Chapter 10
Warner
Relief washes through me the moment I lay eyes on Delaney again. Another emotion takes over when my gaze dips to the suitcase set at her side. Annoyance? Exasperation? Irritation? A combination of all three, I believe. “Moving in?”
She walks past me, leaving the suitcase behind. I assume for me to retrieve. “Back in.”
“Moving back in?” I laugh like she made a joke when I know damn well she didn’t. She’s as serious as the concussion I have.
“Yes,” she calls from the other end of the hall before rounding the corner to the bedrooms.
I grab the suitcase with my good hand because that’s what I now have—one good hand and one bad—and lock the door. Trailing in her path, I remark, “Back in because you supposedly moved out two days ago,” I say it more for myself like I might believe the words if said out loud.
I didn’t even know if she was coming back.
She’s back alright. Back to spin me into her tangled web again.
I would say of lies, but there’s still that minutest chance that she’s telling the truth.
If she is, I’ll be the fool for not knowing my own wife from a stranger on the street.
But if my gut instincts are proven correct, there will be hell to pay.
When I reach the spare bedroom, I flick on the light, wondering why she’s standing in the dark. “Delaney?”
“In here,” she calls from my bedroom. Her tone is way too comfortable for someone who’s knowingly invading my space. Again.
I set the suitcase down before marching down the hall to my bedroom. “You’re not staying in here,” I say as soon as I see her curled up on the bed.
Flopping her arms wide, she rolls onto her back. “I must stay in here. I’ve missed this bed so much.” The bed, not me. Noted.
“You’re not staying here.” Thumbing over my shoulder, I glare at her. “The bed in the other room is already made up for guests.”
She props herself up onto her elbows, those blue eyes shining with the devil inside. “I’m not a guest, dear husband. I’m your wife. If you’d be more comfortable with us sleeping in separate rooms, then the guest room bed is all made up for you to enjoy.”
“Listen, Delaney—”
“Oh geez,” she huffs, falling flat on her back again. Only her eyes pivot toward me. “Do we have to do this? It’s not like sleeping together killed you.”
“It almost did when I saw that bagel in the bed.”
Her laughter comes easy as if there’s no strife between us at all. Rolling to her side, she rests her head on her hand with her elbow punctuating the bed. “That was delicious. Did you eat yours?”
“I saved it for you.” I come to the edge of the mattress to grab her by an ankle and pull her closer.
Not closer to me, but to the edge of my bed.
Pulling her off it onto the floor seems a little harsh, even for me.
A squeal and a trilling giggle leave her smiling like .
. . like. . . like she might not hate me.
“Do you know how long I spent getting poppy seeds out of the carpet?”
“No, but I’m willing to wager your entire life savings that you’re going to tell me.”
Wonder if she got credit for snark as a second language. She’s damn good at it. “I’m not wagering anything other than you’ll be in that bed one way or the other.” Fed up, I decide to remove myself from the situation before I burst a blood vessel in my head.
But before I reach the door, she says, “If you’re trying to seduce me, Mr. Landers . . .” Her dramatic pause draws me back, connecting our gazes once again. “It’s working.”
Although she frustrates me like no other woman ever has, she’s also fucking gorgeous. The afternoon sunlight filters through the surrounding buildings, kissing the shine on her lips and making me wish I could do the same.
I turn away. With my back to her and my eyes set forward, I refrain from saying something that could be used against me in court. Or that she’ll use as ammo for the rest of the night. I leave.
I’m heated, and my head starts pounding.
I’m about to be out of the “watch zone” as the instructions they gave Delaney stated.
She has repeatedly claimed to be the one there for me, from the hospital to being here in my apartment.
So it’s not out of the realm to have her here during that time period.
But after, she’ll have no reason to stay.
And since she’s not here for the sparkling conversation, my guess is she’ll leave.
