Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AMES
I’d started off, not completely hating, but certainly not liking or respecting the man who circumstances had forced me to marry.
Our early days in the cabin only confirmed my worst fears.
But as the days wore on, I’d begun to see him in a different light and found myself actually enjoying his company.
From dreading going downstairs to see him each day, I’d started to look forward to the morning.
And now I’m seeing him in different ways. He’s turned into a man who I find hard to resist. Was it Stockholm Syndrome? Was I turning to him because he was my only company? Am I a fool to think he’s changed from the man I’d first met?
Last night, we’d kissed. He started it, and I responded without thinking.
A sudden impulse, which I wondered whether I’d soon regret, worrying he might believe I was offering something I was not yet ready to give.
But while I knew he had sexual needs—I’d been so embarrassed when I’d picked up his clothes and the evidence of his release had been all over them—he hadn’t pressured me for anything else.
He hadn’t even moved his hands to anywhere I’d deem inappropriate.
He knows I’m a virgin, of course, I’d virtually spelled it out to him back in that store cupboard.
I wasn’t totally inexperienced, but last night I’d learned I’d been kissing boys, not a red-blooded man.
I’d never been kissed so sensuously before.
I never understood how the innocent touching of lips could make my toes curl, and the very core of me throb.
I’m scared of my body’s response to him, concerned about giving him something society taught was prized and precious, worried that it was just the circumstances, and not a real attraction between us.
He’s a handsome man. Christ, at night I replay seeing him as I had that day in just his underwear.
He had the famed six-pack and a V leading to a nirvana I could only dream of.
He’s started stirring feelings inside that I’d only ever read about.
If he’d pushed, if he’d attempted to take more, I might have given in.
But he hadn’t. He’d shown a respect for me that I wouldn’t have expected. And that, surprisingly, had made me wish he’d take things further to do something to assuage the rising urges I could feel within me. Too na?ve, though, I hadn’t been able to ask for what I wanted.
When we’d finally pulled apart, he’d left a parting peck on my lips and had totally ruined the mood by asking, “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”
Maybe if I’d been more seasoned, I’d have replied by asking whether he was fucking joking. But as I’m not, I just stuttered a single word, “Yes.”
Taking my flashlight, I went to the bathroom and returned.
As he’d gotten into the habit of doing, he’d moved the seat cushions and made his bed on the floor.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him whether he’d prefer to share mine instead.
But those words went unsaid. Instead, I’d waggled my hand at him in an embarrassing wave, and then I’d gone to climb the ladder-like steps that took me up to my bed.
He’d awoken my body and had left me frustrated. At that moment I’d regretted leaving so many things behind when I’d run, and not least, my trusty vibrator. I’d used my fingers, a poor substitute. But at least I’d gotten myself off.
My sleep wasn’t dreamless. He’s haunted me throughout the night, that kiss replaying on repeat in my mind.
Stockholm Syndrome, I’d had to remind myself, when I woke in the morning.
If we were anywhere else, I probably wouldn’t look at him twice.
I’m lying. I’d found him attractive from the start, for a whole two seconds until he’d opened his mouth.
It’s not all one-sided. I’ve noticed a softening toward me from him.
The proof being he wouldn’t have initiated that kiss if he still hated being trapped here with me.
That thought pulls me up. Who exactly is being held captive?
I’m only here because I need protection from my brother.
Flynn? Well, he’s here because he was ordered to be.
I twirl the wedding band I still wear around my finger. I didn’t have to keep it on. The marriage license and the record, in whatever court register it’s been entered into serves its own purpose, letting Malachi know he’s running out of time and forcing him to make a move to find me.
For the first time, I realise the threat to Flynn if my brother finds me.
Even though the terms of the will mean that if it’s a childless marriage, and he has no reason to hurt Flynn, he’d do it out of spite toward me.
Then that sends my thoughts shooting in a different direction.
If Flynn and I made a baby, I’d receive my inheritance immediately.
I tense. Could Flynn have kissed me to soften me up? Is it possible he wants his money sooner rather than later?
A leopard doesn’t change its spots that fast. Two, three weeks ago—that’s how long we’ve been at the cabin—he’d hated me.
Perhaps he still does now. Could this biker really have come up with a plan to get me pregnant?
As far as he and his club are concerned, that would solve everything.
And me? Would Malachi accept that he was beat?
As soon as my money was in my hands, I could write my own will.
I could leave it to anyone, a damn animal charity, just to keep it away from him.
Or would he still come after me simply because he hates me?
I decide I need to be wary and resist whatever charm offensive Flynn is on.
Resisting him proves more difficult than I had anticipated. When I’d gotten dressed and ventured down those death-defying stairs, he was already up and dressed, the cushions that formed his bed on the floor already put away.
“Morning,” he greets me. “You wanna go get your shower while I rustle up some breakfast?”
My eyes immediately narrow. “You don’t cook.”
He shrugs. “I just haven’t up to now. Never said I couldn’t.”
Do I go with it, or look this gift horse in the mouth? My earlier thoughts remind me I have to be careful. But it would be fantastic not to cook for once. What’s the worst that could happen? He’s hardly likely to deliberately poison me. He wouldn’t risk killing the fatted cow.
Against my better judgement, I accept.
