39. Mila
MILA
W here are we going?”
“Keep your eyes closed.” I stumble, giggling as I try to find my footing.
“You’ve got your hand over them.”
“Well, then, don’t even try. If you peek, I’ll spank your ass.”
“Maybe I want to peek now.”
As punishment, his hand swats my denim-clad ass, and I yelp at the sting.
“Still think so, sweetheart?” he rasps, and heat floods through me, a shiver ghosting down my spine.
He chuckles darkly when I don’t answer, drawing a shallow breath through my lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Are we almost there yet?”
With my eyesight stolen, I’m acutely aware of every inch of him that presses against me as he leads me down a path into the trees. Heat slips through me, warming my blood, and Christian chuckles darkly from behind me, sensing the shift.
It’s been two weeks since Founder’s Day and two weeks of living a constant battle of wanting him or wanting sleep.
When we’re awake, he’s inside me. We shower together. Eat together. He holds me while we sleep.
I never thought it would be possible to crave another person this much. If I thought his coming home would lessen this . . . desire for him, I was wrong. It’s only fed the addiction.
I have no idea where we’re going, but I haven’t been to this part of the property yet because the trees are thicker, and it’s further away from the house.
“We’d get there faster if you’d walk.”
“You try walking without your eyes.”
In a rush, I’m lifted into his arms and let out a yelp when my feet leave the ground.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
I can’t help but smile when he starts back down the path, heading to God only knows where.
He walks for a few minutes before he comes to a stop, turning and placing me on my feet before he covers my eyes again and pulls me against his chest.
Once he’s got me situated where he wants me, he leans down, pressing his lips at my ear. Goosebumps rise on my flesh at the brush of his warm breath in the cool, damp September air.
“Happy anniversary, baby.”
I open my mouth to tell him our “anniversary” isn’t for another two months when he removes his hands, and I fall silent.
The house looks like it was constructed with the earth. Like the land was built around it. If it weren’t for the modern architecture and the glow of the warm light from within, I’d be sure it wasn’t real.
I look up at Christian and find him watching me.
“You bought a house?”
“ We bought a house,” he corrects, taking my hand with my ring on it. His thumb circles the stone before he raises it to his lips.
“When did you buy this?”
“A few years ago. For all intents and purposes, I lived here, but we both know my life was back in LA. Think of it as a wedding present.”
The way he says it like I was his life and not the job he did, makes my heart swell.
He watches me carefully, like I might run at any moment.
“You’re the only woman who’s ever been here, Mila . . .”
I wasn’t even considering it, but now, I can’t fight the surge of triumph that courses through me.
“It’s ours?”
He nods once, slowly. “If you like it.”
“Why didn’t you bring me here sooner?”
“Because it wasn’t ready.”
I push away from him and make my way toward the warm, dark wooden door. He follows, his footfalls heavy on the front steps of the porch.
He doesn’t let me get far, though, before stopping and hoisting me back into his arms.
“I can walk, you know?”
He smirks down at me.
“Isn’t it tradition for the groom to carry the bride over their threshold?”
Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I roll my eyes. I can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of my lips, though.
“You’re the most romantic, non-romantic I’ve ever met.”
He pushes through the front door, carrying me inside. Inside is warm, lit with a low burning fire in the fireplace, and the scent of vanilla warms the air. It’s everything I would expect it to be. Cozy and inviting. Like the cottage on Shipwreck Island if it had been constructed in the last hundred years. The walls of the living room are tall, reaching towards the ceiling with oak panels and a stretch of stone above a large fireplace.
The furniture is warm and something I’d pick out. Even the trees beyond the back are beautiful, adding to the space with the floor-to-ceiling windows that show off the Pacific Northwest wild.
“You can change whatever you want,” Christian murmurs behind me. “And here,” he stalks towards the windows on the far wall. “We can add a greenhouse since I know you liked the one on Shipwreck Island.” He looks back out the window, and butterflies dance across my heart at the nerves radiating beneath his carefully composed exterior.
