Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which it seems every good moment guarantees a bad one will follow.
Wallace…
Getting Scarlett dressed takes some time, working her floppy limbs back into her dress and zipping up her boots.
“How do ye feel, love?” I hand her another glass of water, making sure she’s steady enough to hold it.
“A bit like overcooked spaghetti,” she admits weakly.
“Nothing too sore?” I’m checking for any angry welts on her skin from the streaks of flame, but she seems unmarked. Pity. I’d love to see her delicate wrists and ankles a little bruised and abraded from pulling on her bonds as she came.
Next time, I’ll restrain her.
The hostess suppresses a smile but sends me a little wink as I carry my wife out the door. Settling Scarlett in the car, I cup her cheek. “Still with me?”
“Yep.” She turns and kisses my hand. “We should come back here again.”
I’ve played in the club with strangers before, but I never brought anyone I’d been seeing for any amount of time. It was too much of a leap of faith. The women I’d dated were experienced, but fireplay is an entirely different thing.
That my innocent wife, who learns ‘things’ from her books, could be not only accepting but enthusiastic…
“Heading home, boss?” Gio asks from the driver’s seat, very carefully not looking in the rearview mirror.
“Aye.” I put my arm around Scarlett and she dozes off on my shoulder. She smells sweet, like always, of vanilla. There’s also a slightly acidic tang of lighter fluid on her skin, and an undertone of smoke. I’ve never wanted a woman more.
My ungrateful cock gets hard and I push the heel of my hand against it. Down, ye greedy bastard. That’s enough for tonight.
“Mmm… are we home yet?” Scarlett sits up, rubbing her eyes and making her smudged makeup look even sexier, more depraved.
“Nearly.” I drop a kiss on her shoulder. “How do ye feel, love?”
“Stop asking me that,” she whispers, glancing at an expressionless Gio. “I’m fine!”
“He has no idea what that club caters to, or what we were doing,” I whisper back, lightly biting her earlobe. “Are ye embarrassed, now?”
“No,” she bites my ear right back. “It’s just… personal. Ours.”
Goddamn, this woman is perfect.
I send Scarlett up for a shower when we get back to the house. My phone rings as I’m putting together a late dinner for my wife. It’s Mum’s ringtone, “Superwoman” by Alicia Keys.
“Mum, how are ye? It’s late for a call.” There’s silence and my chest feels like a layer of ice just froze over it.
“What’s going on? Mum, talk to me. Who’s dead?” There’s a choked sob before she can answer me.
“Sweetheart, it’s your father, he’s been shot.”
I grip the granite countertop, feeling weightless. “How bad is it?”
“He’s alive, I’m sorry, I should have started with that!” Mum says hastily. “They shot him coming home. There was a sniper in the building across from ours. For a minute…”
The sound of her soft sobs is tearing through my insides. “When I got to the clinic, he was so pale… I thought I’d lost him. He’s in stable condition. But we need ye. Can ye and Scarlett get here soon? Uncle Alec says he’s already sent your jet; it should be landing within thirty minutes.”
“We’ll be there.” There are more words stuck in my throat, I can’t get them out, picturing my indomitable father, pale and gray in a hospital bed. “Are ye all right? What about Isobel?”
“Everyone’s fine, dinnae worry,” she says firmly. “What about ye, my boy? Please let Scarlett support ye, aye?”
“Of course. We’ll be there soon.”
“I love ye, Wallace.”
“The same, Mum.”
Scarlett overheard me, she’s standing a few steps away, twisting her hands anxiously.
“Your family? Did someone get hurt?” she whispers, as if saying it louder would make it true.
“My father was shot. We have to leave.”