After I’ve returned from my shower and have towel-dried my hair, I enter the cabin to the tantalising smell of bacon, unfortunately tinged by the odour of burning.
“What the fuck?” I rush in, seeing him smother a frying pan with a wet towel.
He turns around sheepishly. “Was trying to fry sausage links, think they got a bit overdone.”
Flames extinguished now, I use tongs to prise off the ruined cloth. “You think?” I prod at the inedible links of charcoal.
“I did bacon, though, it’s in the oven keeping warm. And there are eggs.” He points to another pan. I lift the lid, unable to hold my grimace. The eggs have been cooking for so long, they look like rubber. The wooden spoon bounces back as I prod at them.
He leans over my shoulder to look at what he’s achieved. “Oh fuck.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
His face crumbles. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”
Reaching for the oven gloves, I rescue the bacon, which at least looks edible, then start carving the loaf of bread we’d only taken out of the freezer yesterday. “Bacon sandwiches it is,” I announce. “And Flynn? Maybe leave the cooking to me for now.”
Grimacing, he gives a stiff nod, then takes the offending frying pan outside. A good move. I suspect it’s beyond saving. He also leaves the door open, and at last, the stench of burning starts to dissipate.
When he returns, he joins me at the dining table, ruefully glancing at the bacon sandwich, which clearly was nothing like what he had planned. I pick up my coffee and take a sip, noting at least he hadn’t ruined that.
Suddenly, his face changes as he smirks. “Thought I knew what to do after watching you cook. But now, woman…” He points his sandwich in my direction. “I’m sure there’s black magic involved. You must be a witch casting spells over the food.”
Despite my earlier thoughts, I grin. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he says, seriously. “You throw shit in the pan, wave your hands over it, and it cooks just right.”
Mockingly, I copy his earnest expression, and I raise and dip my head. “You’re right. It’s sorcery.” I don’t care if I’m belittling my skills, as it’s lightened the mood. We grin at each other and dig into the breakfast we do have in front of us.
When my plate is empty, I lean forward. “How’s your ankle today?”
He sits back at the change of subject and lets out a heavy sigh. “I think I hurt it worse than I wanted to admit. Let’s just say I won’t be running any marathons for a while.”
“You’ve been trying to do too much.” I remonstrate. “You should keep your foot up. Are you sure you didn’t break anything?”
After emitting another long exhale of breath, he admits, “Can’t tell you that. I keep hoping it’s just a bad sprain.”
Which is partly my fault. “I’m sorry I ran away from you.”
Leaning over the table, he takes hold of my hand and tells me earnestly, “Fuck, Ames. I can’t blame you. I was an ass.”
“And now?” I ask, wondering if I’ll get a truthful answer to my question. “Why are you suddenly being nice?”
He gives a twisted smile. “Honestly?”
I nod. I want the truth, though I’m suspicious he won’t give it to me.
But he meets my gaze head-on. “Ames, I kind of built up an expectation of the person I thought you were. Clumsy, of fuckin’ course, I’d seen that for myself.
But when I learned you came from money, I convinced myself you were spoiled.
” He shakes his head. “You know I’m an asshole, right?
” I fight to keep my face neutral. “Well, I’m known for poking the bear, and I think the club’s got fed up with me yanking everyone’s chains.
I decided Bullseye used you and this situation as payback.
Getting hitched?” He huffs a mirthless laugh.
“Not something I had on my bingo card. Being expelled from the club to the middle of nowhere with a bitch I didn’t even like?
That was some fucked-up revenge.” His face twists, and still he’s staring straight at me.
“I built you up as one thing. Over the last few weeks, I’ve slowly been finding I had you all wrong.
From that first fuckin’ night when you made a bed up for me?
” His head shakes. “That, and other things, didn’t add up.
Slowly, I admit, but I started to let go of who I thought you were and began to see you for yourself. ”
A blush covers my cheeks. “I’m nothing special.”
His eyes now blaze with an intensity that almost sears me.
“Yes, you are.” He swallows hard. “Ames, this will make me sound even more of an asshole than you already rightly think I am. But you’re the first woman I’ve ever wanted to get to know.
” He opens his mouth as if he’s going to add something else, then closes it.
After grimacing, he turns his head away, only for a moment, then he looks back, his back straightening as tension fills his body.
“You want me to apologise for that kiss last night?”
All my reservations fly to the wind. “Fuck no.” I rasp out my reply. “If you really meant it, I’d like you to do that again.” His face lights up. “But…” I hold up my pointy finger. “That’s as far as it goes.” I’ve got to be strong, I remind myself.
He raises his chin, that male gesture that normally means acceptance or compliance. I suppose only time will tell whether his easy acquiescence can be trusted. Then he stands and, still holding my hand, encourages me up from the chair, saying, “Let’s go sit outside for a moment.”
“The plates?” And the mess in the kitchen.
“I’ll get to that later.”
For once, I’m not worried that we’re not following the mantra, you cooked, I’ll clean up. It’s his mess. He can deal with it.
But as we walk hand in hand outside into the sun, and he leads me to a bench set at the top of the yard, with a view back down to what in this light looks like an idyllic cabin, I start to wonder whether I’ll survive this new side of the man I’m officially married to.