The only other time I’ve seen him nervous was when he asked me if I wanted to be his wife.
Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them back. This has to be a joke, right? A place we can call home. Actually, call home that’s just ours?
It sounds like a dream.
“Phantom can run. We’ll have our own space.” His gaze shoots back to mine where I stand by the huge sofa, my fingers running over the soft material, his eyes wild and so blue they steal my breath away. “Did you see the kitchen? You could bake a horse in the oven.”
God, I can never say no to those eyes.
“I love you.”
“There’s even a hot tub in the back.”
“Christian,” I stop him. I’ve seen enough. He pauses, his gaze studying mine. “I love you.”
He freezes, seeming to finally register what I’d said. He closes his eyes for a brief second. And when he opens them, they’re dark as night.
Slowly, he steps towards me, backing me up until my ass is pressed against the back of the couch. He leans in, his arms on either side of me, caging me in, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was pissed off. I can see by the slight tremor that runs through him, though, that it’s something else entirely.
“Say that again,” he rasps, his mouth hovering over mine. I smile softly, my tongue darting out to lick my lips at the heavy wash of his scent slipping over me.
“I love you,” I breathe. “And I love this house.”
He groans, the sound rumbling through our connected chests and settling between my thighs.
“Fucking hell, Mila,” he grunts, his nose trailing along mine. “I love you.”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”
“You’ve got me by the balls,” he murmurs darkly. “I’d stop the world spinning if you asked me to. You fucking own me, and you want me to be happy about it?”
My heartbeat flutters in my chest.
“Well . . . I’m happy about it.”
“You really like it?”
His hands roam my body, reaching down to cup the swell of my ass.
I can’t help but smile, tilting my face up to his. My heart stalls when I see the reverence in his gaze.
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
He smirks, his fingers tightening on my ass. In a flash, he’s lifting me into his arms, and my legs lock around his hips. He carries me towards a chair in the corner of the room, lit by the warmth of the fireplace.
When he settles down, me on his lap, his eyes latch onto mine, glinting wickedly.
“What was that you said earlier about punishing you?”
“Christian . . .” I warn, body tightening over his when his hands roam under the hem of my sweater. I’m not wearing anything underneath, and his fingertips graze my nipples. “I love you.” Now that I’ve said it, I can’t stop myself. I need him to know with every fiber of his being.
“Now, Mrs. Cross,” he settles back in the chair, his hands resting on either side of the armrests. “Be a good little wife and show me.”
Christian Cross is the hurricane that completely destroyed my life.
He’s also the man who put it back together again.
I’m in love with him. I know it. He knows it. Hell, the man on the moon knows it for how many times he’s made me scream it in the last week when he’s inside me.
He’s everywhere. Inside me, all around me. He’s claimed me body and soul, and I’m powerless to stop it.
I’ve fallen for him in the most depraved way, and not even an exorcism could bring me back now.
We spend a week in our house after that first night, falling into an easy rhythm. Out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the mansion, it’s quiet. Peaceful.
He spends his days working—whatever he does—while I unpack with the help of Bella and Ava. I take walks with Ava and Phantom, and I even start baking again with Christian’s encouragement.
I also help Bella out at the Lodge, organizing for her and doing whatever I can to help her and her fear of premature grey hair.
She even offered to hire me as an assistant of sorts, and I actually agreed.
Life has been crazy, but for the first time ever, it’s good crazy. Not deadly crazy.
“I’m going to have to build a gym if you keep cooking like this,” he says one night while he eats the lasagna I’d made for dinner.
I gawk at him.
“You don’t work out?”
He shrugs, taking another bite.
“Never needed to.”
“Figures,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.
“Problem, little devil?”
My stomach dips at the warmth in his tone.
“Yeah, I missed you today.”
“Want me to spend the evening making it up to you?” I can’t fight the devilish glint in his eyes. It’s too tempting.
“Maybe.”
He chuckles darkly under his breath.
“Come here.”
Standing, I think about walking around the table, but what fun would that be?