Hunting again for my phone, I keep thinking I’m missing a piece of the puzzle, the one that tells me what’s in it for her. Money? Feels too basic for this woman. Look at her. She could marry some old guy and inherit his net worth without trying so hard.
I’m young, only thirty-four. Healthy. I take care of myself. She’d be in it for the long haul with me. Since she doesn’t seem to like me too much, I’m thinking it’s not money.
Sex?
Nah. She could get any guy she wants. That is if she can stay hinged long enough to round the bases. After that, she’s home free.
I’m checking under the couch cushions when I hear her come into the room behind me. “Can’t we both just share the marital bed like we did last night?”
Standing up, I turn to look at her. She’s still wearing the leggings like they’re pants and not made exclusively to work out in or lounge around the apartment.
My Harvard shirt looks incredible on her, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have a feeling it'll go missing from my closet for good if I turn away from her for a second.
A flood of pink deepens her cheeks under my gaze.
The tip of her tongue dips out to lick her lips, and she shifts, putting more weight on her right than left.
Is it possible she really does belong here?
If I ignore my own instincts like they don’t scream the opposite, I’d say yes.
She appears to be at home here and with me.
Holy shit. I’m married.
A quick spell of dizziness has my brain spinning. I sit down on the couch that I didn’t have time to put the cushions back in place before I needed a place to land. The realization leaves me lying flat on the couch, eyes closed.
“Are you okay, Warner?”
“I’ve been better.” The sound of her socks sliding against the wood has me peeking my eyes back open.
Kneeling beside me, she stares at me like I’m a science experiment gone wrong.
She has a real talent for making me feel worse.
I close my eyes, needing some space, and since I can’t get it in my own apartment, I’ll escape mentally.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on vacation. Digging deeper, I’m not sure I’ve gone on one since my dad died four years ago. I wince from the feel of her ice-cold fingertips gliding across my forehead. “You’re burning up.”
I open my eyes to see her just inches away from me.
Pushing myself up, I reposition to sitting and then feel my head with the back of my hand.
“I don’t feel hot. Anything would feel hot to those cold digits.
You need some gloves to bundle up in this tested-for-exact-comfort-during-the-day seventy-two degrees? ”
Resting back on her heels, she says, “You mock, but I think you should get a professional opinion. Do you have a thermometer?”
“You’re my wife, supposedly, and now you’re my nurse?” I slip out over the arm of the couch, avoiding her perimeter to retrieve the first-aid kit. She’s making me feel like I have no sense of myself anymore. If I have to prove her wrong, I will. Happily.
“It actually hurts my feelings when you say things like that, Warner.”
It’s not her words. Sure, there’s a lot of nonsense to weed through the things she says, but there’s meaning in some of it, like now. My bullshit detector tilts, throwing off the balance I live my life by—that I’m always right. What if I’m wrong this one time?
I glance over my shoulder to see her still sitting on the floor waiting for me to return like she has nothing better to do.
It’s that there that fucks with my head.
The soft corners of her eyes, the gentle smile that doesn’t take over but provides reassurance, and the slope of her shoulders in comfort that she’s found here.
She looks like she genuinely cares. And belongs.
That’s more than I can say for anyone else in my life. Where are they? My mother. Jimmy. I thought for sure my office would have filed a missing person’s report by now. Well, even with me emailing, it’s still out of the ordinary for me to miss work.
Do I give them the grace of my not having my phone?
Jimmy and I don’t talk every day. Would I have noticed if he’d been out of action for a couple of days? Probably not. Should I? Yeah. He’s my best friend.
I only see my mother once in a blue moon and at events and the occasional meal if she can squeeze me into her busy schedule. I could be gone for months, and she wouldn’t know any better.
But Jocelyn would. I didn’t even receive a reply other than “Take care of yourself.” Which is nice—I’ll give her that—but the lack of emails and contact from her is strange.
Shit . . . unless they all know my wife is taking care of me.
No fucking way. Is there really no way?
Turning away, I walk down the hall, scraping my fingers through my hair.
