for me at home.”
I want to say: I have waited at home my whole life, rationing attention like peanut butter and two-minute noodles. He knows this, so I just nod.
He’s not asking anyway.
He’s telling.
Which is what I like.
“I understand, Sir.”
He smiles, knowing. “Thirty minutes, little deer. Is that better? I will hurry home to my beautiful bride.”
I smile. “Se.”
“Have your pretty body ready for me, sweet girl.” He drops his hands from my face and walks towards the door, moving with that silent, predatory grace that makes people step aside for him even before they notice who he is.