So, instead, I slide our empty plates out of the way and climb up onto the table, crawling across towards him.
He sinks back in his chair, his eyes lighting with a scorching heat as he watches the sway of my hips, and that’s when I learn how much I love to make this man hot for me.
When I stop in front of him, sliding down to straddle his lap, his cock is hard against me, and his shoulders are stiff.
Turns out, my husband is just as addicted to me as I am to him.
“Is this close enough for you?” I whisper, throwing his words from years ago back at him.
He understands, smirking. He leans forward, brushing the hair off my neck and pressing his lips to that perfect spot below my ear. I bite back a sigh when tingles erupt from where he’s touching me.
His hand comes up, pressing firmly to my back, and his other grips my hip, tugging me against his front before he leans forward and places his lips on mine. My arms come up to circle his neck, my nails raking through his short hair, and butterflies fill my stomach at his admission.
A low growl rumbles through his chest when I try to fist the short strands, and he breaks away, pressing his forehead to mine.
“You’re impossible,” I breathe. His jaw ticks, his lips pulling up at the corner.
“You’re beautiful.”
We also play a game of twenty questions every night over dinner.
I learn that he hates tight spaces while he learns that I have a slight fear of public bathrooms.
I learn that he played rugby in school—totally not surprised— and he learns that I was in the animal rights club—he wasn’t surprised by that, either.
Life is simple and sweet. We spend the nights wrapped in each other’s arms, and I spend the days counting down the hours until he comes home to me.
“You smell like heaven, baby.”
His hands slide around my hips, tugging me back into his front, where I’m cooking at our stove.
“Fuck, I love coming home to you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. His lips slide over my skin, his breath warm, and a shiver moves through me.
With a soft laugh, I turn in his arms, letting him sweep me into him.
“New house rule. No clothes.”
“Going to make cooking pretty dangerous. Or company uncomfortable.”
“Okay, I’ll amend it for cooking only and guests?” His eyes slide down my body before flicking back to mine with a scorching heat. “Fuck the guests.”
Then, he cuts the burner off on the stove, hoisting me onto the island counter, and feasts on me until I’d be willing to sell my soul if it made him happy.
All in all, life is coming together beautifully.
There’s just one problem.
—The fact that someone is still out there that wants us dead.
“I want to help.”
“You are helping.”
“Feeding you and fucking you every night is not helping,” I argue when we’re undressing for a shower one night.
I mean, what straight, hot-blooded woman wouldn’t want to watch water run down Christian Cross’s abs every night? Certainly, not me.
He smirks, his gaze sliding over me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have started this conversation naked. It’s only distracting him.
“You’re more than that, and you know it.”
“Then let me be useful. Maybe I can bring him out of hiding.”
“You want me to offer you up as bait?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I grumble.
“Yeah,” he grits, cutting on the shower. “He got to you once. I won’t let it happen twice, Mila.”
“He won’t get to me, though,” I urge, pressing my hands flat against his chest. “You’re here.”
He stares down at me, his eyes studying mine.
“Please,” I try again, letting my hand slip down his chest and to the rock-hard abs beneath. “I want to help.”
His jaw ticks, and he shakes his head.
“Jesus Christ,” he grunts, pulling me into the shower. “No more arguing naked. It’s not fair.”
“Does that mean I get to help?” A rush of triumph slides through me.
But . . . he doesn’t answer.
“Turn around,” he murmurs gruffly, grabbing the shampoo. “Let me wash your hair.”
By week four, post I love you , Christian and I are comfortable and this marriage actually feels like a marriage for once.
Like today, when I brought him lunch to the office in the family’s lodge because I knew he would be meeting with a friend.
I don’t know what it’s about, but he ushers me out with a swat to my ass before I can ask, so I concede to bother him about it later.
I’m just starting off down the stairs when a cry stops me dead in my tracks.
“Help!”
The cry is muffled, but I jerk my head up on the stairs, pausing to listen.
“Help!”
There’s no one around, so I dart back up the stairs, walking quickly towards whoever yelled.