In the bathroom, I search the medicine cabinet for antacids to help with the budding distress in my stomach.
But I grab the thermometer because I know there’s no medicine to help with this affliction.
It’s time to face Delaney head-on, standing my ground, and with honesty.
I can’t live in these conditions any longer. The stress she’s causing is worse than the concussion. Integrity, Landers. There’s no need to hurt her more than she claims she already is.
Walk in there. Tell her the truth. And call a car so she can return to living her own life instead of continuing to flip my world upside down.
Standing on the far side of the room, she doesn’t hear me when I enter.
Her arms are crossed over her chest, her gaze staring through the window somewhere in the distance, but her mouth is twisted as she gnaws on the inside of her cheek.
On second notice, I don’t see the light in her eyes like she’s high on life when she’s looking at me.
Concern is more prevalent in her furrowed brow.
This feels invasive, like something she wouldn’t want me to see.
Real. Raw. Honest. Having seen this side of her reflects on me in guilt.
Am I being too harsh? “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.
” She angles toward me, a morphing of her body language as if she had momentarily lowered her armor and was caught with her guard down.
She’s quick to rectify the situation, her shoulders straighter and head held higher.
She doesn’t say anything, which is surprising, but I do.
“I’ve not been myself the past few days. ”
“We’ve not been ourselves in so long.” The wistfulness of her tone, the longing in her eyes, and the lowering of her arms, hanging without tension, leave little room for doubt.
The release of a deep breath provides some relief, but entertaining the possibility of a past life shared with her lowers my guard around her.
What concerns me more is the fact that I had many opportunities to find the truth, but I chose to ignore those options.
Do I need to hear it from her? Why would anything she says hold more weight than the internet, my friends, or even my assistant, Jocelyn?
They would know. Granted, I would sound like a fool for asking them.
Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
Her usual energy has calmed as she approaches me. New angle? “Front or back,” she asks, taking the thermometer from me.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to take your temp orally or . . .” She taps her head to the side twice like I’m supposed to understand. “Jesus, Warner.” She rolls her eyes as if I’m the one who took it too far.
“What the fuck? No, I don’t want it—” I snatch the thermometer back. “Just give it to me.” After shoving it under my tongue, I cross my arms over my chest and stand my ground, staring at her. There’s so much I want to say that she’s damn lucky I’m currently not allowed to speak.
In challenge, she crosses her arms over her chest again and stares back at me.
Her blue eyes have a fire that blazes hot, and her lips are pouty and pink, so ripe and ready to be kissed.
The rise and fall of her deepening breaths cause my eyes to travel lower to see nipples peaking under the maroon shirt.
My pulse quickens, desire for this pest of a woman a complete betrayal in my search for truth. But the swanlike curve of her neck is very tempting to suck enough to leave a mark on her like she’s already left on me.
I shift, letting her win this round of the stare off, so I can readjust in the sweatpants. When I turn back, she plucks the thermometer from my mouth and turns to walk away. “Let’s see what’s going on with you, Mr. Landers.”
Why is hearing her call me that such a fucking turn-on?
I don’t have a fever, so why did I even humor her? “What’s the verdict?”
“No fever,” she says, smiling. I’m almost convinced that she is happy for me. Almost.
She moves into the kitchen to set the glass stick down.
Guess I’ll be washing that since she appears to have no intention of doing it.
I will never understand how someone lives in chaos, much less by choice.
Tugging at the hem of my shirt when I move around her, she doesn’t release it. “I’m hungry, Warner. Can we go out?”
A change of scenery, that’s what I need.
Access to other people who know me well enough to know if I’m married.
Time to put this matter to bed. “Great idea. I know just the place.” I head for the bedroom to change clothes with her hot on my heels.
When I suddenly stop, she runs into my back. I turn to catch her rubbing her nose.
“Give a girl some warning next time.”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“I meant to ask you.”
“What?” she asks, hanging on my every erratic breath. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Have you seen my phone?”