“Hello?” I call out, but no one answers, save for one drawn-out cry for help.
Fuck. Where’s an adult when you need one?
I look down at the wedding ring on my hand.
Oh, right. I’m an adult.
Worst decision I’ve ever made.
I follow the cries towards a hallway off to the left, a wing I’ve never been in, and slow my pace. At the end of the hall sits a closed door, and the cries are coming from that room.
What if it’s a trap?
What if it’s not, and someone needs help?
I groan aloud. Why couldn’t I have just ignored it? I would take fourteen of Paulina’s grapefruit over this, any day.
Pushing the door open, the room is dark, save for a single lamp in the corner. The light casts shadows around the room, showcasing a human-sized lump in the center of a large, four-post bed.
A man stares back at me like something out of a horror film. His skin is sunken, his hair thin and stripped of color. His arms are covered in bruises, and machines line the walls, keeping him alive. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, so we both stay locked in our eerie staring contest.
Slowly, he reaches out a decrepit hand, beckoning for me to come closer.
I don’t want to. I really don’t want to, but I do, stepping through the dimly lit room and pausing at the side of his bed.
It smells . . . like death in this room.
His eyes rake over my face, up to my hair, and down to the wedding ring on my finger.
Oh my God . . . this is Christian’s father.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice shaking. “I-I heard you yelling for help.”
Still, no response.
Internally, I scold myself for being afraid of the man in front of me. He’s clearly dying, and I’m sure the last thing he wants is to be locked in this room by himself all day and night.
“My name is Mila. Would you like a glass of water?” I reach for his cup on the nightstand, but at the last second, his hand darts out at an incredible speed for someone in his condition, wrapping around my wrist.
It startles me so much, I drop the cup, spilling water everywhere.
Time stands still while he stares at me with those dark, nearly black eyes.
—And then he laughs. A long, cackling, creepy laugh that sends chills through me.
“My son’s going to kill you,” he grins, his teeth garish and yellow.
I attempt to stumble back a step when his laugh rings out in the air, nearly falling to my ass when I run into the chest of someone standing behind me.
I let out a squeak, and Levi cocks a brow at me, shooting the dying man in the bed behind me a look that tells me everything I need to know.
He hates him as much as Christian does.
“Fuck off, you old ass,” he barks at him, and his father has the good nature to at least stop laughing and release me, though his grin stays in place. “Come on, Mila.”
Levi takes my wrist, leading me from the room. All the while, I get this sinking feeling that I need to keep my eyes on the man in the bed for fear that he might grab me and drag me down to whatever pit of hell he crawled out of.
“Stay out of there,” Levi commands once we’re out in the hallway.
“That’s your father, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, shivering as the sound of his hacking cough comes from the room at the end of the hall.
“He’s dying,” Levi says, his stare hard when he finally meets my eyes. “Stay away from him.”
A twinge of embarrassment washes through me, and I feel the need to explain myself.
“I wasn’t going to hurt him. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t go around shooting people every day.”
“I never said you were going to hurt him .”
I don’t like the underlying danger in that statement.
“He’s confined to a bed, and he was yelling for help. Was I supposed to ignore him?”
“Yes,” he says, stalking off. Like the pest I am, I follow him.
“But what if he’s hurt?”
“Good,” Levi says without breaking stride.
“That’s your father—”
He whirls on me, anger flashing in his gaze.
“He stopped being my father the moment he—”
A door behind us opens, and his gaze shoots over my head. I turn to find Ava standing there like a deer in headlights, staring straight at Levi like she’s come face-to-face with an Anaconda.
“Stay out of there. Don’t give Christian a reason to end his suffering sooner.” He starts to walk off, his gaze still on Ava. “Fucker deserves what he’s getting.”
“What was that about?” Ava asks, stepping up beside me, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. I look down the stairs where Levi had gone, to Ava, then back.
Oh, I can’t wait to see how this plays out.
“No idea,” I murmur, wincing at the cough from the end of the hall once more. “Let’s go for a walk. I need out of here.”